8. 23. 33. 126. 128. 150. 227. 999. 1340. These are the numbers that continue to roll around in my head tonight. It has simply been such an amazing day that right now as I sit here typing this blog entry and aching all over, I’m blown away with how special and unique the last twenty four hours have been. It all started yesterday with a magnificent ride through the Santa Monica Mountains. Going into this weekend I didn’t frankly know what to expect, but after yesterday’s ride it was clear that we had to take advantage of today. And in unbelievable fashion we did.

For 8 hours we rode the Ducatis from here to there and everywhere in between. According to the clock it seems like a long time and if you knew how my body felt right now you’d believe it, but for those eight hours it felt like one wonderous corner after another planted throughout a collection of diverse settings with amazing views that simply put an ear to ear grin on my face all day. It felt so incredibly special. First and foremost because it was Christmas Day and while the world was unwrapping presents, we were leaning the bikes over in corners with little to no traffic. It truly felt like the world was sleeping while we were out playing. Just good, good stuff.

Today’s Ride Itinerary
Christmas in Ojai ( Approx. Time: 9 AM to 5 pm )

While riding today it occurred to me that perhaps it would be a good idea if I started detailing which roads MotorMilt & I are riding on any given day. As you can see above, I’ve started a short bullet point listed itinerary. I don’t know if this will really work or not, but I thought it couldn’t hurt…

Back to today. Milt and I got ready to leave for the ride at 8am, but thankfully Milt suggested that I check my tire pressure. Turns out that I was running seven psi low in my rear tire. Either the Ducati is eating air pressure for breakfast or I’ve got a slow, small leak back there. The only other explanation I can think of - and this is a stretch - is that when we get rolling in the canyons perhaps the tires heat up more than the Beemers did and that somehow effects how much air stays in there. An Expansion-Contraction theory perhaps, I don’t know.

Once we got that out of the way, we hit the road and did one of our usual morning loops. The PCH to Las Floras to Piuma and eventually to Mullhulland and then breakfast. At that point the greatness of the day was still in its infancy and I was a bit more concerned with the lack of heat. As it turns out Christmas mornings in LA take awhile to warm up. By the time we hit Agoura for some food the outside temperature was finally starting to wake up and hovering around seventy-five. Not to shabby for December

It was after breakfast that Milt & I decided to try and get up to Ojai. We had talked about it briefly after the ride yesterday, thinking that it might make a good Christmas activity (it did!), but I always figure given how much energy riding the Ducs take it’s a better idea to see how we’re both feeling once we’ve had some food and coffee. Once our destination was decided, we then had to come up with a plan for how to get there. Standing in the parking lot Milt suggested a different route to Ojai, one that I’d never taken or even heard about for that matter. This folks was an all-time first. MotorMilt isn’t called NavigatorMilt for a reason… Usually we take the 101 Freeway from Agoura to the more civilized part of Route 33, however MotorMilt’s suggestion was to head up the 101 but cross over on Highway 23, shoot through Fillmore, pop on to Highway 126 and run that into Highway 150. This essentially back doors you into Santa Paula and subsequently Ojai since they’re almost neighboring towns.

When we got on 23, I had my doubts. It starts as a mega freeway that’s an off-shoot of the 101. But once you get past the Ronald Reagan Library and head down into the beginning of the Simi Valley, the road starts to change. Not fast mind you, but slowly. Slow enough that when it hits you that the road has changed, well, it has. Then just as you’re getting your bearing straight, the road splits. 23 goes North via a decidedly un-highway like off-ramp, while the 118 continues looking like a freeway while wrapping around the backside of the valley. To be honest I’ve never spent all that much time in “The Valley”. Not out of any LA styled disgust for “The Valley”, which I know a number of people around here have, but rather it just wasn’t really on my radar. So I was sort of surprised once we ended up on the post-split part of 23 to find that what exists out there was starting to look almost farm like. There were wooden fences where I expected to see walls and walls of track homes. After a funky jog through what I believe was Fillmore - where there was some really interesting classic Californian architexture going on that I wish I got a picture of - we ended up heading up this oddly rising hill while heading out of town. When we got to top of it, suddenly there was another one. Then some farms and oak lined parks and then suddenly there was another hill. And so it went, hill after hill, slowly growing into mountains. Watching the hills begin to rise and gradually grow up, was almost like seeing a mountain range born before your eyes. It was a real visual treat.

The whole time I felt like I was on vacation. It wasn’t coastal and it wasn’t desert. Not exactly woody, but definitely not flat and definitely filled with a fair amount of vegatation. In many ways 23 started to feel more like an east coast road as we carved our way through the hillside. If there had been falling Autumn leaves it wouldn’t have been out of place. This couldn’t be LA, could it?

23 then lead us directly into the path Highway 126, which if you’ve never been on is a trip of it’s own. Running from the super slab I-5 near Santa Clarita all the way to the ocean and the 101. The road covers quite a bit of mileage if you go start to finish and whole bunch of folks live at each end, yet you’d never know it if you catch up with it somewhere near the middle. Instead of tons of people and tons of traffic, it’s a two lane road - sometimes four - that cuts through farm country. The kind of countryside that was seem more at home in the central valley or up the coast near Cambria. Think lots of green, lots of orange grooves and lots of mountain ranges and little hills splattered throughout.

As we headed west on 126, I was just blown away with how many farms were surrounding us. And while the road isn’t a canyon carver by any stretch of the imagination, it’s got some nice sweepers and thankfully a few decent elevation changes. Nothing major, but nice stuff anyway. The sort of road that lets you dial it back a bit and just enjoy the journey with no sense of guilt for not attacking the road more vigorously. In the moments when the ebb and flow of traffic died down, I kept looking out at these two fantastic mini-mountain ranges that were running along side of the highway and seeing what appeared to be some nicely carved out asphalt roads. Have to remember to check a map and see what exists back there.

Welcome to the Ojai Valley

From that point forward the rest of the ride was as MotorMilt later put it, “simply glorious”. From the 126 we hit Santa Paula and picked up Highway 150 which is just fantastic. An absolute outright frigg’n blast. Once the road got going it was truly an inspirational snaking path of asphalt, rolling up and over a collection of odd if not Classic California looking farmland before shooting through a great section of twisties. Eventually the road peaks and the entire Ojai valley appears right before your eyes and on a day like today it was just magical. Not a cloud in the sky and you could see for miles. No haze, no fog, no smog, nothing but drop dead gorgeous mountain hillsides surrounding a wonderfully green valley filled with fruit. Oranges as it turns out. Once we got down the backside of the mountain, there were orange grooves for miles on end. If I had to guess what LA looked like in the 1950s, this was it. How I had managed to never look at a map and see this amazing squiggly line given all the times I’ve treked up to Ojai is simply beyond me. It was wonderful.

Looking out over the edge

The pre-requisite shot of Route 33

MotorMilt in Action

Once we got into town I started to think about how I’m sure that there are a whole host of reasons why people go to Ojai, California. I on the other hand go for Route 33 and Route 33 only. That simple. If the town went away tomorrow, I’d still go just for this road. It is literally miles and miles of twisting mountain road that cuts back and forth with everything from gentile sweepers you can see from end to end to tightly wound almost decreasing radius corners that have elevation changes. Almost feels as if someone holy put 33 there exclusively for motorcyclists. I know that’s not really true since they built the road to get from the Central Valley to Ojai, but it sure feels that way. I’ve written about Route 33 before after I took the ill-fated 749 through it.

In comparison, the 999 was entirely different beast on 33. The more linear ability of the larger engine simply made getting on the gas coming out of the corners so much more intense and really so much more rewarding. The fact that the engine is almost broken in allowed me to have far more rpm activity, which in turn allowed me to have a bit more fun with my down shifts. And perhaps it’s because I’ve got a track day coming up or because when you add up all the miles I’ve now spent riding both the 749 and the 999 I’m really starting to get comfortable, but I found myself very focused on using both my front and rear brake in conjunction today. I’ve probably mentioned it before, but usually I rarely use the rear brake. Today I found myself very actively engaging it to keep the front end from coming up and on a road like 33 you really notice the difference.

Throughout the first half of 33 everything seemed like it was in slow motion - in a good way - the art of riding was simply happening for me. Corners came up and my reactions felt less like mental exercises and more like habit. On the back half of 33 that all changed.

Suddenly the road dropped down into the valley and any and all signs of life or civilization ended. The road morphs from a canyon pass into a wonderful stretch of long straight aways and giant sweepers that just seem to keep coming at you. And that’s where the power of the 999 shined. A 128 mph shine to be exact. At least that’s what the speedo said I was doing when I finally got a chance to look down on one of the straight aways. Now, I don’t mean to sound like a complete daredevil here but with no cross traffic to worry about or school zones it just seemed like the perfect place to let it rip. And Wowzer, what a sensation. An absolute thrill. I can’t wait to get to the track. Instantly everything was flying by and the difference between going 100 miles per hour and 120 was absolutely incredible. At 120 my helmet was pushing back on my face, the wind was howling and I was just on a complete roll. Until today I’d never gone that fast in my life. And yet the bike felt 100% stable. Almost like it was just getting started. I reached down and twisted my wrist, fully expected to feel topped out - only I it wasn’t. There was plently more to go. The only word that can begin to describe how much power this bike has is endless. It just keeps going and going and going and when you get to that point when it just doesn’t seem possible that there could be anything left, it keeps letting more out.

The 999 at the beginning of the back half of Route 33

Route 33 - Same Location - Looking West

Between goosing it to 128, seeing endless vista after endless vista and ripping through these magnificent endless roads, it’s hard for me not to feel like it was a truly unique and utterly inspiring day. Of course not as hard as sitting here now and thinking about it. I just want to continue to relive it. Again and again and again. Other than feeling physically sore, if I could get back on the bike right now, I would. It was the sort of day that felt so spectacular that I didn’t want it to end. How often do you ride for 8 hours and not want to see it conclude?

Perhaps the part that best sums it up is one particular right hand corner that lies towards the beginning part the of the mountain section on 33 (as you’re heading west). You’re flying down a relatively long straight, hit a hard left hand corner which opens up into a mini straight away that leads directly into this particular right hander. Only the right hander is cambered slightly odd and it has this enormous Tim Burton looking tree lying squarely right down the yellow line. When you’re looking into this corner and prepping for the turn, this tree just looms over you. As if it’s competely unavoidable. I have continued to blow this corner every time I’ve ever ridden 33 since I first started riding it. I suspect this is largely due to the fact that the first time I took 33, on a BMW R1100RS, I fixated on this tree and had a major ‘moment of concern’. Unlike previous days, today while whipping around these same corners I didn’t even see the tree until I was already almost through the corner. It just happened in whirlwind of activity.

The end of a glorious day

For the rest of the ride I was firmly planet with a perma-grin and this undeniable feeling that today was incredibly special. All told, we did about 227 Miles, which puts me at 1340 out of approximately 1550 for a full engine break in. That’s pretty cool. Because even as fast as I was going today, I still didn’t get over 8,000 rpms…

As I think about the ride now, I can’t help but think that for all the local rides we take in a given month, none have been this rewarding and this awe inspiring. For 8 hours I was able to think of nothing but the ride, the bike, and the road. I can’t imagine a better way to spend the holiday. No grief, no commitments, no family chaos, just a physically and mentally challenging ride that seemed to go on for ever. Up until today there was a gulf in how I viewed the local rides we take versus how I’ve felt when we go for six or seven day adventures. A difference in how much relaxation was possible. After today that has completely changed… As Milt said, “It was a glorious ride”.