Twisting Asphalt - A SoCal Ducati Motorcycle Blog

The tach is rising as the temp gauge plummets when the first shadows of fog become recognizable along the horizon. Ahead of me lies an ever expanding right hand kink in the road that launches off into yet more of this one of kind unknown. Instinctually I begin to bring the throttle backwards before consciously realizing that doing so is almost a tragic flaw when you’re surrounded by this kind of magic. When you’re witnessing the very beginning of civilization and the last remaining vestiges of purity at the same time. Yet I’m not here to sightsee. I’m here ride. And this road is simply unlike any other that I’ve ever ridden.

Sliding towards the inside of the rapidly approaching corner, I brashly manipulate the front end, countersteering the bike back and forth in order to wiggle my way around a collection of errant rock formations before standing the bike back up as the road dives down towards sea level once again. To appreciate this kind of rollercoaster ride is to understand that this road isn’t anywhere near average. It’s the kind of place that you could spend days and nights dreaming about and still never find. Yet here it is and it’s real. It’s tangible. It’s alive with the kind of energetic pull that makes riding move beyond the merely physical adventure and instead enter the realm of spiritual prophecy come to life.

A few miles from Twisties

I have no doubt that evangelists from all walks of life struggle to explain the meaning that this route holds. Beyond the molecules of asphalt lies something greater then the ordinary, something much more profound which speaks on levels that mortals rarely seek and almost certainly never find. Yet if you’re into riding for the sake of the ride there’s no need to ask these kinds of heavy bothersome questions. You simply don’t have the time. After all this is a road surface that’s hell-bent on bringing the best out of you – not for a minute or sequence - but for the entire journey.

Peering over the fairing, the downhill push brings me face to face with one hundred and eighty degrees of conquest. On most occasions this would be unique, but not when it’s been going all day. As I rapidly start the process of downshifting and sliding off the saddle towards the inside of the hairpin like turn, the bike tilts its way towards a missing chunk of cliff before running right through the bend as if it were nothing more then a blip on the radar. The kind of blip that brings a gargantuan smile to your face before it’s forced to vanish in the eye of yet another twisting turn whose conclusion disappears beyond yet another jagged piece of exposed rock.

Continues after the jump…

Exiting the hairpin on the other side, heavy thoughts throttle as the asphalt springs upward towards the heavens and it’s instantly clear that this is no longer a battle against solitude, but rather a two front war – one against the road and the other against time. Daylight’s time. Gazing off the edge of the cliff ahead, I’m very aware that it’s getting late on a Thursday and the winter light is starting to fade. Yet while the light levels are dropping, the road is just starting to wake up.

There are many inherent joys that come with riding a motorcycle. Some are obvious and some are not. But on a day like today, surrounded by the antithesis of societies urban expansion, it’s hard not to acknowledge just how lucky it feels to be working up the coastline. This gloriously undisturbed and damn near original California coastline.

It’s an arena that I’ve intimately known for quite a long time, yet it’s also a road that for the past three years I haven’t had the opportunity to witness in person because my two-wheeled motorcycle of choice hasn’t supported the excursion.

As of today that’s no longer the case – assuming you buy into a few qualifications… Well one really, the bike I’m riding isn’t mine.

The undisturbed California Coast

A little over a week ago MotorMilt made the gut wrenching decision to trade his ’04 999 in on an ’02 BMW K1200RS. There are a number of various reasons for the swap – not the least of which is a four-digit sportbike that starts with the numeral ‘1’ and ends with the number ‘8’. Yet perhaps the most important reason for the switch is this one particular road. This one curvaceous sequence of events that unfolds unlike any other collection of asphalt I’ve ever witnessed throughout the world. I’m sure there are folks who’ve ridden CA-1 on a full-fledged sportbike – and I admire their courage - but I don’t particularly want to emulate them. I’m not really sure who it’s more unfair to; the bike, the road or the rider.

To be honest, this started innocently enough. The old man and I were having a drink and chatting about the roads and rides we’ve enjoyed taking together. As we tried to reconcile our various memories, the one thing that kept coming up in the discussion was that we no longer were going for long multi-day trips. Since entering the realm of the Ducatista we’ve gotten faster, we’ve enjoyed some ridiculously amazing trackdays, and we’ve carved all kinds of canyons in unison. Yet the one thing that we’ve jointly missed has been the ‘Great Get Away’ adventure. That uniquely mind clearing ride when you simply toss a collection of crap in a saddlebag and hit the road with only the vaguest sense of where you’re heading. As one discussion turned into several, we both began hitting the classifieds, and the reality hit that you have to have the right tool for the right job.

MotorMilt’s new ‘02 BMW K1200RS

In this case, for this kind of journey, that tool is a K1200RS Beemer.

At first, all makes and models of bikes were tossed out on the table. When you first start thinking about a different style of motorcycle your eyes wander all over the place. I doubt the old man and I are alone in this attribute.

For a while the Kawasaki Concours was sitting pretty high on the list and I thought that was where he’d end up, but then a test ride pushed it to the side. The Triumph Sprint ST was next, but everything I kept finding on the ‘net seemed to suggest that they historically run very hot. If there’s one overarching conceit that riding a 999 has taught me it’s that heat and distance don’t play well together. Next came the Ducati ST3S, which both the old man and I absolutely loved riding. In many ways it’s a bag friendly 999 and that holds an amazing amount of appeal. Yet as much as I wanted to pull the trigger on one, I couldn’t escape the fact that as much as I have loved the various Ducati’s I’ve ridden and owned, I’m not sure I want to service three Italian thoroughbreds (I’m getting a touch ahead of myself here, but in a few days you’ll understand).

Obviously there are some commonalities in the bikes I’m mentioning– they’re all basically sport-tourers that put more emphasis on the sport, then tour. While I left the final decision up to the old man – after all it is his bike - picking up an 800lb land yacht was out of the question as far as I was concerned. It’s a purely selfish reaction on my part, but I think a valid one. If I’m going to ‘steal’ his bike every now and then, it has to be something I want to ride too…

Eventually the process of going through all of these bikes led both of us back to BMWs. Long time readers will recall that the old man and I both have had previous experience with the brand, so there was definitely a comfort factor there. A ‘you know what you’re going to get’ feeling.

The last Beemer model either of us owned was an R1100S, which was a perfectly enjoyable bike for me back then – but I think today would feel very underpowered and sluggish in comparison to what I’m used to these days. I also have little desire to go back to a ‘Boxer’ engine (perhaps the newer generation boxers will change my mind, but I somehow doubt it). The more we researched, the more we both independently kept coming back to the KRS model because of its horsepower (130 claimed hp), its slightly larger, more upright riding position and its autobahn-like take on sport-touring.

This autobahn-like sensibility comes in quite handy on CA-1. Unlike the tight and twisty roads in the Malibu Mountains, most of the PCH (CA-1) is built on a foundation of magical vistas and sweeping curves with the remote straight away thrown in for good measure just so you don’t get bored. It’s not a racetrack tight ride, but rather an ebbing and flowing roadway surface that offers the opportunity for excitement while still allowing for glances at your surroundings. The K1200RS in many ways mirrors this style by offering the rider a feeling of speedy excess and a sense of relative comfort. The bikes’ easy going demeanor rises and falls whenever you want. Unlike a lot of motorcycles that require you to ride them in one particular fashion at all times, the KRS doesn’t seem to care if you’re charging hard or taking it easy. It’s happy either way and that in turn makes you, the rider, enjoy the journey all the more.

Of course the fun part of CA-1 starts just past Morro Bay, which probably explains why this particular coastal location is one of my favorite destinations on the face of the planet. The city is defined by the enormous rock that extrudes from the western edge of the harbor and the rock itself is steeped in some amazing history.

The Beemer & ‘Morro Rock’

Called ‘Morro Rock’ eloquently enough, the formation is an ancient landmark that towers 576 feet above the entrance to the bay. It was named by Spaniard Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo during his voyage of discovery up the California coast in 1542. Apparently the rock is the last in a chain of extinct volcanoes. “Morro Rock” quickly became a landmark for Spanish explorers as they sailed up the North American coastline. In 1587 captain Pedro de Unamuno put into Morro Bay and claimed the area for Spain. Soon after explorer Don Gaspar de Portola and his party camped near the rock during their march to Monterey. Three years after the Portola expedition, the Spanish settlement in Monterey was threatened with starvation. Remembering an abundance of wildlife, a party of men traveled back to Morrow Bay, to what is now Montana de Oro State Park, and killed enough grizzly bears to feed the settlers for three months.

The Beemer in Morro Bay

When the Mexican’s moved in and they started ranching in the surrounding areas. By the early 1900’s fishing became the primary occupation of the local residents and in 1940, the U.S. Navy used Morro Bay for training operations because the shorelines and heavy fog offered comparable similarities to the European Theater.

Fishing Boats by ‘The Rock’

Finally in 1968 Morro Rock was declared State Historical Landmark No.821. Today the city is still home to a small fishing industry, but its real trade is vacation homes and inns for suburban folks. Thankfully however the early era charm still flows freely and the city offers a unique window into what was once early California. Thirty miles North of Morro Bay stands San Simeon, which most folks know as the home to Hearst Castle.

For all of the insanity that Hearst offered the modern world, the man was really on to something special. He certainly knew where to put his coastal seaside retreat. The land surrounding his massive installation is just unreal. It’s primitively pristine – so perfect in fact that as you pass by you find yourself thinking that this man really had it all figured out well before anyone else. Long before living on the coast was the fashionable exercise it in todays’ metropolitan LA, Heart had thousands of acres to himself in the most remote and beautiful chunk of the coastline. Why more people didn’t take his lead amazes me, yet what truly is baffling is how this vast section of land still has remained so pure in a world that continues to carve land up like crazy. The fact that this area still exists relatively unscathed is remarkable. More extraordinary then the land however is the road, because just past San Simeon, CA-1 morphs from a scenic sensation into a wild curving creature.

Darkness begins to fall

Diving into the first series of corners, the KRS continues to eat up asphalt with a very subtle, yet powerful sense of urgency. As the road starts to climb up while clinging to the side of the drastically rising cliffs, the elevation changes force you to really start working through the gearbox; up, down and damn near sideways. This is a very strange sensation in comparison to the 999. It’s all mush and there’s no sense of certainty. On the 999 it almost feels like you can sense the individual teeth engaging, but not here. This oatmeal like German tranny offers no such feedback. But then it’s not a race bike, it’s a much more mellow sport-touring machine that’s built for the long haul. Emotionally this annoys me, but logically I understand that expectations have to be altered.

That’s certainly true of the brakes. While the discs offers nice a sense of power when they’re engaged, there’s several millimeters of slack in the front brake lever which makes trailbraking through the various coastal corners a much less elegant action. Having no linear sense of advance also forces the rider to alter their style. With less certainty comes more restraint. This creates a mental blockade which has the power to hold you back from truly engaging each specific corner in any sort of hard charging attack.

Flowers, waves and DOF

Of course big brakes, or more appropriately lots of braking power, tend to go hand in hand with faster bikes and in this regard the KRS doesn’t disappoint. On the sections of the coast where you can let a bike loose, it does so flawlessly. The torque curve offering a surprising sense of pull in just about any gear – more pull then any previous Beemer I’ve ever ridden in fact. I would imagine that the newer BMWs must really rip (especially the K1200R with 167 HP!). It’s not 999 acceleration mind you, but for what this bike is built to do it’s an absolutely wonderfully addictive surprise.

As I keep working my way up the coast, the road gets tighter and the views more magnificent. Before long the idea of any meaningful civilization is just a distant, thought at best. The kind of flashback that makes you realize just how powerful a singular journey can be – because it offers the kind of space that doesn’t exist on a two or four hour ride. There’s something about how the miles wear you away, a piece of sandpaper for your soul. They peel back the layers of life and allow you to experience things on a much more real – and perhaps raw – level. As the pieces of your normalcy crumble what’s left is just you. Nothing but you. And when you spend twelve hours inside your helmet there’s quite a bit of you to go around. In some ways perhaps that’s the part of the long journey ride that I’ve missed the most. When I’m on the 999 and moving fast all I tend to think about is the road and how the bike is operating. It’s too dangerous to think about much else. But when you dial it down a bit, on a less extreme motorcycle, in such a picturesque place, it’s hard not let you mind wander just a tad.

It was a very different kind of journey that leads to the actual creation of the Pacific Coast Highway. In 1887 a doctor named John L.D. Roberts, M.D. founded the town of Seaside. Subsequently, he became postmaster, planner and county supervisor as well as a rural country doctor. His preferred method of travel was on horseback. One day a shipwreck required Dr. Roberts to ride to Point Sur and the trip ended up taking him close to four hours. He instantly recognized the need for a road and started photographing the land between San Simeon and Carmel. He subsequently has been credited with being the first surveyor of the 135-mile stretch from Morrow Bay to Carmel. This is a man that time has forgotten, but one who should be celebrated. For his dedication, his foresight and perhaps most importantly the ever-bending asphalt legacy which he left behind.

In 1910 construction of the road first began. Initial financial estimates came in around $1.5 million and in 1921 voters approved additional state funds to complete the roadway. San Quentin Prison set up three temporary prison camps to provide the labor for the road. Seventy thousand pounds of dynamite blasted through the granite, marble and sandstone of the coastal region. The hardest part of the construction was a 65-mile section between Spruce Creek and San Simeon – in other words the most enjoyable riding section of the road! Amazingly more than 10 million cubic yards of rock was blown away.

A lot of folks are fascinated by history and I for one am always curious why certain roads get built in the locations that they do, whether that’s a tourist conduit like the Pacific Coast Highway or an offbeat canyon road. Each snaking segment of twisting asphalt has its own story to tell and by the time I hit Big Sur it has slowly dawned on me that this road actually offers two kinds of histories; the history of the area and also something more individual – a personal history if you will. This is especially true when you ride a road like CA-1 which you’ve ridden before on numerous occasions throughout the years. Suddenly the landscape becomes a collection of your own personal memories. Corner and curves hold more than lean angles – they offer snapshots into your previous adventures. In this case, I was reminded of prior times when I made valiant passes or had quiet moments of reflection. Sometimes those things that are easy to forget when you’re busy with work or life or the millions of other day to day tasks. While you go on the ride for the journey, it’s the road that reminds you of who you are and where you’ve been. It’s the road that rekindles your passion and reawakens your soul. It is the road that makes the journey worthwhile…

It’s completely dark by the time I pull into my final destination, I’ve been riding for just over twelve hours and have logged 487 miles – all in one magically marvelous day – by far the longest single sequence of riding I’ve ever experienced. That’s quite a trip and while the Beemer isn’t a Ducati by any stretch of the imagination, I’m absolutely amazed when I finally pull the K1200RS up on its centerstand and call it day. While I’m tired, I don’t feel physically destroyed. How that’s possible given the miles I’ve traveled and the corners I’ve taken is mind blowing. The bike has more than lived up to its sport-touring ethos by offering the kind of combined excitement and comfort that I had long since given up on.

Pulling a final smoke out of the saddlebag, a well-worn sense of achievement and enjoyment washing over as I stand in awe of the adventure. So many divergent thoughts crash into each other that it’s hard to comprehend just how much scenery and landscape I’ve witness in the last twelve hours. Yet the one thought that I cannot escape is the most basic - While I’ve been fortunate to travel to distant locations around the globe, no road has ever held me in the kind of magical awe and wonder that the Pacific Coast Highway has the power to initiate. This road and its labyrinth of concave and convex corners offers more than merely miles to travel – it holds the key to personal sanity and forces the kind of internal reflection that rarely if ever happens in the modern day to day world. While the PCH was built by men, the road holds a unique kind of power that sparkles the imagination in ways that don’t seem mortal. This is god’s country after all and ride it offers a glimpse into the heavens.

Kitty’s Kitchen in Morro Bay

Kitty’s Kitchen from the outside - I highly recommend it.

Fishing boats in Morro Bay

Downtown Morro Bay

More coastal beauty

More coastal beauty #2

The previous owner installed a Wilbers Suspension System

Just below Hearst Castle & San Simeon

Getting closer towards Big Sur

Just below Big Sur

Just below Big Sur #2

The last bit of sunlight

The end of the journey

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