Storm Racing

Storm Racing Out of Klamath Falls 

A leisurely visit with my folks ended with a race; we weather-watched and saw that a storm was coming in to the Klamath Falls, Oregon area. The two-day ride up a few days earlier had been ideal, both in weather and route. I’ll backtrack to that ride on a later post. The plan had been to head home Monday to arrive back in La Crescenta on Tuesday after a layover at my friend Jim’s place in Walnut Creek but the weather apps showed two days of rain coming in starting Sunday around noon. We agreed that I would be better off to get down the Siskiyou Mountains ahead of the rain and we set up for an early morning departure on Sunday, a day earlier than planned. Riders need to be vigilant and flexible in their plans.

The kickstand was up just before sunrise and I cruised down the Hwy 140 along the lower point of Upper Klamath Lake to the junction with Hwy 97 which took me to Weed, California. The 97 is a mostly a two-lane highway that parallels an Amtrak rail route through agricultural sections interspersed with wetlands. It winds in and out of the pine forest and mountain roadways; a biker’s road to say the least. It was cloudy and cold, down to 39^o, and I was glad that I had geared up with the rain suit if for nothing else but the extra layer.

Motoring down the 97, I took advantage of my Cross Country’s get-up-and-go and passed the early morning cars and trucks on a more regular basis than I usually do in order to keep ahead of the storm front. However, that put me on a pace to catch up with the leading arm of the storm swirl. Heading southeast with a clear road in front of me leading into the foothills I had the waning half moon and a beautiful rainbow straight ahead of me. The rainbow as God’s promise of grace rode right next to the scientific promise of falling water droplets refracting the rising sun behind me. The rain was moving on up into the hills as I caught up to the drizzle that had given birth to the rainbow. I lucked out and was able to keep a good pace along the twisties with the pavement not being too wet and made it out to the high plain leading into Weed without hitting any downpours; I fueled up and downed a hot chocolate to break the chill. It was enough for a subtle reminder about taking all your gear on a long ride and promising enough to add some thrill to the race.

I left Weed south on Hwy 5 toward Redding, part of my favorite section of what in a lot of areas is a straight and boring route with intermittent truck-dodging sessions. From Weed to Redding it is anything but boring with the Shasta-Trinity National Forest coming right down to the highway right-of-ways and twisting its way through the Siskiyou Mountains. There are views of Shasta Mountain as well as the passage over and along Shasta Lake which at this time of year should have a lot more water in it than what I saw; save your water folks, it’s going to be a long, dry summer.

By the time I came down the grade into Redding the water leaden clouds were receding and I’d won the race this time around but not without that little reminder that storm racing is iffy at best. I fueled up, geared down, and headed out to finish the day's run.

Be well and keep the iron side up.

328 From Tombstone

328 From Tombstone and Back and Home Again

Saturday morning started innocently enough with a latish breakfast at the Helldorado Chuckwagon, an "Eatery", where we had a great breakfast served by waitresses that called you “Hon” and laughed with us; Jim is especially good at relating to them – it was like breakfast with family and that suited us just fine. There was no solid plan in place for the day as the weather was a big concern; everyone checked and rechecked the weather apps and GPS units; they said the same thing, wind, more wind, and possible rain late; we rode anyway.

The objective was a couple of mountain roads over in New Mexico. After walking back to the Sagebrush we geared up and rode out of town with only a breeze until we got further up Highway 80, nothing that presaged what our day would really be all about. Once we hit Highway 10 east the winds picked up and we were in 10^o leans with the full intensity of the day’s blasts hitting just as we entered New Mexico, it was though the state meant to blow us back to Arizona and we were at 20^o leans. We had 30 MPH sustained winds with 50 MPH gusts for the remainder of the ride with the only respite being the mountain roads and even then we had to be vigilant for the vagrant gust coming down the canyons as we twisted our way back to the main highways. 

In the photo here, taken of me by Steve Mclean Sr., I had just turned my head to give him a wave when a gust hit me from the right snapping my head and shoulders back straightening my arms out and I had to get busy getting back into position. When I had followed Kevin on a calm day his flags whipped straight back; on this day, in this wind, his flags whipped 90^os one way or the other. There was a long Facebook discussion on the physics of this but it would tax my understanding just to copy it to this post.

We took refuge for a much needed break at an abandoned gas station somewhere in New Mexico during the return part of the loop. It seemed to me at the time to be emblematic of the day's ride. It was a mixed bag of a ride with some very ride-worthy sections with the winds and, thankfully, only a couple of minor sand blasts. It could have been worse in that regard, much worse; we saw frequent permanent signs warning of blowing dust and sand and we sand storms in the distance. I know that I uttered a couple of prayers hoping to fend off the sand.

You know that you are on a great ride when the visibility is for miles and you can only see a quarter mile of road in front of you. When the lead-dog disappears in front of you and the sweeps can’t be seen in the rearview and then you come out of the gorgeous sweeping curve to check your speed and are surprised at the top-end then you know you are locked in and riding good tech hitting the entry, the apex, and shooting out the far end. You know you are in a great group when everyone forms up on the flats in tight formation without batting an eye.

Likewise, you know that you are in for a workout when you see every rider in a 20^o lean from upright in the straights from lead to sweep. And you know it’s really tough when everybody is in a lean but not to the same side at the same time. 328 miles mostly in the crosswind; my best recollection of the route (I hope Kevin will correct me here) was Hwy 80 out of Tombstone, east on Hwy 10 into New Mexico, down the 146 to the 9 over to the 80 at Rodeo, south through Douglas within spitting distance of Mexico, and then back up the 80 through Bisbee to Tombstone where we spent some time at the Boothill Cemetery. The route could have been very different – I was mostly focused on staying with the group and between the guardrails. I would have benefited by having a GPS app recording the route for the day, I’ll work on that.

Boothill was entertaining with the nicknames of some of the people buried there and sobering at the same time with so many graves with “Unknown” markers, a section of men hanged (1 lynched), and so many shot, stabbed, or that had otherwise met a violent death. There were the clearly marked graves of the three Cowboys killed at the OK Corral with the notice that they were “murdered in the streets of Tombstone”. It was a hard time in a harsh land and after our ride I wondered just how they got along without pavement in such a place.

Dinner that night was followed by slow walk back through the historic section of town after a short rain shower while we ate. It was Twilight in Tombstone but my timing was bad and I didn’t witness any of the free gunfights staged around the town, bad timing I guess. The OK Corral has a store but you have to pay to see the actual area where the historic gunfight took place as it is now surrounded by high walls.

We ate an early breakfast at the Helldorado, riding down the three blocks with bikes ready to ride out. After we posed for a group shot on the main street of Tombstone we road home with a series of goodbyes, first Kevin split off east at Highway 10 on his way to Dallas for a conference and eventual Iron Butt run home, then it was Mike, Jim, and Greg at a couple of junctions in Phoenix, Mike and Jim to roundabout way home and Greg to visit a friend in town before heading home the following day. Tim, Brad, and Gerald peeled off well into California and then it was Steve and me until we split up when I jumped off the freeway to refuel at the junction of the 10 and 57 freeways. The only thing that marked the ride home for me was riding blind for 250 miles when my speedometer and tach went out. After each stop it they would work for a time and then go out. It wasn’t too bad with me following the others but the last 50 miles home was a bit nerve-wracking. Something’s loose and not just the nut between the seat and the handlebars…all in all, it was a fine adventure with outstanding bikers.

Tombstone Group with OK Corral in the background.
Photo courtesy of Steve Mclean Sr.