jwhite518
Well-known member
Winter Warm Weather BBG
SJC-10K, Leg 3
Initially my December ride was going to be a jaunt up the California coast to Florence, Oregon, on Boxing Day. I had an RTE all arranged with some Pacific Northwest riding friends. Then the week before Christmas, Old Man Winter decided he had other plans for us. The Northwest was covered in snow and ice. We decided to scrub that ride and I came up with another route that kept me to the south and more cooperative weather. The date was also moved to Tuesday December 30. That was a good choice. As I watched the weather predictions in the preceding days, it was getting warmer and dryer by the day. Tuesday ended up being a great day to ride.
I left the house a few minutes before 5:00 AM and went to my local Shell station for a starting receipt. The temperature was cold but nothing that my heated jacket liner couldn’t compensate for. I headed east through Livermore and then rode south on I-5 in the dark. Fairly soon after getting into the San Joaquin Valley, I ran into some patchy dense ground fog, which cut my forward visibility. In the really thick parts I couldn’t go more than about 55 mph without over-running my headlights. It was eerie riding all alone in the cool blanket of fog. After a bit of this, a fast running SUV passed me. Even though he was going faster than I would have gone in those conditions solo, I had no problems letting him blaze the trail. If he ran into something, I had excellent braking power and a safe following distance. This strategy allowed me to get my speeds back up. We rode that way for quite some time. Eventually the fog lifted, which happened to be just when he exited the highway. My guardian angel had been there for exactly as long as I needed him. Thanks, dude!
At Lost Hills I needed a bathroom break. Being unplugged from the bike, I lost my heat source and got cold in a hurry. I decided to put on an extra layer in case it was even colder than this crossing the Tehachapis. This jacket stayed on for the entire ride.
I headed east across the farmland on Highway 46, then picked up CA 99 southbound. This led me into Bakersfield, where I was stopping for my only courthouse photo of the day. By this time the sun was up but it was only marginally warmer. Still low 40s. As I got off the highway and rode to the courthouse I cued up “Streets of Bakersfield” by Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens. I love it when my music matches my surroundings. The courthouse photo stop was nearly identical to my San Diego courthouse last month. Big building, walk out to the center median, snap the shot. All together I was off the freeway for perhaps 15 minutes, a very efficient detour.
Highway 58 eastbound was nice. The sun was out and the sky was clear. The road climbed and curved gently toward the top. I always enjoy passing places I’ve ridden on previous endurance rallies. For once it’s nice to go right past the Caliente exit, instead of heading towards some twisted rallymaster’s idea of a fun bonus. Once at the summit I saw the remaining evidence of last week’s weather, still dusting the hillsides. I was very comfortable in my heated gear. Before I realized it I was on the Mojave Desert floor, heading for Barstow. I snapped some shots while moving.
In Barstow I picked up I-15 northbound. Interstate traffic is never very fun, but I made do. Passing Baker I tried to snap the giant thermometer. Someone told me it’s not the Bun Boy anymore. Welcome to the recession.
Riding into Primm I recalled my first personal encounter with the Iron Butt Rally, the first checkpoint in 2005. Little did I know at that time what my future would be with this wacky pastime. I consulted the cheat sheet in my tankbag window, and saw that I was right on schedule, entering Nevada exactly when I had predicted. So far, so good!
As I rode into Henderson I saw the outskirts of Sin City: giant skyscrapers, houses everywhere, and a layer of brown smog blanketing the valley. I sure was happy to glance off the edge of this metropolis as I made my way to Arizona. The highway petered out, I was in the town of Boulder City, and then all of a sudden the road was backed up with stopped traffic. There were signs about road construction, and I hoped it would unclog shortly. Unfortunately that was not to be. I crept forward slowly. The GPS indicated 6 miles to the top of Hoover Dam. I watched my ETA slowly slip further and further away. Here are a few shots taken while I had nothing better to do.
I reached the security checkpoint and saw that the jam-up continued beyond. I asked the guard what was going on, and he said it was just holiday traffic. It should clear up past the dam. Damn! This was not what I had expected, but hopefully it wouldn’t completely kill the ride. What could I do but keep going? No way was I going to stop and take any more photos at the dam, which had been my idea before the ride. Once I crossed the top of the dam, speeds returned to normal. I looked at my GPS and saw that I had lost a full hour. That damned dam!
During the jam-up I considered riding along the shoulder and bypassing all that mess. I really didn’t want to risk getting a ticket, especially since I had just finished traffic school from my November ticket. But my ride was only a Bun Burner Gold, not a rally. I kept on the straight and narrow. I think if I had been in a rally I probably would have made a different choice. I feel good about doing the right thing, even though it put my ride at risk. Now I needed to make up that lost hour.
Fortunately the road between Hoover Dam and Kingman was conducive to a fast pace. I regained about 10 or 15 minutes, while relying on my radar detector and situational awareness to keep me safe from The Man. It worked out. The Arizona desert was beautiful. I stopped for gas at Kingman and rode another fast leg towards Phoenix. I felt a little like a hoon so I put on some hoon music – Neil Young and Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East, 1970. Crunchy guitars and singing about “down by the river I shot my baby.” Wouldn’t you know it, I passed Crazy Horse Road! Another nice convergence of music and place.
The ride through here was very nice. There were crazy Dr. Seuss-like Joshua trees lining the road. I could hear some nice mountain side roads calling my motorcycle. “Jerrreeee……Jerrrreeeee…..Twisty roads here….” I made a mental note to return when I had more time. The temperature was probably in the low 50s and cooling off again as the sun set and I stopped for a bathroom break in Wickenburg. As I got back in the saddle the sun was down and the sky had a brilliant line of orange color on the horizon. The crescent moon was accompanied by a bright star (Venus perhaps?) It was a nice moment to enjoy.
It was dark when I reached the outskirts of Phoenix. The route here was just like my Vegas strategy, glancing off the big city and heading to the open highway. In the suburb of Surprise, Arizona, I headed west and then south. I was forced to take a detour at one point as some police action had my desired road blockaded. No problem, my GPS found a way around with very little time penalty. I connected with I-10 westbound, with about 100 miles to go until the California border. The weather was still cooperating, clear and cool but not cold.
In the border city of Blythe I stopped for fuel. This was a rather sketchy area, with small groups of baggy-pants youths prowling the gas station tarmac, and visible across the street at the other one too. I covered up my electronics with helmet and gloves, took the key, and figured I would be OK during the restroom break. I gave the doorway alcoholic a buck as I passed him on the way in.
From here on out it was just highway, highway, highway. I was on this same road last month during my Weenie SS1K. The highway hasn’t changed. Again it was a nice feeling to come down the hill and see the lights of the Coachella Valley up ahead. I had on a mix tape that my friend Ben gave me. The Elton John song Rocket Man, sung by an artist I didn’t know but really liked, fit my mood perfectly at the time. “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids. In fact, it’s cold as hell. I’m a rocket man.”
Riding into Redlands I looked to the right and saw the church where our friends’ daughter was married last April. Nice memory of a sunny and happy day. Then I was on the 210 freeway and doing my “bypass the city” thing again. Only this time the city was huge Los Angeles and I had a lot of bypassing to do. Fortunately there were zero traffic delays all the way through. Finally I was in Sylmar and connecting to I-5 northbound.
It was something like midnight or 1 AM, and I was still on schedule to make my Bun Burner Gold (1500 miles in 24 hours for those playing along at home.) I actually had about an hour to spare. I decided to take a stretch break once I got over the Grapevine. I rode down the hill with the trucks and then got off at Laval Road. I smelled that the brand new In and Out Burger was still open for business. I was tempted to stop for a burger, but I didn’t want a big gut bomb making me sleepy on the homestretch so I resisted the siren call. Instead I had a real Coke at the gas station (not diet, I wanted the sugar.) Here's a photo of my Bakersfield hero.
It’s now the home stretch, the familiar slog of I-5. I think I’ve been on this highway at every conceivable hour of the day and night, in either direction, either in a car or on a bike. This time the fog was back. I did the same thing as before, went only as fast as my headlights would allow until a rabbit passed me. Why are they always SUVs? I guess those guys feel invincible in their steel cages. Ah well, better him than me. Zip, zip, ride, ride, and then I was on the Altamont Pass and heading for the barn. I pulled into my starting gas station, bought a gallon of gas, and checked the time on the receipt. I had only eight minutes to spare! Boy was that cutting it close. Well, I had made the conscious decision to use all my available time, by taking that break at Laval Road. It worked out, even with the fog delay. I had ridden 1537 miles in 23 hours, 52 minutes, and overcome two bouts of heavy fog and an hour of crap traffic in Nevada.
This is the kind of ride that makes many people say, “I don’t get it. It’s just hour after hour of boring interstate. No curves, no sights, just a slog. I have no desire to do an Iron Butt ride.” Well I can see that. I would not recommend this route for a beginning Iron Butt rider. So why did I do it? Well, if I have to tell you then you wouldn’t understand. To those who do understand, thanks for coming along for the ride.
SJC-10K, Leg 3
Initially my December ride was going to be a jaunt up the California coast to Florence, Oregon, on Boxing Day. I had an RTE all arranged with some Pacific Northwest riding friends. Then the week before Christmas, Old Man Winter decided he had other plans for us. The Northwest was covered in snow and ice. We decided to scrub that ride and I came up with another route that kept me to the south and more cooperative weather. The date was also moved to Tuesday December 30. That was a good choice. As I watched the weather predictions in the preceding days, it was getting warmer and dryer by the day. Tuesday ended up being a great day to ride.
I left the house a few minutes before 5:00 AM and went to my local Shell station for a starting receipt. The temperature was cold but nothing that my heated jacket liner couldn’t compensate for. I headed east through Livermore and then rode south on I-5 in the dark. Fairly soon after getting into the San Joaquin Valley, I ran into some patchy dense ground fog, which cut my forward visibility. In the really thick parts I couldn’t go more than about 55 mph without over-running my headlights. It was eerie riding all alone in the cool blanket of fog. After a bit of this, a fast running SUV passed me. Even though he was going faster than I would have gone in those conditions solo, I had no problems letting him blaze the trail. If he ran into something, I had excellent braking power and a safe following distance. This strategy allowed me to get my speeds back up. We rode that way for quite some time. Eventually the fog lifted, which happened to be just when he exited the highway. My guardian angel had been there for exactly as long as I needed him. Thanks, dude!
At Lost Hills I needed a bathroom break. Being unplugged from the bike, I lost my heat source and got cold in a hurry. I decided to put on an extra layer in case it was even colder than this crossing the Tehachapis. This jacket stayed on for the entire ride.
I headed east across the farmland on Highway 46, then picked up CA 99 southbound. This led me into Bakersfield, where I was stopping for my only courthouse photo of the day. By this time the sun was up but it was only marginally warmer. Still low 40s. As I got off the highway and rode to the courthouse I cued up “Streets of Bakersfield” by Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens. I love it when my music matches my surroundings. The courthouse photo stop was nearly identical to my San Diego courthouse last month. Big building, walk out to the center median, snap the shot. All together I was off the freeway for perhaps 15 minutes, a very efficient detour.
Highway 58 eastbound was nice. The sun was out and the sky was clear. The road climbed and curved gently toward the top. I always enjoy passing places I’ve ridden on previous endurance rallies. For once it’s nice to go right past the Caliente exit, instead of heading towards some twisted rallymaster’s idea of a fun bonus. Once at the summit I saw the remaining evidence of last week’s weather, still dusting the hillsides. I was very comfortable in my heated gear. Before I realized it I was on the Mojave Desert floor, heading for Barstow. I snapped some shots while moving.
In Barstow I picked up I-15 northbound. Interstate traffic is never very fun, but I made do. Passing Baker I tried to snap the giant thermometer. Someone told me it’s not the Bun Boy anymore. Welcome to the recession.
Riding into Primm I recalled my first personal encounter with the Iron Butt Rally, the first checkpoint in 2005. Little did I know at that time what my future would be with this wacky pastime. I consulted the cheat sheet in my tankbag window, and saw that I was right on schedule, entering Nevada exactly when I had predicted. So far, so good!
As I rode into Henderson I saw the outskirts of Sin City: giant skyscrapers, houses everywhere, and a layer of brown smog blanketing the valley. I sure was happy to glance off the edge of this metropolis as I made my way to Arizona. The highway petered out, I was in the town of Boulder City, and then all of a sudden the road was backed up with stopped traffic. There were signs about road construction, and I hoped it would unclog shortly. Unfortunately that was not to be. I crept forward slowly. The GPS indicated 6 miles to the top of Hoover Dam. I watched my ETA slowly slip further and further away. Here are a few shots taken while I had nothing better to do.
I reached the security checkpoint and saw that the jam-up continued beyond. I asked the guard what was going on, and he said it was just holiday traffic. It should clear up past the dam. Damn! This was not what I had expected, but hopefully it wouldn’t completely kill the ride. What could I do but keep going? No way was I going to stop and take any more photos at the dam, which had been my idea before the ride. Once I crossed the top of the dam, speeds returned to normal. I looked at my GPS and saw that I had lost a full hour. That damned dam!
During the jam-up I considered riding along the shoulder and bypassing all that mess. I really didn’t want to risk getting a ticket, especially since I had just finished traffic school from my November ticket. But my ride was only a Bun Burner Gold, not a rally. I kept on the straight and narrow. I think if I had been in a rally I probably would have made a different choice. I feel good about doing the right thing, even though it put my ride at risk. Now I needed to make up that lost hour.
Fortunately the road between Hoover Dam and Kingman was conducive to a fast pace. I regained about 10 or 15 minutes, while relying on my radar detector and situational awareness to keep me safe from The Man. It worked out. The Arizona desert was beautiful. I stopped for gas at Kingman and rode another fast leg towards Phoenix. I felt a little like a hoon so I put on some hoon music – Neil Young and Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East, 1970. Crunchy guitars and singing about “down by the river I shot my baby.” Wouldn’t you know it, I passed Crazy Horse Road! Another nice convergence of music and place.
The ride through here was very nice. There were crazy Dr. Seuss-like Joshua trees lining the road. I could hear some nice mountain side roads calling my motorcycle. “Jerrreeee……Jerrrreeeee…..Twisty roads here….” I made a mental note to return when I had more time. The temperature was probably in the low 50s and cooling off again as the sun set and I stopped for a bathroom break in Wickenburg. As I got back in the saddle the sun was down and the sky had a brilliant line of orange color on the horizon. The crescent moon was accompanied by a bright star (Venus perhaps?) It was a nice moment to enjoy.
It was dark when I reached the outskirts of Phoenix. The route here was just like my Vegas strategy, glancing off the big city and heading to the open highway. In the suburb of Surprise, Arizona, I headed west and then south. I was forced to take a detour at one point as some police action had my desired road blockaded. No problem, my GPS found a way around with very little time penalty. I connected with I-10 westbound, with about 100 miles to go until the California border. The weather was still cooperating, clear and cool but not cold.
In the border city of Blythe I stopped for fuel. This was a rather sketchy area, with small groups of baggy-pants youths prowling the gas station tarmac, and visible across the street at the other one too. I covered up my electronics with helmet and gloves, took the key, and figured I would be OK during the restroom break. I gave the doorway alcoholic a buck as I passed him on the way in.
From here on out it was just highway, highway, highway. I was on this same road last month during my Weenie SS1K. The highway hasn’t changed. Again it was a nice feeling to come down the hill and see the lights of the Coachella Valley up ahead. I had on a mix tape that my friend Ben gave me. The Elton John song Rocket Man, sung by an artist I didn’t know but really liked, fit my mood perfectly at the time. “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids. In fact, it’s cold as hell. I’m a rocket man.”
Riding into Redlands I looked to the right and saw the church where our friends’ daughter was married last April. Nice memory of a sunny and happy day. Then I was on the 210 freeway and doing my “bypass the city” thing again. Only this time the city was huge Los Angeles and I had a lot of bypassing to do. Fortunately there were zero traffic delays all the way through. Finally I was in Sylmar and connecting to I-5 northbound.
It was something like midnight or 1 AM, and I was still on schedule to make my Bun Burner Gold (1500 miles in 24 hours for those playing along at home.) I actually had about an hour to spare. I decided to take a stretch break once I got over the Grapevine. I rode down the hill with the trucks and then got off at Laval Road. I smelled that the brand new In and Out Burger was still open for business. I was tempted to stop for a burger, but I didn’t want a big gut bomb making me sleepy on the homestretch so I resisted the siren call. Instead I had a real Coke at the gas station (not diet, I wanted the sugar.) Here's a photo of my Bakersfield hero.
It’s now the home stretch, the familiar slog of I-5. I think I’ve been on this highway at every conceivable hour of the day and night, in either direction, either in a car or on a bike. This time the fog was back. I did the same thing as before, went only as fast as my headlights would allow until a rabbit passed me. Why are they always SUVs? I guess those guys feel invincible in their steel cages. Ah well, better him than me. Zip, zip, ride, ride, and then I was on the Altamont Pass and heading for the barn. I pulled into my starting gas station, bought a gallon of gas, and checked the time on the receipt. I had only eight minutes to spare! Boy was that cutting it close. Well, I had made the conscious decision to use all my available time, by taking that break at Laval Road. It worked out, even with the fog delay. I had ridden 1537 miles in 23 hours, 52 minutes, and overcome two bouts of heavy fog and an hour of crap traffic in Nevada.
This is the kind of ride that makes many people say, “I don’t get it. It’s just hour after hour of boring interstate. No curves, no sights, just a slog. I have no desire to do an Iron Butt ride.” Well I can see that. I would not recommend this route for a beginning Iron Butt rider. So why did I do it? Well, if I have to tell you then you wouldn’t understand. To those who do understand, thanks for coming along for the ride.
