Pictures, Trip Reports, Photo Links, etc.
The riders…
(front row, kneeling, Kel Williams and a Golden Retriever that really wanted to ride with us)
(second row, left to right: Leland Sheppard, Rick Corwine, Brian Soloway, Ralph McComb, George Hilsinger, Juan Goula, Harry Mitchell)
(third row, left to right: Sam Arquilla, David Sigsbee, Kevin Quosig)
(fourth row, left to right: Peter Noeth, Paul Elliot)
(fifth row, left to right: Tom Humphrey, Dean Williams, Lou Severson, Don Leitman, Rennie Glover, Roy Coss)
(sixth row: Revill Dunn)
And their steeds…
Attendees
| Name | Home City, State, Country | Bike Ridden |
| Sam Arquilla | Salinas, California | 1989 PC800 |
| Hugh Brown | Santa Rosa, California | 1994 PC800 |
| Joyce Calvert | San Francisco, California | strange looking four wheeled thing… |
| Charles J. Cervantes | Los Angeles, California | 1994 PC800 |
| Rick (Athos) Corwine | Chanhassen, Minnesota | 1995 PC800 |
| Jerry Coss | ???? | passenger with Roy |
| Roy Coss | Elk Grove, California | 1990 PC800 |
| Ben Crisologo | Los Angeles, California | 1995 PC800 |
| Revill Dunn | Austin (Center of the Universe), Texas | 1996 PC800 |
| Bruce Edenfield | Bend, Oregon | 1997 PC800 |
| Paul Elliot | San Jose, California | 1989 PC800 |
| Rennie Glover | Benicia, California | 1989 PC800 |
| Juan Goula | Fairbanks, Alaska | 1990 PC800 |
| Phil Grice | Carlsbad, California | 1994 PC800 |
| George Hilsinger | Yakima, Washington | 1997 PC800 |
| Thomas E. Humphrey II | Clayton, California | 1994 PC800 |
| Don Leitman | Hicksville, New York | ???? Concours |
| Ralph (Porthos) McComb | Long Beach, California | 2002 VFR |
| Harry Mitchell | Great Falls, Montana | 1995 PC800 |
| Peter Noeth | Rocklin, California | 1996 PC800 |
| Kevin Quosig | San Leandro, California | 1996 PC800 |
| Lou Severson | San Diego, California | 1990 PC800 |
| David Sigsbee | Memphis, Tennessee | 1994 PC800 |
| Leland C. Sheppard | Placerville, California | 1989 PC800 |
| E. Brian (Artemus) Soloway | Warrenton, Virginia | 1996 VFR |
| Edward Wahl | East Palo Alto, California | 1998 PC800 |
| Bob Walton | Milwaukie, Oregon | 1994 PC800 |
| Dean Williams | Springfield, Oregon | 1998 PC800 – damn strange color, though |
| Jerry Williams | Thousand Oaks, California | 2001? Big Blue Wing Thing |
| Kel Williams | Cottage Grove, Oregon | 1999 BMW 1200C |
| Bob Wood | Stanton, California | 1997 PC800 |
| Chuck ?? | Thousand Oaks, California | ???? Yamaha YZ1? |
| 32 people | 30 bikes, 24 PC800s |
Dean William’s Trip Report
Hi, all... What a great ride! Was grand to see all the folks who turned out at Eureka, and who joined up later on down the coast, while it was also a bit sad that not EVERYBODY could be there. Trust that you missed another wonderful wander down the coast. We had a group of 5 make the ride down to Eureka from Springfield, Oregon on Sunday. My brother and I, George Hilsinger, Bruce Edenfield and Juan Goula all joined up and rode down together. Had rain for the first couple of hours out of Springfield, but then it cleared and was pretty pleasant clear down into Eureka. Monday brought VERY dense fog for the obligatory "photo shoot" at the Bayshore Mall parking lot. We were all thinking this would be the "pea soup tour" of the Lost Coast, but slogged out that direction anyway. Fortunately, the fog cleared a few miles south of town, and we had a gorgeous day, clear down into Ft Bragg. The Lost Coast is still a treat, but the stretch of Cal 1 from Leggett down into Ft Bragg was awesome. Some really fun "10/10ths" riding there. After checking into the hotel, Leland, brother Kel & I took a side trip out Hwy 20 up to Willets, which is just another blacktop rollercoaster. While the Hwy 1 / Hwy 20 loop from Leggett to Ft Bragg to Willits may not be "The Tail of the Dragon", I believe it's good enough that it's been christened "The Ugly Iguana, at Lelands Gap" (grin). Tuesday, the ride from Ft Bragg to Pacifica started out with fog and a steady drizzle. Roads were wet, and "sporting" riding was out of the question. After stopping for lunch in soggy Bodega Bay, a group of us decided to head inland to see if we could lose the wet weather. We headed east on a state road towards Petaluma, and rode out of the wet stuff only 10 or 12 miles inland. Picked up 101 in Petaluma, and cruised south to the Golden Gate, on across, and down into Pacifica. Wednesday dawned clear and nice again. Got the group together, and headed down to Hwy 84 for the run up to Alices Restaurant for a late breakfast. Hwy 84 was fine up until the twisty part begins, but with all the shade, there was still a lot of moisture on the road, which made it slick and treacherous. A couple of us _almost_ found out how slick it was the hard way. Fortunately, all made it to Alices without anyone going down (although a few of us in the front group definitely did the "tippy-toe" style of riding the last couple of miles, after some pretty serious slipping in one particularly "interesting" corner). Had some additional folks meet up with us at Alices. Roy Coss made it over from Sacramento, and three guys new to the ride (Rennie Glover, Paul Elliott, and a gent named Sam whose last name escapes me right now [sorry, Sam]). Had a nice meal, and we all rode pretty sedately back down to Hwy 1, and on to the Pescadero Beach wayside for the next "photo op". Think we had 15 PC's at the beach shot, and 4 of the "brand X" bikes that were along for the ride (my brother Kel on his BMW R1200C, Don, a friend of Harry Mitchells, on a Concours, and ex-PC'ers Ralph McComb and Brian Soloway, who both rode along on VFR's). From there groups left in dribs and drabs for a pleasant cruise on into Monterey. Can't say much about the more southerly part of the ride, as Kel & I departed at Monterey, and headed back north. Up to Santa Cruz, over to Los Gatos, where we picked up 280, and headed back thru San Fran to the Marin Headlands for a photo shoot. Then, we cut across to Napa, up the Silverado Trail thru the wine country and into Calistoga. Headed east and picked up I-5 at Williams, and bombed up the slab to Lake Shasta, where we spent the night. One more easy day, and 290 miles later was home again. Hope the other "longer riders" have good trips home. Juan Goula to Fairbanks. Revill Dunn back to Austin. Buzz riding his "new" VFR clear back to Washington DC, after having an emergency stop at Honda of Milpitas for a new battery and fresh tires. Don back to NY, and Harry back to Great Falls, MT. Rick Corwine to Minneapolis, and David Sigsbee back to Memphis, Tennessee. I wish you gents good weather, good fortune, and safe rides home. Time to start planning for next year. Dean Williams Springfield, OR 98 PC800 "Nata Harli" ... in glorious yellow HSTA #9479
Rick Corwine’s Trip Report
Message: 1 Date: Mon, 15 Sep 2003 22:19:50 -0500 From: Rick Corwine <rickcorwn@msn.com> Subject: The PC Popeel Pocket Fisherman Does the PCH Ride I cast my line into the sea. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz sploosh on 9/1/03 1:08 PM, Leland C. Sheppard at lcshepp@directcon.net wrote:
> Hi there tortured person and good story teller... > > Rick Corwine wrote: >
>> >> Your doing this on purpose aren't you!? Your just taunting me trying to make >> me feel as bad as humanly possible about not being able to make it to the >> +3.
> > Yes!
I troll around a bit.
>> The Yahoo reminders aren't enough, nooooo, now you need to add your >> smarmy little pre ride tales.
> > Yes, yes!
I present the bait to the lunkhead, er I mean lunker.
>> Then to add insult to injury you need to tell >> me all about this little Deals Gap of the west you've found and this great >> little lunch spot.
> > Yes, yes, yes!!!!
He takes the bait!!
>> >> WELL STOP IT!!!! I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE!!!!
> > Oh, OK.
I set the hook.
>> >> (deep breaths) mumble, mumble. Where are my meds, I can't find my meds.
> > Better find 'em. Quick...
Oh, oh the drag is set too light there he goes zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
>> >> See you in Eureka............ someday
> > I certainly hope so!
I reel in my prized catch of the day as Ralph McComb and I walk through the door of the Samoa Cookhouse much to the surprise of the lunkhead, er, I mean Lunker Sheppard. If you haven't figured it out by now Ralph and I made a surprise visit to the PCH ride this past week. We even got a surprise, Brian Soloway aka E Buzz was there to surprise Lunkhead, er, I mean Leland also. As usual a good time was had by all doing all the usual stuff, riding great roads, gauking at great scenery and hanging out with great PCers. I had to leave the group on thursday, I only had a week to get there do the ride and get home. It was worth it though, all the miles and the sore muscles, the achy knees and the big rigs trying to squash me on the interstate. They were all at once wash away when we came out of the forest and onto the coast after that first section of Highway 1 south of Leggett. This 22 mile piece of the PCH is really one of the finest roads on the planet. It's like eating a T-bone steak. It's all good but there's that little piece on one side of the bone, the medallion, that's even better. Those 22 miles are all through the forest, ducking and dodging through the redwoods and smaller pine trees. Skirting along the rock walls and the underbrush. Then all at once you burst out into the sunlight and your there, your on the Pacific Coast. Right there is a small gravel pull out and we slowly roll to a stop. Once everyone has their helmets off the grins tell the story. We all just stand around laughing and joking as we soak in the scenery and the sea air while the waves crash into the rocks below us. This is classic PCH scenery. There's a rock wall behind us, then the road, a small shoulder, a guard rail then a 50 foot drop to the ocean. Off to the right is another rock wall soaring above us. The shoreline is peppered with rocks from the size of your fist to the size of your house. The PCH goes about 1/4 mile off to our left and then disappears to the left around the corner of the rock wall. Off the right side is nothing but air, oh, and the ocean. Perfect. Yep, worth every mile. A motorcycle can't sing on the streets of a city. Rick Corwine Chanhassen, MN 1995 PC800 "Raven"
Rick Corwine’s Long Trip Report
Message: 25 Date: Sun, 09 Nov 2003 18:46:46 -0600 From: Rick Corwine <rickcorwn@msn.com> Subject: My PCH Ride Report the Long and Late Version It's DOW, Dead of Winter late 2002. I'm on the phone with Ralph McComb and Francois St. Laurent and we're trying to figure out a place we can get together next summer So we look at what's equal distance from the three of us, hmmm, Oklahoma City. Not quite the great riding area we had hoped to meet at.(Sorry Warren) We decide to meet back on the Pacific Coast but what we'll do is arrive unannounced so we surprise the group. We sign up for the ride as three French PC riders touring the USA and want to join the American riders on their Pacific Coast ride. We are Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan, the three Musketeers. Leland doesn't see the humor in our signing up incognito and demands real names in a scathing return E mail. This is both good and bad. Obviously he doesn't have a clue who we really are but won't accept our applications for the ride. Well , to bad for him we'll just show up anyway. About a week before we leave Francois can't go so it's down to just Ralph and me. Now I've only got a week off of work, so I need to hustle myself out to Eureka California. Our plan is to surprise the group at the Sunday night dinner gathering. If I leave after work on Friday that gives me 54 hours, including the time changes, to cover 2200 miles. Just like the trip to Missoula I make it to Jamestown North Dakota after work. In the morning I'm off early, I have breakfast in Bismarck, ride with some Swiss Harley riders who just came from the Harley 100th birthday party, across eastern Montana. I hit a little weather as I get into the Rockys in earnest near Livingston MT but it clears quickly. I have dinner in Missoula, night fall comes in Spokane and I get a room in Kennewick Washington near the Oregon border at 10:30 PDT. 1220 miles, a very productive day. In the morning I get gas just across the border in Oregon, will you look at that a "good" gas receipt, I'll have to make note of this. From here it's just a hop and a skip to the Columbia River Gorge. What a stunning geographic feature, it changes so much from east to west, from a near desert to a near rain forest in just a couple hundred miles. In Portland I turn south on I5 and follow that 'till I get to Grants Pass Oregon where I turn off the interstate and onto the two lane highway. Just after you cross the California border you enter the Redwoods Nat. Park and as the name implies there are Redwoods, big ones. The road itself turns serpentine as it follows the South Fork River through the park. What a welcome change after 2,000 miles of interstate! Just before I clear the Redwoods I can smell the ocean and move into Crescent City and I get my first glimpse of the Pacific ocean. It's cool and overcast, almost foggy actually. The fog gets worse then better and I make it into Eureka at 4:30 PDT. Ralph is already checked in at the Ramada. I've chosen this particular hotel for a few reasons. First it's away from the motel that all the other riders are staying at. Second it's built up on stilts with parking underneath, that will hide our bikes from prying eyes. (Hey, it's not much of a surprise if they see us coming). But the number one reason I chose this hotel, it's got a hot tub! That fact alone has kept me going for the last few hundred miles. It doesn't take me long before I slip into the tub and bake away my aches and pains. Dinner is at 8:00 pm so we show up about quarter past and walk into the back room where the group is eating. Everyone is of course surprised, Leland comes over and gives me a big bear hug, he's obviously tickled to see us. We squeeze in at the table and dig in. There are lots of familiar faces around the table, a few introductions take care of the rest. Over the next couple of hours there's lots of story telling, lies, back slapping and all kinds of good guy type camaraderie. Once back at the room I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow. In the morning I'm a new me! I'm refreshed and ready to ride, and ride we did. As in the past we start by riding to the Lost Coast. This is a very rural area off of the main highways. We follow mostly lane and half paved roads back into the hills and eventually to a remote stretch of the coast. Local lore has it that most strangers that venture this way are closely observed. They say that there are some secret marijuana fields back in these hills! However, all I see are cows. We head east and pick up The Avenue of the Giants, more Redwoods. A little farther south we turn off of Hwy 101 onto Hwy 1, the Pacific Coast Highway. This 22 mile piece of the PCH is really one of the finest roads on the planet. It's like eating a T-bone steak. It's all good but there's that little piece on one side of the bone, the medallion, that's even better. Those 22 miles are all through the forest, ducking and dodging through the redwoods and smaller pine trees. Skirting along the rock walls and the underbrush as we work our way towards the ocean. Then all at once you break out into the sunlight and your there, your on the Pacific Coast. On the side of the road is a small gravel pull out and we slowly roll to a stop. Once everyone has their helmets off the grins tell the story. We all just stand around laughing and joking as we soak in the scenery and the sea air while the waves crash into the rocks below us. Now it's all been worth it. The sore muscles, the achy knees, the long days in the saddle, all worth every single moment to get to this place. We wander down the coast for another 30 miles or so and we're in Fort Bragg for the night. It's September the 9th and the second anniversary of 9/11 is still two days away but for several of us this is where we were on that day in 2001. For us this seems like the anniversary. 'Nuff said. We don't get much time to dwell on all the 9/11 stuff because soon after we depart in the morning it begins to rain and does so nearly all day. Ralph is particularly unhappy with this since his rain gear is at home, doh! We move inland to escape the rain and follow 101 to Pacifica. We're done riding pretty early, it's like 3:00, so I say to a couple of the others "I think it's time for a drink!" a few of us wander over to the bar there at Nick's and partake in a couple of adult beverages and some appetizers. I won't name names but it was the Williams bros., Juan, E Buzz, Harry, Don, Ralph, myself and possibly Tom and couple of others. We're having a good ol' time making mostly crude jokes about each other. Very male bonding type stuff. Then someone says "let's call Francois" so we do and use up all the time on his answering machine and then call back and talk at it some more. I don't remember just what we said to him but I'm sure it wasn't very intelligent or polite. It couldn't have been too bad because he called back later when we were all at dinner. So we passed around the phone and let him know what a great time he was missing and how much we were missing him. After dinner several of us hung out in the parking lot outside the motel, which is right on the ocean, We had a last drink and a cigar while we listened to the waves crashing on the rocks as we solved all the worlds problems, more male bonding. We're getting so bonded now I'm not sure we'll ever come apart. In the morning the weather is much improved and we head farther down the coast and then inland to La Honda and Alice's Restaurant. This is a popular biker hang out in the SF area. So, us being bikers... we hang out... and have a little breakfast while we're at it. More PCH wandering and we arrive in Monterey for the night. I need to find the AAA office here in Monterey, you see I left my maps at the motel back in North Dakota. No I wasn't able to ride 2500 miles across the country on my extraordinary sense of direction. I used my GPS, yes it's that good. But I need my maps, they're my security blanket. We dine at a restaurant on Cannery Row. In the morning Ralph and I decide to split from the group and we head inland just south of Monterey on a county highway. It's one of the few roads that run east from here through the hilly fringes of the Santa Lucia Mountain Range. The rolling hills here are are a golden brown and in the early morning light they're gorgeous. After about 50 miles we reach the small town of Greenfield right on the 101 (Californians always refer to their highways this way, "the" 101, "the" 405, "the" 5). We're hungry now and are on the lookout for a good local spot to eat, we find a great little Mexican restaurant/bakery. Yes that's right, burritos and glazed donuts. After breakfast we head south on the 101 'till we reach state hwy 58 where we say our good byes and split up. I crossed California on hwy 58 on the way home from the last trip out here in 2001. It goes up and over 4 small to medium mountain ranges and varies from a seldom marked twisty back road (one set of skid marks=35mph corner, a few skid marks=25mph corner, lots of skid marks=15mph corner) to a four lane highway through a wind mill farm across the last and largest of the mountains. Where 58 ends in Barstow I pick up I40. A bit farther east I stop at a rest area just on the northern edge of the 29 Palms Marine base and I'm treated to an impromptu air show by some fancy looking low flying fighter jets, cool. I'm out in the desert now and the temps are getting warm but the higher elevations are keeping it under 100š that is until I start down into the Colorado River valley. Once I reach Needles it officially hot now at around 100š. I find a nice little gas station, with a good receipt, with regular unleaded for $2.79. Yiekes!! As soon as I cross the Colorado River I begin to climb back up in elevation until I reach Kingman Arizona and stop for the night. The next day I head out across Airzona. I hope that this I40 route will be cooler than the I15 I've taken in the past. As it turns out it is, the elevation continues to rise to near 7,000 feet in Flagstaff. After that it drops off some but I stay up between 4-6 thousand feet all the way across Airzona and New Mexico. In other words, cool temps. Unfortunatly, some where just outside of Flagstaff I spot a sign, "Winslow 62 miles". Then it starts, in the back of my head... Standin' on a corner in Winslow Airazona such a fine sight to see... All the way across Airzona and New Mexico that same Eagles tune over and over. It wouldn't have been anywhere near as bad if I'd have known most of the words but I was left with mile after mile of da da da dada, daaaa. I peel off the interstate at Tucumcari New Mexico and head northeast into the Texas panhandle getting a room in Dalhart Texas. When I walk out of the room in the morning I'm greeted by a howling north wind. The sun isn't even up yet and the winds are strong and cold. I tool around Dalhart looking for a gas station I try three before I get the receipt I'm looking for. Once I've got that out of the way I head due north for the Oklahoma panhandle and Boise City where I find a good little cafe for breakfast and a Shell station with a receipt that has the time, date and city clearly marked on it. Farther north and I cross into Colorado and not far from the border is Springfield and another gas station with a good receipt. Well, will you look at that. If a I guy was looking to prove that he was in Colorado, Oklahoma and Texas he could do that in just 98 short miles, hmmm interesting. I continue north until I reach I70 and head east for Kansas City specificly Lee's Summit where Steve Ewens who put me up earlier this summer (when I went to North Carolina via Kansas) has opened his home to me again. In the morning Steve leads me on a tour of the scenic and interesting roads in the KC area ending up on I35 northbound. From here it's an uneventfull trip up I35 and I'm home in time for dinner. If you missed them my PCH photos are at; Riding wise this was a very big year for me. I had some big plans and lofty goals for myself and was able to acomplish all of them. Between May 1st and mid September I put on over 27,000 miles. I saw all five Great Lakes, the Atlantic and Pacific oceans and the Gulf of Mexico. I rode in 46 states and crossed 4 Canadian Provinces. Belive it or not I considered this past summer as training and reconisance for what I've got planned for next spring. Hmmm, 46 states huh, missed 3, I'm going to have to do something about that next year. Stay tuned.
-- "To a man of imagination, a map is a window to adventure." Sir Francis Chichester Rick Corwine Chanhassen, MN 1995 PC800 "Raven"
Revill Dunn’s Trip Report
Message: 1 Date: Wed, 24 Sep 2003 20:51:30 -0500 From: "Revill" <rider_of_whirby@gbronline.com> Subject: PCH Trip report Chapter One Howdy everybody. Revill here. I was working on getting a PC trip report done, and then I sliced my finger this afternoon and am typing one and a half handed. Not going to get a lot done this way. So, Here's Chapter One. Enjoy. I'll put out some more in a few days. August 30th, the first day of my 51st solar orbit, was a cold day in Texas. It must be the end of the world. Now, you have to understand that cold is relative in Texas. We're not talking about solid water or any of that stuff, but cool and rainy weather all the way across the Llano Estacado and the Southeastern New Mexico desert in August is ... well, I don't know what it is. Unprecedented? Definitely, but that's a bit mild. Unthinkable. Impossible. Inconceivable! It must be a sign. The end can't be far. And here I am sitting next to my tent (Aaaaah!) in the Lincoln National Forest near Cloudcroft, NM and it's raining. (Ooooh! Aaaaah! Sighhhh..) All dry and comfy under my awning. (Sigh. Aaaaah!) Smell that air. (Sniff. Aaaah!) Inhale! Exhale! My first day in the mountains I huff and puff like HR Puffinstuff himself. Yes, I'm very pleased to be where I am right now but most of those asperational vowels were expended trying to get enough air. There's not a lot of air in the air up here. But it's lovely air. Bet you wish you were here. I left Austin waaaay too early. At 5:12 I passed the bank in Llano, where it was 80 degrees. The high for the day. Humidity was at saturation. It kept fogging up on the outer corners of my windshield. The sun came up "red sky at dawn". Not too far past San Angelo was a nasty black cloud with several levels, each moving in different directions. Sitting dead smack on the highway. Time to suit up. Waterproof, I continued on. What else to do? There's no cover. This is the edge of the Llano Estacado, one of the flatter parts of this globe. It was 30 minutes after dawn, the sun is shining up redly on the undersides of the clouds making them even darker. Rain ahead shines like obsidian. Lightning was making a continuous flicker somewhere waaaay up there in the pitch black overhead. The air was a dead calm. Just to one side of the road, there's a heavy black cloud reaching from the low overhead to within feet of the ground. It's shaped remarkably like an anvil. The next level of clouds over it is racing by to the east. Through occasional holes I can see the next level above; it's racing towards the south. Suddenly a black wall becomes a waterfall of huge drops. Then a gust of wind, from one direction, then another. The rain slacked back to a good downpour after the first minute, then stopped/started/stopped/came back hard and started bouncing. Big sleet or small hail are accumulating on my tankbag. A minute of this, then another waterfall melts the sleet. The rain slacked down to a drizzle and continued that way to New Mexico. Mountains! Oh, I've missed mountains! Oooh! Aaah! (gasp!) August 31. Oh, but that was a delicious night. I'm breathing a bit better now, as long as I pause for a comma or a period now and then. (huff). The rain has gone and it's fall in the Mountains. Brisk. A lovely brisk with copious sunlight to take the edge off. I spend the whole damn day just tootling along between Cloudcroft and Santa Fe, looking at the light and smelling the air and enjoying the occasional curve. This one day makes up for all the commuting I did all spring on I35. I love New Mexico speed limits. 20 mph in town and 60 (or less) on the open road is so much more relaxing. Even if you don't get very far at those speeds. You can take the time to look, and sniff, and enjoy being right out there in all that air and sunlight. Motorcycling at it's best, just like the glossy photographs. Except in the ads there's always an attractive passenger with a bright and remarkably bugfree smile. I've got a bag of riding gear bungeed on instead. Every time I get a good scare I buy more protective equipment. I've got my leather jacket and pants, with warm liner, sweater and heavy winter gloves; my summer jacket and light summer gloves, and a rain suit. Boots. It's bigger than I am, and doesn't pack much better than I do either. It's a lot to haul around, but if you don't have it with you, what good is it? Since I have to be ready for all extremes, I always have to pack the other extreme. I need a trailer. Sept. 1. Spent the day visiting with Marsha in Santa Fe. We went for a ride out to Bandolier National park to climb around the cliff ruins, then back. Incredibly lovely as only the Santa Fe area can be in Fall. Delightful roads, warm sunshine, cool mountain air. And an attractive passenger smiling brightly, no bugs in her teeth. Not many bugs in the mountains around Santa Fe. All indications were that Marsha thought so too. She was even asking those dangerous questions about price, and maintenance, and all that. I wouldn't be surprised if she took a riders training course soon.... I would if I lived in Santa Fe. The town is a perfect place to ride, some parts of the year. The low New Mexico speed limits make it a lot less stressful than other places. And those mountains... No bugs.... Motorcycle Heaven (in the summer.) Revill Rider of Whirby Austin (Center of the Universe) Texas
Message: 20 Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 22:34:47 -0500 From: "Revill" <rider_of_whirby@gbronline.com> Subject: Pacific Coast, part Two Part Two, Pacific Coast Highway Enough of this day by day stuff. I quit noting the date in my notes a couple days out. It's a good feeling, not being sure what day or date it is. Not easy to do in familiar surroundings, but after four of five days on the road, which is it? Four? or Five? It was, ah, I think it was Saturday when I set out. Yes, it was. Now, the first night I stayed.... Something to do on the long stretches through the desert, but if you don't write it down immediately you have to do it all over tomorrow (or sooner) With, quite likely, a different answer. Checking the newspaper at a gas station is cheating. Much more fun to have no idea, travel from day to day and be surprised by weekends. And to not bother with noting date and time when inspired to write something in the notebook. >From New Mexico it was a day through the Hopi and Navaho reservations, to the Kaibab Plateau. I bought some mutton from a Navaho butcher shop and grilled it high on the Kaibab with corn on the cob and a baked potato. Delicious! I always had thought that mutton was sort of strong. This was tender and sweet, very delicate. Not at all greasy and no discernable lanolin flavor. The butchershop was in a block building beside the road. It featured.... Mutton. The butcher was anglo, big and gangling and fifty. Shaved most recently a couple days ago. I asked for something I could grill and he offered me a vertebrae. The whole thing, one end of the sheep to the other sawn almost but now quite through to make a string of medallions. "How many ya want?" 3. So he sawed off the 3 nearest the end and wrapped them up for me. Came to a couple dollars. And a bag of ice. The butcher followed me out to the bike and started to talk about motorcycles. He'd seen several, and a friend of his once had one for a while. "Aren't they dangerous?" Truth is, they are. "What sort of mileage does it get?" Depends on the road. Good roads, lots of curves and hills and blind corners to keep the speed down, 50-53. Lousy roads where the traffic forces you to go 85 or die, 42-45. "I bet it'll cruise at 100 all day." Yeah, but all I'll do is 85, and that's only if I have to. He gave me a look, we said our proper goodbyes, and he went back to his mutton and I went on to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. Only a couple of hours away. As I climbed up out of the desert, it was raining on the mesa. It had never been really hot the whole way. I'd been quite comfortable in my mesh gear. Now it's time to put on the warm waterproof stuff. Another mile, and I'm glad I did. Amazing what a few thousand feet of altitude can do. The climb up the side of the Kaibab is superb. The lower reaches are open, with switchbacks looking out at the Vermilion Cliffs on the other side of the Colorado River, a few dozen miles away. Then you climb into pinyon pines, cedars, and just as the road crests the edge of the mesa, ponderosas. The air is pregnant with humidity. The pines reek like a mall candle shop. It rained on me gently several times as I rode the last thirty miles to my campsite, twenty miles from the north entrance to the Grand Canyon. A pretty little self service park, nearly empty. I picked out a secluded site with a carefully boxed off and leveled tent pad. Luxury. Supper done with, it was another delicious night spent gasping for breath under the pines. If you've got to huff and puff all that air in and out just to get a little oxygen, it should be nice air. This is very nice air. Just a little thin. Huff. Whoof. Aaaah. Next morning, a quick tour of the Canyon. If you haven't done this you must. The south rim is in the high pinion desert; the north rim is alpine. With 1/10th the traffic. And a much, much better road. There's only one. Nicely twisty, winding through the alpine forest with surprise lookouts here and there to infinity. Pretty colored infinity. This thing is big. How big is it? Try big enough to hide a helicopter you can hear damn well RIGHT THERE until you get the scale, and realize that that itty bitty speck over by that mesa, a good half mile BELOW YOU is a six person helicopter touring the canyon. And he's not flying low either. He's thousands of feet above the terrain he's flying over. And he was so hard to spot because it's so far over to that mesa he's above that the sound comes from five degrees behind the little yellow thing moving in the... near distance. It's a LOT farther to the far edge. You can't photograph the canyon. It's too big. I've got several shots mounted here and there and they're good. Very dramatic. And every bit as true to the canyon as a toenail clipping is to you. Anyone can get a snapshot of the canyon. Millions do every year. Really good photographers have spent years and miles of film documenting it's every light and mood. Unsuccessfully. You just can't photograph it. It's too big. Doesn't stop us from trying, does it? I took a shot of my feet, dangling over a mile vertical drop. Just to give scale. Didn't work. A nice study of size 14 Redwings against a colorful background. No feeling of enormity. At least, none from the background. But the road to the viewpoints is a lovely road. Tempting. The National Park speed limits are not just refreshingly slow like New Mexico, they're so low it seems silly. It's not. I came around a corner to find a car stopped smack in the middle of the road, a camera poking out the driver's window at a deer. A few miles farther, after a scenic stop and cetera I was playing in a particularly sweet little ess curve at, well, within 15 mph or so of posted, when I came up on a little elderly couple from somewhere flat where there aren't big disconcerting trees so close to the road and that enormity yawning on one side or the other ever mile or two. Not to worry, they'll pull off at the next scenic view, watch. So I poodled in train, doing 20 around a marked 25 mph curve as a group of BMW's came up on my tail. Coming out of the curve, with less than a hundred feet of road visible before the next, the leader passes me and the cage. So the rest do too. The last one actually passed ON the curve with exactly no possibility of continuing life if there had been a car coming. There wasn't, so he (and the rest of us; if cars and motorcycles had started flying around on that road it would have been like bowling) got to live a bit longer. This is just plain stupid, excuse me. This is a park, guys. Go play racer somewhere else. Like California. More on that in a while. Having seen the sights, it's back the way I came. A pleasure. It's warm next to the rim. The sun is shining, the light is almost physical. Coming from shadow to sun is like walking around a corner into a stiff wind. Riding down a winding road following the edge of the Grand Canyon through a pine and spruce forest. Bright sunlight, an overlook. Dark (and damp and slippery) tight hairpin turns. A quite wonderful 12 miles. As I pass the gatehouse, things are looking very damp ahead. More rain. Happens a lot anywhere in the west you get up into the pines. Nice rain. Gentle drips with no alarming flashes or booms. Mostly. Since it' s not a bad rain I haven't bothered with the rain suit. I hit the part not included in mostly and got a bit wet here and there. Then me, the road and the bike went down off the plateau in 55 mph sweeps to the desert. I was dry by the time I got there. Stop, change to the warm stuff, cram the cold stuff in the bag and onward. Another rainstorm in the desert. I didn't bother to change from the ventilated gear. Felt good. In the mesh gear I'm soaked in half a minute, dry again in ten. I've been through here several times but there's one route I haven't taken yet. Good enough reason. I headed up Hwy 14 to Utah. I now have yet another favorite ride. Hwy 14 goes over a high mesa, much higher than the Kaibab. Off comes the warm gear and on goes the cold gear. The road is delightful. It twists and winds and loops it's way up to nosebleed altitude unhampered by low speed limits. It clouds up, starts raining. Up here the road is pretty straight, following the edge of the plateau. It's socked in thick fog/drizzle. At the plateau edge the storm stops and it's clear and bright over the desert. As the scalloped edge of the cliff moved closer and farther, the precipitation clears and thickens. Big trees loom out of mist, then sudden brightness and infinity to the right, just as suddenly in the rear view mirror as I cross the mesa top through the clouds. Sudden sunlight. The storm is over. Across the high plateau all the tall spruce are dead. A bark beetle infestation. Aspen are taking over. The sky is much darker than an afternoon sky usually is. The road then winds it's way back down to high Nevada desert through a canyon designed by Disney Inc. with impossibly perfect little side canyons with carefully sculpted white and cream rockwork and artfully placed shrubbery accenting each set piece. Couldn't possibly be natural. Too neat and perfect. Watch the road! My goodness, that's quite a drop off. The high ground was drizzly, now it's sunny and warm in the desert. I want to do that again! Next day was Hwy 51 across the high Nevada Desert. This is the "Extraterrestrial Highway" according to the signs. The saucer (suspiciously similar in size to two satellite dishes) that was sitting beside the "Little Alien" diner (closed) last time I was this way was no longer abandoned roadside, it was getting a tow. By a junker mid 50's towtruck from a junkyard. The diner was still closed. Next to the diner (by Nevada standards; about a quarter mile away) is a gas station. Out here the rule is "if you see gas buy it". So I did. $2.85 / gallon for unleaded. Only kind they had. The station owner didn't have onna them digital readouts by the cash register. He had binoculars. Easier than walking. Next stop, Mono Lake. There's a lot of territory on the extraterrestrial highway. It can be horribly hot. It wasn't. No, I saw no extraterrestrials. No aliens of any sort. Nor any experimental aircraft. In fact, I saw or heard no aircraft at all, the whole way. Stealth technology is my guess. Just outside Tonapah, there's construction. That's what the sign says. Stop for flagman. I stopped. Neatly dressed and groomed for a flagman. Wearing a tan uniform with Nevada Dept. of Highways on the hat, sleeves and reflective vest. He asked if I planned to continue on to Tonapah? Well, yes. (Duh. There is exactly nothing anywhere nearby except several cacti, a military base, and Tonapah). He flipped his sign around from STOP to SLOW and told me I was "free to go, Sir." What do they gain by posing MP's as highway workers? Like something from a bad TV show. Later that afternoon the Sierras began to raise up faintly in the west. Almost surreally, since they're so very much higher even from far away than you'd expect. Even from the high desert. Bluely, almost transparently and far too high above the horizon to be anything but clouds. Then closer, and all you can see is foothills. Just as the road started to turn the slightest bit upward into them, I passed a guy walking along the side of the road pulling, or possibly wearing a trailer. He has a billboard/sunshade with the words LOVE LIFE a foot high each attached to a packframe on his back. It continued forward to make an awning over his head. He's Steve "No Clue". He's walking around America. He has a website. And a nickname. And a story. A sad one. The nickname came from his first attempt to walk the Appalachian trail. The story is unrelated. He's walking all the way around North America. Has new shoes waiting in for him every couple hundred miles. Steve "No Clue" Fugate Stevie Lee Fugate Foundation. www.markhorner.com/steve/fugate.HTML As the sun set I was winding up in the foothills of the Sierra Madre just a few miles from Yosemite. I found a lovely campsite five miles down a dirt road where I spent the night listening to a Sierra river tumbling past my tent. Somebody's got to do it. Mars looked like a taillight, visibly red and almost a disc. The moon set early and it was a velvety dark, liquid night later on. Got cool. I opened my riding jacket, stuck the whole sleeping bag and feet assembly inside and zipped it up. Much warmer. Two days through the Sierra Madre, enjoying wonderfully engineered 55 mph mountain roads and hiding from Native Californians who drive these roads at 80 in SUV's and MiniVans. This is where those idiots on the BMW's need to come riding. Just try to take on one of these minivans, I dare you! Out of sheer cowardice I'm turning up the speed in the corners, using more and more of the bike's ability. And it handles every curve with total aplomb, completely ignoring the load. As always. It's a PC. What did I expect? And that brings me to Eureka on the Left Coast, and a logical stopping part for this chapter. To be continued. Revill Rider of Whirby On the Road
Message: 3 Date: Wed, 8 Oct 2003 22:18:47 -0500 From: "Revill" <rider_of_whirby@gbronline.com> Subject: Pacific Coast Highway Ride, Chapter 3 Chapter 3 The Ride If that's Eureka ahead, this must be Sunday. I'd kept to high ground since Yosemite. Now I was running out of continent. Several PC sightings. I must be getting near Eureka. The road in to Eureka is quite an exceptional bit of tarmac. By this time I'm a bit jaded toward tarmac, even exceptional bits. The pack of PC's headed opposite a few minutes ago was probably having a lovely time in the twisties. I was trying to decide whether to stay at the very nice, but 30 miles away from supper State Park or get a room at the motel intown. A night indoors? Haven't tried that in a while. Doesn't sound all that tempting, but it would be convenient, and I guess a shower wouldn't be so bad.. And then there's laundry.. On through town and stopped at the motel with all the chromeless motorcycles out front. One last tussle with the idea of sleeping indoors -vs- a night in the coastal forest with surf in the background. It's 30 mile north. Then back for supper, back out to bed and back in next morning. And I need to do laundry.. Expediency won. The parking lot started filling up with PC's. Lots of people I've seen before, even more I've slapped a bunch of keystrokes at but never met before. A warm greeting from several. Comparing farkels. Everyone's drooling over the Unigo one wheel Trailer. The extra cargo capacity would be nice but the cool factor is overwhelming. Purest Star Wars. The matching PC and Unigo look like a Xylon Segmented Speedster from Foogula. Drool. And then there was laundry. Laundromats are the same everywhere it seems. Sort dingy and always needing a sweep. At least one lights not working, and smudged plate glass walls to the street. For surveillance purposes I suppose. Even in Eureka CA it's hot in the Laundromat. I started my load and sat down in the bolted-to-the-floor steel and plastic chairs/bench against the window/wall to read a five year old Newsweek. The machine hummed, my sit bones were getting much too familiar with the hard plastic seat. Someone knocked on the window behind me. eBuzz was there. Being eBuzz. eBuzzing? He'd spent the last ten minutes outside the window trying to bother me by throwing a shadow with his finger on my magazine where he thought I must be reading. Buzz does thing like that. We'd met on the 2001 ride. This was going to be an entertaining gathering. He came inside, greeted me and started his laundry in the next machine. Lots to talk about. Buzz has recently defected, selling his PC and buying a VFR. (Very Fast Rocket) We admire it outside. It's pristine and faster than greased hell. He's intimidated by it as any sane person would be. And thrilled, because it is a beautiful bit of metal and plastic sculpture, and the motor does make a really lovely purrzzzzzzip! when you goose the throttle. Hasn't tried the top half of the tachometer yet. It's exciting enough below 8 grand he says. A bit wide eyed. He flew in from the Right Coast and bought it, plans to ride it home. Gutzy, Buzz. The VFR isn't nearly as bad as some eggbikes for long trips, but it is what it is, and what it is not is a luxury tourer. On the other hand, it can easily (and relatively comfortably, for an eggbike) maintain cruising speeds more appropriate to wings than wheels. But, no trunk. Back at the motel near suppertime the whole group gathered in the motel parking lot to ride out to Samoa for supper. This is a town on an almost island, previously used as a lumberyard. Not much there these days. The diner is the former Company Cafeteria. Twenty miles or so from Eureka. A longish drive through foggy coastal marshes, then a sudden left into the driveway. No lights. If you miss the turn (I did last year) it's solid fog all the way to the Powerplant. Lots more faces and names to try to match. Juan from Alaska made it down, even if he did trailer his bike to Vancouver. He rode it all the way from there. Leland came over on one of his fleet, a white one. He has one of each, black, white and red. Harry from Montana was there with his black one. He's caused a longwinded PC epistle and manifesto to be printed on the rear of his PC. The PC has rather a large rear due to the trunk, and Harry used most it paenfully to explain exactly why the PC is his choice of motorcycles. Twenty PC's more or less were getting started up. It was not deafening. Riders were conversing on idling bikes. The riders were drowning out the bikes. There's a reason why hitting the starter on a PC while it's running just blinks the headlights. It's an easy mistake to make. Especially while loud banter is being traded. Some of the bikes are a bit louder than others. PC's of a certain age start to tweedle like old VW bugs. The VWubbers call it "Fweem" and prize it. My bike, Whirby started to fweem at 60,000 miles. I'm sitting near the head of the line, tweedling quietly with the others. Finally Leland takes the front and the whole Silent Horde headed off for Lumberjack food. Pretty good, and if you don't eat enough they come around and harrass you. Gently. After all, one wouldn't want to start anything there. There are too many sharp objects on the walls. And the floors. Large gasoline powered somethingorothers are lined up on display along the walls. They have several rooms and had the foresight to put the PC'ers in a back one where we wouldn't bother others with our noise. Somewhere near twenty started out, but a smaller number arrived. The rest had taken the powerplant tour and caught up with us after the first course. The Year 2k + 3 Internet (International, Intergalactic) Pacific Coast Riders Club Pacific Coast Highway Ride. It all starts in a Mall parking lot in the fog. 9AM. Can't see fifty feet. We're having a Photo session. Looks like more PC's when they recede off in the distance. Buzz is late. He shows up, still zipping and packing. I have time for breakfast. We admire farkels, greet those we've met before, make bad jokes and put on raingear. Harry has a digital movie device mounted to his dashboard so he can capture the ride. Ahead is the Lost Coast Highway. This badly marked, indifferently paved two lane (or less) road with 10 mph 12 degree downhill hairpins and random gravel patches starts a little way out of Eureka and ends in Humbolt State Park in a grove of redwoods. Two hours of bliss for a motorcyclist, a day of terror for a motor home. Haven't had this much fun since Utah. The Sierras are tame. This road was just put here, it wasn't engineered. And one thing led to another, one curve to another, a lovely day through the redwoods led to a drippy day through Marin County. I was able to strongly reinforce my reputation with the group as a Full Goose Looney by having a wonderful time riding in drippy rain and fog. But it was fun. And it wasn't all that wet, just a little bit. Just the feet. The scenery was pretty, the road kept wandering right and left, and traffic was light. You want sunshine too? Well, sometimes it's nice but rain and fog can be fun too. Got to get a pair of overboots. One more thing to carry! Oh No! Today we gathered at Alice's Restaurant for brunch (not the one from the song) then again at Pescadero Beach for photos. The photo session was cloudy and gloomy of course. So as usual we got fed and took photos of each other in the sunshine and took grey photos of the bikes. Just as well, since the riders wouldn't go sit on their bikes. Buzz was in his best worried puppy form. He did the "pretend to shake hands then walk on past" routine from Jr. High School to me. I swatted his head, which he expected and ducked. You got to watch him when he gets that '60's waif' look to his eyes. He's up to something. Something goofy. Good at ducking too. Monterrey has a pretty nice, if not all that rustic campground right smack in the middle, at the top of the hill at Veterans Park next to the Military Language School. I picked one of those down the path, in the wooded corner campsites and found my path part of the regular cross country run for a half a hundred cadets as I was setting up my tent. One after another, chanting in unison, mostly. The lead group was mixed, then mostly men, then several apparently completely unconcerned women going along at their own pace. I walked back in the brush a few feet and discovered barbed wire and a building. As I was getting ready to go to supper Taps played just over the hill. Supper that night was on Cannery Row. It's changed a bit since Michner saw it. Food was good. Like everywhere these days, food isn't local. If it is, be careful. Ever eaten Fisherman's Brewis? Haven't missed much. The World food on Cannery Row is better. I had a Calmari Steak imported from Mexico, and it was delicious. Fisherman's Brewis is cheaper. Even in Canadian dollars. Leaving Monterrey I got lost, again. That town I can not figure out. Maybe I need to buy a map? I was to meet the group at 9. At 10 I gave up getting out of Monterrey and did some shopping, hit a cash machine, ate breakfast, and gassed up. As I was eating breakfast (fried squid, BEST IN TOWN!) (It was delicious) (Yes I am in a rut) one of the women in the booth next to me started to feel my jacket. This wasn't quite as good as it could have been since I'd taken the jacket off and tossed it on the booth. She's a Biker. Owns a Harley Hugger. Didn't feel safe without her leathers, but when She and her Sig. Oth. went hot places (This is a Monterreyian. Hot places are elsewhere) it was tempting to go without. But scary. She'd never seen a mesh and foam armor hot weather riding jacket. They don't sell them in Harley shops. I advised her to visit any non-Harley motorcycle shop, or one of a number of internet sources. In return, she gave me directions out of town. Do you know the difference between a Biker and a Motorcyclist? Mufflers. More road. Getting more urban now. Much more traffic. I'm hours behind the group at this point, I guess I'll just poke along. So I did. Pleasantly. Stopped and thought seriously about touring the Hurst Castle. Declined again. The daily destination was Lompoc, where I knew from past experience that there was no good camping. The group was camped in the Motel 6, so I did too. My second motel of the trip. In Lompoc it wasn't such a sacrifice. Previously, the Internet(national, galactic) Pacific Coast Riders Club Pacific Coast Highway Ride 2K +3 supper was at a place in Solvang, a manufactured Olde Worlde destination (based on a real Danish colony nearby!) 35 miles from Lompoc. Problem was, they roll up the sidewalks at 6 and the Scandanavian Smorgasborg Supper place closes at 8, so time was tight. So this year we ate at an Italian place in Lompoc. We gathered in the parking lot and softly fweemed our way down the main road. At the restaraunt the parking lot was full, so we circled a bit and finally parked across the street next to the bank. People were standing around in groups watching something. The patio was full with diners and they were all watching too. Across the street at the Bank of America branch. We all went inside, announced our presence and waited for a table. I stepped over to the bar for a beer while we waited. I asked the bartender what was going on outside? Oh, a bank robbery. At the BOA. Been going on for hours now. He's still inside with hostages. Really? Oh, yes. I accepted my beer and reported to the group. We couldn't think of anything we could do about it, nor any particular reason to be elsewhere. There was a brick wall that direction. At least we weren't on the patio. On with the meal. This date two years ago many of these same people were on this same ride of the Pacific Coast Highway when another of those Newsworthy Events happened. That time one of our friends, (among others) died. Again, there was nothing whatsoever helpful that we could do. The best thing was just to continue. Still is. Dammit. Sept 11 has been haunting me since Sept. 9th, in Port Arthur. I stayed in the same campground, albeit NOT in the same site (It was empty, it's a pretty site but I was scared) I'd slept in two years ago in 2001. In the morning, no one had important news to give me. I was so relieved, I still don't believe how relieved I was that nothing spectacularly terrible happened while I slept. The bank robbery and hostage situation somehow felt trivial, like seeing a TV commercial being filmed on the street. A feeling that I am very ashamed to admit. When I got back, the list was full of hundreds of messages about similar feelings on Sept. 11th. So many I could only read a few. Supper was very good. I never found out how the situation turned out. Didn't make national news, at least nothing I saw. Only one or two lives at stake. I'm ashamed. At myself, at the country, at the world. Next morning, I kept up with the group for the first hour and a half, then had to stop for a bathroom. Leland's rules are "Ride your own ride. If you want to ride with me, fine. Just don't expect to ever get a chance to pee". I can't do that. I've never been one of those cast iron bladder types, and since I passed the halfway mark I find a stop every hour or so fairly essential. I stood it for as long as I could, then exited the freeway and the ride. Bye guys. It's been a great ride but I've GOT to pee. On my own again, I took a detour that needs to be added to the Regular Program. Mulholland Drive. It's the Lost Coast Highway South. A wonderful twisty little poorly marked two lane, (no gravel, no cattleguards at least) through the Los Angeles Coastal Range. Mostly dry sagebrush covering unreasonably steep hills. Here and there you pass squid gathering spots, indicated by the squiggly black rubber lines on the pavement. At Topanga Canyon a right turn takes you back to Highway 1. For a few miles. This is the urban part of the road. End of the ride. Time to get on the freeway and head on down to Long Beach to visit with Sumac. He's been expecting me. Last time I saw him, Long Beach and the whole country were undergoing an epiphany of consensus. I was skeptical, and I was right. Dammit. Time to think about heading back to Texas. Revill Rider of Whirby Austin (Center of the Universe) Texas
Message: 18 Date: Sun, 12 Oct 2003 22:01:56 -0500 From: "Revill" <rider_of_whirby@gbronline.com> Subject: PC Highway Ride 03, Conclusion For the best Cambodian food, turn to the Internet. If this is Friday, this must be Long Beach. One of the good things about doing a ride twice the same direction is that you can establish a pattern. I showed up at Sumac's door not too long after 5. I found him obsessed. Seems that last time we met I'd mentioned a wish to someday try Cambodian food. When I called the day before he remembered. A quest for Cambodian food was underway. Long Beach has a large Cambodian population, thanks to Peace with Dignity. Many thanks. They're excellent citizens, with some exceptions of course. For the most part pleasant, hardworking and tend to have very pretty kids. Sumac has lived among them in his own little ethnic enclave for decades and never eaten Cambodian food. So what does a less than young man do in such a circumstance? Search for "Cambodian food, Long Beach CA" on the internet of course. Apparently there is an internet group for Cambodian Food Lovers, with listings (and ratings) by city across the country. One of the highest rated places was not too far from Sumac's domicile. So off we went to partake of Cambodian food. The first shock was the menu. The prices were... reasonable. We each ordered a dish, with one to spare. Less than $20. The food was won-der-ful. I particularly enjoyed the mussels. They were fresh and cooked the minimum possible to be considered cooked in a heavily spiced garlic broth. Those faceless internet types know their stuff! Saturday we spent enjoying the Greater Los Angeles Metropolitan Area attractions. A swap meet. Clambering around tidal pools at low tide. Quite a change from the last time I came by. Two years ago, we went down to the Tourist District for supper. It was two days after 9/11, and an impromptu pep rally was going on in Long Beach and the rest of the US. People were driving around in convertibles chanting vaguely patriotic slogans. Walking around with supportive signs. It was all so nice, so carefully unagressive. No demands for blood. No anti anybody slogans. Clean, Wholesome Patriotism. I was skeptical. Sumac was charmed. It was charming. I'd have liked to be charmed too, but I couldn't. I was right. Terrible thing, that. Didn't help the slightest bit to be right, and I could have just been charmed right along with everyone else and only one thing would have turned out different. I'd have had a better time of it. It's been a painful, contrary and ugly two years. Out of Unity, divisiveness. Out of Charity, war. Our Unelected President took the bait, hook line and sinker. Then he went out and gobbled another one for good measure. Another what? Another massive dysfunction mislabeled a "Country" with a starved, terrorized and politically balkanized Islamic population. That's obviously the only possible point for attacking the US with suicide hijackers. To provoke our leaders into doing something really stupid. To put ourselves in control of an Islamic population as conquerors. And Bush went out there and did it twice. Once wasn't good enough. Excuse me please for the politics. The preceeding statement has been getting a very poor reception every time I've tried it out. Seems pretty obvious to me, but others don't get the connection. There was no sign of politics in Long Beach CA this September 2003. Just a constant mild temperature with a breeze off the ocean and great Cambodian food. Sunday morning, it's time to head back. First there's Greater Los Angeles to get thrugh. Freeway to freeway, through the unending urban accumulation. In Azusa I needed gas. I tried three gas stations before I found one that would let me pee. I've learned that on the Left Coast, ask first before pumping. Having exchanged fluids, I was just about to pull away from the pump when a small Hyundai with roller skate wheels and a purple metalflake paint job pulled up next to me and the obsidian window rolled down. A Hispanic "kid" (under 30) looked up at me and asked "what kind of motorcycle is that? " A Honda. "Oh. Cool. How many (obscene spanglish word for femininity) do you get per mile? " Best I can guess, he thought the Pacific Coast was sexy. I was a bad boy after that. I was supposed to get back on the freeway. Instead, I headed up Azusa Blvd. to Mt. Baldy. Once upon a time, during the Kennedy Administration I lived not far from here. Mt. Baldy was a mythical mountain. It appeared three or four times a year, when we'd get a strong cold front that cleaned up the air. Then it was a big snowpeak looming over the northern horizon. You could see it over the back fence from the living room. The rest of the time it was hidden by smog. The smog is still there. Not as bad, not nearly as bad as I remember. But you still can't see Mt. Baldy from Azusa, twenty five miles away. The map showed a road through the mountains to the freeway I needed to take north out of the San Bernardino Valley toward Las Vegas. Longer, slower, but it's NOT A FREEWAY! So I went up into the San Berdoos. Steep, impossibly steep. Mostly dead dry scrub. Looks like any spark at all would send the whole hillside up in flames. As I'm heading through the last couple of stoplights into the foothills a group of sportbikes catch up with me. A Ducati, a Suzy SV650, a Ninja 600 and a BMW. I join in with them for the first couple of gentle curves. They're slower than Leland. I keep pace until the overbraking on corners gets to me and I pass the Suzy. On ahead the group is stretching out with the Duck in the lead. I set myself a comfortable following distance from the Beemer and see how long I can go without touching the brakes. Four or five miles of this, and the group heads off to the right. I continue straight past the sign "ROAD CLOSED AHEAD". Stopped at the next sign, smack in the middle of the road on a big gate. The road is closed because a fire in '02 caused erosion that has the mountainside so unstable, the highway department decided just to close it for a few years until things calm down. Once the hillside decides where it's going to be, assumably they'll rebuild the road. Sometime this century. Now what. Turn around. Back to Azusa? Look at the map. It's not clear at this scale, but it might be that the road to the right comes out on the freeway I want, forty miles before I'd intended. Looks like a fun road either way. Squiggly. Right it is. The road climbs and climbs, somehow never managing to get up into cool air. It's hot, sticky and smoggy. It is a fun road though. 10 mph. hairpins, no center line, no shoulder and no guardrails. Squid tracks here and there. One long uphill was burnout alley. So thick with rubber that it felt sticky. I encounter a couple packs of sportbikes, all headed the other direction. Fast. Up and up and up, a few pines here and there. A crossroads. Left to Mt. Baldy. Another five miles up into big pines. A ski lift. End of the road. No, it doesn't connect to the freeway. Three hours after I gassed up I'm back 20 miles east of Azusa filling up again. On to Las Vegas. I got off the freeway long enough to drive the strip. Not appealing. I wanted to ride that Hwy 14 in Utah again. And camp in mountains. The excursion into the San Berdoos cost me the night in the mountains. But Hwy 14 was coming up. And it is every bit as lovely the other direction. The Disney Designed canyons are endemic to that part of Utah. The farther along I went, the more fantastic they got. Back down off the plateau, I could either retrace familiar territory by heading south on 89. North was still untravelled. North it is. This leads to Hwy 12. East toward Colorado, but in a temptingly nonlinear fashion on the map. It passes Bryce Canyon National Park and spends many miles bordering or crossing the Grand Escalante Staircase National Monument. I now have yet another favorite ride. This one's got legs though. One canyonside after another, one amazing escarpment after another. It just keeps going on, all day and into the next one. At Bryce Canyon I paid my entrance fee and got the pleasure of driving a mile an a half into the park, to find that they were working on the road. A 45 minute wait each direction, estimated. No mention of that at the entrance gate. Hmph. No, No refunds. Past there, it's just plain fun. The scenery's spectacular. The road is a six owl hoot. Within the bounds of careful engineering, it's one surprise after another. A series of tight 45 mph esses pops you up onto a canyon rim with infinity suddenly 3/4 of the view. Twist around the tops of bright pink and cream sandstone ice cream formations. Then back down, five miles crossing a desert valley running just at the bottom of the cliffs. About 5:30 the light is the most gorgeous I've ever seen. I stop every few miles to take yet another gorgeous hillside glowing a color not normally found in nature. Incredibly frustrating, because just like at the Grand Canyon, all I can get is snippets. The front brake's making a suspicious hint of a noise. I start using it as little as I can get away with, so it'll last. More fun in the twisties to use compression braking an careful lines instead of lots of brakes anyway. The road follows a steep thousand foot dropoff edge for miles. A hill, a hard couple of esses and a steep downhill. The world opens up and the road is a loop of black dental floss dangling between rocky fingers. On both sides are 3/16" shoulders, then a 70 degree slope changing to perfectly vertical a few hundred feet down. The road drops a hundred feet to a knife edged bottom, then climbs just as steeply to the castellated edge of the far bluff. Gun it! Feel the G's at the bottom! What did I do with my wings? As it was getting dark I started down from the pretty country into desert. Wait a minute. It's a lot nicer up here. Uturn! Back up the canyon. Back into the Federal Lands. Back to that set of tire tracks I saw a couple of bends back. I stopped and walked the tracks back to a pretty campsite next to a flowing stream. Signs of flooding in the last month, but not more recently than that. It looked clear. Some sand, but I can get in here. And out, I think. I got in no problem. Camping in a tent on sand is a difficulty I solved long ago. Just make sure to put a 20 lb. or so rock on each stake that might pull out. And put the ground cloth so it makes an entryway where you can sit and brush off sand before climbing in bed. It took a couple of tries to find rocks that wouldn't break in half when you put them down. Sandstone. This is more sand than stone. A delightful night next to a babbling brook, with Mars overhead again. It's new moon now. Oh, but it's nice to sleep outdoors again. It was dark as the inside of a miser's pocket most of the night. Stars like an earthscape viewed from orbit. I fell asleep early and woke late. In San Diego I'd found a handful of sea urchin shells in a tide pool. I'd packed them in a plastic container wrapped in kleenex. During the night, something got into the trunk of my bike and chewed a hole in the container lid. Dragged out most of the kleenex and broke a part off one of the shells. Then apparently decided that they weren't edible after all and went about it's critterly business. At least, I feverently hoped it did. Just to make sure I spent most of an hour making sure. Time well spent. After a couple of weeks on the road, a thorough unpack/repack is a goodness. The lost was found, and there was space left over. Now back to the road through the sand. One scary moment when the front wheel followed the right rut but the back wheel decided to take the left one. Both feet on the ground in this stuff helps. Play the clutch carefully, engine just barely off idle. An itty bit more gas as the sand sucks up power. One wheel drive, street tires and 1,000 lbs. GVW. in sand is not a nice combination. I'm riding the razors edge between stalling the motor and slipping the tire. Here comes the grade. More power as the tire bites on gravel. That's better. Grip. Up! Made it. Back on the road. Three last turns, then desert. Another canyon climb, a roadside park. I stopped for a break and a brunch. A Ducati Multistrada stopped. He's from California, touring the Canyonland. We agreed it was a world class ride. I admired his new wheels, dry clutch rattle included. He continued on and I had a can of tuna with crackers. Twenty miles farther I caught up with him in a canyon. Passed him when I got a good legal chance, which he took as a challenge. He kept up with me for a while, then dropped back in the corners as the road climbed to the rim and the turns got sharper. Then down the other side. Starting across the next valley I see him coming up fast in the mirrors, so I sped up to 5k rpm through the flatland. That pattern kept up for miles, until I lost him completely in an extended twisty bit. I know it's not because I was driving too agressively, I'm still not using the brakes except in emergencies. But fast riding through twisties isn't learned in a couple of days, and he'd said he'd only had the Duc a couple of weeks. Onward. Colorado. New front brakes in Durango, a night the other side of Pagosa Springs. New Mexico. Back the same was as out, Hwy 14 out of Santa Fe. As dusk approached, so did the Sacramentos across the Jornada del Muerto. Last mountains before Texas. An unexplored sideroad took me up into the pines and the National Forest. A National Forest Access Road took me to a nice campsite, just as it got good and dark. There's a motorcycle camped there already. A ninja 250 with saddlebags. I'm impressed. Only a real motorcyclist would take a 250 camping. Only a real motorcyclist would think it possible. I parked a respectful distance away and walked over to say hi. He wasn't interested in socializing. So be it. I'd love to talk motocamping with someone who can do it on a 250, but if he's not interested, I've got a mountain evening and supper to entertain myself with. I set up camp and spent one last night happily gasping for breath in pine scented, low oxygen pressure mountain air. A nippy night. I was comfy, but getting up and out in the morning took willpower. Finally with my full riding gear on I was comfy around camp. Breakfast, pack, out on the road. It's still brisk. There was a Biker's Weekend coming up in Reodoso. It was only Thursday, but when I rolled through town it was already starting to fill up, even this early in the morning. I gassed up and headed on. A sunny but breezy, cool morning. Much to soon after, the mountains gave way to the Permian Basin terrain. And the wind picked up. It's blowing steady as a brick wall at least 30 mph in a cross/headwind from 10:00 North. I'm headed due east at 70. The Autolean (tm) system is compensating with a 15 degree tilt, about the same you'd use to take a marked 50 mph turn at 60. My neck is getting sore from the steady side pressure on my helmet. And I'm not even out of New Mexico yet! Down out of the mountains, but it's not any warmer here. I've still got on my heavy gear. On, and on across the plains, the endless plains. Leaning to the north, cowering behind the windshield at the wakeblast from trucks. On, and on and on. Finally as it started to get dark scrub cedar starts to show up. I'm in the Texas Hill Country. The wind is now gusty, whacking me in the open fields and letting go through the woods. Deer Hour. I find a pickup willing to run Bambi Guard and follow a respectful dozen car lengths behind. That damn wind fought me the whole way home, but I brought the weather behind it with me. Cool dry air from Canada, dragged all the way from the Llano Estacado. I rolled into the garage about 10 that evening. A night indoors. Didn't sound bad at all. Revill Rider of Whirby Austin (Center of the Universe) Texas
Leland Sheppard’s Trip Report
Message: 15 Date: Sat, 27 Sep 2003 13:08:45 -0700 From: "Leland C. Sheppard" <lcshepp@directcon.net> Subject: The 4th annual PCH ride (very long) - Trip Report Hi Coasters, I left home about 8AM on Saturday the 5th of September, headed for Eureka. Peter Noeth, Roy and Jerry Coss and I met at a Shell station in West Sacramento. After introductions, a little breeze shooting and gassing up, we were on our way to Eureka. I was anticipating a warm day on our inland route north but as we pulled out onto I80 heading west, I could see a VERY large fog bank in the distance. I figured that as in past years, the fog would be to our west when we turned north on US101. I figured wrong. When we pulled off I80 onto CA12, I pulled over and put on my warm suit. Ahhhhh... That's better. We headed west in a long line of cars either heading for the Napa Valley or for Sears Point Raceway. They call it something else now but it is still Sears Point to me. After turning onto CA121, we ditched most of the traffic including a Harley that fell in with us for a while. He pulled out fast, though, so I guess the silence must have disturbed him. Turning again onto CA116, we headed for Petaluma and 101. After riding north on 101 through Santa Rosa, we pulled off at Windsor for a burger. Have to have our own fuel, you know... After gassing up in Willets, we continued north to the start of the Avenue of the Giants. It's 30 miles of old US101 through the redwoods. The trees are as close as the edge of the road and as tall as 300 feet. I'm not a religious person but I have what can only be described as a religious experience every time I ride through here. We had made good time until now so we just poked through the trees enjoying every foot of this stretch. As we pulled into Eureka, we passed a red PC heading south. I thought it might be one of our group and it was; Ed Wahl was doing a little sightseeing. We pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot on Broadway and registered. Bob Walton from Milwaukie, Oregon was already there too. We spent the next couple of hours shooting the breeze and renewing our friendships. About 7:30PM, we headed out to Woodley Island and Cafe Marina for dinner. After dinner and much visiting, we headed back for the motels and some sleep. Sunday the 6th: Sunday is the day we take a long side ride through the mountains. It's a good ride. The first leg is sweepers for about a hundred miles; the road is CA299. At that point, we are in Weaverville and we stop for lunch at the Nugget Restaurant. We gas up there because there isn't a whole lot of gas from then until we get back to Eureka. And we have a good 130 miles of twisties and 20 miles of freeway between now and then. On the way to Weaverville today, we pass three PCs. One of them turns out to be Revill Dunn arriving from Texas, one turns out to be David Sigsbee arriving from Memphis, Tennessee and the third is a woman on an '89, apparently local, because we don't see her again. After lunch, about half the group turns around at Weaverville and heads back for Eureka. Bob Walton says that one of the stretches coming up is the only road that ever made him car-sick on a motorcycle... Roy and Jerry Coss, Ed Wahl and myself head off in that direction. We continue east on CA299 for a bit and then turn south on CA3. We take a rest stop at the junction of CA3 and CA36 where Roy and Jerry Coss head east on their way home; Roy has to be back at work on Monday. Ed Wahl and I continue on, west on CA36 back toward the coast. I stop in Hydesville and wait for Ed. We then make our way back to Eureka together. The weather was overcast and cool for much of the day but that was fine. Good riding weather. Very little traffic on 3 and 36 as usual. 299 has more traffic but it's tolerable. By the time we arrive back in Eureka, a bunch more folks have showed up. Harry Mitchell and Don Leitman had gotten in the night before but after we had gone to dinner. The first of the surprises had arrived as well: my buddy E. Buzz (Brian Soloway) from Virginia had flown out, bought a Very Fast Rocket and rode it to Eureka. The Williams boys, Dean and Kel, had also arrived along with Bruce Edenfield and Juan Goula from Alaska. Revill Dunn was there, as were David Sigsbee and Kevin Quosig. Kevin's matching Unigo trailer was already attracting attention as it would for much of the trip. About 7:30, we pull out and head for the Samoa Cookhouse out at Samoa. It is an old lumber camp cookhouse and a fun and interesting place to eat. We all get seated, start grubbing down when all of a sudden two of the three musketeers walk in: Ralph (Athos) McComb (Long Beach, CA) and Rick (Porthos) Corwine (Chanhassen, Minnesota) have arrived. Total surprise and delight for me!! I give them each a hug. They've been doing some riding. At least one of Rick's days was a 1200 miler... We push our chairs over a little and squeeze a couple more PCers around the table. By this time, our number is up to about 16 and we are all sitting at one large long table enjoying fried chicken and huge beef ribs. After dinner, we make our way back to our motels and a good nights sleep. Monday, September 8th dawns. The beginning of the fourth annual PCH ride is upon us. About 8:30, we head over to Bayshore Mall parking lot and line the PCs up in a row. Great sight it is, too, with 13 of us there. We get pictures of the bikes, the riders, the riders photographing each other, etc. It's pretty foggy and I'm worried about what the rest of the day will look like. About 9:30 we pull out and head down US101. The ride has begun. Luckily, just a few miles south of Eureka, the fog lifts and we start to get some sun. We take the Ferndale exit onto CA211 and start out onto the Lost Coast. This road is a very narrow, rough, winding, switchbacky, gravel-in-several-spots road. And the scenery is breathtaking. We wind our way up over the mountains and back down right to sea level. Lots of photo ops along here. And the fog has disappeared and it's beautiful. We continue on and start back inland, through Petrolia, and we stop at Honeydew. Honeydew isn't even a wide spot in the road. It's a general store with a bathroom and we stop and take advantage of the facilities. Heading out of Honeydew, we cross an old wooden-decked bridge and start back up over the mountains. I spend a good deal of time tooting my horn along here. Lots of deer and the road is too tight for me to be able to go fast enough to have my deer whistles work. Up and over and down the other side we go. As we drop down the inland side, we start getting into the redwoods. CA211 winds through a gorgeous grove of them on the way back out to where we will join the Avenue of the Giants and cross under US101. We turn south onto the Avenue of the Giants and, once into the trees, pull over for a butt break and photo op. We continue on south all the way to Phillipsville and the end of the Avenue of the Giants. At that point, we merge back onto US101. Not too many miles down the road is Garberville. We pull off there for lunch, gas and a fair amount of whatever. While there, a local fellow who had just bought a PC came over to visit with us and to check out the bikes. His wife said that as soon as he saw us pull in he started drooling! :-)
Harry Mitchell is charging his digital video camera at this point so he can try and get a movie of the stretch between Leggett and the coast; the start of CA1. We continue south on 101 to Leggett. We turn right onto the start of CA1 and more fun begins. This is a dandy stretch, similar to Deals Gap in the tightness and constancy of the curves. It is a 22 mile stretch with 3 straight pieces, 1/2 mile, 1 mile and 2.5 miles long respectively. That leaves a lot of corners. When we get out to the coast, we pull over and wait for everybody to arrive. Harry gets there and, much to my delight, has been able to film the entire stretch. (I have the tape and we will try to get it onto DVD and/or into MPEG format if we can.) This is a beautiful spot and we get lots of pictures and then head on down 1 toward Fort Bragg. The weather has been sunny and not too warm. Darn near perfect, so far. We get to Fort Bragg early enough that I want to try the side ride I've had listed for 4 years: Up CA20 to Willets and back. The prior week I had been in Fort Bragg and rode back via 20 and really enojyed it. Any takers? Sure. The Williams brothers and I took off. Bruce Edenfield was going to join us as well but we lost him to a motel down the line somewhere and didn't manage to hook up for this one. Anyhow, we jumped on CA20 and spent the next hour and a half going up to Willets and back about as fast as we could go. Nice road. Sweepers, twisties, not a lot of traffic, etc. On the way back, we just toodled. We were all tired and it seemed like the thing to do. It was just as well. About half way back, a county sheriff's car caught up and passed us. If we had been going hell bent for leather, we might have ended up with a piece of paper we didn't want... Back in Fort Bragg it was time to relax after a great motorcycling day. Lou Severson and Tom Humphrey joined us here in Fort Bragg. About 7:30 we left for The Wharf restaurant for a good dinner and lots more camaraderie. When they kicked us out (not quite but it was almost that late), we headed back for our motel(s) and a good night's sleep. Tuesday was another story. We left about 9AM. The Williams boys had already headed on down the road to catch some breakfast. This morning, Bob Walton and Bruce Edenfield had each headed home. Somewhere along the line today, Ed Wahl did the same. There was some fog as we headed south from Fort Bragg but it was high enough to not be a problem. The farther south we got, the wetter it got. I finally decided that this wasn't mist from fog but a drizzly rain. As we went through Point Arena, we spotted the yellow PC and the Bavarian Buffalo on main street: The Williams boys had found their spot for breakfast. We got to Jenner. Time for gas and a butt/potty break. It was getting wet enough by now that I pulled out the rain covers for my Eclipse tank bag and my Tourmaster tail bag. Everybody filled one tank and drained the other and we continued on to Bodega Bay. I changed the lunch stop to Bodega Bay this year since half the group had already been stopping there and since, the week before, I discovered that the place had better food than where we had been stopping. We pulled in to The Boat House and lined up against the back side of the parking lot. Great sight, all those PCs lined up! Hugh Brown of Santa Rosa joined us for lunch. We had a bite to eat and most people decided at this point to head inland in order to get out of the rain faster. Stubborn as usual, I continued on down 1. Besides it had stopped raining by this time and I could always hope, couldn't I? By the time we got to the Valley Ford turn and Juan and David missed the turn of CA1, it was just me, Kevin Quosig, Tom Humphrey and Revill Dunn left. We kept on truckin'. It didn't rain any more but was still foggy overhead. We stopped at Point Reyes Station for a few minutes and then continued on south. Peter Noeth caught up to us at that point and Tom Humphrey headed inland. We skipped our usual jaunt out to Point Reyes Lighthouse because of the chance of more rain and the likelihood that the Point would be completely socked in anyway. No fun when there was nothing to see. The section of CA1 south of Point Reyes Station is famous as a speedway for motorcycles on Sunday mornings. Everybody would start out in Mill Valley and head north on 1 as fast as possible. When they got to Point Reyes Station, everybody would stop for breakfast and then do the same thing on the way back. That's been going on for as long as I've been riding and probably a lot longer. It's a great stretch of road. Fortunately, we were coming through on a week day. Unfortunately, there was enough traffic that it took a lot of the fun out of it. Besides, as we climbed up the cliffs, we got into fairly heavy fog so the roads were a little damp anyway. Revill and Kevin were stopping for pictures so Peter and I lost them along the way. When we got to Marin Headlands for our photo op, you could barely see San Francisco from the first stop and the second stop, where I usually go, was completely socked in. We got a couple pictures of the fog and continued on into San Francisco. We were too early for commuter hours so we had to pay the $5.00 toll to get off the Golden Gate Bridge. Heading down 19th Avenue (which is CA1 in SF) we spotted Harry Mitchell and Brian Soloway at a gas station. We tooted and waved but the traffic was such that we kept on going. When we pulled into the motel in Pacifica, many of the folks who had headed inland were already there. The saving grace was that although it had been wet in the morning, it wasn't very cold; that had helped. Since the motel is right on the beach, while we shot the breeze we could also watch the surf and the surfers. About 10 minutes to 8 we walked next door to Nick's for the evening's dinner. More visiting, a good meal, more pictures, more PCer fun. Wednesday morning looked promising. There was a little sun light to the east of us. Maybe... Maybe? I could always hope... We leave late on Wednesday because it's a short day. Also, we don't want to overwhelm Alice's restaurant before all the help is there. About 9:30, we pull out and head south. There is some fog but it is overhead and the road, so far, is dry. We head through Devil's Slide, past Montara and the light house and hostel where a bunch of folks stayed in 2000 and 2001 and where, I suspect, Revill is probably staying. I don't see him, though, and we keep on going. Soon we reach San Gregorio and the junction with CA84. This is a great road reportedly designed and laid out by someone that rides motorcycles. I can believe it. We start up into the twistie section and I start sliding. Ooops... We get to a one lane section and the stop light there and Dean Williams pulls up and says, "I think I've got a tire going." I respond, "It's slippery; it got me too." We cool it through the rest of the corners without further incident. The weather was sunny, clear and cool but rain and fog and drizzle had occurred the day before and during the night so this whole section was wet. It is shaded enough that neither Dean nor I had noticed the moisture until it almost bit us. We got to Alice's and it was gorgeous. Sunny day. Alice's is world famous as a motorcycle stopping point along Skyline Boulevard. It sits at the junction of Skyline (CA35) and CA84. On Sunday mornings there are literally hundreds of bikes here. In the past, we've encountered international touring motorcycle groups here. Food ain't bad either. PC after PC is pulling in at this point. Roy Coss, Rennie Glover and Paul Elliot joined us here at Alice's. Introductions, how-did-you-do-thats, breakfast or lunch depending on your whim, eating outside on the deck, all was well with the world. It doesn't get a whole lot better than this. Before leaving Alice's, I get everyone to gather on the steps of the restaurant for a people photo. That one is on the ride web site now: www.pcpch.org After brunch, I'm hoping, that the road will have dried off. Alas, it was not to be. Much of this road is shaded by huge trees and it probably would take a couple of days for it to dry off... We take it easy and head back down to the coast and CA1. We turn south and about 5 miles down the road pull off into the San Gregorio Beach parking lot (the second one) for a photo op with the ocean in the background. Unfortunately, it is just foggy enough that you can't see the Pacific in the photo I took. You can see a bunch of PCs lined up, though, and it is still a great sight. Not everybody made this photo op; a couple of people headed to the east side of San Francisco Bay and Honda of Milpitas to get parts. Except for Brian Soloway, they were going to catch up with us in Monterey. Brian went and got new tires on his Very Fast Rocket and headed for Virginia. The rest of us headed south again, through Santa Cruz and into Monterey. I had forgotten to fill up before leaving this morning and had to pull off at Moss Landing. By that time, I was sweating bullets that I was going to run out and have to coast or push the bike up to a pump. "Where is the leader of your ride?" "Oh, he's a couple of miles back there pushing his bike this way..." I made it; it took only 4.109 gallons which meant that I had a couple of tenths left and could have gone a few more miles... :-)
We cruise past the dunes of Fort Ord and get off CA1 at Seaside and continue on into the motel in Monterey. Time to relax, sight see or whatever. I take my PC across the street and wash the dust, salt spray and bugs off the bike. Back to the motel and a relaxing afternoon. About 7:30, we head out for the restaurant on Cannery Row. Yes, that is the same location that John Steinbeck wrote about; there isn't a whole lot else besides the name that Steinbeck would recognize though... In past years, we've been able to park right in front of Bullwacker's. A nice sight for sure. Tonight, though, only a few of us get parked in front. I try to step out into a parking space that opens up to hold it for the PCers coming around the block but the driver of a car that wanted in just started to back right over me. Discretion being the better part of and not wanting to have both my legs broken, I decided to move out of the way. Bullwacker's is fun. We eat on a patio that, if you didn't look up, you wouldn't know was outdoors. When the temperatures are cool you realize it because it gets cold out there; they've had to turn on the gas heaters in past years but not this time. We get 12 or 15 of us seated around a single table and enjoy our meal and our usual visiting. Much to my delight, the Williams boys, George Hilsinger and the other folks staying north of Monterey in Marina have come in to visit with us even though they had already eaten. Charles Cervantes from LA shows up as well. He usually catches us at Alice's but missed this time. At least we got to say hi, shake hands, etc. By the time we leave, there is plenty of parking out in front. As usual. We wait for the folks that had to park elsewhere to make their way back to the front of the restaurant and we all head back to the motel together. Thursday morning, I missed Rick Corwine and Ralph McComb, two of the three Musketeers. They took off real early, Rick for Minnesota and Ralph for Long Beach. The Williams boys also turned around at this point. I swear, one of these years I'm going to convince them to spend AT LEAST one more day with us and get them through the beautiful Big Sur section of CA1. At least I'm going to try! About 9AM, we headed south, past Monterey, past Carmel and past the sign that says, "74 miles" and has one of those wiggly arrows indicating a winding road. Yessssssssss!!! The Big Sur stretch of CA1 is the one that Honda used in their poster to advertise the PC. "Ride the Pacific Coast" it says and shows a section of CA1 we are about to ride through. (Bruce Bowman from Honda of Milpitas brought that poster to the 2000 and 2001 rides - you can see a picture of it on the ride web site.) It's drop-dead gorgeous; photo ops around every bend. It has a few very tight corners but is generally made up of sweepers and some straight stretches where one can really move if one chooses. :-)
The road climbs up and down the cliffs and in some places you can see
miles of it winding ahead or behind you. Point after point jutting out
into the ocean with the road winding around the edge of the point so all
you can see ahead or behind is the section of road at the tip of each
point. Breathtaking.
We spread out and go like the wind for a couple of hours until we reach
Ragged Point. Good place for a rest stop. I park the bike on the road
so people coming behind me will see us. There is a resort at this
location so coffee, delicious rolls, snacks, gas, bathrooms etc. are all
available. As we are pulling in, a group of great looking and sounding
hot rods pull out heading north.
Kevin's Unigo trailer attracts its usual amount of attention so he's
showing and explaining it to a couple of interested motorcyclists who
were heading the other direction.
Fortified and tanks drained, we continue south. Past the elephant seals
on the beach, past San Simeon and Hearst Castle, past Morro Bay with
that gorgeous hunk of rock out in the bay.
The road straightens out here quite a bit. Long stretches where you can
see miles of ocean and miles of road fore and aft.
We reach San Luis Obispo, end up on US101/CA1 for a ways before turning
off at Grover Beach. South of Oceano, we stop at the Rusty Pig Barbeque
for lunch. Messy burgers but delicious. Hole-in-the-wall place in the
middle of nowhere. Blink and you would sail right by it.
While having a bite at the Rusty Pig, we get to talking with a guy just
finishing his lunch. Turns out to be a PCer, Roy Thomassen, who used to
live in the SF Bay Area. I wondered what had become of him; turns out
he moved to Atascadero. Still has his PC.
We continue on south, through farming country, past Vandenberg Air Force
Base and into Lompoc. This area was on fire when we came through here
last year. Fortunately, it was not burning again this year.
The restaurant where we eat here, Saletti's Italian Restaurant, had
moved. I rode down to be sure they were opened up OK; I had not been
able to reach them by phone. The doors are locked and the place is
looking very much "under construction." Oh, oh...
No need to worry. I get back to the motel, call them again and manage
to raise someone. "What is your name again?" "We don't have you down."
"But we can handle you OK." Whew... I knew they had received my
letter about reservations because they had called me to tell me they
moved...
About 7:45, we head for Saletti's. Boy, are they open. We can't find a
place to park. We head across the street, to their old location, and
park over there. Turns out to be only their second day in the new
location but we had a good dinner anyway. Visiting, pictures, good
food, good PCer stuff.
On the way in, we notice that there are crowds of people standing
around. Turns out there was a bank robbery in progess next door to
where we parked. The police were there and the robber was inside the
bank. Don't remember if there were hostages involved or not. In any
case, it was still going on when we left a couple of hours later. No
end of excitement on this ride! :-)
Friday morning, Kevin Quosig headed home. We started out at 9AM as usual. I like to keep moving on Friday so we get through LA before the rush hour. A little south of Lompoc, we encounter a sign that says "End CA1" as we are joining US101. I don't know why it's posted that way because it isn't true. We head south on US101, through Santa Barbara, past Ventura (where we lose Revill Dunn to a gas stop) and into Oxnard where we pick up CA1 again. We go through Oxnard, stop for gas, stop for a burger and then continue on CA1 which now moves back to the coast again. We continue on through Malibu, through Santa Monica, Westchester, LAX (yes, CA1 goes right through the middle of the airport. We go under one of the runways just as a plane is landing. Strange experience...) and back out to the coast again. In Long Beach, we encounter a detour. I follow it left. We had lost three people some lights back so we stop to wait for them at the first point we could stop. Unfortunately it was out of sight of the start of the detour. We wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, I decided that since Peter Noeth was with the missing group and since he has a GPS mounted on his PC that he had probably created his own detour. Turns out that is correct. I didn't see it but there were two detours. One to the left (which I took) and one to the right (which Peter and company took). They ended up in Long Beach Harbor, turned around and found their way back onto CA1. Anyway, we continued on, back out to the coast, through the Beach Cities and on into San Clemente, past Dave's Mexican Restaurant and into the Casablanca motel. My favorite motel of the whole trip. It's expensive but the rooms are huge, all those on the second or third floors have a balcony with table and chairs, etc. Large central courtyard where they serve a continental breakfast, parking under the motel, etc. Nice place. When we get there, we find Peter already there and I find out about the "other" detour. I pull out my tripod, set my camera up and get a picture of those left, myself included, on the steps of the Casablanca. At that point, Lou Severson, Harry Mitchell, Don Leitman and David Sigsbee all take off. They are headed for San Diego and home or relatives. That night Peter and I walk down to Dave's for dinner where we find George Hilsinger already going through the menu. We are the only ones left. We enjoy Dave's good food including (for me) some wonderful stuffed jalapenos! We say goodnight to Dave, head for our motels and some shuteye. Saturday morning, I get a call from the front desk that someone is waiting to see me, a PCer. I finish dressing and head for the courtyard where I see Phil Grice. Phil and I sit and shoot the breeze for an hour or so at which point several more of the southern California PCers arrive for our Saturday side ride. Ben Crisologo, Jerry Williams, Chuck, a friend of Jerry's and Bob Wood arrive and we take off. After a gas stop, we head out onto the Ortega highway (CA74). This is a famous motorcycle route, CHP everywhere, and it's a dandy motorcycle road. We get stuck behind a couple of pickups that are crawling and in spite of the signs that tell slower traffic to pull into the turnouts, they won't budge. And I don't have a long enough straight to get around them. Finally Chuck, on a Yamaha crotch rocket, scoots past them and slows WAY down right in front of them which allows the rest of us to get around them OK. Never thought of doing that but it sure worked. We never saw the pickups again. Unforunately, a few miles later, as I started to pull out into a parking area overlooking Lake Elsinore, Jerry's friend Chuck went down. His Yamaha was still ridable (after we did some work to the shift lever) but he and Jerry decided not to finish the ride and to head home. We continued on into Temecula to Mad Madeline's for some good burgers for lunch. After lunch, Ben and Bob said so long and George Hilsinger and I headed south on I15. We turned on CA76 back toward the coast. I wanted to do a little exploring south of San Clemente to see if I could find anything left of CA1 down there. We rode better than half way to San Diego on "Historic 101" while seeing absolutely no sign of old CA1. We stopped for refreshments, George said goodby and headed for San Diego via the freeway. I continued on south all the way to La Jolla with the same results: No trace of old CA1. At that point I turned around and headed back to San Clemente and the Casablanca. Saturday evening Peter Noeth and I enjoyed dinner at Rick's Tropicana Bar and Grill. The food is good. The front of the restaurant is open to the breeze which gives you an idea of the climate here: Temperate. After dinner and before the live band gets started, Peter and I walk out onto the San Clemente Pier to watch the fishermen and check out the view of the lights up and down the coast. After trying to get a few time exposure shots of the lights we head back to the Casablanca. The 2003 ride is over. I always hate to see it end. But then there is next year...
-- Leland Placerville, California, USA
Message: 3 Date: Mon, 15 Sep 2003 23:53:30 -0700 From: "Leland C. Sheppard" <lcshepp@directcon.net> Subject: New route home Hi Coasters, I took a new route home from the PCH. Ben Crisologo had suggested that I should try the Angeles Crest Highway. The road is famous and I already knew the name. I decided to check the map and discovered a new, albeit long, route home. I left San Clemente about 8:30AM on Sunday. Got gas before I headed north on I5. I was looking for CA2, the Glendale Freeway. That also happens to be the highway designation for the Angeles Crest Highway. About 60 miles later, I veered east on CA2 and, following the road signs, soon ended up on a climbing two lane route with the same designation and a BUNCH of bikes. I got by a couple of Harleys and, up the road a bit, a couple of BMWs and a slow moving crotch rocket. I figured that with so many bikes and such a reputation that the gendarmes would be in full force. They were. I saw 5 CHP cruisers, 1 CHP SUV and 1 CHP motorcycle officer. The cruisers were all going the other direction and when they passed me (radar aimed?) I was doing between 5 and 10 over the limit. The motorcycle officer was writing a ticket for a crotch rocket that had passed me a while back and the SUV was writing a ticket for an old Suzuki standard bike that had come sailing by as well. I stuck with my 5 to 10 over, had a ball, and didn't get a ticket. That's a nice road, Ben. Thanks for the suggestion. It climbs from about 600 feet to 7300 feet and has beautiful views around every corner. And it has a lot of corners... :-)))) 60 miles of corners later, I got to the end of CA2 and turned right on CA138. After a few miles, I turned east/north onto I15 and after a few more miles turned north on US395. US395 is one of favorite roads on the planet for sightseeing. It runs through the desert in southern California (where I was at the moment) and then up the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. From the time the Sierras come into view, the ride consists of one breathtaking view after another. I spent the next several hours skirting the eastern side of the Sierras. Gas at the junction of I15 and US395. Gas again in Big Pine. I was hungry so I stopped at Erick Schat's Bakery in Bishop and had a super ham and cheese sandwich on Sheepherder's bread. Delicious. When I got beyond Mammoth Lakes, I turned into June Lake Loop and took that little side trip past 4 jewels: June Lake, Gull Lake, Silver Lake and Grant Lake. Back out on 395, I turned onto 120 and took the 12 mile side trip up to the top of Tioga Pass and back. It is one of the most breathtaking stretches of road on the planet, I think. I have ridden it as many as three times in one day... Just once today, though... Back from the heights, I headed north on 395 again. Past Lee Vining (where I usually stay with the motorhome and one of the PCs for my mountain forays), past the start of Bodie Road (Bodie being my favorite ghost town), past Bridgeport and the breathtaking views coming into and out of that little town, past Sonora junction and the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center, through Walker Canyon where Walker River has almost dried up, through the little town of Walker which has two of the best burger joints around, to the junction with CA89. Turning west on CA89, it looked as though the whole mountain range was on fire. There was smoke covering the sky to the north. I'm still not sure where the fire was but I never did see it and I did get past the smoke. Winding my way up and over Monitor Pass and down the other side on a really good motorcycle road. Smooth pavement and over 20 miles of mostly curves, from 5000 to 9000 feet in elevation and back down again. At the end is the junction with CA4 coming down (at 24% grades) from Ebbetts Pass. A few miles farther through a river canyon and into Markleeville. Filled up at an automatic 24-hour gas pump for $2.75 a gallon. Since it took 4.237 gallons to fill it, I was happy to pay; I could have gone about 2 more miles with the .054 gallons left in my tank. :-) Continuing on down CA89 toward Woodsford, I ran into fire trucks blocking the road, lights flashing. Turns out there was a motorcycle accident up ahead and I had to detour around. By the time I got through the detour and called my roommate to let her know I was going to be late, the accident had been cleared. I never did see or hear what had happened. Up at the junction of CA88 and CA89, I stopped and put my warmer suit on. It was getting dark by this time (about 7:30PM) and getting colder. I was at about 6000 feet, I think. Continued on CA88, over Carson Pass, past Caples Lake (another jewel), Kirkwood ski area, Silver Lake, and finally onto Mormon Emigrant Trail. Down Mormon Emigrant Trail, past Jenkinson Lake (so dark by this time I couldn't see it) and onto US50 and home. The bike turned 70,000 about a half mile from home; arrived at 9:30PM. Ended up being a 13 hour, 676 mile day. Great way to end a great PCH ride. Leland Placerville, California, USA
Harry Mitchell’s Trip Report
Harry Mitchell's 03 PCH Tour trip report (including to & from Montana) :Total Miles (on Honda Speedo.) = 3,543 -- Total Gal.= 86.6 -- Ave. m/g =40.9 -- Best m/g = 49.2 -- Worst m/g = 32.2 FYI --- Data from Sigma Sport BC-800 Computer (bicycle unit): Ave. speed =58.1 -- Max speed = 110 -- Hrs. traveled =62.53 -- Speedometer = same as Honda at all speeds, however Sigma Sport registered 3,631 total miles vs. Honda's 3,543 (which is more accurate ??) Metzeler tire wear -- front =.5-32nd -- rear 1-32nd.. In summary -- Rick Corwine, whose opinion I respect, said it best --"Leland's annual Pacific Coast Odyssey is the best all around tour of the many great PC tours he has experienced".. IMHO -- every Coaster should, if possible, make this tour at least once while he/she can.. Life is short -- plan now for 04.. <Lemmings Non Sumus> Harry