Follow the New Front Tire

Day 1

The ride began at around 11am. A little later than long rides usually get going, but I did the usual 15 trips back into the house to get stuff I though I might need. I even went back after I got a few blocks away to get some ibuprofen to take along.

I got to Kingsburg on schedule, had some lunch, then headed straight north through the vineyards. Destination: Bass Lake, where I did a 25-mile bicycle ride a few years ago.

My plan was to go along the south shore of Bass Lake then head west to Oakhurst, where 49 begins. I made a couple wrong turns and wound up on the north shore. These wrong turns are pretty predictable when the map is in the bag on the back of the bike, and are the reason I chose to avoid this route last summer when transitioning from Yosemite to Sequoia. I didn’t want to get lost and lose valuable time. In retrospect I would rather have been lost forever than to listen to the whining about the heat from the Hawaii Weather Wimps (HWW) as we passed through Fresno on the valley floor. It was only about 105 that August day.

Anyway, these wrong turns put me into the town of Bass Lake, which had a great classic auto show going on. I felt lucky and walked around the show for a few minutes. I took a few photos of cars that had been popular hotrods in my youth, bought “the t-shirt,” then headed to Mariposa.


Fins


57 Chevy 58

After drooling over the cars I headed to Oakhurst, to start the run up 49.


Start 49

In Mariposa I stopped for fuel and to stretch my legs. As I pulled into the station, a group of about a dozen Goldwings pulled out going the other way. An elderly European walked over to me and asked me what all the motorcycles were doing on the road today. (There were more bikes than cars, and even the Harley riders were waving.) I told him that it was a beautiful day for riding and it was a terrific road. He said, no, there were 2000 bikes in Sonora. I had no idea what kind of ride was going on, but made a mental note to find out. A couple of sport bikes pulled in for fuel and left, and a guy drove in on a Shadow 1100. Like many before him, he eyed my Magna with envy. He said his friend had one and it would run rings around his 1100. He also said he used to owned Harleys and would never own another one. He likes the "bulletproof" Hondas like I do. He had just come up the hill on a short ride from Atwater and headed right back home.

I finally left Mariposa and entered the best part of Highway 49, between Mariposa and Coulterville. This was the highlight of our Yosemite ride last August. It was just as awesome, though a little more dangerous as all the rains left a lot of small rocks and sand on the road. The rear tire got loose on me twice.


Merced River - Top


Ready to Descend

Actually, this was the second great segment of the day. I was earlier surprised on Auberry Road going up to Bass Lake. It has a similar descent to a river valley, in this case the San Joaquin River. At the new bridge I dismounted and walked down to where the old bridge had been. It was incredibly peaceful. The river was running strong, as all of the Sierra rivers are right now due to the long, wet winter. Walking back to the bike it was so quiet that I heard this tiny waterfall about 20 yards off the road.


San Joaquin River


Tiny Waterfall

Tonight I'm spending the night at the Miners’ Motel in Sonora, with about 265 miles of riding behind me.

Open Season

I got the Wing out of the garage for the first time this year. It was a long winter without a ride for a couple reasons. On my last ride to the Pacific Coast last September the alternator gave up the ghost somewhere in the Napa wine country. Getting home from that is a story in itself. My only other breakdown in years of motorcycling was a flat tire on the Pali Highway on my way to a class at the University of Hawaii. I guess I’ve been lucky. As the engine has to come out of the Goldwing to repair the alternator, it took me many weeks to arrange it and get it done. With spring approaching I couldn’t leave it in the garage much longer.

Yesterday, as the temperature climbed above 60 and threatened to stay there I decided it was time to ride. I had no destination or plan, but put on the leather jacket and fired up the engine which had been resting too long. I started out on the streets of town, but soon tired of that and headed north, the bike purring and begging to find some open road.

Past the airport and after a few gentle curves, I passed the spot where my Shadow went down almost two years ago, reminding me of the great ride that preceded that moment of sadness. The loose gravel that the Shadow didn’t like is still there. Further north the road enters the foothills and the curves become a little less gentle and a little more interesting.


Appetizing Concrete

I stayed on Granite Road, one I’ve traveled often, all the way to Glenville. I considered continuing up into the mountains to find some snow, but only for a few seconds. Instead I stopped at a great little general store, Hosan’s, for a cup of coffee and a candy bar. After resting my okole there for a few minutes I got back on the Wing for the ride home.

At the first fork in the road, I decided to take the road less traveled; one I have never ridden on. It added a few miles to the trip home, but of course it’s about the journey, not the destination. This road was older, smaller, and in a poorer state of repair. But it was beautiful! Most of the year these foothills are brown and unexciting. Today they are a bright green, in response to all the rain we’ve had the last few weeks. Can this really be so close to Bakersfield? This road to the small town of Woody has very little traffic, and on this sunny weekend afternoon there may be a total of 5 vehicles, 3 of which are motorcycles. This road is quite popular with the rice rocketeers, and sadly claims one each year or so.

One of the nice features of my Wingebago is its radio, and I was close enough to Bakersfield to listen to FM music. About 5 minutes after beginning my foray into the rolling green, I heard the opening notes of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” as sung by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. This is a rather haunting version of the old tune, and was effectively used to add a touch of emotion to the ending of “Finding Forrester,” one of the better recent movies. Why Bradda Iz showed up on a Bakersfield radio station, I’ll never know, but the timing couldn’t have been better. Rainbows are as rare in Bakersfield as clean air, but I saw one over the airport as I returned from a very rainy flight the other day. As Iz sang to me from his grave, I thought of Hawaii and my friends there. Dan’s one-time biker babe, JoAnne, gave me this CD as a farewell gift when I left the islands, so I always think of her when I hear this song. Green foothills are as rare as rainbows here, and swaying back and forth through the lush green on the curvy road to the sounds of Bradda Iz, thinking warm thoughts of aloha, was magic. Curve up right—curve down left—curve up right—curve down left—and again and again. Reminiscent of flying lazy eights in my little Grumman over the lightly scattered clouds above Wahiawa, and of surfing rainbows high over Kahuku.

It’s going to be a great season!

The hills are lovely, green and steep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
--with apologies to Robert Frost.

Tomorrow I’m hopping on the Magna for the same ride. This time I won’t leave my camera at home.


Rolling Hills

On the Magna it’s a different ride! Noisy. Very noisy. But exciting! The Magna is made for curves; it eats concrete. Slow into the curve, on the throttle coming out. Just like all the books about racing I read when I was a kid hanging out at the town library. Once again I pass the scene where the road ate my Shadow, and I’m reminded to keep a sharp eye out for loose gravel, plentiful on the back road that is my destination. Too easy for the road to eat the bike instead of the other way around.

Yesterday the cows by the road barely looked up as I passed by them on my stealthy Wing. Today they startle and run as I approach them without mufflers. Yesterday was the beauty and solitude. Today is noise and adrenalin. I think more of the danger and stop to take a picture of some rocks painted in memory of one of the rice rocketeers who lost his life on this road.


Memorial

Further up the road I see a bar that I missed yesterday, perhaps because nobody was there. Today there was half a dozen Harleys parked in front. A confederate flag was flying above the bar and 8 or 10 bikers stood around outside drinking beer. I thought about stopping for a beer myself. But only for a second. Not on this road. And not on a Honda.

It’s open season, and I have miles to go before I sleep.