Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
March/April 2007 Ride to Santa Maria.
In celebration of Andy’s return to serious riding, this was our first decent length ride since his accident, almost a year ago. The weather was perfect, we each had our dream bike to ride and the most inviting twisty roads beckoned.
To get to the fun roads, one must pay the price of navigating the Los Angeles traffic. Sure, we get beautiful riding weather for most of the year, but we share it with all the other people who live here, and park their cars on the freeways.
We stopped for gas in the ‘hood, figuring that we’d be OK during daylight. The ground around us resonated with the rap music that spilled out of every car. It appeared that the vehicles were either 30yr old clunkers, or brand spanking new luxury cars. There was nothing in between, but all had the rap going on. As we fueled the bikes, a sleek Mercedes Benz pulled up in front and the two occupants got out. With big smiles, they admired our ‘matching’ bikes. Not sure how a 2003 FJR matches a 2006 K12S – perhaps it was the color? Both admirers expressed a wish to learn to ride, and to have bikes like ours. I gently cautioned that these were far from beginner bikes. A pleasant conversation ensued, then our new friends left, expressing appreciation for our matching his-and-hers gear. Didn’t get that either – I had Tourmaster/AlpineStars/Bell. He had First Gear and Nolan. Still, any kind of admiration is good, plus they didn’t point any kind of weapon at us either.
Onto the freeway, when the carpool lane was held up by a slower moving vehicle. We engaged hyperdrive to get around the cork in the bottle and found it to be two Ninjas. He was riding behind a very scared looking ‘her’. I wondered how she had managed to get to the carpool lane, and how she’d get back across five lanes of traffic. To each his/her own, and we moved on.
The 10Fwy and all it’s occupants didn’t hold much appeal on a sunny Saturday morning (not that it does on any day, in any weather) so we took the scenic route to the coast via Santa Monica Boulevard. It made a pleasant change from the freeway. Traffic was predictably busy but the behavior of individual drivers was far from predictable. It was a challenging test of skills to see where the next attack was coming from. The slow progress allowed time to gaze at the older buildings and businesses that weren’t all cookie-cutter franchises. It wasn’t a detour to take when in a hurry, but enjoyable for a gentle, vacation type ride.
Pacific Coast Highway was shrouded in mist, making the Tourmaster jacket’s lining very welcome. The BMW computer told us that temperatures on the ride ranged from 51 to over 80 degrees. We stopped for lunch under the Golden Arches of a favorite restaurant. Hey – the price is right, the food’s not bad and the restrooms are clean. As we ate, the sun broke through and lit up the Pacific Ocean with the sparkling glory that we love to see. Few roads can rival PCH when the sun is shining. Those fortunate enough to ride a motorcycle can savor the genuine pleasure of riding this impressive road, smelling the sea air while enjoying the view.
Oxnard was very Oxnardish. Not a place to spend a lot of time if you can help it. There are two places where the right lane disappears as the highway narrows. Mr Black truck came from behind to cut in front of us at the first merge. I was not happy with that. FJR’s don’t take second place to any color trucks, never mind black ones with attitude imbued drivers. Still, one shouldn’t encourage road rage so I let it go. But not the second time. He tried it again and found his acceleration no match for either of the bikes.
The reward for getting through the heavy traffic was next. We headed inland on the Scenic Route 154. What a great road! It boasts gorgeous views, quality pavement, gentle 70mph twisties (unless you’re following Fairlaner of course, at 90+) and lots of passing lanes. Lake Cachuma peeks out between the trees offering a subtle glance here and there at it’s beauty.
Santa Maria was our overnight stop at the ubiquitous Cell Block 6. Tom Bodett had left the light on for us (all night, right outside our room). We got there mid afternoon and found that we were just across the road from three huge motorcycle shops. We enjoyed browsing, kicking tires and dreaming about buying more bikes for the collection.
Amidst the wine country’s range of $200/night hotels, Motel 6 provided comfortable accommodation for a mere $60. Sure it was basic but adequate. We were able to park the bikes right outside the reception office and had a room close by.
Sunday morning arrived a lot later than we had planned. Plan A was to have been on the road by about 8am but we woke up a lot later than that. We instituted plan B, which was to get to Burger King while they were still serving breakfast. A couple at the next table admired the bikes. I was asked if I actually RIDE one of them, and was it heavy? Yes and Yes, but the faster you go the lighter it gets. The genuine enthusiasm and admiration from this couple felt good. They wished us well, and we wished them the same as we headed out into the warm spring sunshine.
Prior to Andy’s accident, this would have been a day ride for us, but he’s still in a lot of pain from the hardware holding his elbows together. Vicodin, grim determination and cool looking roads encouraged him to keep going. Like the FJR, the K12S just begs to be unleashed and set free on these roads.
The 166 Cuyama Highway pointed us towards the road we were anticipating. It’s long road with a few sweeping turns. There are frequent places to pass so every traveler can set their own speed. As the morning sun warmed the air, we took the opportunity to set up our lines through the leisurely curves. Riding doesn’t get much better than this (except for the next bit after this).
Now onto the 33 to Ojai. This is the one we were waiting for. It starts off straight and a little boring, but worth the ride because we know what’s coming up. Wait a minute. Left turn? I don’t remember a left turn. Then again, my sense of direction is absent as opposed to impaired. Andy has navigational ability AND a GPS so of course I followed him. I learned later that this was Lockwood Valley Road, which runs in an easterly direction towards Castaic Lake. What a road! If you ever ride in this area, mark this road on your map and ride it. We had so much fun that we rode it there and back again.
Initially, I was not impressed due to a river crossing which was about four inches deep but that presented no problem. Further along was a fifty foot or so section of gravel. I don’t DO gravel. The lowered bike allows me a toe touch on each side which doesn’t inspire confidence when traction is poor. Having said that, the better technique involves keeping the feet on the pegs, which I did, and had no problem with the gravel.
The turns were awesome. Some were marked at ten and fifteen mph. Others were faster. The views were spectacular. This was a road for riding, then riding again. At the end of the road, we stopped for a break and met a fellow FJR rider. John was stacking up the pre-registration miles on his out-of-state bike. What better place to do it?
Lockwood Valley road took us back to the 33, in all it’s glory. I swear that of the bikes we saw heading north, there were more FJR’s than anything else. I waved to everyone, hoping that some were forum members. There was pleasantly light traffic on the road, so we had a clear run at our own speed for most of the way. That was until we met the BBQ truck. I’m not sure what it was, Cadillac? Lincoln? Peterbilt? It was a single decker bus with a truck bed tacked on the back. In the bed was a BBQ grill. Under other circumstances, the driver’s skill level would have been amusing, but we were behind and he was in front. Perhaps the turn outs weren’t big enough for a vehicle this size? Or maybe his mirrors didn’t show anyone else on the road. DH followed at a distance that I considered to be way too polite. The center line of the road was no impediment to this behemoth as he hurtled around the turns at breakneck speed. We waited, and waited, bumbling along patiently. As the next turn out approached, I was getting ready to make some kind of move when a sudden gray cloud enveloped everything. Confusion reigned. Thank goodness for DH’s polite distance, since we were both able to brake blindly, slowing right down until visibility was restored. The unsecured BBQ had been thrown over the side of the truck at the apex of a tight turn. Ash obscured everything for a moment or two. And that was what it took to get the urban assault vehicle over to the right shoulder. We left him in the dust, literally, and enjoyed the rest of the road at a modest but entertaining pace.
It was kinda sad to say goodbye to the open road as we headed home on the freeway. The long haul lay ahead and we were already tired. Traffic was not at it’s weekday peak but plenty heavy enough to slow our progress.
Once again Oxnard provided entertainment via the driving skills displayed. Mr Steady was tootling modestly along in the right lane, so we swung the bikes out to the left of the two lanes to pass. If he was doing about fifty, then we were up to seventy or so, to make a clean pass. Mr Angry wanted to pass before us but unfortunately for him, he was behind us. He pulled out into the median (turn lane) and passed us cleanly before swerving across all the lanes to turn right. I still haven’t figured that one out. Mr Steady was doing more or less the legal speed for the road.
So now we’re onto PCH, heading South, and seeing a little bit of heaven. The sun is on our backs, pleasantly warming the mesh jackets as it sets. The ocean is at it’s brilliant best, reflecting the sun’s rays. Waves are breaking within sight of the road as the mountains tower on the other side. The scene is perfected with an aerial display from the Point Mugu airshow. Oh the challenge of keeping one’s eyes on the road! There’s the ocean, the mountains, the air display and still one must be prepared for ground level attack.
After a gentle meander through Malibu, we’re ready to look for some dinner. Rather than take the bleak freeway, we opt for Hwy 1 with it’s side by side businesses. Would you believe that all the fast food emporiums are on the north side of the street? Fatigue levels make two unnecessary left turns an unwise risk. We plod along with the traffic until the Golden Arches loom on the right. I guess they’ve had trouble in the past because there are ‘rules’ posted everywhere. No loitering. Thirty minutes max, for customers only, while dining. (I wonder if your thirty minutes includes the bathroom line or not?)
And now, the home stretch. I give thanks for the experience level that allows me to select ‘autopilot’. The bike just kinda rides itself, while I scan the horizon for threats. Shifting and braking get done effortlessly as the music on the XM radio gently plays. A burst of speed is a welcome change, and we find some empty freeway to get towards the Long Beach Docks. The Vincent Thomas Bridge is a spectacular sight, as the sun is setting, especially in contrast to the industri-scape of the hundreds of shipping containers. I smile to myself at how easily the FJR eats up the bridge grates. My VStar used to shimmy like crazy over those.
What a great trip. Let’s do it again (but after a soak in the hot tub, a cold beer and a good night’s sleep).
In celebration of Andy’s return to serious riding, this was our first decent length ride since his accident, almost a year ago. The weather was perfect, we each had our dream bike to ride and the most inviting twisty roads beckoned.
To get to the fun roads, one must pay the price of navigating the Los Angeles traffic. Sure, we get beautiful riding weather for most of the year, but we share it with all the other people who live here, and park their cars on the freeways.
We stopped for gas in the ‘hood, figuring that we’d be OK during daylight. The ground around us resonated with the rap music that spilled out of every car. It appeared that the vehicles were either 30yr old clunkers, or brand spanking new luxury cars. There was nothing in between, but all had the rap going on. As we fueled the bikes, a sleek Mercedes Benz pulled up in front and the two occupants got out. With big smiles, they admired our ‘matching’ bikes. Not sure how a 2003 FJR matches a 2006 K12S – perhaps it was the color? Both admirers expressed a wish to learn to ride, and to have bikes like ours. I gently cautioned that these were far from beginner bikes. A pleasant conversation ensued, then our new friends left, expressing appreciation for our matching his-and-hers gear. Didn’t get that either – I had Tourmaster/AlpineStars/Bell. He had First Gear and Nolan. Still, any kind of admiration is good, plus they didn’t point any kind of weapon at us either.
Onto the freeway, when the carpool lane was held up by a slower moving vehicle. We engaged hyperdrive to get around the cork in the bottle and found it to be two Ninjas. He was riding behind a very scared looking ‘her’. I wondered how she had managed to get to the carpool lane, and how she’d get back across five lanes of traffic. To each his/her own, and we moved on.
The 10Fwy and all it’s occupants didn’t hold much appeal on a sunny Saturday morning (not that it does on any day, in any weather) so we took the scenic route to the coast via Santa Monica Boulevard. It made a pleasant change from the freeway. Traffic was predictably busy but the behavior of individual drivers was far from predictable. It was a challenging test of skills to see where the next attack was coming from. The slow progress allowed time to gaze at the older buildings and businesses that weren’t all cookie-cutter franchises. It wasn’t a detour to take when in a hurry, but enjoyable for a gentle, vacation type ride.
Pacific Coast Highway was shrouded in mist, making the Tourmaster jacket’s lining very welcome. The BMW computer told us that temperatures on the ride ranged from 51 to over 80 degrees. We stopped for lunch under the Golden Arches of a favorite restaurant. Hey – the price is right, the food’s not bad and the restrooms are clean. As we ate, the sun broke through and lit up the Pacific Ocean with the sparkling glory that we love to see. Few roads can rival PCH when the sun is shining. Those fortunate enough to ride a motorcycle can savor the genuine pleasure of riding this impressive road, smelling the sea air while enjoying the view.
Oxnard was very Oxnardish. Not a place to spend a lot of time if you can help it. There are two places where the right lane disappears as the highway narrows. Mr Black truck came from behind to cut in front of us at the first merge. I was not happy with that. FJR’s don’t take second place to any color trucks, never mind black ones with attitude imbued drivers. Still, one shouldn’t encourage road rage so I let it go. But not the second time. He tried it again and found his acceleration no match for either of the bikes.
The reward for getting through the heavy traffic was next. We headed inland on the Scenic Route 154. What a great road! It boasts gorgeous views, quality pavement, gentle 70mph twisties (unless you’re following Fairlaner of course, at 90+) and lots of passing lanes. Lake Cachuma peeks out between the trees offering a subtle glance here and there at it’s beauty.
Santa Maria was our overnight stop at the ubiquitous Cell Block 6. Tom Bodett had left the light on for us (all night, right outside our room). We got there mid afternoon and found that we were just across the road from three huge motorcycle shops. We enjoyed browsing, kicking tires and dreaming about buying more bikes for the collection.
Amidst the wine country’s range of $200/night hotels, Motel 6 provided comfortable accommodation for a mere $60. Sure it was basic but adequate. We were able to park the bikes right outside the reception office and had a room close by.
Sunday morning arrived a lot later than we had planned. Plan A was to have been on the road by about 8am but we woke up a lot later than that. We instituted plan B, which was to get to Burger King while they were still serving breakfast. A couple at the next table admired the bikes. I was asked if I actually RIDE one of them, and was it heavy? Yes and Yes, but the faster you go the lighter it gets. The genuine enthusiasm and admiration from this couple felt good. They wished us well, and we wished them the same as we headed out into the warm spring sunshine.
Prior to Andy’s accident, this would have been a day ride for us, but he’s still in a lot of pain from the hardware holding his elbows together. Vicodin, grim determination and cool looking roads encouraged him to keep going. Like the FJR, the K12S just begs to be unleashed and set free on these roads.
The 166 Cuyama Highway pointed us towards the road we were anticipating. It’s long road with a few sweeping turns. There are frequent places to pass so every traveler can set their own speed. As the morning sun warmed the air, we took the opportunity to set up our lines through the leisurely curves. Riding doesn’t get much better than this (except for the next bit after this).
Now onto the 33 to Ojai. This is the one we were waiting for. It starts off straight and a little boring, but worth the ride because we know what’s coming up. Wait a minute. Left turn? I don’t remember a left turn. Then again, my sense of direction is absent as opposed to impaired. Andy has navigational ability AND a GPS so of course I followed him. I learned later that this was Lockwood Valley Road, which runs in an easterly direction towards Castaic Lake. What a road! If you ever ride in this area, mark this road on your map and ride it. We had so much fun that we rode it there and back again.
Initially, I was not impressed due to a river crossing which was about four inches deep but that presented no problem. Further along was a fifty foot or so section of gravel. I don’t DO gravel. The lowered bike allows me a toe touch on each side which doesn’t inspire confidence when traction is poor. Having said that, the better technique involves keeping the feet on the pegs, which I did, and had no problem with the gravel.
The turns were awesome. Some were marked at ten and fifteen mph. Others were faster. The views were spectacular. This was a road for riding, then riding again. At the end of the road, we stopped for a break and met a fellow FJR rider. John was stacking up the pre-registration miles on his out-of-state bike. What better place to do it?
Lockwood Valley road took us back to the 33, in all it’s glory. I swear that of the bikes we saw heading north, there were more FJR’s than anything else. I waved to everyone, hoping that some were forum members. There was pleasantly light traffic on the road, so we had a clear run at our own speed for most of the way. That was until we met the BBQ truck. I’m not sure what it was, Cadillac? Lincoln? Peterbilt? It was a single decker bus with a truck bed tacked on the back. In the bed was a BBQ grill. Under other circumstances, the driver’s skill level would have been amusing, but we were behind and he was in front. Perhaps the turn outs weren’t big enough for a vehicle this size? Or maybe his mirrors didn’t show anyone else on the road. DH followed at a distance that I considered to be way too polite. The center line of the road was no impediment to this behemoth as he hurtled around the turns at breakneck speed. We waited, and waited, bumbling along patiently. As the next turn out approached, I was getting ready to make some kind of move when a sudden gray cloud enveloped everything. Confusion reigned. Thank goodness for DH’s polite distance, since we were both able to brake blindly, slowing right down until visibility was restored. The unsecured BBQ had been thrown over the side of the truck at the apex of a tight turn. Ash obscured everything for a moment or two. And that was what it took to get the urban assault vehicle over to the right shoulder. We left him in the dust, literally, and enjoyed the rest of the road at a modest but entertaining pace.
It was kinda sad to say goodbye to the open road as we headed home on the freeway. The long haul lay ahead and we were already tired. Traffic was not at it’s weekday peak but plenty heavy enough to slow our progress.
Once again Oxnard provided entertainment via the driving skills displayed. Mr Steady was tootling modestly along in the right lane, so we swung the bikes out to the left of the two lanes to pass. If he was doing about fifty, then we were up to seventy or so, to make a clean pass. Mr Angry wanted to pass before us but unfortunately for him, he was behind us. He pulled out into the median (turn lane) and passed us cleanly before swerving across all the lanes to turn right. I still haven’t figured that one out. Mr Steady was doing more or less the legal speed for the road.
So now we’re onto PCH, heading South, and seeing a little bit of heaven. The sun is on our backs, pleasantly warming the mesh jackets as it sets. The ocean is at it’s brilliant best, reflecting the sun’s rays. Waves are breaking within sight of the road as the mountains tower on the other side. The scene is perfected with an aerial display from the Point Mugu airshow. Oh the challenge of keeping one’s eyes on the road! There’s the ocean, the mountains, the air display and still one must be prepared for ground level attack.
After a gentle meander through Malibu, we’re ready to look for some dinner. Rather than take the bleak freeway, we opt for Hwy 1 with it’s side by side businesses. Would you believe that all the fast food emporiums are on the north side of the street? Fatigue levels make two unnecessary left turns an unwise risk. We plod along with the traffic until the Golden Arches loom on the right. I guess they’ve had trouble in the past because there are ‘rules’ posted everywhere. No loitering. Thirty minutes max, for customers only, while dining. (I wonder if your thirty minutes includes the bathroom line or not?)
And now, the home stretch. I give thanks for the experience level that allows me to select ‘autopilot’. The bike just kinda rides itself, while I scan the horizon for threats. Shifting and braking get done effortlessly as the music on the XM radio gently plays. A burst of speed is a welcome change, and we find some empty freeway to get towards the Long Beach Docks. The Vincent Thomas Bridge is a spectacular sight, as the sun is setting, especially in contrast to the industri-scape of the hundreds of shipping containers. I smile to myself at how easily the FJR eats up the bridge grates. My VStar used to shimmy like crazy over those.
What a great trip. Let’s do it again (but after a soak in the hot tub, a cold beer and a good night’s sleep).
