BRAG day 7 -- homeward.
May. 28th, 2002 02:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tugrikThough I'd planned to keep going for a few more days, this was to be the end of the Big Trip, at least for now. I think I knew it upon waking up; the crossed moods of journey's-end sadness and returning-home relief. The fancy Cal-Nev resort's bed left me much more awake, but seven days of holding onto the vibrating bars of a two-cylinder motorcycle left the arms weary and fingers stiff, even after a full night's rest.
The original plan was to head to Auburn with the group for lunch, then quick-slab it down the main highways to home in San Jose. A quick bout of laundry-cleaning, a night in my own bed, and I'd be taking the 'wing up to Vallejo to rejoin the group for the final run to Eureka. It was a little colder this morning than previous, in both temperature and moods. Breakfast was eerily quiet after my day apart from Dusty, but not unpleasant. I found out later he was worried that he and the Buell riders were boring me; a bit of a misunderstanding most likely. I was bummed about being shunned from the photo-shoot, but that wasn't any other rider's falt. The topic of yesterday's Sheep Ranch Road came up, the group of them getting a serious mutual-bitching session going on. The uneven surface and no-room-for-traffic nature of the road was very unkind to their sportbikes. They're not built to slow-walk and take in scenery as I did... and the few areas they could performance ride a few of them nearly got run off the road by the local traffic. My love of that paved trail was exactly opposite of their direct hatred for it. Talks were had with the organizer of the ride to make sure the road would stay off of next year's route.
This was the first time I had to start the bike after it had sat in such cold air all night. I'm glad I'd read the user manual and knew how to set the fast-idle; it needed it. Once whirring, it was happy to leap right to the road. An oilhead GS bike is designed to be ridden immediately, instead of waiting for it to warm up like most motorcycles. The manual simply recommends one go a little easier on the throttle for the first few minutes. It only took a few minutes to latch all the bags back on the rails, and I was ready to go before the rest. They were all headed to the gas station, the trip from Kirkwood up to Cal-Nev having ate just under a half of their tanks' holdings. I had a good 190 left, so I figured I'd just head on out and let them catch me. Considering I was enjoying the slower pace and they seemed to be all about how hard they could push it, I figured they'd pass me in no time.
The route took us north under Highway 80 up to Sierraville, where it joined the 49 and crossed another huge alpine meadow-flat like the day before. Heading up its far side produced a nice overlook vista. It was there, stopping for pictures, that I re-met up with two other riders; I'd been alone since leaving the hotel. One was pulled over for pictures himself, the other just pulling out and heading up the hill. They were apparently doing the same as me and going solo, as nothing was said but a grin and a nod, and no effort was taken to group up as each left. I caught up to and passed both of them, since apparently neither was in much of a hurry. The second rider was one of the two Harleys on the trip, a low-slung touring beast that had a bit of trouble keeping up with the sportbikers on earlier days. Once I passed him (with his permission, surprisingly; he'd waved me ahead), he stuck to me like glue.
I was impressed. We were going down a very long river valley, which wound from Bassetts, through Sierra City, on to Downieville. Each was a tiny mountain town, where the road slowed abruptly to 25mph to make it through a block or two of population before returning to lush river canyon again. Downieville even had a pretty little one-lane bridge that I now regret not having gotten photos of. The Harley rider made no attempts to pass in the slow spots, and in some of the faster strained to keep up, but keep up he did. In fact, on a few uphill parts, he got close enough to pass when I got caught behind other bits of local (and luckily rare) traffic. The trip through the river valley whent from solo-sightseeing to a playful charge uphill, trying to keep the challenge up for Mr. Harley on my tail. It wasn't long before we'd gotten back into some decent sized bits of civilization.
The whole trip had been rather cold, but upon rising back out of the river valley the air was warming up fast. My extra layers were becoming uncomfortable, so at the local stop-n-shop in North San Juan, I pulled over to de-gear a bit. My Harley-riding tail kept rolling on, with a grin and a wave. The store owner was fascinated with my bike, and had a good look-about while I bought a Gatorade and another bottled water. I didn't yet need to buy gas, so to keep from losing any more time I continued on. I hit my first confusion point as 49 merged with 20 just outside of Nevada City. The route sheet didn't bother to mention the junction, and the state decidedly failed in its task to mark where 49 continued. I pedaled about on a few suburban streets until I found the next sign indicating the right way, and continued on into Auburn.
The dealership was just on the entrance to the city of Auburn, and was set up for a nice little luncheon. For the first time on the trip we didn't get beans-and-nachos... actual sub sandwiches! The addition of home-made icecream was a real treat. Inside the dealership I sat on a few Harley's at a saleseman's continued prodding. They were OK and all, but they cost 1.5-3x my BMW, and had nowhere near the capability. Even if I wanted to ride a piece of art instead of a solidly performing machine, I probably still wouldn't choose a Harley cruiser. If I ever end up with one, it'd be either because someone gave one to me as a gift, or they had a radical change in their design and they weren't the Harleys of today. Sure, they're pretty chrome-lined fancy-painted beasts; they're just not my thing. The dealer-folks were very nice, though, and I enjoyed their company.
My prediction of being passed never came true. For reasons unknown, the other riders took their time or simply couldn't keep pace today. I never got told why, and I never really asked. I was chatting and eating icecream for a good half-hour before Vic showed up, without Dusty. After putting around the lot for five minutes, Vic and the gang left to go find them. Another 20 minutes later, they all rumbled back... a few were victims of the same mis-turn I had made back in Nevada City, and others blew right by the dealership and didn't turn around until they hit Hightway 80 and figured they'd gone too far. Finally everybody was here, and eating lunch... just as I was ready to go.
I made my goodbyes, and told them I'd meet up tomorrow in Vallejo if all went well. If not, it had been a great trip, and I'd see them later on down the road someday. The fellow who tailed me on the Harley came over and thanked me for a good challenge; he was all grins about keeping up all morning. With that, I headed back out to cross 80 and go to the gas station I usually hit when I visit my friends Dancer and Seighin. I met up with a Very Lost Individual from our group there, who had been hunting for the dealership. I gave him directions back, and then headed on down the deep ravine that separates Auburn from Cool. It's only about 10 miles total to get to Dancer's place, and I arrived to the sight of Seighan and Stormdragon roleplaying as farmers, wheat-stalk-in-mouth and all, sitting on their brand new tractor they'd just bought that morning.
I stuck around for a few good hours of chat and some apple juice, and got to watch Seighan get way too happy with his new rotary mower attachment. I used to be a farm-kid in days long past, and watching them play with their new farming tools was actually kind of fun. I excused myself soon enough, though, and headed down the smaller roads to Placerville. I had decided to find a non-highway route back to home as it was a Friday of a holiday weekend and the last thing I wanted to do was sit on the Sunol grade in rush hour. I wasn't up for a long afternoon of lanesplitting.
I wound up and down Gold Country, trying a handful of different routes in and through El Dorado county. I found Sutter's Mill, and a handful of other gold-rush landmarks, keeping a gentle pace and just rolling through, looking but not stopping. Now and then I'd see a loop on the map that'd take me a dozen or more miles out and come back to my general route of being Stockton-bound, and would take it. There's an amazing number of them out there, and one of these weekends soon I need to go and just scope out as much of El Dorado and Placer counties as I can. It's a very pretty part of the state that I'd simply never thought about before. Evenutally I did make it to Stockton, crossing under highway 5, to follow the 4 in through the river delta. It wasn't long before I'd turned south into Tracy, and stopped for a dinner at the bad-habit I usually only hit once a year: Long John Silvers. I'm a sucker for hushpuppies, I'm afraid, and I'm ever so grateful that the nearest LJS is way out there in Tracy. Once a year is quite enough for such greasebombs.
Instead of Altamont, I followed the map through the Corral Hollow pass, finding another SRVA (off-road park) in the process... one much closer than Hollister. I will definately return there to play some future day. This lead into Livermoore, and instead of heading through to take the easy way home, I used the late-day sun to wind back up Mines Road to Junction, just clearing Mt. Hamilton peak at sunset. The dusky-ride down into the south bay area was quiet and relatively traffic-free; perfect for how tired I was becoming. The road pops out into Alum Rock park, and then suddenly into San Jose proper. It was a tiny 12 miles after that, and I was in my own driveway.
Popping the laundry into the machine, I peeked at the GPS. 2070 miles since the trip began...a whopping 410 of it today. I'd been on the motorcycle from 8am until almost 10pm with only short stops. Evidently I didn't just take the long way home, I took the Long Way Home with Extra Special Diversions. Gaaah. I was trashed, physically, and all but passed out in bed. Home.
I woke up next morning completely locked solid. My hands wouldn't move, my arms were sore, and my back stiff as a board. Okay, so doing 1.5x the normal distance after 8 days on the road was not a good idea. The heck with going to Vallejo; I was gonna have trouble feeding myself breakfast. It was noon before I was moving properly, and so I called the parents to call off the trip up to see them. They understood, and invited me to come up another weekend instead, which I gladly will. I decided to spend the rest of the Memorial Day weekend at home chillin' out, and spent Monday doing a small BBQ with local friends. Here it is Tuesday, the last scheduled day of my vacation, and I'm taking it off as planned... but doing cleaning around the house, and finishing up these entries and photographs. It's nice to get a little vacation after the vacation. :) Hopefully I'll have all the photos up this evening. If not, it'll be done by this weekend.
It's been a grand adventure, and I could see how in the future I could continue it on much longer if I actually stop when my day gets tired. Also, if the next trip is on the 'wing and not so utterly twisty, it'd be easier to go much farther each day. A trip like that would be more about the destinations than the journey, though. Dusty said he's going to give me a few writeups of his impressions of the last few days we were apart, and I'll post them here as a sidestory at his request. I'm looking forwards to reading them to see what I missed.
Thanks for reading this far, those who have. I'm going to take these entries and tighten them up a bit into a proper story, with photos, to post on my own website (and the ADVRider board I'm on). You're seeing the rather raw 'flytyped' versions, and I hope they've been decently entertaining. My next big ride is as yet unplanned... but now I know it won't be all that long off. I can't wait to get going again.
--Tug
The original plan was to head to Auburn with the group for lunch, then quick-slab it down the main highways to home in San Jose. A quick bout of laundry-cleaning, a night in my own bed, and I'd be taking the 'wing up to Vallejo to rejoin the group for the final run to Eureka. It was a little colder this morning than previous, in both temperature and moods. Breakfast was eerily quiet after my day apart from Dusty, but not unpleasant. I found out later he was worried that he and the Buell riders were boring me; a bit of a misunderstanding most likely. I was bummed about being shunned from the photo-shoot, but that wasn't any other rider's falt. The topic of yesterday's Sheep Ranch Road came up, the group of them getting a serious mutual-bitching session going on. The uneven surface and no-room-for-traffic nature of the road was very unkind to their sportbikes. They're not built to slow-walk and take in scenery as I did... and the few areas they could performance ride a few of them nearly got run off the road by the local traffic. My love of that paved trail was exactly opposite of their direct hatred for it. Talks were had with the organizer of the ride to make sure the road would stay off of next year's route.
This was the first time I had to start the bike after it had sat in such cold air all night. I'm glad I'd read the user manual and knew how to set the fast-idle; it needed it. Once whirring, it was happy to leap right to the road. An oilhead GS bike is designed to be ridden immediately, instead of waiting for it to warm up like most motorcycles. The manual simply recommends one go a little easier on the throttle for the first few minutes. It only took a few minutes to latch all the bags back on the rails, and I was ready to go before the rest. They were all headed to the gas station, the trip from Kirkwood up to Cal-Nev having ate just under a half of their tanks' holdings. I had a good 190 left, so I figured I'd just head on out and let them catch me. Considering I was enjoying the slower pace and they seemed to be all about how hard they could push it, I figured they'd pass me in no time.
The route took us north under Highway 80 up to Sierraville, where it joined the 49 and crossed another huge alpine meadow-flat like the day before. Heading up its far side produced a nice overlook vista. It was there, stopping for pictures, that I re-met up with two other riders; I'd been alone since leaving the hotel. One was pulled over for pictures himself, the other just pulling out and heading up the hill. They were apparently doing the same as me and going solo, as nothing was said but a grin and a nod, and no effort was taken to group up as each left. I caught up to and passed both of them, since apparently neither was in much of a hurry. The second rider was one of the two Harleys on the trip, a low-slung touring beast that had a bit of trouble keeping up with the sportbikers on earlier days. Once I passed him (with his permission, surprisingly; he'd waved me ahead), he stuck to me like glue.
I was impressed. We were going down a very long river valley, which wound from Bassetts, through Sierra City, on to Downieville. Each was a tiny mountain town, where the road slowed abruptly to 25mph to make it through a block or two of population before returning to lush river canyon again. Downieville even had a pretty little one-lane bridge that I now regret not having gotten photos of. The Harley rider made no attempts to pass in the slow spots, and in some of the faster strained to keep up, but keep up he did. In fact, on a few uphill parts, he got close enough to pass when I got caught behind other bits of local (and luckily rare) traffic. The trip through the river valley whent from solo-sightseeing to a playful charge uphill, trying to keep the challenge up for Mr. Harley on my tail. It wasn't long before we'd gotten back into some decent sized bits of civilization.
The whole trip had been rather cold, but upon rising back out of the river valley the air was warming up fast. My extra layers were becoming uncomfortable, so at the local stop-n-shop in North San Juan, I pulled over to de-gear a bit. My Harley-riding tail kept rolling on, with a grin and a wave. The store owner was fascinated with my bike, and had a good look-about while I bought a Gatorade and another bottled water. I didn't yet need to buy gas, so to keep from losing any more time I continued on. I hit my first confusion point as 49 merged with 20 just outside of Nevada City. The route sheet didn't bother to mention the junction, and the state decidedly failed in its task to mark where 49 continued. I pedaled about on a few suburban streets until I found the next sign indicating the right way, and continued on into Auburn.
The dealership was just on the entrance to the city of Auburn, and was set up for a nice little luncheon. For the first time on the trip we didn't get beans-and-nachos... actual sub sandwiches! The addition of home-made icecream was a real treat. Inside the dealership I sat on a few Harley's at a saleseman's continued prodding. They were OK and all, but they cost 1.5-3x my BMW, and had nowhere near the capability. Even if I wanted to ride a piece of art instead of a solidly performing machine, I probably still wouldn't choose a Harley cruiser. If I ever end up with one, it'd be either because someone gave one to me as a gift, or they had a radical change in their design and they weren't the Harleys of today. Sure, they're pretty chrome-lined fancy-painted beasts; they're just not my thing. The dealer-folks were very nice, though, and I enjoyed their company.
My prediction of being passed never came true. For reasons unknown, the other riders took their time or simply couldn't keep pace today. I never got told why, and I never really asked. I was chatting and eating icecream for a good half-hour before Vic showed up, without Dusty. After putting around the lot for five minutes, Vic and the gang left to go find them. Another 20 minutes later, they all rumbled back... a few were victims of the same mis-turn I had made back in Nevada City, and others blew right by the dealership and didn't turn around until they hit Hightway 80 and figured they'd gone too far. Finally everybody was here, and eating lunch... just as I was ready to go.
I made my goodbyes, and told them I'd meet up tomorrow in Vallejo if all went well. If not, it had been a great trip, and I'd see them later on down the road someday. The fellow who tailed me on the Harley came over and thanked me for a good challenge; he was all grins about keeping up all morning. With that, I headed back out to cross 80 and go to the gas station I usually hit when I visit my friends Dancer and Seighin. I met up with a Very Lost Individual from our group there, who had been hunting for the dealership. I gave him directions back, and then headed on down the deep ravine that separates Auburn from Cool. It's only about 10 miles total to get to Dancer's place, and I arrived to the sight of Seighan and Stormdragon roleplaying as farmers, wheat-stalk-in-mouth and all, sitting on their brand new tractor they'd just bought that morning.
I stuck around for a few good hours of chat and some apple juice, and got to watch Seighan get way too happy with his new rotary mower attachment. I used to be a farm-kid in days long past, and watching them play with their new farming tools was actually kind of fun. I excused myself soon enough, though, and headed down the smaller roads to Placerville. I had decided to find a non-highway route back to home as it was a Friday of a holiday weekend and the last thing I wanted to do was sit on the Sunol grade in rush hour. I wasn't up for a long afternoon of lanesplitting.
I wound up and down Gold Country, trying a handful of different routes in and through El Dorado county. I found Sutter's Mill, and a handful of other gold-rush landmarks, keeping a gentle pace and just rolling through, looking but not stopping. Now and then I'd see a loop on the map that'd take me a dozen or more miles out and come back to my general route of being Stockton-bound, and would take it. There's an amazing number of them out there, and one of these weekends soon I need to go and just scope out as much of El Dorado and Placer counties as I can. It's a very pretty part of the state that I'd simply never thought about before. Evenutally I did make it to Stockton, crossing under highway 5, to follow the 4 in through the river delta. It wasn't long before I'd turned south into Tracy, and stopped for a dinner at the bad-habit I usually only hit once a year: Long John Silvers. I'm a sucker for hushpuppies, I'm afraid, and I'm ever so grateful that the nearest LJS is way out there in Tracy. Once a year is quite enough for such greasebombs.
Instead of Altamont, I followed the map through the Corral Hollow pass, finding another SRVA (off-road park) in the process... one much closer than Hollister. I will definately return there to play some future day. This lead into Livermoore, and instead of heading through to take the easy way home, I used the late-day sun to wind back up Mines Road to Junction, just clearing Mt. Hamilton peak at sunset. The dusky-ride down into the south bay area was quiet and relatively traffic-free; perfect for how tired I was becoming. The road pops out into Alum Rock park, and then suddenly into San Jose proper. It was a tiny 12 miles after that, and I was in my own driveway.
Popping the laundry into the machine, I peeked at the GPS. 2070 miles since the trip began...a whopping 410 of it today. I'd been on the motorcycle from 8am until almost 10pm with only short stops. Evidently I didn't just take the long way home, I took the Long Way Home with Extra Special Diversions. Gaaah. I was trashed, physically, and all but passed out in bed. Home.
I woke up next morning completely locked solid. My hands wouldn't move, my arms were sore, and my back stiff as a board. Okay, so doing 1.5x the normal distance after 8 days on the road was not a good idea. The heck with going to Vallejo; I was gonna have trouble feeding myself breakfast. It was noon before I was moving properly, and so I called the parents to call off the trip up to see them. They understood, and invited me to come up another weekend instead, which I gladly will. I decided to spend the rest of the Memorial Day weekend at home chillin' out, and spent Monday doing a small BBQ with local friends. Here it is Tuesday, the last scheduled day of my vacation, and I'm taking it off as planned... but doing cleaning around the house, and finishing up these entries and photographs. It's nice to get a little vacation after the vacation. :) Hopefully I'll have all the photos up this evening. If not, it'll be done by this weekend.
It's been a grand adventure, and I could see how in the future I could continue it on much longer if I actually stop when my day gets tired. Also, if the next trip is on the 'wing and not so utterly twisty, it'd be easier to go much farther each day. A trip like that would be more about the destinations than the journey, though. Dusty said he's going to give me a few writeups of his impressions of the last few days we were apart, and I'll post them here as a sidestory at his request. I'm looking forwards to reading them to see what I missed.
Thanks for reading this far, those who have. I'm going to take these entries and tighten them up a bit into a proper story, with photos, to post on my own website (and the ADVRider board I'm on). You're seeing the rather raw 'flytyped' versions, and I hope they've been decently entertaining. My next big ride is as yet unplanned... but now I know it won't be all that long off. I can't wait to get going again.
--Tug
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Thank You!
Date: 2002-05-30 06:52 am (UTC)