Plan? What Plan? We don't need no steenking plan!

Another last minute call. My friend Rob, who's younger than me but retired from the fire department, has forgotten that some of us have to work for a living. "Can you get tomorrow off?", he asked. "We're putting together a ride to Bass Lake and Yosemite, leaving at 9:30 tomorrow morning." I immediately remembered my friend Dr. Bob in Hawaii who would often call and say, "Let's go flying. I'll meet you at the airport in 20 minutes." So I'm used to last-minute calls, and actually like them. Rob continued, "We're going to stay at a cabin at the lake, spend all day Saturday in the park, then ride home on Sunday."

Bass Lake is one of my favorite spots anywhere. I did the Grizzly Century bicycle ride around that lake my first year here. "Sounds great, Rob, but I've got two cross-country flights scheduled for tomorrow. I doubt if I can even leave early. Can I meet you at the lake tomorrow night?"

And so another great ride started. I tried to hurry the cross-country flights a bit, skipping the usual great lunch at Livermore. One of the trainees had coincidentally planned his route over the foothills of the Sierras and near Bass Lake, so I got a bit of a preview. You can't save all that much time by skipping lunch, so it was still after 3 when I left work. I hurried home, packed up the dog to put him in jail for the weekend, and drove away from the SPCA a little after 4. By 5 I was packed up and on the road up to Bass Lake for a great weekend.

When I got up there the group had just ordered their dinner at a Mexican restaurant. My bike was the 7th, 4 riders from the DA's office, and 4 from the CAP. One guy was both, the link between the two groups. Three riders brought along their wives. It was a really fun group. Three of the bikes were Harleys. I was pleased to upset the balance with the 4th Japanese bike. Turns out my late invite came because another fireman was called out on a huge wildfire (still raging today) on the way to Los Angeles. He would've been on a Harley.

After dinner we went over to the cabin where there were plenty of beds for everyone. We planned to depart at 7:30 the next morning so everyone went to bed pretty early.

When I lead rides, I set a departure time an hour before I really want to get started, because my companions run on Hawaii time. This is Caleefornia, though, and we started out only 15 minutes late, in a cool-mountain-lake 52 degrees. It was beautiful.


Getting ready for the ride to breakfast.



We rode into Oakhurst for a great breakfast then headed up the hill and into Yosemite National Park.



The weather couldn't have been any better. After the cool morning start, the maximum for the day was probably around 80.


Parked by the tunnel




Ten of us


Framed half dome


Millions have posed here


Yosemite Valley




On the road to Tuolumne Meadow


From Glacier Point

One of the wives took loads of pictures from her back seat. I told her it made me feel like I was riding in the "Tour Day France" as she photographed us on the move. She's putting her photos on a CD-ROM for everybody, so I'll post a few when I get them.

49 Revisited

Yesterday I had an opportunity to take the following pictures from my office window. A great conclusion to a great bike ride.

Bass Lake


Over 41 South to Oakhurst

Looking eastward up the Stanislaus River and Highway 108. Last year we lunched at Strawberry a few miles up this canyon. In the distance is Yosemite Park. To the right is a new wildfire we reported.


Stanislaus River/Hwy 108


Hwy 49 over DonPedro reservoir

This is the exciting section of 49 crossing the Merced River from the Mariposa side looking toward Coulterville.

Hwy 49 Over Merced River

Three Days on Highway 49

Three Days on Hwy 49

Can there be TOO many twisties?

Day 3

Home at last, but the day didn’t start out well. I woke up at 3:30am with an extremely sore left forearm. I spent the next hour and a half worrying about how I was going to ride with such a sore arm, and how was I going to fly on Tuesday—my first Baron flight in about 2 years. I finally got back to sleep and woke up again at 8. It was pretty cool outside again but I was happy to take my time again anyway. I took some ibuprofen (glad I went back for it on Saturday) and waited for it to take effect. After a shower and a slow bike cleaning the arm felt useable so I saddled up and headed out for the final day at about 10:15.

I quickly learned that all I had to do was change the position of my elbow and my arm was like new. The pain wasn’t really from clutching but from all the tension in the climbs and descents. Conscious relaxation of the arm made me forget that it hurt at all.

The seventeen-mile run into Sonora wasn’t as great as I’d hoped. All the Sunday drivers and all the bikers were gone as I’d predicted, but they were replaced by Monday work vehicles, which were worse. Pickups and vans who totally owned the road and made no concession to the biker in the rear view mirror. Once past Sonora, however, the traffic disappeared. The stretch shared with Highway 120 was really fast and then from Chinese Camp (where one of the HWWs was riding so fast he couldn’t read the signs and made a wrong turn) all the way to Mariposa I had the road all to myself. The climb to Coulterville past the banks of green rock (obsidian?) was more beautiful than I remembered. You can see so much more if there is no traffic and you can set your own speed. Also I was wearing polarized sunglasses on Day 1, and the scenery just didn’t look as good.

I should have stopped at the quaint old hotel in Coulterville for a soda, but was on a roll and headed for the descent to the Merced River crossing. At the bottom I stopped to take a couple pictures from the other end, then crossed the river and made the great climb up toward Mariposa. I almost turned around and went back to Coulterville for one more run at this canyon, but had no confidence that my arm was going to continue to feel good.


The Low End of the Merced River Climb

When I got to Mariposa I stopped for a bite to eat and wandered around the Museum of Gold Mining. My first concession to actually learning something about the history along this fantastic highway. I had skipped Sutter’s Mill and Mark Twain’s house as well as a couple other significant locations, and would’ve skipped this one if I weren’t tired. Glad it was break time.

There was a post office right next to the museum. Flying below the US flag was a POW-MIA flag. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that flag on a federal building before.


POW MIA flag

The last segment of 49, back to Oakhurst, is pretty fast, and I stopped there again to take a couple photos, get some fuel, and say a proper goodbye to a great Highway. The HWWs will note Pete’s great breakfast place across the road from the sign.


The End of 49

I wanted to take the quickest route home from here without actually going through Fresno. Buuut, a couple of wrong turns put me too far into the city and another one put me back even farther. I finally got on track and came into Kingsburg from the north, and it only took me about 30 minutes longer than it should have. I dismounted downtown in “little Sweden” and walked around for about 30 minutes. Every restaurant was closed, just as they had been when Michele, Ed, and I wandered around this street on our way back from Yosemite. The rusk lady was still gone, so I left her some money and a note (again) and helped myself to another rusk. This street was so much like before (nearly abandoned), that I felt like I was in the twilight zone. I finally remounted, got some gas, and started the last leg home.

Highway 99. Ho hum. Held as close to 70 as I could all the way for a gas mileage test (46.7), and got home a little after 6:30. Weakened but not so painful arm, tired but not painful body. Loving the road and loving the bike (my touring sport cruiser) that carried me safely up and back. Once the temperature got into the 70s it stayed there. The leather jacket was comfortable again all day. It was a perfect day, even for the HWWs.

For the benefit of the HWWs, some equipment observations:

The add-on windshield—already proven to be an absolute necessity on a long ride.

Floorboards—very comfortable. Easy to change foot and leg position. I scraped each of them once while cornering, so they probably slow the bike down in turns, but that may be a good thing.

Sissy bar/luggage rack—looks good and even in the absence of a biker babe is functional for securing luggage.

Driver backrest—very comfortable. An absolute necessity. This old couch potato really beat up his body over 3 days. No back pain and no shoulder pain. And now I know how to avoid the forearm pain.

Gas pump nozzle thingy—holds the gas fume recovery collar back on the gas nozzle. Makes refueling a breeze. Bought it at the Motorcycle Madness a couple weeks ago. Almost left it on the pump once. Various versions available on the internet.

Throttle-rocker—dollar for dollar the best accessory I’ve found. Takes away the need to squeeze the throttle all day long. Right hand doesn’t get nearly as tired. Cruise control would probably be better, but costs 25 times as much—or more.

Metzler tires—terrific if they’re installed. I put the front one on a couple weeks ago. The new rear tire is on my garage floor and probably contributed (in its absence) to my rear end getting loose a couple times descending to the Merced River.

Hard leather luggage—looks good, but kind of hard to pack efficiently. Once I got it figured out, though, it was fine.

Total distance – exactly 750 miles
Saturday – 264.8
Sunday – 210.5
Monday – 274.7
Worst gas mileage – 41.7 (Bakersfield to Kingsburg, upwind freeway)
Best gas mileage – 48.3 (Kingsburg via Bass Lake to Mariposa)
Average for the trip – 46.2 mpg


On 49

Up Hill, Down Vale and the Jumping Frog

Day 2

I now sit in Angels Camp at the Gold Country Inn. Apparently Mark Twain lived here for a few months in 1864. It was here he wrote The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. They still have the leaping frog competitions every year in May. Guess I missed it this year.

In the motel room I found a newspaper which explained the plethora of bikers on the road yesterday and last night. It was the 11th annual Sierra Hope Ride, a 50-mile ride starting in Modesto and ending with festivities and a rock concert in Sonora. It is a fundraiser for MDA. Many of the riders of course spent Saturday night filling up the motels on this section of 49. If this ride is on the same weekend next year, I may take part myself.

When I left Sonora at around 10 this morning, the temperature was only up to 51. It sounds cold, but with the sun shining brightly and the slower speeds demanded by the road, it was just perfect in a leather jacket. The highest the temperature got all day was about 78. Still comfy, even for the HWWs who demand precisely 73.6 degrees at all times.

Highway 49 north of Sonora is even better than south. The 17 miles from Sonora to Angels Camp is full of twisties and small hills designed specifically for the Magna wheelbase and center of gravity. I stopped at Angels Camp tonight just so that tomorrow morning I could start my last day of this trip with that stretch of road.

Rider's View

Moving farther north toward Auburn, there are more and more good twisties. There is a big descent into the canyon cut by the Mokelumne River. Next to the bridge crossing the river is the Moke River Lodge. Not a very inviting name, though I didn't notice any mokes or titas hanging around.

Progress was slower than expected. There were lots of people out for a Sunday drive, most of them clueless about the meaning of "turnout" or "slower traffic." Also there are lots of quaint little towns along this stretch of the road, all of them slowing traffic considerably. I didn't mind so much, as some of them looked exactly like a western movie set and were worth driving through slowly.

One of many great views

Just before Auburn there was yet another canyon, this one cut by the American River. A beautiful descent and an even better climb. Braking on these descents is a little tiring, but precise speed control on the climbs is a breeze. One observation: this Magna has a lower center of gravity and is much quieter than the old Magna. I think the shaft drive, the higher seat, and especially the noise contributed to its reputation as a concrete eater. This one is so smooth and quiet that its power is much more stealthy. And it corners with merely a thought.

American River

Just north of Auburn, and with 380 miles on the clock, I turned around and pointed the nose toward home. Heading back down to the American River was even better than my first descent into this canyon, and upon finishing the climb back up I was greeted by a sign announcing the town of Cool, population 200. Amazing! Just as you pop out of the canyon and all that's in your mind is, "Way cool," you are greeted by a sign saying, "Cool."

As I approached Angels Camp, my left forearm really started to hurt. Too many miles with too many gear changes. I hope it feels better tomorrow. I've got over 250 miles to go.

Today was a total of 210 miles, but virtually ALL twisties. I'm a pretty tired ol' biker tonight.

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.