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I was supposed to attend the CAXSive mini-rally the weekend of September 21/22, 2002. (See the thread elsewhere in the Forum.) My plan was to depart early the morning of 9/20, meet a friend and stay overnight at another friend's home in San Jose. We would then meet up with the raly group at TKAT's in the afternoon, group ride over Mt. Hamilton to Modesto for a BBQ and tire-kicking.
I rose early on the 20th, finished packing my gear into a tank bag and a duffle and went out to load the bike. I decided to fill my portable air tank at the gas station rather than ride the bike over. I went to the station and discovered that their compressor only went to 40 psi. Disgusted, and with time fleeting, I returned home, loaded the bike and set out for another gas station with a high pressure compressor. I pulled up to the hose only to discover I'd left my tire gauge at home! Went home, found the gauge, went back to the station and accomplished my original task.
I was finally on the road, one hour later than planned. The traffic was now horrendous. Lots of slow cautious lane splitting for about 40 miles until I was north of LAX. I made the swing onto the 101 north-bound and made my first gas stop. (I'd planned on this having left home with about a half-tank.) It had taken me an hour and twenty minutes to go about sixty miles. (I must note here that various motorcycle get-offs, work injuries, age and attitude have caused me to develop a philosophy of riding for an hour and stopping to stretch various portions of my anatomy back into a reasonably pliable shape.) I gassed up and continued northward, still in heavy traffic, but moving fairly well. The overcast ("morning low clouds") which persisted for quite some time began to thin allowing better speed and making a jacket and chaps a welcome costume.
The ride along the shore was beautiful. The fog and calm sea were the same color so that it was hard to tell where they met. The off-shore oil platforms were visible, looking like space stations hanging there at some great astronomical distance.
As I left Santa Maria and began winding inland toward Santa Margarita and Paso Robles, the heat began to climb (exponentially, it seemed). I stopped at a drive-in in Paso Robles for lunch. Because they still utilize car hops, there was a canopy under which I could park the bike and a shaded outdoor table at which to eat and slurp down a root-beer float. (I must note that, expecting the heat, I drank a bottle of water at every stop.) The road north lay before me and the speed limit was 70. I was running about a steady 75 mph. There was a lot of CHP activity, all in the southbound lanes.
At one point I was passed by a caravan of four cars led by a police car and trailed by an unmarked police car. They went by at a pretty good clip. Along the way in the area of San Ardo where there are extensive oil wells and a petroleum processing facility, to the east there was a liine of low uniformly shaped and colored hills, looking like piles of stockpiled minerals for which a use has not yet been discovered.
I began to notice wind gusts, but the bike continue to hold fairly steady. Only when passing large trucks or tankers did I experience some "headshake." When I stopped for fuel and water in Greenfield, the wind was blowing so hard that the canopy of the gas station (not canvas, but steel) was shaking to the point where you could feel the shifting in the concrete pad next to the support columns. I asked about the wind and was told that it was always windy here and in Gonzales (about 8 - 10 miles further north). Steeling myself, I pushed on, the heat now oppressive. When I got to Salinas, I stopped off to visit a high school classmate who now lives there and discovered (to my pleasant surprise) that Salinas enjoys the sea breeze from the Monterey penninsula even though they are some twenty miles inland.
After a brief but pleasant visit I left for San Jose. Back into the heat and an unexpected traffic jam. Construction on 101 has a three-into-two choke point that is no fun at all. Once beyond it, the speed picked up and I rolled into my friend's driveway at 5:30 PM, having been preceded by my friend from the north.
He had an appointment to have a new seat made for his Hurricane at Corbin's factory in Hollister. We rose early for the ride down and arrived without incident (except for that damn three-into-two again).
Things at Corbin moved a lot slower than anticipated. Having been treated to breakfast and lunch by Corbin, his seat was still not ready at 2:00, which was when we were supposed to be a TKAT's. Knowing it woud take the better part of an hour and a half to get there when the seat was finished, we decided to opt out of the ride and following festivities. I, for one, was sorely disappointed at not getting to meet the other members of the group. That pleasue will have to wait until a later date.
We decided, at that point, that we could run down to Monterey or Carmel, get a motel room and have a nice dinner at the shore. (Best laid plans, hah!) The ride to the coast was a traffic jam. We arrived to find that there were races being held at Laguna Seca and the famed Monterey jazz festival. No rooms at any inns. We turned back to Salinas to (hopefully) fiind a motel (at inflated prices due to the above events), grab dinner and plan for an early start in the morning.
Morning came dark and foggy, again causing me to delay departure until some visibility could be assured. For some reason my brake light had quit working. It would flash momentarily on release of the hand brake, but not work at all with the foot brake. It being Sunday, early, there was nothing to do but start for home paying more attention to the rear in braking situations. The winds and great heat were mercifully absent as I passed through the areas where previously I had suffered. I stopped again for a longish break in Paso Robles at the self-same drive-in because I felt sleepy and I was losing my attentiveness. The drive-in was not yet open, so no float this time. I was on my way after about a 45 minute break which helped enormously. Lunch and fuel in Santa Maria. Fuel and water in Santa Barbara and bad Sunday afternoon traffic in heat that I did not expect close to shore as I was. The traffic eased by Gaviota, but not the heat. I decided when I got to Ventura and the traffic was again stop and go, to take the Pacific Coast Highway south as far as Santa Monica. Leaving the highway at Oxnard embroiled me in a series of detours which chewed up some time. The trip down the coast was cool and fun, though I had to watch my speed. Lots of bikes. Heavy traffic again in Malibu and all the way to Santa Monica when I got back on the freeway for home. I made it into the garage at just about five P.M.
I'll do the math later on fuel and oil consumption. The bike ran very well except for the glitch with the brake light. (I am, luckily, not someone's hood ornament.) I added a full quart of oil to the bike and have to check to see how much it needs now. The consumption seems high to me but I was running hard (either slow and hot, fast and hot or fast and cool) with a heavy load. Mostly me and some luggage. The best thing about the trip is my Meyer seat. No sore butt, anytime. This is my first longish trip on this bike ever, and I am proud of the bike's abilities. I now know that I do not tolerate high heat for extended periods of time. Next rally has to be fall or spring for me. Maybe I'll try one of those mesh jackets (if someone makes'em in my size). My slipstreamer windshield has some problems with fasteners looseninig which I aim to take up with them. I lost one of the fasteners enroute but had a spare that they had sent me when I complained about the loosening. There is now another that does the same thing about every 10 to 15 miles, so I have to constantly tighten them while underway.
I now know I am not an Iron Butt candidate . I know (or knew all along) that traveling alone is not as much fun as traveling with someone, but he travels fastest who travels alone.
I am looking forward to more trips.
I rose early on the 20th, finished packing my gear into a tank bag and a duffle and went out to load the bike. I decided to fill my portable air tank at the gas station rather than ride the bike over. I went to the station and discovered that their compressor only went to 40 psi. Disgusted, and with time fleeting, I returned home, loaded the bike and set out for another gas station with a high pressure compressor. I pulled up to the hose only to discover I'd left my tire gauge at home! Went home, found the gauge, went back to the station and accomplished my original task.
I was finally on the road, one hour later than planned. The traffic was now horrendous. Lots of slow cautious lane splitting for about 40 miles until I was north of LAX. I made the swing onto the 101 north-bound and made my first gas stop. (I'd planned on this having left home with about a half-tank.) It had taken me an hour and twenty minutes to go about sixty miles. (I must note here that various motorcycle get-offs, work injuries, age and attitude have caused me to develop a philosophy of riding for an hour and stopping to stretch various portions of my anatomy back into a reasonably pliable shape.) I gassed up and continued northward, still in heavy traffic, but moving fairly well. The overcast ("morning low clouds") which persisted for quite some time began to thin allowing better speed and making a jacket and chaps a welcome costume.
The ride along the shore was beautiful. The fog and calm sea were the same color so that it was hard to tell where they met. The off-shore oil platforms were visible, looking like space stations hanging there at some great astronomical distance.
As I left Santa Maria and began winding inland toward Santa Margarita and Paso Robles, the heat began to climb (exponentially, it seemed). I stopped at a drive-in in Paso Robles for lunch. Because they still utilize car hops, there was a canopy under which I could park the bike and a shaded outdoor table at which to eat and slurp down a root-beer float. (I must note that, expecting the heat, I drank a bottle of water at every stop.) The road north lay before me and the speed limit was 70. I was running about a steady 75 mph. There was a lot of CHP activity, all in the southbound lanes.
At one point I was passed by a caravan of four cars led by a police car and trailed by an unmarked police car. They went by at a pretty good clip. Along the way in the area of San Ardo where there are extensive oil wells and a petroleum processing facility, to the east there was a liine of low uniformly shaped and colored hills, looking like piles of stockpiled minerals for which a use has not yet been discovered.
I began to notice wind gusts, but the bike continue to hold fairly steady. Only when passing large trucks or tankers did I experience some "headshake." When I stopped for fuel and water in Greenfield, the wind was blowing so hard that the canopy of the gas station (not canvas, but steel) was shaking to the point where you could feel the shifting in the concrete pad next to the support columns. I asked about the wind and was told that it was always windy here and in Gonzales (about 8 - 10 miles further north). Steeling myself, I pushed on, the heat now oppressive. When I got to Salinas, I stopped off to visit a high school classmate who now lives there and discovered (to my pleasant surprise) that Salinas enjoys the sea breeze from the Monterey penninsula even though they are some twenty miles inland.
After a brief but pleasant visit I left for San Jose. Back into the heat and an unexpected traffic jam. Construction on 101 has a three-into-two choke point that is no fun at all. Once beyond it, the speed picked up and I rolled into my friend's driveway at 5:30 PM, having been preceded by my friend from the north.
He had an appointment to have a new seat made for his Hurricane at Corbin's factory in Hollister. We rose early for the ride down and arrived without incident (except for that damn three-into-two again).
Things at Corbin moved a lot slower than anticipated. Having been treated to breakfast and lunch by Corbin, his seat was still not ready at 2:00, which was when we were supposed to be a TKAT's. Knowing it woud take the better part of an hour and a half to get there when the seat was finished, we decided to opt out of the ride and following festivities. I, for one, was sorely disappointed at not getting to meet the other members of the group. That pleasue will have to wait until a later date.
We decided, at that point, that we could run down to Monterey or Carmel, get a motel room and have a nice dinner at the shore. (Best laid plans, hah!) The ride to the coast was a traffic jam. We arrived to find that there were races being held at Laguna Seca and the famed Monterey jazz festival. No rooms at any inns. We turned back to Salinas to (hopefully) fiind a motel (at inflated prices due to the above events), grab dinner and plan for an early start in the morning.
Morning came dark and foggy, again causing me to delay departure until some visibility could be assured. For some reason my brake light had quit working. It would flash momentarily on release of the hand brake, but not work at all with the foot brake. It being Sunday, early, there was nothing to do but start for home paying more attention to the rear in braking situations. The winds and great heat were mercifully absent as I passed through the areas where previously I had suffered. I stopped again for a longish break in Paso Robles at the self-same drive-in because I felt sleepy and I was losing my attentiveness. The drive-in was not yet open, so no float this time. I was on my way after about a 45 minute break which helped enormously. Lunch and fuel in Santa Maria. Fuel and water in Santa Barbara and bad Sunday afternoon traffic in heat that I did not expect close to shore as I was. The traffic eased by Gaviota, but not the heat. I decided when I got to Ventura and the traffic was again stop and go, to take the Pacific Coast Highway south as far as Santa Monica. Leaving the highway at Oxnard embroiled me in a series of detours which chewed up some time. The trip down the coast was cool and fun, though I had to watch my speed. Lots of bikes. Heavy traffic again in Malibu and all the way to Santa Monica when I got back on the freeway for home. I made it into the garage at just about five P.M.
I'll do the math later on fuel and oil consumption. The bike ran very well except for the glitch with the brake light. (I am, luckily, not someone's hood ornament.) I added a full quart of oil to the bike and have to check to see how much it needs now. The consumption seems high to me but I was running hard (either slow and hot, fast and hot or fast and cool) with a heavy load. Mostly me and some luggage. The best thing about the trip is my Meyer seat. No sore butt, anytime. This is my first longish trip on this bike ever, and I am proud of the bike's abilities. I now know that I do not tolerate high heat for extended periods of time. Next rally has to be fall or spring for me. Maybe I'll try one of those mesh jackets (if someone makes'em in my size). My slipstreamer windshield has some problems with fasteners looseninig which I aim to take up with them. I lost one of the fasteners enroute but had a spare that they had sent me when I complained about the loosening. There is now another that does the same thing about every 10 to 15 miles, so I have to constantly tighten them while underway.
I now know I am not an Iron Butt candidate . I know (or knew all along) that traveling alone is not as much fun as traveling with someone, but he travels fastest who travels alone.
I am looking forward to more trips.
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