Ed had mentioned that he was going to be in the area, and I, of course, offered him lodging. He said that he was hooking up with RW for steaks on the barbee, and might not be by. Porterhouses win out over a mattress in the basement anytime, so I figured I wouldn’t see him.
I was wrong.
He got in about 9 or 10. We drank and caroused for a bit, and he asked what my plans were for the weekend. I told him that I had no plans, and that sealed my fate - we were riding to Willville. I spoke to RW, and we agreed to meet at the rest stop on 66 “at 8:30. Not 9, not 9:30.”
I rousted us out of bed an on the road in time to go get some food, but everything was closed, what with it being the 4th. We stopped and got gas and some gas station food, and made it to the rest stop on time. RW pulled up about 9. We talked about routing, and Ed reiterated that he didn’t want to slab. RW’s plan was to slab to the head of the BRP. When Ed said again that he didn’t want to slab, RW said that it was “only 60 miles.” Ed acquiesced. Slab down 66 to 81. After 90 miles, Ed smoked past us to pull off at 211, and we both followed. We chatted at a gas station and Ed and I decided to peel off and do 211. I let him lead - since my crashes, I’m just not as fast leading, but I do fine keeping up.
211 is a great road. We were unobstructed, and both made good passes. On the way back over, we stopped at the top, and I had a smoke. The place I pulled off was cambered pretty severely, but the bike was stable… until I tried to get back on, at which point it fell over. Sigh. Another zero speed drop It wasn’t until later that I remembered that I had been planning on putting my windshield on this weekend - glad I didn’t do it before this trip… or so I thought.
We took 340 down to the head of the BRP, and motored on. The BRP is a nice road… it’s a perfect road to ride “The Pace” on. At my speed, you don’t have to brake for any corners, and can roll on the throttle coming out of them. Ed had me leading since by his own admission he can’t help but continue to speed up.
We made it to Willville in a comfortable 9 hours, taking frequent rest stops and smoke breaks. At one of the gas stops, there was a sign on the door:
Lost Dog
Black lab
About 70 pounds
Very friendly
Wearing only a flee collar
Please call [phone number]
All I could think was, “Well, no wonder he ran off… You put a flee collar on him!” Heh.
Once we got the tent set up, we partook in a few beverages, until the rain came in… and come in it did. We were the last to be sitting around the fire, just bullshitting and catching up. There was some lightning about, but it seemed fairly far off - “seemed” being the operative word here. All at once it sounded like a waterfall, but it wasn’t raining yet. Realizing what was happening, we tore off across the campground to get our gear inside. We got a little wet, but nothing too bad. As we lay there, drowsing off to sleep, there were a couple strokes of lightning that were so close the crack almost seemed to come before the light, but after a long day, it did nothing more than register.
I woke early the next day, and straggled up to get some coffee. PR was planning out a route. I’ve ridden with Phil before, notably at the Sternwheeler, and he is the epitome of smooth=fast. On that day, he was leading on a Pacific Coast, which is not a sport bike by any stretch of imagination… I wasn’t -working- to keep up with him, but I was definitely at the upper edge of my skills.
Anyway, Ed, Michael from Orange, Martin Gerald (and his son), and I took off. It didn’t start raining immediately, but did start up in earnest after an hour or so. I recognized a couple places that I had gone through on my trip down to see Ed, and wanted to see if I could get us on one of the roads that I very fondly remembered (rt 600), but it was not to be. We took a nice and easy route until about noon, when we got to some of Phil’s secret roads… and there’s good reason he keeps them secret. I had an absolute hoot on some of these roads - no cops, no gravel, and no traffic. We ended up at “Hungry Mother” state park at about 5, I think. A check of all of us led to the decision to head for home. En route, it was agreed that we were all hungry, and we stopped at what Phil referred to as a “fish camp.” Apparently these are “family” restaurants, so when I asked for a beer, the waitress, who it turns out was 16, looked at me as if I had three heads. Ah well…. what do I know. :~)
We got back to camp around dark and sat around the fire telling lies until, oh, I don’t know… late. A good time was definitely had.
I didn’t want to get back late, since a long motorcycle ride makes work the next day difficult, so I had a ‘wheels up’ departure time of 10. Michael from Orange decided to ride back with me, but he wanted to stop at a mill on the BRP. Since I didn’t really have a required arrival time, that sounded good to me. It turned out to be one of the most picturesque spots I’ve ever seen. Maybe it was the light, maybe it was the mood, but it was a great call on his part. We both got involved in conversations with strangers, and ended up spending a good hour there. Once we got rolling again, we didn’t stop until Peaks of Otter, where we had lunch. Michael had dessert - I eschewed it, and for good reason - about 45 minutes later he pulled over to let me know that he was nodding off, and was going to take a nap. I motored on.
I made a tactical error, though… I decided to take skyline drive. After about 20 miles, I could see thunderheads building to the West. I stopped and put on my rain gear and watched the storms roll in. 10 miles later, the skies opened, and I was in a pretty serious rain storm. it was raining so hard that the seal on my face shield failed, and the water was running down the inside, making it impossible to see, let alone pass the Winnie I was stuck behind. I should have gotten off at rt 33, but I stayed on all the way to 211, stuck behind the Winnie, who also got off at 211… Sigh. However, it was not without its rewards… firstly, I couldn’t see well enough to go much over the posted speed of 35, and secondly, I learned that rain in the mountains is **cold**. I was fine, except for my hands, since I was wearing only my leather work gloves. Once we got down a couple hundred feet on 211, the rain went from ice water, to bathwater… it was neat to experience.
It was 9 hours there, 12 hours Saturday, and 12 hours to get home, and a lot of it in the rain.
I don’t know how far I went, and I didn’t bring my camera, but golly it was fun.
