Organic Comfort
The road is rising. Lifting up. And reaching out.
Searching perhaps.
For where to go next.
As am I…
I think…
Hugging the side of the mountain, the road anxiously bounces, frenetically jumping left and then right and then back left again. Over and over and over again. Each kink flowing into the next, with such little regard for the rules of reality that at times it seems almost overwhelming.
Yet it never quite gets away.
Never makes that full and final break that ends today and starts tomorrow…
Instead coming out of each successive corner, the road surface jumps ahead just enough to show you how little control you have over it before it slows back down and nimbly allows you to find your groove once again.
That addictive groove. The one that all riders crave.
When you can see no evil nor hear no evil. When you and the bike symbiotically connect with such frightening ease that what seemed fast yesterday is now downright mellow in comparison.
A slow mellow.
As the road snaps right, I catch my first peak at the ocean ahead and smile. The rush of the ride is coming to an end. I can see it beneath the faint haze that’s hanging over the crystal blue water. Half of me thinks that this is a good thing. That there’s no way I can sustain this pace safely. That I’ve ridden today to far out of my comfort zone.
Yet the other side of my head just defiantly smirks. Because like everything else comfort zones are organic. They live, they breathe, they grow. Expanding with confidence or contracting with fear.
And today it’s wider and deeper than its been in ages.
Let’s Get Naked: A Ducati S2R 1000 Finds A Home
A Ducati S2R1000 Monster at Pro Italia
“Oh boy… Here we go again,” is in fact the first thought that comes to mind the minute I walk into Pro Italia and realize that, yes, I am in fact once again kicking tires…
Not idly mulling about mind you, but striding purposefully through the dealership with intent-to-kill and purchase kind of eyes… The kind of tire kicking that gets you trouble on the 1st, 15th or 30th of each month…
Should I be? Would I be? Can I be? Could I be? These days it’s just damn hard for me to answer those sorts of questions…
It seems that somewhere along the line my personal passion, career and lifestyle all organically merged into me and the result is this odd combination of confusion, excitement and down right blatant moto-lust…
Rolling through the showroom, I’m struck by the fact that it’s probably time to simply accept and acknowledge the fact that when it comes to things with combustion powered engines and two-wheels my normally logically sound life comes crashing down and grinds to a halt. In effect blows up, only to be rebuilt again with either two-valves or four.
What I think I know and what I know I should do, quickly become superseded by an irrational desire to do the foolish. And while I could probably create an elaborate fictional reality as a cover story and attempt to explain why the irrational is actually rational and therefore life always makes sense, well that’d just be a blatant lie that perpetuates some other version of me. What is probably best described as a holdover of my former self. Not that those stories didn’t roll through my head mind you, but rather because when all is said and done, it’s just easier to tell the truth, and more important be honest with yourself…
Simply put, I’ve come to the not so shocking conclusion that I am in fact a full fledged addict… Some folks pick pills or drugs or drinking as their poisons of choice… For me it’s motorcycles… Plain and simple… They are not just vehicles or modes of transportation, but rather magical creatures with destinies that are anything but predetermined… In my mind they are the ultimate unknowns. They take you places you simply can’t imagine until you’re actually there. They live, they breath, they act up, I believe that they are in fact alive. And they do it with passion. With pride. With purpose.
Rationally — oh, great there’s that word again — I suppose one could make the argument that motorcycles are a healthier lifestyle choice than any of the above mentioned addictions. But frankly I’m so sure about that anymore… I spend an exorbitant of time each day thinking about nothing but riding… Even when I can’t actually get out and do the ‘riding’… From the bits to the bolts to bikes to ride itself, it’s absolutely frightening the amount of time one can spend when they’re in love with an inanimate object. From the sport, to the skill-set, to the lifestyle and growing dream to see and ride everything that’s out there, I’m tired of fighting reality… My reality…
I used to fear it, to run from it, to nonchalantly put it down amongst friends to diffuse the accepted mainstream doctrine that bikes are bad, or evil, or deadly, or who knows what else, particularly with those who didn’t share the passion — with those who didn’t see it or understand it — But no more I say… It times to face up to what it is that makes me alive…
Maybe it’s a function of getting close to turning thirty-two this summer, I don’t know, but I feel a certain sense of urgency at work here… As if time is running through me like an hour-glass. I feel as if I’ve waited my entire life to get to this point, to enjoy the life I always wanted. I’ve spent countless hours counting down the days until I could make the ‘choices’ and bear the burdens of life and enjoy the benefits. And now it’s here. I can feel it. I can see it. I believe it. It’s almost as if I can touch it.
Yet I also feel this sense that there’s only so much of me left and it feels like I’ve got to stop fooling around here. It’s time to get serious, not about my career or my loved ones, or my Cable TV package, but rather it’s time to get serious about me. It’s time to stop wasting mental and emotional energy on the things in life that I don’t really care about.
Is that selfish? Is that conceded?
Probably.
But as they say, ‘you only live once’ and of all the things in life I fear the most, the idea of letting one of the best periods of life pass by as a passenger and not an active participant scares the living hell out of me. I’d rather end up broke and destitute but with a saddlebag full of experiences then rich, wealthy and devoid of meaning. Is that youthful ignorance coming to light? Could be. Maybe at forty with a kid in toe I’ll feel differently about it… But right now it not only seems age-appropriate but time-appropriate… It feels like what I should be doing not what I’m supposed to be doing.
So why a Monster? And an outdated one at that?
Well, several reasons really… For starters I’ve had this weird growing fascination with late 60’s and early 70’s vintage bikes lately. BSA’s, Triumph’s, Norton’s, CB750’s, Mach III’s… Probably a direct result of hanging around them during the Twist shoot… There’s something about how when they’re built-out they showcase a certain kind of purpose, and dare I say urgency…
So why not pick one of those up instead? Good question. Simple answer, while I think they look cool, I’ve got no desire to engage in drum brakes, early disc brakes, headshake or a myriad of other ‘early’ technological advances that seem utterly dated by today’s standards.
The Monster — and by Monster, I mean the original Monster penned by Miguel Galluzzi, not the current Streetfighter/Thing that’s badged Monster/Homologated “Am I Brutale clone or Street Triple knockoff or contemporary slice of moto-evolutionary pie” machine — is in its own way as classic of a machine as say a CB750, but relatively speaking modern, safe, sporty and well, sound… It evokes all the bits of the past that I find cool but in something I actually want and will ride.
Secondly, I love the fact that it’s a completely open canvas. The 999 streetbike turned trackbike experience has certainly opened my eyes to customization, in a way that it wasn’t before. The Monster is the perfect platform for that sort of transformation. People have been doing it for years and I’m greatly looking forward to trying a slice of that moto-pie. The possibilities are practically endless and parts are widely available from a variety of resources. Just hunting all the sources down is almost half the fun…
Third, the idea of picking up a true 2-valved air-cooled Ducati fascinates me because it’s a relatively simple engine that’s been around practically forever. In a perfect world it’s an ideal platform to wrench on myself - a skill I have yet to conquer completely but one I certainly want to experience. Ultimately will I? Have no idea. Time right now is a fluid, combustible medium that seems to move faster then I’d like it to, but just the idea that on an engine like this it’d be possible to give it a go intrigues me greatly. There’s something marvelous about its simplicity in my mind.
Finally, it’s a sporty ride just the way it comes from the factory - It’s not Superbike competent, but it’s street-bike competent, and post-crash I have a new found respect and, dare I say, point of view on what I’m looking for when I’m not out on the track. Something that moves well but doesn’t bring out the speed freak demons inside. Right now the idea of a mellower, more comfortable, sport machine sounds damn good… And so it begins… My own kind of Monster Madness…
Sunday’s Sport-Touring Sportbike Ride - Part 2
When I last left off it was around noon when MotorMilt and I left Los Olivos on Sunday’s Sport-Touring Sportbike Ride (Part 1).
We had stopped there for a few minutes to take a quick breather and rest the wrists from what already had become a rather lengthy morning ride for us. At this point we had already rolled up a good 150 to 175 miles and I sort of knew that we were beginning to enter that dangerous territory where we might be getting just a bit to far away for our own good. In many ways what had started out as a slightly longer than usual Sunday ride had more or less morphed into a single day’s adventure that would have felt right at home on one of our week long extending riding vacations. At some point we were simply going to have to turn around and head back…
Leaving Los Olivos I briefly flirted with the idea of just simply continuing North on The San Marcos Pass (Route 154) and getting back to the 101 Freeway heading South… But really what fun would that have been? Sometimes it seems to me that just as you physically and mentally have to push yourself on the track, you have to do the same thing with distance riding. You have to force yourself to break through those self-imposed walls inside your mind that say, ‘whoa… this is to far‘. Logically getting back on the 101 at this point probably would have been the smart choice, but emotionally I just simply couldn’t do it.
So instead of taking the easy way home, I forced MotorMilt to follow me as I took a sharp right hand turn just a few miles outside of Los Olivos and headed up Foxen Canyon Road.
As I had mentioned in part one of this utterly to long riding write up, the previous evening while playing around on the ‘net I had discovered the rather amazing Santa Barbara County based riding site, SBC Rides. The minute I found the site I knew I was either in serious trouble or complete bliss… Ten minutes on the site quickly turned into twenty, then thirty… Soon I was discovering whole new adventures. Sitting right before me on the computer monitor were a whole new collection of roads - most of which I’d never read about or seen on a map…
Of all the routes laid out on the site, the one that kept sticking in my mind was Foxen. The SBC Review was sounded remarkable…
Foxen Canyon Rd is yet another of my favorite rides in Santa Barbara County. It is 31.3 miles long, with a good portion of the ride on excellent road with light traffic. It also takes you through some fantastic scenery, right through the heart of wine country.
Having never really ventured to far off The San Marcos Pass, it seemed like it’d be a shame - if not a waste of the day - to be this close to riding it and not take advantage. So instead of doing the smart thing I pushed MotorMilt to go a little bit further and in retrospect it was the best decision of the day!
It only took a few miles to instantly realize that Foxen Canyon is just one of those super-fantastic California rides that everyone should experience at least once. Right off the bat it shoots you down between several extremely iconic SoCal meets Wild West looking farms before giving way to a series of sweepers that slowly rise you up and above the relatively open valley base. Before you know it civilization vanishes and if you’re like me, you don’t even realize until suddenly it’s all just gone. You’re quite literally surrounded by nothing… More ‘nothing’ exists here than I think I’ve ever felt in my entire life. It is simply an amazingly beautiful no-man’s land that forces you stand in awe of nature and the way I imagine California felt fifty or a hundred years ago. This is truly the land of Gene Autry, John Ford, and John Wayne. It takes little imagination to find yourself visualizing cattle rustlers out on the open range.
Somewhere along the route we stopped to take a breather and I was struck by the fact that the only noise I could hear was from the relatively mellow wind gusts that were intermittently floating across the valley. It was the riding equivalent of getting far enough away from the city lights to see all the stars that are out at night. With no noise, relatively no other traffic to speak of and a completely picturesque valley standing before my feet, I just could help but think how living in a concrete city completely warps your mind. Somehow when you drive everyday in LA you slowly begin to believe that the entire world has been paved over and yet nothing could be further from the truth. This valley is only around two hundred miles away from LA and it’s completely untapped… (Granted I’m sure it’s expensive as hell - but that’s another discussion 
).
When we got back on the bikes we were able to only get a couple more miles up the road before my gas light decided to come on. This was perhaps the first of two strategic mistakes that MotorMilt and I made over the course of the day. We had talked about filling up the tanks in Los Olivos but hadn’t, partially due to a bit of laziness I think and partially because when I’d done a rough milage count on the various maps I felt we’d be alright for the roughly thirty miles that Foxen supposed last. Yet here we were riding through what has to truly be God’s country with reserve fuel light now lit up and virtually impossible to miss. Perhaps it’s a bit of target fixation on my part, but few things make me as nervous as the reserve fuel light being on when I’m riding the Duc. To be fair it’s never let me down, I just don’t trust it and I guess I’ve just come to question certain aspects of Italian engineering. Do they go fast - yes. Do they perform well when you ride them for sport - absolutely. But are they built like a BMW - not at all.
After passing a half dozen wineries and dealing with some less than stellar pot-holed parts of the road we came to the intersection of Foxen Canyon and Palmer Road. I hung a left on to Palmer and headed West. This sent us back towards the 101 once again. I had originally planned to have us continue up Foxen until we entered the Eastern side of the city of Santa Maria and have us gas up there. Then I thought we’d head back down South on the 101 so that we could pick up Palmer Road and get back to Foxen for the return trip home. Now what had been planned as the flipside of the trip was becoming our safety value to fuel! Palmer as it turned out was another hoot of a road to ride - but surprisingly slightly different than Foxen even though they’re so close to each other.
Instead of feeling like the almost endless collection of sweepers that rise and fall in elevation on Foxen Canyon, Palmer seemed to hold longer straight aways and higher elevation changes when you hit the corners. It’s a pretty short ride, but in many ways it felt a great deal faster. At one point I looked down and I was doing eighty-five without even knowing it or even trying… Eventually Palmer intersected the 101 - which to my surprise was now a two-lane road. I guess it’s been awhile since I had been this far North and not on Interstate-5.
For some reason I had thought that the more country-road part of the 101 was above Santa Maria, not below it. As it turns out it starts in San Ynez and stays that way all the way until just before Santa Maria. In either case getting on to the 101, we headed North in search of fuel. Luckily it was only a few miles before I saw a tall Chevron sign off in the distance and we were save - so to speak. By the time we hit the station we’d ridden around 125 miles on one tank which is an all-time record for either MotorMilt or myself. So perhaps being that far out in the middle of no-man’s land taught us a bit more about the bikes…
After filling up three or four different people came up to us to ask about the bikes. I have to say it’s one of the unique things about the 999. Not everyone knows what they are, but for some reason they know they’re fast and they’re special. One guy came up to ask if he could take a cell phone picture of the bikes for his buddy. Now that’s a new one for me but hey what the hell… I guess the part that surprises me is not that people have reactions to them. I’m sure a lot of people have reactions - both good and bad - to motorcycles in general when they see them out on the road. But these are the first bikes I’ve ever owned or seen that illicit people to actively engage you in order to talk about them. One older couple came up to us and just wanted to know if they were loud. Another guy walked up and told us that he owned a Goldwing. A third guy just gave a thumbs up from his car. All within five minutes in the same gas station parking lot. Go figure.
Before we got back on the bikes Milt and I had a quick chat about our location. I could tell at this point that we were both starting to hit the lengthy ride wall. I would have had no qualms at this point had this been day 1 of a week long adventure and we were only a few miles away from our hotel for the night, but instead we were now several hundred miles away from home. Knowing all of this we started talking about how to get home. As I mentioned earlier I had sort of planned it out, but perhaps not as well as I should have. This was much more about getting up the coast than getting back down… Now as it turns out Santa Maria sits only a couple of miles away from Route 166 which you can take east to the Northern entrance of Route 33 as a way to get back down South to Ojai. Having ridden it a couple of times, it’s a pretty lengthy ride although usually traffic free and fairly wide open for higher speeds. All told it’s probably 100 to a 120 miles to get back to Ojai that way. Great ride, but just very lengthy. Taking the 101 South to Route 154 and then getting back on the 101 South in Santa Barbara again is a significantly shorter ride and at this point shorter seemed to sound better. I would say that this is where MotorMilt & I probably made our second strategic mistake of the day. We went for the shorter ride instead of thinking about how long we’d been on the bike and what they ment for traffic.
Heading down the 101 past Solvang ( where a very cool motorcycle museums resides ) we hit our first batch of traffic. This probably should have been a sign of things to come, but we ignored it and powered on towards Santa Barbara and Montecito. At this point the new found power of the broken in 999 was worthless and things were starting to get pretty hot under the seat. These bikes just aren’t designed for stop and go. Unless they’re rolling along at sixty or above they just don’t dig it. You can call it a racetrack oriented design or character or just plain hot when you’re stuck on a non-moving freeway. Eventually we navigated our way through Santa Barbara and decided to stop in Montecito for a late lunch.
After lunch is when everything went absolutely crazy. The 101 as it turns out was completely backed up heading out of Santa Barbara - then for brief stretches opened up - and the almost completely suddenly would shut back down to a crawl. By the time we got back to Ventura I thought the worst had to be behind us because from this point forward the 101 has 4 lanes, but as it turns out I was completely wrong. There was traffic everywhere. And it was the kind of late weekend traffic that seems bring out the nuttiness in people. Lane changes without looking. No turn signals. Late braking. I felt like I was stuck in a bad Drivers Ed video production. It almost felt like absolute chaos. So when we hit the PCH and found it to be relatively free of traffic around Point Magu, I was overjoyed. Finally I thought, ‘we can relax a bit’… Again, I was completely mistaken. Turns out in Malibu there was a pretty serious accident. Multiple ambulances and cars facing the wrong direction on the other side of the road. Big mess. Cars were backed up for miles. Luckily - if you can call it that - we must have hit the scene relatively soon after it happened because by the end of the day the PCH was apparently backed up all the way back the 101. That’s like 30 miles. ( I wasn’t there obviously, but this is what I heard fwiw)…
So by the time we got home I felt in many ways lucky to be alive. We had been out on the bikes for over 12 hours over the course of the day. That’s definitely an all-time record for MotorMilt and I. We had ridden somewhere around 340 miles - I think perhaps even a touch more. Again an all-time record for us. We had been out in no-man’s land, carving corners on curvy twisty roads, fighting rush hour traffic, and seeing so much of California. All in one day on the sportiest sportbikes either one of us has ever owned. It was just absolutely amazing.
Forgetting all the late afternoon chaos, I have to say that this was simply one of those wonderful rides that felt almost completely unreal. As if it just couldn’t possible have happened. It should have been to long and to far. Instead it was just right. If could have removed the traffic issues at the end of the day it would have be absolutely perfect, but even with them it was still an amazing adventure that just went on and on and on. Perhaps most remarkable was the fact that after getting out of the BMW sport-touring game I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to experience that type of riding again while owning a 999 and yet I did. By the end of the day I felt rather beat physically, but emotional it was amazing. To get that far north and feel so much freedom was remarkable. I wish I could bottle that feeling and save it for the rest of the week. By the time the day wrapped up I felt like every issue, every worry, every part of life that I can’t control had vanished because of the sheer power of the ride and the amount of focus it takes to do it safely.
All told this has been one insanely amazing collection of rides for me lately. By my rough count I’ve put around 900 miles on the new Diva over just a ten day stretch. During which I’ve covered the greater LA basin from it’s far Northwestern corner all the way to it’s Eastern Mountain range and a whole bunch of canyons in between. I’ve had the chance to stop at some of the most amazing motorcycle hangouts I can think of - Newcomb’s, The Rockstore and The Cold Spring Tavern - and I’ve had a ton of time to get lost in such a wonderfully good way. And to think early last week I had no idea this was going to happen but in a fantastically organic way it just did and I feel so thankful for that… All I can say is just ‘WOW’….
Sunday’s Sport-Touring Sportbike Ride - Part 1
Sunday morning I woke up around 5:15 AM and I had never even set the alarm clock the night before. Even though it was still dark outside I just knew from the moment I got up that I felt immediately ready to hit the road. It was just one of those morning when you have no need for luxories like coffee or breakfast, you just want to get going. I’m sure this instant desire to get out and ride was in no small part due to a conversation that MotorMilt and I had the previous evening over dinner. Somehow we had both gotten it stuck in our minds that we not only wanted to ride the next morning, but we needed to ride. We needed some stress-free hours on the bike. Not just some fantastic loop through the canyons mind you, but something larger. Something with a little bit more adventure. Maybe even something with a little bit of that unknown wonder that only a road you’ve never traveled can provide.
So Saturday evening I spent a couple hours look at maps and surfing the web. I spent a good hour checking out the often referenced but never equaled Pashnit.com in the hopes of finding a new exciting place to visit. At some point Pashnit bounced me over to SBC-Rides, which it turns out changed my Sunday considerably by opening my eyes to a whole new assortment of roads and route through the Santa Barbara area… So to be honest I wasn’t shocked when I woke Sunday morning in a rush to ride. I already knew it was going to be a grand adventure sort of day… The only person who didn’t was Milt.
Less than an hour after waking up, both MotorMilt and I hit the beginning of the Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica. So at roughly 6:30 AM we were already a good fifteen to twenty miles up the coast. By then it was obvious that this was going to be a special day. There was no traffic at that hour. No signs of life actually. It was just blissful being alone on the road that early on a Sunday morning.
Around 7:00 AM we made our first stop of the day at the Starbucks in Malibu, just north of Zuma Beach. At that hour on a Sunday it’s a rather odd crowd that gathers there. Generally speaking a large portion of patrons look either completely hung over from the night before, still extremely wired or so out of it that they’re completely lost. In the first of a series of odd conversations during the course of the day, another rider who was on an Aprilla came up to us while we were sitting outside drinking our first cups of coffee and asked us if it would be alright for him to go look at our bikes in the parking lot. Not to be to sarcastic but when did you have to ask someone if you could do that?
A few minutes later we got back on the bikes and continued to head up the coast, taking the PCH all the way up past Point Magu Naval Base and through the two towering rock formations. At that point none of the early morning fog had burned off yet so even though the incredibly efficient Italian seat heaters had kicked in both MotorMilt & I were freezing our asses off. It’s amazing to me that after all this time riding up and down the coast neither one of us has seemed to grasped that we both much prefer riding when we’re too hot then when we’re too cold. And of course once again we had both forgotten either the top or bottom set of thermals. Go figure.
So when we hit the city of Ventura about half hour later we didn’t want to stop, we had to stop. Just to defrost. It was right around then that Milt first gazed over at me as I was toying around with a small photocopied section of a pocket map and asked where we were headed. In retrospect I suppose I could have been more forthcoming, but instead I just sort offered some off-handed nameless road above Ojai. I don’t know if MotorMilt was completely awake at that point or not, but this rather vague answer seemed good enough for him. So while I wasn’t really trying to lie, I also wasn’t sure that I wanted him to know just how far up the coast I was planning on taking us…
See. the previous evening while looking up roads on the internet I came to the unfortunate conclusion that after riding The Santa Monica Mountains almost exclusively for the past several years there just aren’t any local roads that we’ve have never ridden. All the close ones have been done repeatedly, weekend after weekend. Part of me smiled when I realized that, yet on the other hand there’s something magical about trying out a new road for the first time before you know whether or not you enjoy it. Perhaps it’s the most quintessential of motorcycle experiences when you’re coming up to a fresh corner and know nothing about where it leads. There’s some kind of freedom in that kind of moment when you don’t know where the road is going but you’ve already made the choice to head down it anyway… So with that in mind, this was the magical route for the days adventure…
The 12 Hour Sport-Touring Ride On A Sportbike Route
Approx: 340 miles and about 12 hoursTook the Pacific Coast Highway North to The 101 North at Oxnard From the 101 North shot up to the lower portion of Route 33 towards Ojai Popped up Route 150 and went around Lake Casitas From 150 took the Caltrans Detour to Route 192 North Took 192 from Carpinteria all the way around the backside of Santa Barbara, until we hit Route 154 Took Route 154 North towards Santa Maria Just outside of Los Olivos, took a right on to Foxen Canyon Road Took Foxen Canyon for roughly 25 miles before eventually taking a Left on Palmer Road Palmer eventually intersects the 101, Took that North to Santa Maria Turned around after gassing up in Santa Maria and took the 101 South Just outside of Los Olivos we picked up Route 154 South bound Took 154 all the way back to Santa Barbara Got on the 101 South and then the Pacific Coast Highway (Route 1) South back to The Westside of LA
After we leaving the city of Ventura, we shot up the 101 for a few miles before I motioned for MotorMilt to follow me off the freeway and on to the beginning of Route 33. Part of me had thought about simply taking Route 33 all the way above Ojai and into the foothills of the Central Valley, but seeing as how MotorMilt and I have done that on a number of occasions and I was jonesing for something new, I shook that thought off and simply used 33 to get us to Route 150.
As I’ve come to learn over the course of my riding adulthood roads that wrap themselves around bodies of water are almost always a blast and Route 150 doesn’t disappoint. Hugging the outskirts of Lake Casitas, 150 starts out relatively softly running you through what feels like the California countryside, but suddenly shoots straight up what feels like the one lone mountain that separates the Ojai Valley from Carpenteria. While not the tightest collection of turns, it’s one of those roads that has a tremendous amount of visibility through almost every corner which enables you to really set yourself up nicely at each entrance.
It was somewhere towards the middle of 150 that it occurred to me that the reason that I so greatly enjoy the Ojai Valley is because it truly reminds me of the East Bay of Northern California. For some reason the topography just strikes such a similar chord with me that every time I’m up that way I feel almost teleported back to my youth. Odd how such completely different areas can feel so connected.
Usually we’d take 150 straight into Carpenteria, but every since the winter rainy season the final few miles of 150 have been shut-down. What had been a nifty side road that connects 150 to Route 192 is now the only way to get back to the coast and into the Santa Barbara region. If you look at the map above you’ll notice that starting in Carpenteria the 1 and the 101 merge together and it stays that way until you’re fairly high above the city of Santa Barbara. Technically the city of Santa Barbara has roughly 90,000 residents, however because it’s Santa Barbara there’s a pretty decent sized workforce and the combined 1/101 is basically the only way in or out going either north or south. Having taken the combined 1/101 several times on a bike and in a car I had no real desire to spend my Sunday morning dealing with it’s high level of traffic, so instead MotorMilt and I continued on up Route 192. It was the first road of the day that neither one of us had ever been on and it turned out to be absolutely amazing…
Starting in Carpenteria, Route 192 works its way up and around the backside of Montecito and Santa Barbara for roughly thirty miles. It’s a sneaky set of roadway that snakes itself past amazing vistas, seriously impressive mega-mansions and small chunks of what feels like the ‘real Santa Barbara’ - not the tourist traps. Since it was early the traffic was still relatively light and that let us swing around corners probably a bit faster than you could once there was more residential traffic on the road. Had it been later and we had to dial it back it would have been an absolute shame. The road just carries you from start to finish with a gigantic smile on your face. How can it not? There are just so many wonderful corners that swing you up and down and side to side and then just as you think the road is drying up, it starts all over again and this swinging sensation repeats itself in such a timeless manor that once you reach the end of the road you feel almost cheated because it stopped to soon.
Somewhere towards the end of Route 192 was when I first realized that I just about to full break in my 999. 1,500 miles had come and gone in lightning quick fashion it seemed and as we started to make the switch from Route 192 to Route 154 - commonly referred to as the San Marcos Pass - it began to dawn on me that I could finally open the bike all the way up.
Rolling on the throttle for the first time my immediate reaction was WOW, this thing is truly a one-of-a-kind rocketship… With the throttle kicked open, the bike just fires forward, right around 7.5k the audible magic of a Ducati becomes entirely apparently to everyone around no matter how much insulation their cars or trucks have. The whole experience just dramatically changes. It’s almost like going from just a passenger on top of the bike to a visceral participant with the bike… Now, maybe it’s just that I’ve been away from a fully broken in bike for awhile now or maybe it was just the kind of day I was having, but the minute I slowly started opening the bike up it just took off. Like never before. More rocketship than I have ever known. Trying not to either kill myself or get a record breaking ticket this early in the morning, I quickly dialed it back before my next most instance reaction hit. ‘Wow, finally, time for another trackday’…. It took me a few minutes to come to grips with the fact that here I was loosing myself during an amazingly pleasurable sport-touring kind of day and yet I was already fantasizing about being somewhere else and getting out on a track again. Amazing how that can happen once you’re jazzed about something…
The San Marcos Pass as it turns out happens to be a pretty decent road to let the bike run itself out on… It’s another roughly thirty mile stretch, which connects the Northern edge of Santa Barbara with a town called Los Olivos yet its claim to fame is that it runs right over the top of the Santa Ynez Mountains. As roads go this one has a pretty interesting history. The route was first used by the Indians and later named for a monk named Fr. Marcos Amestoy who supervised the building of a mission dam, waterworks and filter house between 1804 and 1813. The road stayed in Spanish hands until a Col. John Fremont (as in Fremont, California) marched his troops over the pass in 1846. From that point forward the route became a legendary stagecoach location - including being used by the Wells Fargo Stagecoach Express. Originally the route took 8 hours to tranverse, but in the 1960’s a more mainstream freeway straightened out a great number of the curves and now the trip can take a mere half-hour. If you’re interested Santa Barbara Lifestyles has a more complete history available on their website.
MotorMilt and I had ridden the San Marcos Pass a couple of times before - all of which I believe were on Beemers. This trip was absolutely nothing like those previous adventures. First and foremost because we were just approaching somewhere around 11 AM and the local police enforcement hadn’t come out to spoil the near freeway like speeds that were going on. Secondly the sun was finally starting to break and suddenly I went from feeling pretty cold to almost instantly feeling flush with warmth and loose. Sliding in the saddle just magically felt easier and smoother. Finally because as we hit the summit of the pass, we were pretty close to the Cold Spring Tavern. The Tavern is one of those great almost hidden treasures of a resting stop. Founded in the 1860’s, the place has a rather checkered past - reportedly housing gamblers and unsavory types for quite sometime before turning into a rather upscale restaurant later in life. Nowadays it gives both The Rockstore and Newcomb’s Ranch a run for their money for top billing as best biker bar hangout for Southern California. I strongly encourage anyone who heads through the Santa Barbara region to find the time to stop and check the joint out. It’s really worth the stop.
After we had a quick bite at the Tavern, MotorMilt and I continued to head up North. At this point I think Milt was starting to get a bit suspicious about where we were headed exactly, but he went along with it anyway. That turned out to be a great thing because when we got off the bikes in Los Olivos and I had a chance to check my notes from the previous nights’ internet adventures, I made sure that we wouldn’t miss what in many ways was the road I had wanted to find from the outset of the morning, Foxen Canyon Road…. Part II Tomorrow…
update: To Read Part II, click here.
1 Year Later… The best rides
Sunday MotorMilt & I did a monster 340 mile loop, which took us from LA all the way up the coast to Oxnard, over the southern tip of the San Rafael Mountains, through Santa Barbara and Montecito, over the Southwestern edge of the Santa Ynez Mountains, through Los Olivos and eventually into winery laden backcountry roads of the Western Los Padres National Forest. It was a hell of a ride. Perhaps our first sport-touring experience on sportbikes… I’ve diligently been working on a write up and I had hoped to have it finished this evening, but the sheer breadth of the places, people, vistas and roads that we were able to experience have managed to slow the process down just a bit… A full ride entry is coming shortly…
A teaser from Foxen Canyon in the heart of Santa Barbara Wine Country
While on the ride and while working on the entry afterward, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time thinking about Twisting Asphalt. Really ever since I realized that I had been doing this for over a year now I’ve been struck by several things; the most important of which is how much fun its been. I’ve also been struck by the sheer volume of posts over the past year. Some are as fun to read now as the day I wrote them. Other however are less stellar. Subsequently I’ve decided to do some spring cleaning and delete some of the less noteworthy posts.
I’ve also upgraded my Wordpress blogging software which necessitated a small site redesign. That of course morphed from a small update into a complete site overhaul. According to the website logs the vast majority of readers use an RSS feed reader so I suspect few of them will notice the change.
For those of you who visit the actual site regularly things have moved around a bit. As you’ll notice I’ve relocated a number of items to a new menu underneath the header image. Hopefully this will make it easier to find the various parts of the blog. You’ll also notice that some of the post categories have changed. From what I can tell from the website logs it doesn’t appear that many people actually use the broken down categories in the blog sidebar – so I thought that perhaps there was a slightly better way to organize them hence the simplification of the various categories. I’ve also added a category called top rides as a way to highlight various rides and posts that I think are the most interesting or enjoyable.
During the past several days I spent sometime re-reading the blog and during that time I came up with a handful of what I consider to the best or more interesting riding posts over the course of the past year… I had started with the idea of a top ten best ride posts… Somehow that list got a bit longer…
May 20th, 2004:The Lost Coast Expedition of 2004
This was one of the first blog entries about riding that I ever wrote for Twisting Asphalt and whenever I think back about some of my more memorable rides, this particular adventure always rises to the top of the list. I guess 1,200 miles up the California coastline in just under week tends to stick in your mind for quite sometime.
May 27th, 2004:Sunride on a Thursday
It was during the great Lost Coast trip, after a particularly sporty and engaging day that I first brought up the idea of picking up a liter bike to MotorMilt. Never being the types to shy away from making decisions, it was only a week later that we dove into the world of the Ducatistia. This post was written early in the morning on the day we went to pick up our first pair of Ducs.
July 24th, 2004:The Duc Heads North : Route 33
Having a weekend to myself, I ventured up past Ojai, California and hit the magical Route 33 on my first decent length adventure on a Ducati Sportbike. 230 miles later I was physically beat up, but one hell of a happy camper. This post was also memorable as it was one of the first really good uses of my Canon SD-10 digital camera. Some really cool picts imho.
July 24th, 2004:Stolen Ducs - Update
On one of my darkest days the only place I could turn was the blog… This is a point by point chronicle of the first 8 hours after we came home to find that the bikes were missing.
September 18th, 2004:Ikes in The White House & All is well
After a month of screwing around with State Farm, MotorMilt and I were finally able to settle and get back into a pair of bikes. Along the way I came to realize that I had fallen in love with the Ducati sensibility. On this day I wrote;
My heart simply was no longer in the ‘S’ and it was time to move on. If this is starting to sound all together to similar to a relationship, I suspect that’s because for me that’s what riding and owning a motorcycle has become. In so many ways it has become part of me, my identity, my idle thoughts, my vacations, my relaxation, and my soul. Sometimes I think that might not be such a good thing, but then on days like today I’m reminded that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay profess your admiration to an inanimate object because the minute that I fired over the 999 for the first time the most amazing feeling took a hold of me.
September 25th, 2004:Early Morning Skies and Way Back Memories.
A week later I wrote one of my lengthiest posts which chronicled my evolution through different bikes and about my emotional guilt every time I handed over the keys from a previous bike.
November 26th, 2004:My Kind of Thanksgiving
When all of society is hanging out with their families, it’s amazing how empty the roads can be… This is one of my favorite posts and one of my favorite set of pictures of the yellow 999.
December 5th, 2004:What’s An Extra 1,000 RPMs Worth?
Some of my favorite canyon pictures… And one of my favorite opening to any post;
When I die, I want to be reincarnated as a 999.
Just give me an open road with lots of curves and no traffic and I promise I’ll be a happy camper. The 999 is just that damn special. That amazing, really… At various parts of our ride today I not only stood in awe of what this bike can do but felt simply amazed at the opportunity to ride it.
December 24th, 2004:A Magnificent Morning
Re-reading this post I’m amazing at how much I enjoyed reliving the ride once again… Some beautiful picts too.
December 26th, 2004:A Glorious Christmas Ride.
The following day, MotorMilt & I went on one of our longest rides up to this point on the Ducs and I got introduced to the amazing Route 23… A fantastic ride, a very enjoyable post (for me anyway) and unequivocally some of the best pictures I’ve ever taken.
March 12th, 2005:A Needed Unwinding
This was a very normal ride for MotorMilt & I… One that I hate to say had run together with so many others before I went back to re-read my previous entries… It was only then that I saw one of the better things I believe I’ve written in the blog;
While swinging around a rather decent sweeper on Encinal Canyon this morning about halfway through the ride I was struck by the thought that over the course of my life the word ‘relaxation’ has continued to evolve in its meaning. Almost to a point where sometimes I think it seems like an organic concept, not a definition in a book. Originally relaxing seemed like such a simple idea - have a day off, go do something you enjoy and feel refreshed afterward. Yet these days, as more and more of ‘the real world’ creeps its way into my personal time, I find it harder and harder to just lose myself and feel mellow when I’m not at work. Perhaps that’s just growing up, I don’t know. When MotorMilt and I were headed up the PCH this morning at the start of our ride I was having a bitch of a time finding a way to let go of all that other stuff… And of course its funny how a motorcycle picks up on your vibe, if you feel a little bit tense the bike suddenly feels that tension and begins to act out which in turn makes you feel even more tense then you were when you started. In many ways it becomes a stackable issue, one thing building on the last. Yet as we got further and further away from the city, the more I found a peaceful groove. By the time we hit the deli for breakfast even though the skies were still covered in a big gray mess of moody clouds, I felt pretty good… Thankfully that carried over to the ride home. I found the journey back an absolute blast. Had you asked me while MotorMilt and I were mounting up on the Ducs at the Agoura Deli in all honesty I probably wouldn’t have thought that a ride back on a cloudy day like today could be so rewarding. For that brief hour or so, everything just felt locked in. Not in a ‘zone’ sort of way, but rather in an at peace with life sort of way.
April 1st, 2005:Trackday : The Adventure Continues
Of course you knew that I’d put my first track day on a Ducati on the list, right? This is a mixed blessing type of blog entry, it was a hell of a day that I will treasure of quite sometime yet it was also the day that yellow 999 first sprung an oil leak. As you can see from the entry I really had no idea how problematic that would become…
May 11th, 2005:Dawn of A New Ducati
I thought about placing the blog entry from the day the yellow diva died next, but to be honest that still bums me out a great deal. So I thought I’d just skip ahead to the good part, getting a new duc! One of my favorite posts, hands down. Also some nice picts and one that I especially dig that MotorMilt took from the front seat of the truck while I was riding next to him on the freeway…
May 13h, 2005:Second Ride : A Santa Paula Loop
A great day of riding which was followed by one of my better posts. Some fun picts too. Oddly I really enjoy the picture of the CalTrans temporary stoplight. Don’t ask me why.
June 20th, 2005:A Day of Days (&Video!)
I have to say that this one is still fresh in my mind, so it’s relatively easy to pick as a great ride and decent entry… Memorable because it was my time out with the helmet camera and frankly because it was just one of those days that just felt endless in both beauty and enjoyment. The kind of day you really want to repeat again and again and again…
June 23th, 2005:A 1 Year Celebration : The Angeles Crest
I had to put this ride on the list. It was just to amazing not to bring back up. 260 miles of pure bliss on a motorcycle. It had roads I knew, roads I’d never been and scenic vistas that just took your breath away…
The End of Summer
Yesterday was the first day this riding season that I had to check the weather forecast. Got up and took a peek outside my window - as I always do - and saw a white sheet of fog hanging outside my window. Luckily for MotorMilt & I weather.com claimed that Malibu would have a temp between 60 and 80 degrees, so even though it was a bit misty it would eventually burn off. Now I’m not sure how other folks treat inclimate weather, but I often find myself torn at the idea of damp riding. On one hand I quite enjoy the lack of traffic that comes along with it and after my experience at The CLASS course at Leguna Seca in the rain I feel much more comfortable riding when the weather isn’t ideal. On the other hand so much of the way that Milt & I ride is base on maximizing the variables - tire grip, dirt in the road, visability, etc. - that I know if it rains I won’t be able to hit the canyons as hard as I can when it’s dry. So it always seems like this toss up. And frankly I guess with all the switching around going on with the bikes it never dawned on me that I’d have to find a comfort level for riding the Ducati in less than ideal conditions. So chaulk that one up for soon to be new experiences.
Once we hit the road, I realized that it turned into one of those classic southern california days where the temperature by the ocean was a good 10 to 15 degrees cooler than the canyons. It was probably the first time that having an Italian butt heater worked out pretty well. We ended up taking Latigo Canyon across from the PCH to Kanan Road. Now normally we always take Latigo in the opposite direction, from Kanan Road to the PCH. It’s funny how by going the opposite direction a road that I’ve ridden a hundred times sudden felt brand new. Every turn was a surprise and a challange. Very cool. There’s something to be said about learning your road or your track, but there’s also something refreshingly addictive about new surroundings and places to travel. One of the disadvantages of Saturday’s post is that it made me realize that I’ve been riding the canyons for awhile now and fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, have ridden all the good roads throughout the santa monica mountains. So I found it quite exciting to have that edge of the unknown crawling up my spine as I was riding yesterday. I guess every so often you need a jolt.
Here’s a description of Latigo Canyon from the MullhullandRaceway. Org website:
Latigo Canyon Rd: Perfect 5 on our 5 scale!
Everybody loves Latigo Canyon Road. And, so do we. Latigo Canyon Rd is the quintessential canyon road for sports car drivers in the Santa Monica Mountains. 166 turns, exactly. Drives best as a hill climb, going inland from the beach. Tends to be rough in places. Despite it’s degree of technicality, unlike Yerba Buena, it’s so easy to drive. Best of all, it just seems to last forever. If that’s not enough, it’s right in the middle of the Santa Monica Mountains, in close proximity to so many other 5 star roads.
The only problem with Latigo is the right hand turn on to Kanan Rd. It’s not too difficult to take a caravan right onto Kanan, then left on to Mulholland, though. Plan carefully… traffic at Kanan & Latigo moves at 75 mph, plus, so make sure all your people know to use liberal throttle accelerating onto Kanan from Latigo.
Now I don’t know if it really has 166 turns, but it has a lot. I find it an interesting route to take because when it starts out at the ocean it’s a bummy mess of a road. Then you get to a small residentual section that’s way up in the hills. As a side note, everytime I shoot past these houses I always wonder on one hand how cool it would be to live right on one of the great SoCal motorcycle roads and then on the other hand I think to myself ‘gee buying groceries would be a monumental pain around here’, go figure. Once you get past the houses, the road really opens up into this wonderful cacophony of twists and turns. It seems like every mile you’re hit with a half dozen different left-right-left combinations. A couple of monster sweepers are thrown in for good effect too. Riding it always reminds me of that old Disneyland expression, ‘it’s an e-ticket ride’.
The Lost Coast Expedition of 2004
The Lost Coast Ride… 2004… What follows is as brief a description of our travels as I could manage. It was perhaps the greatest motorcycle ride I’ve ever been on and most definitely the best vacation I’ve ever had!
Day 1: LA to Morro Bay
The first day of our trip started out on a gloriously sunny California day heading up the Pacific Coast Highway (also called Route 1 or the “PCH” for short), traffic was light and the sunlight hitting the coastline was just magnificent. It was a “bay watch” sort of morning when anything felt possible. And then we hit the end of what I consider to be the southern cal part of route one - Point Magu Naval Base. If you have ever seen the end to “The Two Jakes” - the less than stellar sequel to “Chinatown” - then you’ve seen the last hard right hand corner before the PCH slides into a northeastern curvature until you find yourself winding your way through the beginning of Ventura County’s farmlands.
It’s sudden and shocking transformation. For the last forty or so miles it’s nothing but beautiful beach front property and then over the course of one Navel Base and a hard right hand turn it’s nothing but migrant workers and crops. Greens and browns bounce all around you.
Once the first farmland tour is over, then it’s the North bound 101 Freeway, which happens to also be route one. It’s a rather boring bit of asphalt, but it takes you up, up and away. Towards the most glorious coastline in California and I would offer the United States. At some point you realize that you’re heading to Santa Barbara. Since we’ve taken the 101 here several times previously on the bikes, this trip we opted to take Highway 154 - commonly called “The San Marcos Pass” - which cuts out part of the 101 and instead introduces you parts of the Santa Barbara Mountains. At first it’s a very winding road, nice sweepers and sudden curves.
Slowly the curves fade away until what is left is an outright super speedway trapped in a mountain road. Eventually Highway 154 cuts past the outskirts of San Ynez and then eventually reconnects with the 101. Here’s a link to Pashnit.com’s write up of Highway 154.
We decided to stopped for lunch at about the halfway point on Highway 154 based on a recommendation from Mad Maps. They’re awesome motorcycle based maps suggested a joint called The Cold Spring Tavern - a delightful road house if I’ve ever seen one - I highly recommend it and the chili - it’s a cross between LA’s “The Rockstore” and “The Saddlepeak Lodge”, two of my favorite LA spots, so I felt right at home. Although I have to say it had a substantially better wine list.
Once lunch was over we finished the fun part of 154 and got on the 101 again, until we reached Pismo Beach - another of California’s golden locals - then eventually San Luis Obispo. SLO as many norcal’ers call it is a nice spot - very collegiate, but decent enough - What makes it sparkle in my mind is that it sits less than 20 miles from perhaps the greatest Californian destination spot - and my personal relaxation mecca - Morro Bay.
Spanish explorer Juan Cabrillo was the first non-native American to find Morro Bay. He saw the giant rock and one of California’s few coastline accessible protected harbors. Once the Spanish left, quarrying became the big industry - one that dramatically changed the face of the big rock itself. This was just the first of several reincarnations for the area. Once the quarries died out, fishing became the big business. Eventually that too dried up and in the late eighties tourism took over. Lucky for me I guess - because Morro Bay has always felt like a home away from home for me. I’ve now been there on the bike probably a half dozen times, with no regrets or feelings of been there done that. It’s just a wonderful place where the sea hits the shore with a sound of solitude. Life there moves slow, but not in millimeters and it’s always quiet. It’s the kind of place that would make a writer feel right at home. And it’s the only place I know of where the fog is beautiful not annoying!
Day 2: Morro Bay to San Francisco
Waking up to seagulls always makes me smile and a morning at The Inn at Morro Bay doesn’t disappoint. It’s just you, the bikes, the birds, the slowly sauntering and the road. Ah, and what a road. This is the best of the PCH. From Morro Bay until Carmel is about 120 miles of the most pristine coastline that exists.
About forty miles from Morro Bay stands Hearst Castle and as you glide by on a bike you realize that Hearst might have been a jackass, but he knew a great local when he saw one. We didn’t stop for the tour, but it is routinely considered one of the better tourist traps in California.
On our first several trips up the coast Carmel was the end - slowly over time as we’ve fallen in love with long distance riding up the coast we’ve pushed it further and further. This trip was the most extreme example because what once was a 150 mile day turned into a 300+ mile day.
We followed route 1 in several iterations from Carmel to Monterey to Watsonville and then to Santa Cruz. Stopping in SC for lunch was quite a thing. I hadn’t been there since I was a kid, but the downtown is a bustle of life with no parking. None.
After lunch we headed up for the next grad adventure - the Santa Cruz Mountains. A wonderful stretch of twists and turns through a grand mountain range.
This is not only a great collection of roads (we took route 9 to route 236, which loops back to route 9, then hung a left on route 34, commonly referred to as Skyline Boulevard - a brilliant stretch of twisties that passes by Alice’s Restaurant - one of the definitive biker hangouts in Nor Cal.
Once we finished tearing up the Santa Cruz Mountains we popped back on to the freeway and headed into San Francisco. As fate would have it we arrived to some of the best weather I’ve ever seen in SF proper. The crowds were starting to shuffle into PacBell as we crossed over on to the city streets. A glorious day of riding finally came to an end as we pulled into another one of my favorite hotels, The Park Hyatt near the financial district.
Milt and I in Golden Gate Park:
Day 3: San Francisco to Mendocino
After a great night out in North Beach with my friends Kaveh, Carrie and Erica, we headed up to The Lost Coast ? the great stretch of route 1 above Marin County (the famed home of George Lucas’s empire).
In many ways this particular part of the trip was the impetus for the entire trip. Neither Milt nor I had ever done The Lost Coast and according to everything we had ever read it was supposed to be a great ride. Unfortunately what I came to realize is that while it was a wonderful day and beautiful scenery, the road itself lacked any true excitement for me.
Touring for tourings sake is not exactly my cup of tea - I’m much more interested in fun rides that are length. And when I say fun, I mean twisting, rising, diving, turning, curving, sudden breaking, hard accelerating, joyous symphonies of concrete and asphalt. Not 15 MPH traffic filled tourist traps and long dull straight aways with no place to safely pass.
Motorcycle journalist Clement Salvadori wrote in his guide book to Californian roads, “Motorcycle Journeys Through California” that, “this is one of the great rides in California, if not the world… The ocean is backed by the Coastal Range of low mountains, and dashing in and out of the many valleys is downright good fun… You could do the whole stretch from the Golden Gate Bridge to Leggett in one long day, but [that] would be about as bright as buying a $150 bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label and mixing it with Coke. Savor this ride”.
While I generally agree with most Clements’ observations in his book, in this particular case I have to disagree. Compared to The Santa Cruz Mountains, The Santa Monica Mountains, or even the inland ranch filled route 25 (I’ll get to that later, I promise!) this is one big, long dull ride. Great pictures, little chance to lean the bike over and let go of life for a while. A very different kind of riding - for me at least.
We wrapped up the day in Mendocino, at a nice quaint Abe Lincoln styled hotel. Not a bad place, but not my style. I do however find the history of the area fascinating. Apparently no one knows for sure who founded Mendocino, but in the 1850s it was a bustling lumbering community (Milt & I saw plenty of lumber related eighteen wheelers here and it really slowed down traffic on a one lane, twisting 15 MPH coastline - basically it sucked - anyway I digress…). In fact the lumber produced in this area is responsible for much of early San Francisco. For the next fifty years Mendocino flourished, until Fort Bragg up the coast dead in 1911.This sent the city in a serious decline that lasted until after World War II. Basically in the late part of the twenty century artists settled up here to get some peace and quiet and eventually city dwellers found them a fun weekend escape. Soon tourism was booming and now it is the major industry. House prices in the area are obscene, ranging anywhere from the 500,000s to the 2.5 million range.
Day 4: Mendocino back to SF
Due to a bad tire gauge that resulted in low tire pressure, Day 4 started out with a change of plans. Instead of riding with 46 psi in my back tire, I had been running at 24 psi. On a track that would be ideal, on a long trip it’s a really, really bad idea.
So instead of heading back down the coast, we needed to find the shortest route possible to the nearest BMW dealership, which as it turned out was in Santa Rosa.
What was a bummer of a morning, worrying about my rear tire, turned into a great accident. Instead of taking route 1 back down the coast as we had planned we consulted our old trusty map and found route 128. Little did I know that it was yet another California’s superb motorcycle roads! Here’s a link to Pashnit.com’s page on route 128.
After the disappointment of the day before, route 128 turned me into a lost coast believer. It was just amazing. We shot through the base of the redwood forest at 75 MPH while the sun was rising and the most classic of light rays pierced their way through the tree tops. From an oil painter to a 3D artist, I don’t believe that anyone could ever capture the beauty of what we saw. I would have popped off the bike to take a picture, but the ride was even better than the sights! Every corner was hard, left, right, left, right, right, left, 180 degrees. No sweepers in sight. Just you and the forest doing battle. Ah what glory! If there is one road from up north that I wish I could copy and replicate down south, this would be it. It was that good.
Luckily for me when we arrived in Santa Rosa, Dennis, the manager of Santa Rosa BMW fit me in during the middle of some kind of local Santa Rosa parade (the shop was located on the parade route!) and set me up with new set of tires.
Day 5: San Francisco to Pismo Beach
We changed our plans early on day five, deciding not to stay at Morro Bay again - even though we love it - because we felt that Pismo Beach would be a more logical final destination for the trip. I say final destination because on trips like this the last stop for me is always the night before we head home. On the last official day I’m always starting to think about what waits for me back home, but on the day before I’m still focused on the trip and relaxing. And this particular day was no different. Matter of fact it had all sorts of adventure!
The day before while shooting the shit with Dennis and the gang at Santa Rosa BMW, they had told us about this great road called route 25. One fellow in the shop actually had pulled out a map and insisted that I let him show me where the road was because he swore that it was the best road to get to Paso Robbles from Nor Cal… And he was right.
Route 25 is akin to California Ranch styled living 50 years ago - lots of crazy lefts and right that you’re sure are there to keep the drunk ranchers awake after a hard night of drinking and because property lines must be all messed up. It’s a wonderful 70+ stretch of nothing but nothing and one amazingly great road!
Okay, so here’s the story… I for one always assume that I’m nailed everytime I see a cop. Natural habit from time spent growing up.
And on the usual roads Milt & I ride through the Mullhulland Canyons in LA, the cops don’t care who you are or what your story is, it’s just “license and registration please” and then “here’s your ticket”. And if I’m not the guy being pulled over, I’m watching it all happen to someone else. Some weekends are worse than others, but basically you’ve really got to get away from the usual motorcycle roads to find peace and quiet.
The only exception to this is when I get away from LA and head up the Coast towards SF on the PCH or one of the other wonderful roads up there. On day 5 of the trip, Milt and I were riding back from Santa Cruz and decided to make up some time after hitting route 25 on the western side of the central valley (great road btw, wish it was closer).
So we hoped on the 101 freeway for about 20 miles. Up where we were it’s two lanes in each direction with a weedy median about two lanes wide. The day we were coming back It was fairly windy and we were riding our BMW R1100S’, so both of us got in as serious a tuck as you can do on those bikes to get out of the elements.
Minutes later I see a cop fly by us in the opposite side of the freeway. Again, as I always do, I assume we’re nailed, so I start pulling over into the slow lane and dialing it back on the speedo to match the legal limit. Milt doesn’t pay any attention, he keeps let it out. By the time he looks up and back into his rearview mirrors he sees me pulling over on the shoulder. Still has no idea why. Finally once he stops and puts his kickstand down he see’s a california motorcyclists favorite friend, the highway patrol standing next to me.
While we’re watching Milt walk toward us, the cop asks me if I’m with him , I nod and start telling him we’re on our way home from a vacation. Cop listens to my whole story at which point he looks at me like I’m from outer space and asks me to remove my helmet. Yeah, that one had sliped my mind. I tell the story again, cop listens and asks for our licenses. Asks to see proof of our “motorcycle endorsement”. I pull mine out license and I guess by instinct hand over my registration. Only it’s out of date. Cop shakes his head, I assume the worst. He then says, “Come on, I know you’ve got the right one in there, just find it”… Cop then asks if we’re part of some motorcycle club - we both have matching leathers, it’s a father and son thing, so Milt pops off and says, “yeah, a club of two”. I shake my head, think to myself what the hell are you saying? Only the cop finds this amussing, hands back the licenses and says, “I know you were both well in excess of 80, but I don’t know for sure how much, so take it easy and have a safe trip home, we don’t want to see anyone get hurt” and then he lets us go.
Breathing a bit easier, we get back on the bikes and pull off at the next rest stop area - where after we arrive two different people who were driving cars come up to us and tell us that the same cop had given them tickets only a few miles before and they ask how much ours were for…
Moral of the story as I see it; make cop laugh, always remember to take off your helmet before looking like a jackass, anyone in a tucked position on a beemer is asking for trouble, and finally, mirrors are only valuable if you use them!
Day 6: Pismo Beach to Home
The last official day of the trip we headed home. Buzzing past bikes, cars and farmland for about 100 miles until we reached the top of the LA portion of the pacific coast highway. I toyed with the idea of popping into my usual canyons as a way to extend the clock, but decided after 1,200 miles I was ready to take a break. So this concluded the longest motorcycle trip I’ve ever taken, but perhaps the best one yet. It was just a glorious week alone with my thoughts during the day while on the bike and a wonderful father and son weeklong adventure off of the bikes! If I could only figure out how to get paid to ride a motorcycle all day long up and down the California coastline, I’d be a very happy camper. If there is a more diverse collection of scenic landscapes, I don’t know what they are. In one elongated state there are oceanfront vistas and John Ford farmland ranch westerns. Mountains and valleys, both of which span extreme heights and sea level lows. So much diversity it’s scary. After you seen such a wide canvass even the most novice rider has to be left wondering how much better it can get elsewhere in the world. I’ve been to the Alps and quite frankly I don’t think it compares. This is truly god’s country - the most majestic real world track I can imagine and it’s just a blast to ride, no matter which roads you take or which direction you’re heading… What a trip!
