Alberto writes:
Wednesday – DOWN THE COAST TO FORT HUNTER-LIGGETT
As usual, the night before is reserved for reviewing: What will I take? Did I pack the bike correctly? I bet, I am taking more than what I need. Hate that, and seems I am unable to clean up my act. Alberto, you will not need half of what you are taking! Screw it!
Before I realized it, it was morning. I had to lolly gag until 9:30 am when I’ll go to Starbucks. Rich Penrose was at at the Starbucks. Punctual as ever. We chit-chatted long enough for pleasantries and got going.
The morning is spectacular! Clear as then eye can see, sunny, perfect temperature. We made the most of it while on highway 17 on our way to Santa Cruz. Easy pace, no point rushing all that is glorious around us. Our objective is the Beach Street Cafe in Watsonville, some 40 miles South.
We had agreed to meet Wwwoble and Randy Hendrix at 10:30 am. Well, let me tell you, you can set your watch by their punctuality! Rich and I got there at 10:29. I was proud of our timing, well, I’d be dammed! There is Randy just parking his bike. And as we get to dismount, in comes Wwwoble. I love it!
Five minute yapping at the parking lot and went in for breakfast. Empty, but warm and cozy. The waitress with enough charisma seated us and five minutes later we had enough coffee to make us all nervous.
We were all animated and looking forward to eat and go riding. It all happened fast. Soon we go south on highway 1 toward Carmel and beyond.
The great pace came to screeching halt. South of Carmel, Highway 1 is being paved, and repaired causing a car backlog. It seems that every driver decided to do his Sunday ride on Thursday. Harrumph! And I was looking forward to leaning the bike on the turns. Forget it. 20 mph is as good as it gets.
It did clear in small sections but pretty slow going most of it until Nacimiento-Fergusson Road, some 45 miles South of Carmel. We stopped at a campground at the mouth of the Nacimiento road, just to relax a little bit, potty and yapping. Rich apprehensive at heights inquires, “hmmm, how far up does it go?” - “nah, nah, Rich. It is not a straight climb. It is steep and scary coming from the east where of a sudden you see the ocean coming at you. But in this direction, West to East, piece of cake”.
All I wanted was a picture of us with the ocean behind us. Randy who, to that spot, was on the lead selected a magnificent place. Sure thing, got my picture. I was a happy camper. Here Wwwoble took took the lead. The grand difference is that Randy’s easy pace came to an end. When Wwwoble leads… You move! Mind you, Wwwoble is not fast, he just refuses to slow down! This presents a riding challenge in the turns… Yahoooo! And… I am all for it!
Up and down Nacimiento-Fergusson Road. In little time we were at Fort Hunter Ligget, messing around with one of their displays, an old Tank. Boys will be boys and tanks are for them.
Just south of Hunter Liggett is The town of San Miguel. In the words of Professor Major Wwwoble : “the longest serving mission - as a mission”. There! Now you have been educated.
In our minds we are set on San Luis Obispo. Beer and wine. San Miguel is fifty miles north of San Luis Obispo, and we chewed the miles quickly, arriving with the bikes out of gas, tired, hungry and thirsty. The Super 8 Motel was a welcome sight… Imagine, the lowly Motel 8! Ten minutes later, changed from motorcycle gear we were walking in laughter to the McGregor Pub, two buildings down. You could tell that Rich and Wwwoble had but one thing in mind, sanitizing their innards with enough alcohol. They had both made it clear: “No, I do not want to drive the bike after drinking”. That thinking agreed with me, knowing that just by being within ten feet of beet I get drunk! When I need something strong and manly… I get a Diet Pepsi!
Dinner while not bad, was nothing exceptional. Giant hamburgers that compensated quantity for quality, not a bad philosophy. It is always about delivering value. Forget the food, I am interested in these two guys drinking. In a little over one hour, here’s the count: Rich, three beers and a whisky. Wwwoble, three wines and a whisky. Randy, one beer. Alberto, 3/4s beer. I still marvel at the first two, still standing, worse yet, able to walk back to the motel without looking like they will fall flat on their face. One thing is certain, very animated, happy to call the day off, and ready to hit the sac. I was!
Thursday – SAN LUIS OBISPO to SEQUOIA NAT PARK
At the motel 8 I went to the reception desk as they had coffee available, rich was coming back with a cup at hand. Promising, I thought, coffee. What a fool I was! That ain’t coffee, more like paint thinner. How can a facility present that acid!? That, truly is shameful. Don’t they know? I refused to drink more than one sip and warned Randy to make his coffee in the room. Holly-macro! That was bad!
San Luis Obispo has no special claim to breakfast, so we decided to head onto Santa Margarita just 10 miles north. No specific place in mind, but luck was guiding us for breakfast. There are only two cafes in Santa Margarita,we got the better one, The Porch Cafe. It was a good one. I needed good coffee and they had it.
Rich and Wwwoble are heading back to the bay. Neither is going further to Sequoia National Park our intended destination. Some, miles up the road Randy and I took Highway 41 bidding goodby to the alcoholic duo. “Stay dry!!” I thought to myself.
Highway 41, here you have a great little road heading north-east. Up-n-down, left and right. You can open the throttle and live on the edge. Wish it went on forever, but, as you all know, that ain’t gonna happen. The Central Valley comes at you as a massive yawner. Straight sections of interminable road. Just to entertain myself, I must have spend 45 minutes thinking why do clocks spin to the right? and we call it “clockwise”. Think about it.
Randy and I made the most with a couple of stops. Yapping and talking about anything and everything. This guy is one easy going guy, I bet you cannot get him upset. Some time later we arrived at Three Rivers, which is at the entrance of the Sequoia National Park. We must get some gas, and provisions. While camping there will be nothing available, remember, “when you ride with us, you ride alone”. Provide for your self.
We arrived at Buckeye Flat camp grounds. The rest of the group had already arrived. There was Carl Tyler, Tom Martin, Marco Hyman and Markus Baur. What a place! The campground was in the middle of oak trees and rock outcroppings fairly flat and private. It was our own private world.
Parking the motorcycle was a challenge for me. Remember, I received the “boot” for dropping the motorcycle too many times. Any terrain that is not exactly flat is enough to had me thinking… This puppy is going down! Nothing to fear, there was Markus guiding my arrival, making sure I do not get the boot two years in a row (unheard of). They did nothing special, but to me it felt like a celebratory reception. Everyone was in good spirits. This is great!!” Was all I could think.
It must have been about 5:00 pm when Randy and I arrived… Almost dinner time. Fortunately our stop for provisions paid off. Cheese, Trisquits, marmalade… Ahh, this is living in style! On the other hand, Marco had a sophisticated serving of some gourmet lentils, Markus Indian cuisine, Tom a substantial spaghetti serving made on the spot. Randy and I had…. Trisquits! Yum!!
The yapping went on until 9:30 pm or so I heard. I had called my day off an hour earlier. I know, this Alberto has got to be the most boring, unsocial creature ever! Well, you are not far from the truth… But I do not think so, and yes I am partial.
Friday – ALBERTO GOES ALONE
Everybody was up early. 6:00 am. Breakfast is whatever you make of it. I had brought instant oatmeal and a supply of raisins. Coffee, instant of course… Yechh! What I brought was terrible! Luckily, Markus volunteered some of his … You guessed it , Tada! Instant coffee. His coffee however was far better than the turpentine I brought.
Everyone ate the version of breakfast they brought, Tom Martin had forgotten to defrost his oat meal, so I presume he had oat-meal ice-cream for breakfast. I mention This as I believe this to be the most creative breakfast I have seen anyone consume. Gotta hand it to you Tom. The rest are not worth mentioning for two seasons. First, that I have no idea what they had. Second, read the first reason again.
Most everyone will do trail riding today except Carl and myself. Neither of us has the correct motorbike nor the inclination to ride trails. I think I would, but I just do not know enough. I have my hands full riding on pavement. I offered Carl if he would have any interest riding south toward Lake Isabella… Nope. He wants to see the terrible fires north of the campground and later go for a hike, ” I brought my hiking shoes, and will put them to use” - a quote that is not quote (figure that), but darn close!
Well looks like I am on my own, which is what I had in mind from the
start. I must live up to the SMBC moto… “Something about alone”. I
think everyone knows I have not much experience on this. With care,
concern and though they offer suggestions as to where and which way to
go. I accepts their suggestions with greater gratitude than they know.
You see, I was going to take a far bigger bite than is reasonable.
Marco in his inimitable style posits: “have you figured how many miles
is your ride?” - Ouch! That one hit home instantly. “Nope. But…”
- I was going to say something, realizing the better part of wisdom was
to remain silent and let the suggestions flow. And flow they did. I
have known a saying for a long time, but never had a chance to apply it.
Here is my chance: “the wise man, need not speak, to know that when one
cannot speak, he must be silent”. I know it sounds like a mouth full…
It is. Can you discover who said it? Gosh, I feel so cultured.
None the less, listen I did and planned my ride accordingly. I departed from the group with these words: ” Guys, if I do not come back by the end of the day, worry not. I might have gone too far. I will stay at a motel. But, rest assured that by tomorrow I will come here, to meet all of you”.
With those words, I parted on my way as they went their own way.
Apprehensive! Let me tell you. When you are apprehensive you will kiss goodbye all the technique and style you may have. This is the second time I am apprehensive when riding. Bear Tooth Mountain, in Montana. Mostly climbing in a very twisty road, cold rainy and windy day. I thought my days were over… Graciously, I became aware of the loss of form and technique… Focused, and went into fundamentals. Same thing this morning, apprehensive that I was doing my first significant solo ride. Finding roads and going for potentially 200 miles in the mountains with many road changes. I was… Apprehensive. I was doing a terrible job in the turns. 50 miles into the ride, I realized that there is nothing to be wary of. Zing! Just like that form, technique and presence of mind took over. For the rest of the day my motorcycle and I were “At One”.
I changed the choice of road on the fly and went a different road. Taking Mountain Pass Road, up a little over 6,000 feet. The road was in good condition and the view as good as it can get. It took me to the northeast of Lake Isabella, the town of kerryville. I had lunch there, and good thing for I was tired. Actually my butt needed a break.
Lake Isabella and water. California is really in trouble. I, now know it in a personal way. Lake Isabella is is a very large lake. Miles long and wide. Today, the large Lake Isabella is basically a composite of puddles, where the last puddle fails to reach the dam. It is a very sad thing to see. For all of you… Yes, you may not conserve water, but become aware that there is a problem out there.
Coming back I took highway 155 as suggested by my companions. It was a fine road as far as the ride is concerned. Unfortunately the road has just been resurfaced and there are signs everywhere indicating “loose gravel”. Nothing can deflate your spirits faster than loose gravel, ever more when your bike gives you that little slip on the rear tire and you swear it was fifty gallons of adrenaline that just got shot into your body. Yes, slow down, no more leaning the bike and attention, much attention to that loose gravel.
The loose gravel went for 30 miles or so. Some times less other times more gravel. Had it finished? As soon as I knew for certain… You bet, I opened the throttle and luckily there was plenty of twisting road left to, what I call “live on the edge” as you go left and right leaning the bike. Gosh! What a feeling!
Shortly, highway 65 took me to Exeter Three Rivers (at the mouth of sequoia national Park) were I purchase dinner: a can of lentil and beef Progresso soup plus some beer.
Beer, what can I get to this bunch of finicky spoiled brats? Though of Coors, nah! After several alternatives I went with a safe choice; Corona. They should like this.
When I got to the camp and offered the beer… Would you believe this bunch of ingrate snobs, to call the Corona beer akin to piss! Oh, not for this guys… Fat Tire, Modelo Negra, Bui-Cabui IPA what-ever piss. Fancy names. Hey, drink what is here, and if you do not like it, remember the SMBC motto. Now, get stuffed!
When I arrived, they had eaten dinner already. So I ate a cucumber, beef jerky, teriyaki of course, and, a beer… A fancy-ass-name beer (I drank a Negra Modelo from Marco). I do not know and do not care what will happen to the 12 pack of Corona I purchased. Chances are it will end-up in the river… Good, California needs the water, so guys, drink and piss, and piss a lot in the name of water (no editorials needed that water and urea are not the same thing, got it, and I don’t care. It is in the spirit of the draught that counts!)
During dinner and after dinner the mosquitoes had been in good form… Yes, in copious quantities. But seemed not be bothered by them… Huh? Correct, we believe that Randy is “raw meat” They are going only for him! Marco, of course spoiled the fact: “oh, Alberto, you will feel all the bites and they will show up in a dar or two”. Nice Marco, I really needed to l know that. I could have blamed the fleas of my dog! But oh no, not any more if I have a conscience.
Yapping took a new level of energy after dinner. 8:00 pm and still going strong, imagine me…. I am awake writing this epic story all based in fanctasy… Is there such word?
Riding report - After the fact. So I had to ride on my own because these yokels we’re going to do some trail riding. Talk. Just talk. They went up the mountain with every intent of doing some trails… No luck. They could not get to the trails because of the enormous fire destroying the area. They had to settle for second best, a nice ride in the mountain roads north and west of the park, eventually working a loop east into the hills. But the trail talk did do me the favor of experimenting by myself. I think I had the better ride, they had a ride, just a ride - which at all times beats staying home.
Saturday – UP 7,800 ft to MINERAL KING ROAD
Ah, well, today was different. The getting up, breakfast and all else of a typical morning. We can dispense the telling of that.
A sad note for me, my riding buddy for the last two days is taking off on his own. He’s had enough of the Sequoia national scene. He’s taking off on his own, heading North to more remote areas of serious adventuring and camping. Unfortunately, I am the mental-set type, I set to do whatever and there is no derailing me. This SMBC camp-out was my mental set… I’ll stick to it. Really, I cannot go wrong… These guys are fun.
So, off Randy Hendrix went… Fare well.
The rest of us had a strange ride ahead. We are going up Mineral King Road. This is a 25 mile ride, up a hill toward an old, once popular resort that today does not amount to a hill of beans. Well, this resort climbs to 7800 feet. One lane road, half of it is worn out, full of pots and holes and a section, practically, non-existing… Yes, finally the boys got their trail riding! There I am on my stupid RT heading up this thing. You have got to be kidding me!
Tom is leading, and you know what that means, he is half, to a mile, ahead of the rest of us lumbering novices. Luckily there were no serious mishaps. I stalled the bike once, while riding in the dirt-section by staying in 2nd gear…. Yep, going uphill, first gear was the requirement. Guess I’m learning. Another mishap, the road where it has good pavement (relative terms here) it also has a lot of gravel and/or sand. Want to be scared, just traverse an area like this. One slip of your rear wheel and you become mighty conservative, no more leaning the bike like a world racer. This is how it happened: On a right turn I see sand on the inside turn of the road…. I go wide… Oh, surprise! Gravel on the left edge! “Keep it straight, Alberto, whatever you do, straight and no front brake”. I did, but came to a full stop. Backed up, and continued. Later, Marco counseled “just keep going on the turn Alberto, you’ll be surprised how well the bike will handle it”. I am inclined to agree, but I assure you, when you are scared shitless, it is darn hard to remember the theory on a never encountered situation. Yeah, yeah, excuses Alberto. You bet!
The top of the mountain is 25 miles later nearly 8,000 feet high. Mineral King. This remote location is as busy as a Safeway Parking Lot. Packed!! no place to park even a Motorcycle. We had to improvise. It took a something away from the charm and remoteness… Not really remote.
Half hour later we headed back down to Silver City some five miles down hill. Not bad, and to make matters better, Carl, who had decided not to come up the hill with us, was there waiting for our arrival. There we were a full contingency sharing lunch and the mountain.
When it was time to head down, I decided not to keep their pace. Tom and Marco are genuine mountain goats. I blinked… Poof!! They were gone from sight!
I kept pace with Markus. He’s more my style. Fast enough without a rip-roaring pace. Half-way down the mountain there we are making nice turns at a decent clip… WHOA!! What have we here? The biggest cow, or is it a bull? Whatever. It has enormous horns. I claim it to be a Texas Long Horn, Markus says it was an average cow. Easy for him to say it, It was I in front, confronting this killing beast! He was safely behind… Witnessing my demise! Bravely, I saw some space between the brute a the edge of the road, so I gunned the bike getting safely past it. Looking back, Aww man, my gunning spooked the cow, and Markus had to deal with this puny, already tamed animal (that is the way it looked to me in the rear view mirror). Markus, the Matador, had no problem.
We eventually made it to the bottom of the mountain, safe and sound.
Back at camp, this guys are working on the beer. Tom, considerate he is, offered: “Alberto, would you like a Corona or a beer?” I opted for, a manly drink! A Corona, none of this designer-name-wanna-be beer.
Soon the team felt like their calling was afoot. We all walked down to the watering hole. I mean this literarily! There is this section on the river with giant boulders that have created a deep-pool. I was invited, but I choose to remain human, the mermaids went at it! Frolicking like a bunch of girls. “Alberto, come in the water! It is great!” So said someone. - Shirley, you must be jesting! - That ain’t jacuzzi water, likely to be cooler than 98 degrees. Not for me. Politely I declined.
The pool has a deep hole and a natural slide made of water-polished Rock. Absolutely beautiful. They slid, they jumped, they giggled. The mermaids surely had a good time, and like all good times, it must come to end. We witnessed an invasion of other humans who are not entitled to watch the mermaids frolicking in the water. We departed.
Back to camp. Oh, surprise! “Alberto wanna a Corona or a beer?” - It’s getting old guys. I opted for a Mirror Pond Pale Ale, what did I say about wanna-be-designer-name beer? That is a mouth full of a name. While drinking beer, we are listening to Tom’s iPod play music. Yapping about everything and anything.
The evening temperament is a lazy one. We are all seated by a picnic table. Sitting, only for company, hardly any talk. Guess after three days we’ve had enough of our own baloney. Marco is using his jumbo-size camera attempting to take pictures of the night-sky stars. “You have to set the timer for an exposure of no longer than 24 seconds, after that you get light-trails from the star”. I am thinking, Marco, Wow! Good to know. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Carl, confirms: “did you set an f-4 stop?” “You bet” came from Marco. And I thought I was a nerd! These two are beautiful! They pack knowledge that somehow, somewhere will come useful. I am envious, and I mean it!! [Editors note: don’t be so envious. Not one of the images I took were worth looking at. Short version of the problem: I screwed up.]
Some time around 9:00 pm I decide to go to bed. Yeah? Well, not tonight Bucco! When I open my tent a large bug crawled out of it? Excuse me!? I take my shoe and pound the beast, I am certain it met God right there and then. Looking inside the tent, thinking, where there is one… Sure enough, a whole bug family had taken residence! Pound one, pound another, this is silly. They may even be in my clothing etc. I better do some house cleaning.
Looking closer, it had not been the bug’s ill intent, the idiot here was the host: ME! How many times have you heard “do not leave food inside your tent” - it appears not often enough. I had left a ziplock bag of grain, raisins and other goodies. I had seen the evidence all over the tent. Close inspection revealed a huge hole chewed in the corner of the tent… A squirrel! Aww man, the Ziplock bag did not stand a chance. Just that morning the Park Ranger had warned about the squirrels as being as good as bank robbers!
I took everything out of the tent. Markus had seen me doing the house chores and inquired - “you packing already for tomorrow?” Nah, and I explained my dilemma, indicating that I would sleep open-sky tonight. “No, Alberto we can fix that hole”. He went some place and came back with the Universal tool for every man… Tada! Duct Tape! Everyman man knows this, and “no man leaves home without it” (eat your heart out American Express!)
Half hour later, surgeon Baur had me all patched and I was ready to call the night off.
Good night.
Sunday – HEADING HOME
Last night we agreed to get up early, pack up and have breakfast in Visalia, some 35 miles away. Okay by me.
Sure thing, everyone is up and packing, as planned. Everybody is ready… Wait a minute! There is Marco and Carl just starting to grind coffee beans, excuse me? Yes. You know how particular these two are. Not even a point to object. These two will not move until their epicurean delight has taken place. I admit, I admire these two for exactly this dimension, but today, I am in no mood. To Markus and Tom I posit a question “shall we just leave these two, and wait for them in Visalia? Wow! They agreed instantly, not even a reproach for my lack of team effort. Markus goes over to the Epicureans and announces our intent… “Okay, see you there!” Retorted, unflappable, Marco. And with this, we left.
Visalia - the Main Street Cafe. Tremendous is the only word that applies. Twenty minutes later Carl and Marco arrive and breakfast is had by all, amid great camaraderie. We are heading home, and it is obvious we are all ready for home.
The road we will take is the Coalinga-Los Gatos road the group stays as a group minus Carl who chooses the same road but a softer pace. Not a problem, having learned that Marco and Tom, both prefer a more frantic pace. But, oh no, Marco leads today and he was sure mellow on this day. Later I learned why: “I had a slip-rear-tire in the gravel, oh, man… Once is enough for me!” Marco, you are a smart man! [Editors note: three slips, one front and two rear, all in sections were I didn’t see anything on the road.] We all had a leisurely ride, brisk, but relaxed. Stopping at strategic spots we reunited with Carl, who in my eyes deserves my appreciation. I like the slow deliberate ride he does. Most probably i will change to his style in lieu of other styles with a frantic pace.
Hollister we stopped for gas, drinks and ice-cream. Today’s temperature reached 107 according to some rider stopping as we were. Marco had it at 105 degrees. Whichever…. Both are hot! Markus taught me the water-in-the-bandana trick. Big change!! I wetted my bandana and tied it to my neck - I got all wet, but very refreshed!
Later, doing some split-lane riding as highway 101 was a parking lot, we made progress together until highway 85/101 split. Markus and Tom waved goodbye one way on highway 101, Marco and Alberto continued on 85.
At Saratoga avenue on 85, a highway-hand-wave ended my ride with the group.
Thank you all.
PRODUCT EVALUATION
The Jet-boiler is very good, but only to boil water. Anything else, you may want to be careful. The heat is too focused and will burn anything I the bottom. So boil water at your hearts content!