James Burleigh
Well-known member
My riding day started at 7:03 this morning with an elbow to the head from Fang lying next to me. She is my backup alarm, alerting me that my primary alarm is going off.
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Well, actually my trip began last night when I was setting the alarm at bedtime, a highly unusual event on a Friday night at the Burleighs. The lights were already off, and Fang was folded up somewhere in the blankets on the far side of the bed. I sat on the edge of my side of the bed, holding the alarm clock in both hands and groping in the dark for the buttons that set the alarm hour and minute; an eerie red light glowed on my face.
A flat voice rose from the opposite end of the bed: "What are you doing?"
"I'm setting the alarm, honey-bunch-of-oats. Go to sleep now."
"You're nuts."
"Why? Why am I nuts?"
"Because you are. Setting the alarm for a weekend morning. Nutso, just like all your nutso riding friends...."
"Yes dear. Go to sleep, honey." And that's when I screamed and dropped the radio on the floor because it suddenly came on full volume. A second later the lights went on and I screamed again, feeling like Raymond Burr in Rear Window when Jimmy Stewart hits him with the flash bulbs.
I turned around sheepishly. Honey-bunch was sitting up in bed, her hand on the light switch, a look of infinite patience on her face.
"Hi, baby," I said. "Just about done here."
"Nutso," she repeated, shaking her head.
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Awake, I showered and ate and did my back stretches and my light weight-lifting, popped a couple of aspirin, had my morning constitutional
, suited up, and hit the road. After a ride that took me less time than it took to suit up, I rolled up to Starbucks. Jerry was there, and so was Silent, up from San Jose; a pleasant surprise. Then pleasant surprise number two came into view: Painman was there as well. Both of them had shown up out of the blue.
With them sitting at the table in front of Starbucks was Andrew, a buddy of Jerry's from ST-Net. Andrew was riding a Yamaha VF-3, or LT-9, or RM-8.... F**k, I don't know what he was riding! :blink: But it wasn't an FJR. So I guess that makes him a prick, though he seemed nice enough to me.
Before long Kurt pulled up, riding a Ducati ("Get a real motorcycle, dude" :glare: ). I won't try to remember the model, though it was gray and said something like Desideratum or some such on the tank. Kurt was from ST-Net too, and also seemed nice enough (for a guy who doesn't ride an FJR).
We talked about me, and then it was time to go. Jerry gave the pre-ride briefing: "I have no freakin' idea where I am or where I'm going." To that we all shouted "Huzzah!" and rushed forward, lifting him onto our shoulders. After carrying him around the parking lot for awhile, somebody said "You guys wanna go riding?" So we dropped Jerry and headed to our bikes. (We waited for Rockwells, but he never showed. You OK, RW?" )
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I led the group of six through Concord along four miles of Treat Blvd., telling Silent over the radio at least four times how much I hated Treat Blvd. Getting us all together down Treat (a six-lane arterial with multiple lights and already thick with traffic) was like herding cats. But we managed to get onto Marsh Creek road together, at which time I handed the reins over to Jerry, and it was on....
Jerry led us around the back of Mt. Diablo along Morgan Territory Road, and yes it's true, it turns into a goat trail. Maybe the first indication was the Forest Rat sign: Deer, Next 11 Miles. The road got dark and single-lane, and full of pot holes.
But we didn't lose anyone and finally came out into the daylight on the other side like Dorothy and her three friends to the sound of Optimistic Voices.
We snaked down off the mountain, dodging the thousands of bicycle Nazis riding in the middle of the road (I didn't want to use my blasters but felt compelled to in the interest of saving their lives ), and we soon rolled into Livermore and civilization. That's when we all got separated.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Not sure how we came to get separated, but I'm pretty sure it started when Jerry pulled us all over onto the side of the road. He got off his bike while we stayed seated, and he walked up and down saying something to all of us like a quarterback changing the play before taking the snap. We nodded and smiled and looked blankly at him.
With ear plugs and helmets and cars flying by us within inches, it was hard to tell exactly what he said, but it sounded something like, "I'll see you guys later!" Then he got on his bike, and he and his lieutenant, Kurt, blasted off.
That left Silent and Painman and Andrew and me left wondering WTF? :blink: Well, thanks to an old Marine war wound or something, Silent had to use the head (I hope it wasn't anything like Jake's in The Sun Also Rises ). So we fired up our bikes and got going too--in the completely wrong direction. I guess Jerry and Kurt headed east on the freeway; we headed south into town, or so we thought. Six miles later due south we pulled into a gas station.
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At the gas station we took care of business, got our bearings, and six miles north to the freeway and about the same east, we met up with Jerry and Kurt, who had stopped at the so-called rendezvous point that I guess is what Jerry had really been talking to us about back at the meat-grinder briefing earlier.
From there it was green hills, twisty roads, and spectacular views. Jerry even took us into Altamont Speedway, site of the famous Stones concert and Hells Angels knifing. Jerry pulled up to a woman in a booth and asked if we could go on the track. She called boss-man over to ask, and he said no. So we doubled back to a rise overlooking the track, where we admired the small cages (literally, they were four-wheeled cages) power-sliding around the small, banked oval.
From there we headed south on 5 in the Valley, cut westward, and wound up having lunch in Livermore, where we sat on the grass eating our Togos sandwiches and burritos and talking about what a great rider I am.
From there we all headed home.
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Just kidding, Jerry! A great ride, a great day, good friends..... Thank you for organizing and leading this. Look forward to riding with you again soon!
JB
P.S. Nice outfit....
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, actually my trip began last night when I was setting the alarm at bedtime, a highly unusual event on a Friday night at the Burleighs. The lights were already off, and Fang was folded up somewhere in the blankets on the far side of the bed. I sat on the edge of my side of the bed, holding the alarm clock in both hands and groping in the dark for the buttons that set the alarm hour and minute; an eerie red light glowed on my face.
A flat voice rose from the opposite end of the bed: "What are you doing?"
"I'm setting the alarm, honey-bunch-of-oats. Go to sleep now."
"You're nuts."
"Why? Why am I nuts?"
"Because you are. Setting the alarm for a weekend morning. Nutso, just like all your nutso riding friends...."
"Yes dear. Go to sleep, honey." And that's when I screamed and dropped the radio on the floor because it suddenly came on full volume. A second later the lights went on and I screamed again, feeling like Raymond Burr in Rear Window when Jimmy Stewart hits him with the flash bulbs.
I turned around sheepishly. Honey-bunch was sitting up in bed, her hand on the light switch, a look of infinite patience on her face.
"Hi, baby," I said. "Just about done here."
"Nutso," she repeated, shaking her head.
------------------------------------------------------------
Awake, I showered and ate and did my back stretches and my light weight-lifting, popped a couple of aspirin, had my morning constitutional
, suited up, and hit the road. After a ride that took me less time than it took to suit up, I rolled up to Starbucks. Jerry was there, and so was Silent, up from San Jose; a pleasant surprise. Then pleasant surprise number two came into view: Painman was there as well. Both of them had shown up out of the blue.With them sitting at the table in front of Starbucks was Andrew, a buddy of Jerry's from ST-Net. Andrew was riding a Yamaha VF-3, or LT-9, or RM-8.... F**k, I don't know what he was riding! :blink: But it wasn't an FJR. So I guess that makes him a prick, though he seemed nice enough to me.
Before long Kurt pulled up, riding a Ducati ("Get a real motorcycle, dude" :glare: ). I won't try to remember the model, though it was gray and said something like Desideratum or some such on the tank. Kurt was from ST-Net too, and also seemed nice enough (for a guy who doesn't ride an FJR).
We talked about me, and then it was time to go. Jerry gave the pre-ride briefing: "I have no freakin' idea where I am or where I'm going." To that we all shouted "Huzzah!" and rushed forward, lifting him onto our shoulders. After carrying him around the parking lot for awhile, somebody said "You guys wanna go riding?" So we dropped Jerry and headed to our bikes. (We waited for Rockwells, but he never showed. You OK, RW?"
)-------------------------------------------------------------------
I led the group of six through Concord along four miles of Treat Blvd., telling Silent over the radio at least four times how much I hated Treat Blvd. Getting us all together down Treat (a six-lane arterial with multiple lights and already thick with traffic) was like herding cats. But we managed to get onto Marsh Creek road together, at which time I handed the reins over to Jerry, and it was on....
Jerry led us around the back of Mt. Diablo along Morgan Territory Road, and yes it's true, it turns into a goat trail. Maybe the first indication was the Forest Rat sign: Deer, Next 11 Miles. The road got dark and single-lane, and full of pot holes.
But we didn't lose anyone and finally came out into the daylight on the other side like Dorothy and her three friends to the sound of Optimistic Voices.
We snaked down off the mountain, dodging the thousands of bicycle Nazis riding in the middle of the road (I didn't want to use my blasters but felt compelled to in the interest of saving their lives
), and we soon rolled into Livermore and civilization. That's when we all got separated.----------------------------------------------------------------------
Not sure how we came to get separated, but I'm pretty sure it started when Jerry pulled us all over onto the side of the road. He got off his bike while we stayed seated, and he walked up and down saying something to all of us like a quarterback changing the play before taking the snap. We nodded and smiled and looked blankly at him.
With ear plugs and helmets and cars flying by us within inches, it was hard to tell exactly what he said, but it sounded something like, "I'll see you guys later!" Then he got on his bike, and he and his lieutenant, Kurt, blasted off.
That left Silent and Painman and Andrew and me left wondering WTF? :blink: Well, thanks to an old Marine war wound or something, Silent had to use the head (I hope it wasn't anything like Jake's in The Sun Also Rises
). So we fired up our bikes and got going too--in the completely wrong direction. I guess Jerry and Kurt headed east on the freeway; we headed south into town, or so we thought. Six miles later due south we pulled into a gas station.-------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the gas station we took care of business, got our bearings, and six miles north to the freeway and about the same east, we met up with Jerry and Kurt, who had stopped at the so-called rendezvous point that I guess is what Jerry had really been talking to us about back at the meat-grinder briefing earlier.
From there it was green hills, twisty roads, and spectacular views. Jerry even took us into Altamont Speedway, site of the famous Stones concert and Hells Angels knifing. Jerry pulled up to a woman in a booth and asked if we could go on the track. She called boss-man over to ask, and he said no. So we doubled back to a rise overlooking the track, where we admired the small cages (literally, they were four-wheeled cages) power-sliding around the small, banked oval.
From there we headed south on 5 in the Valley, cut westward, and wound up having lunch in Livermore, where we sat on the grass eating our Togos sandwiches and burritos and talking about what a great rider I am.
From there we all headed home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just kidding, Jerry! A great ride, a great day, good friends..... Thank you for organizing and leading this. Look forward to riding with you again soon!
JB
P.S. Nice outfit....
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