Riding Through Gods Country (CA Route 33)

It starts with bleary eyes and foggy thoughts. Among strands of light that seemingly grow by the minute as you hear the faint whine of the coffee pot that’s beginning to churn. Soon the day that felt so far away late last night has finally arrived. The day you’ve penciled in for your personal fantasy time.

And then a few hours later you finally wake up…To a living breathing dream of moto-reality called California Route 33.

As your eyes dart back and forth, you glance from canyon wall to scenic vista to curving corner all while ever increasing the twist of your wrist. You hear the engine revving louder and louder, feel the demon that’s trapped inside the bike rumble, sense the the thrill, and then bare witness to speed, as it becomes a nearly unholy object all its own. And that’s when you think to yourself that its hard to imagine that just a moment ago you were just lying in bed. Because this kind of living is so far removed from that kind of living. And even though you’re just at the beginning of todays experience, it already reminds you of exactly why you love this kind of feeling. This kind of passion. The personal action-adventure flick kind of ride that’s both completely implausible and yet tosses every bit of adrenaline into the furnace of life.

It’s a victorious crowning kind of emotion. Something that’s evil and yet noble. The kind of blatant emotional combat that on most days might seem overly energetic, perhaps even overly risky for public roads, but not here. Not today. Not right now, when you’re surround by the nothingness being an eternity away from civilization delivers and yet completely captivated by one contiguous corner of asphalt that seems to go on forever.

Lightly you feather the front brake. Dust off fractions of speed with each progressive bit of pressure. Two fingers squeeze the clutch lever ever so slightly – barely breaking its hell bent grasp on the engine – but just long enough to drop the bike down a gear. The road surface scours for cover. It hears the charging L-Twin and the tires gnawing adhesion to the asphalt. The sound of destiny. Then when the clutch is headed back out, you blip the throttle and life gets even louder. Again. Suddenly you’re sliding off the saddle and not even thinking about the choices you’re making. You’re just living by instinct. Just enjoying the free flowing movements, the uncompromising atmosphere and the belief that today anything on the bike is possible. Not even a moment later, you’re leaning the bike in and bask in the glory that is California. Thanking your lucky stars that you’re out here riding today while aiming for the apex. You feel the pucks skim the surface and smile. A beat later, coming out of the corner on the other side, you look up to the heavens and find yourself asking, ‘how in the hell did this road get built?’

There are many adjectives that can be used to describe California Route 33, but none of them can do justice to what the road represents. It is the definition of why we ride, packaged in one gigantic arena. A shrewdly placed mecca of asphalt and concrete that rises and falls in one hell of a glorious campaign that’s full of wit and charm and absolute total terror. Ditch it here and nobody – absolutely nobody – will ever find you. But wick it up right and there’s nothing on this planet that compares. Not the Alps, not the Rockies, nor the Lost Coast. ‘Thirty Three’ is an amazing stretch of adventure that both goes on forever and ends all to quickly. A mere jagged line on a map, the rood offers fifty plus miles of feverish full-on cornering and wide open free-flowing straight aways all in one tidy place. It is unmistakably a blessed bit of country – something that seems like it feel straight out of the heavens – And then you turn around. Blast back up and down for fifty more miles of glory. Hunting curves until your ass feels like its on fire, every muscle in your body aches and a wicked grin is so securely attached to your face that you feel certain it will never wash off. It’s the red lipstick left over from the night before but without the hangover.
A road that asks you, how many times have you filled up your bikes tank and feed it nothing but a constant barrages of curves? And how many times have you ridden 100 miles of curves having never coming to a stop light and hitting just one stop sign? If there is road built to describe perpetual high speed frenzied motion, CA-33 is it. It is so grand that to bask in its glory is to awaken every latent feeling in your soul and it is the kind of road that defines the very fantasy adventure that riders seek.

FWIW here are some previous California Route 33 Rides:

The base of the Central Valley from the backside of CA-33

More picts after the jump…

Coming into Ojai, California on CA-118

Another shot of the Ojai Valley

Valley minus bike