Saturday was one of those rare occasions when the normal flow and pace of life ends, replaced by a single moment of enjoyment that stretches on for hours.
Me, the SV, Tepusquet road
What started innocently enough as a vague plan to ride Foxen Canyon road with Coakley, a buddy from work, and test out the new bike became a 12 hour, 300+ mile odyssey leading us through furnace blasted deserts, foggy coastline, fragrant chaparral, and the ghosts of California's wild west past. From 8am to 8pm we were on the bikes, minus numerous short rest stops and pauses for breakfast and dinner.
Coakley and the bikes, SB
The ride through Foxen Canyon road was glorious. It was my first time riding the area, despite living mere miles away over the 154. My previous bike, a vintage Honda CL350, was too wheezy and underpowered to really take me anywhere far, at least without a miles-long line of irate drivers behind me waiting for a passing lane. So I was thankful Coakley had volunteered to show me around. But the end of the wonderful twists and turns of Foxen Canyon came far too soon, and even with a slight detour up the 166 and Bull Canyon road (if I recall correctly) we found ourselves at a gas station at 10am wondering what we should do with the rest of the day.
Foxen Canyon Road
We decided the beautiful weather and eagerly thrumming machinery were signs that the day was not to be wasted, and so headed up the 166 with no particular destination in mind. I got to see what the SV was really capable of on the long stretches, speeding through huge sweepers that snaked through the barren moonscape of the central valley. Coakley rides a rather imposing sport touring bike with bells and whistles galore, the motor of which cleanly doubles the size of my little 650. But ignoring the prodigious windblast, I had no problems keeping up 90% of the time.
Tepusquet road
By the time we reached Maricopa, we both felt rather dessicated by the intense heat, and made temporary camp in the shade of the lone gas station. There we met some wonderful people, including a Goldwing rider who seemed to rack up more miles on a bike in one year than I managed on my trip around the world, and a couple on Vespas (!) who were on the return leg of a 3000+ mile journey. When I gave them funny looks on pulling into the gas station, the husband glanced inquiringly at my blue Suzuki and asked "so, can you take that thing on the freeway?" Gotta love hardcore scooter-ers. It was refreshing, after all the cruisers and touring machines, to know that my little sport bike was at least better suited to this sort of thing than the Vespas, and even those could be coaxed into transporting their owners cross-country.
The bikes at the start of Soda Lake road
So, secure in my manhood once again, I did what any red-blooded American dude would do, and turned down the tiniest, crappiest, god-forsakenest road on the map (or, as it turned out,
not on the map) and had a go at a little dirt riding on a sport bike. By "a little", I mean 25+ miles of washboard dirt and cattle traps with not a sign of civilization visible (save for one forlorn fire hydrant (!) off to one side). At this point I'd like to clarify that this was all Coakley's idea. He wanted to show me Soda Lake, a dry salt flat / lakebed that lay somewhere along the road. As it turned out, despite the crap road and vicious heat, it was the best decision of the day, and gave my neck a much needed rest from the constant windblast of the open road. After ages of 20-40mph in the dirt, we finally came to Soda Lake, and it was phenomenal. It brought back all kinds of
Burning Man Playa memories, of dust storms and desert life.
25 miles of this...
Out on the salt flats
From Soda Lake we met up with the 58 and rode into San Luis Obispo along one of the longest, twistiest, funnest roads I've yet ridden. But by this time I was feeling the long journey in my bones - my lower back was protesting, and my throttle hand was starting to cramp. So we rolled into SLO and treated ourselves to dinner at the Firestone Grill and some frosty (non-alcoholic, of course - that had to wait till home!) beverages.
Soda Lake in the background
The last leg was unremarkable except for the beautiful light of near-sunset and the ocean vistas along the Gaviota coastline. A man at the Gaviota rest stop walked up to the bikes and was admiring mine in particular. When I moseyed over he offered to trade me his Camry and his wife for the bike. I had to admit, my back was pushing hard for my brain to accept the deal. But the same vaguely masochistic strain of dislogic that made me buy the SV in the first place triumphed and I wearily climbed back in the saddle for the last stretch of 101. The last light was fading as we pulled off the freeway and parked the bikes at my place. It was a hell of a day, and no amount of backache and general fatigue could wipe the stupid grin off our faces.
Man, what a ride!
