One and the Same – Ride Lead and Sweeper

Morro Rock from the end of CA Highway 41

My summer ride for 2017 is over and it’s time to look in the rearview mirror and reflect a bit. I haven’t said much about the last two days of the ride and that’s because they were somewhat unremarkable compared to my ride out to Pahrump in fantastic weather, the ride around and up to Mount Charleston, and the big ride-day from Pahrump through Death Valley and Yosemite to Fresno. Really though, that’s not exactly fair – I was riding a motorcycle and that is remarkable.

The day after rolling into Fresno I completed the traverse of CA Highway 41 by riding to its terminus in Morro Bay. I commented on this in Facebook that there is something to be said for completing a highway from end-to-end and that I’d write it if I figured out what it was to be said. Still got nothing on that except it feels right. My final day of riding brought me home down PCH to CA Highway 118 and the 210 Freeway. Morro Bay is a worthy destination as is home.

Highway 41 from Fresno to the coast is notable mostly for the two-lane road experience, most of which is through agricultural country complete with agri-vehicles that slow things down; trucks, tractors, and such. One needs to stay in touch with reality when passing these big vehicles and I witnessed a couple of close calls for the impatient folks stacked up in front of me. The agricultural area extends beyond US Highway 5 for a time until you weave into the foothills of the coastal range. At that point CA Highway 46 and 41 coincide for a time, once they separate there is sign suggesting trucks use 46. That’s because 41 narrows and gets into twistiness through Atascadaro and into the town of Morro Bay. By far, that was the most fun stretch for the day’s ride as I was behind a local, once again, and she wanted to push the pace and I wanted to make use of her native familiarity with the road.

I could have easily done a full day’s riding from Fresno to Morro Bay and on to home and would have if I didn’t have a reservation for the night. I was glad that I’d stayed over and enjoyed a walk around Morro Bay snagging an old motorcycle book and getting a close look at a sea otter in the harbor. I’ll be back.

Now to the title of this post – something I thought about during the ride is what it means to travel solo over several days or even for one long ride-day. The ride leader and sweeper are one in the same and there is no one to blame but yourself for getting lost or stuck all by yourself.

Consider for a moment the responsibilities of the Ride Captain or Lead Rider. That person is responsible for the safety of the riders and the smooth running of the ride; including planning, thinking ahead, communication, and decision making for unforeseen events. The ride leader also establishes a comfortable pace for all the riders in the group and picks a good line for twists and turns and negotiating traffic. It’s up to the ride leader not to make a move that all the riders in the group cannot make or close the gap afterwards in a reasonable way. If you’re solo, that simplifies most of it but it also puts reading the right line squarely on your own shoulders and is something that slows my own pace a bit,.

The sweeper, or sweep, or Tail End Charlie, is the last rider in line and is a rider with a lot of experience if not the most experience. It’s their job to ensure everyone else in the group arrives at the destination safely. Other terms I’ve found for this rider are back door, tail gunner, or Ride Lieutenant. I’ve driven as the sweep in caravans and think of myself in that situation as the mother hen watching over the brood, keeping everyone in front and together. On a ride, the sweep needs to keep in contact with the ride-lead and radio communication between the two is best, otherwise you must rely on hand signals. The sweep can provide a bit of a traffic break if they are aware or anticipate maneuvers the leader is going to make.

Only twice have I been uncomfortable in a group ride and both times they were lead or organized poorly. Once during my first ever group ride with the VMC when the return trip disintegrated at a stop sign and everybody went back to the hotel willy-nilly. The other time was a badly organized toy ride with a hundred bikes going through several freeway junctions – it was a bad scene and we were luck nothing happened. I have otherwise ridden with the best leaders and sweeps in all senses of the titles.

The word that is paramount to the ride leader, sweep, and everybody in between is vigilance. Always be aware of the others, the road conditions, traffic concerns, and yourself. Strangely enough, if you’re solo, you need to double your vigilance because you’ve got nobody setting your pace or covering your six. A big part of your personal vigilance is being completely honest with yourself on how you’re feeling, how comfortable you are in the current conditions, and your personal capabilities as a rider. In a group, that honesty needs to extend toward the others; in particular, the ride leader.

Be prepared, be vigilant, keep the pace and by all means, forever keep the iron side up.

Peace

jerry

Final tripmeter reading - should I have gone around the block to tick over 1300 miles?

No Evidence of the Coming Dawn

Tanya Lake, Yosemite

My kickstand was up and there was no evidence of the coming dawn. The map programs all said it would take me twelve hours for the day’s ride so I set myself up to push off between 5 and 5:30 a.m. I hit the sweet spot at 5:15 as I left the Pahrump Nugget Hotel and Casino, heavy on the casino. The hotel seemed to be an add-on. The smell of the casino smoke permeated my non-smoking room and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It served its purpose and that was about it.

I’d ridden up to Mount Charleston and back the day before but didn’t feel like writing it. The experience was anticlimactic. I’d built it up when writing the scene for my character with all this wonderful twisty riding to be done. Don’t get me wrong, there were a few miles of it and the views were fantastic. But, I’ll have to rewrite the scene because the lodge is nowhere near the top or close to the ski runs. The Rueben was tasty though.

Back to today’s ride, a fantastic experience. I hope I can do it justice here. For the record, I rode up through the Death Valley National Park then north on Highway 395 to Lee Vining, up into and through Yosemite National Park, and down to Fresno for the night – 446.3 miles, KSU to check-in.

Leaving as early as I did put me in the darkest of desert nights riding along unfamiliar roads. This was the time of night all the creatures are out, both predator and prey. I worked hard at not outrunning my headlight. Once I was out of town and rolling down Bell Vista Ave. toward CA 190 which took me into and through the Death Valley National Park, locals started to catch me. You can tell locals because they drive the roads like it’s nobody’s business and you’d better get out of the way. Want to increase you’re speed at night on unfamiliar roads? Stay on a local’s six and you pick up five to ten miles per hour. You only really need to keep your light on their tail and you’ve increased visibility of the road by the length of their high beams. Nifty.

The beauty of heading northwest is when the sun comes up it’s not in your eyes. The bad part is the fantastic sunrise is behind you and you can only snap a helmet cam photo in the mirror.

The locals all dropped off the road at various mining pursuits and some mysterious concern going on under a huge tent. By then I had light and got into some twisties that lead into Death Valley. This is my favorite time of day in the desert, when the sun is low and the harshness of the environment is muted to the point I can be seduced into thinking it’s that lovely all the time. Evenings somewhat restore those thoughts but can’t quite erase the reminders of the blistering heat of the day.

I stopped at Stovepipe Wells for a quick drink and then pushed on out of the park after periodically riding by ‘Flooded’ signs and skirting around standing water that lent credibility to the signs. I was just as happy to be above sea level again and working my way up the Panamint Mountains. All the way through to Lone Pine I thought back to one of my favorite group-rides where we’d ridden the opposite direction I went today. 

In Lone Pine I refueled man and machine at a Shell/Carl’s Junior. I just made it to the head of the line as the place was invaded by Germans, at least three 7/8-passenger SUVs full of them, each vehicle flying a German flag. And they were having a blast fooling around while filling the SUVs and washing the windows until they found out Carl’s didn’t carry espresso, then things got serious.

The run up Highway 395 was uneventful during a lightly travelled Wednesday morning. It was easy going and I set my cruise control at a reasonable speed so as not to attract attention and still be able to eat the miles only slowing for the periodic town that straddles the highway; Lone Pine, Pines, Big Pine, Bishop… The temperature started dropping into the low 70s as I rode along after being comfy in the mid-80s all morning long. I pulled off at Mammoth to refuel and gear up for the climb into Yosemite.

I had a brief moment of panic as I saw sign out of the corn of my eye about Highway 120 being closed after September 9. It must have been the eastbound route because westbound was open as was the Tioga Pass into Yosemite. (note to self: vet all roads before departing) High clouds and water in all the places meant for Yosemite to have water made for a spectacular ride through the park. I did it non-stop, but regretfully so. My little family has done some amazing day hikes and rock climbs and I was pining for those days a bit, especially riding by Bridal Veil Falls where Cindy and I once climbed up to the pool at its base and swam with our two kids who at four and five climbing like mountain goats. 

Let me bring this to a close with a review of a fantastic ride full of endless variety. I left one of the most desolate of places in the predawn hours, traveled through lowest place on the continent with its other-worldly landscapes, traveled along a highway at the base of the tallest peaks in the continental U.S., climbed into and traversed the first of our National Parks, wound my way down the other side into foothills of oak trees and open grasslands peppered here and there with a vineyard or two. At that point I fully expected to see Boss Spearman and Charley Waite (Postalwaite if you want to get formal about it) riding down the hills to round up their free grazing cattle.

Having ridden through such environmental diversity with extremes such as this will have a lasting impact on me. And tomorrow I will complete my end-to-end ride of CA Highway 41 and see the Pacific Ocean.

Keep the iron side up,

jerry

Somewhere in there is Mt. Whitney

When There is No Meet Point

Pearblossom Highway and the Big Storm Cell

When there is no meet point, you’re going solo and you’ve set your own KSU and making the departure time means little. People like to call them rides of the lone wolf as if calling it that gives it more nobility. There’s plenty of nobility in riding without over-icing the cake.

I think riding is a noble activity. Some may argue that based on negative encounters with riders and I would tell them discourteous riders have surrendered a measure of their nobility. Be inconsiderate enough on a bike you’ll become a simple hooligan on two wheels.

It’s been at least two summers since I’ve gotten in a multi-day ride so I put on my big-boy pants and planned a ride for myself to end the summer of 2017. I took off this morning missing my KSU by 18 minutes. I could blame the dog but he was already low having spent the night waiting for Cindy to get home from her nightshift and that wouldn’t be fair to poor Ollie. I was worked up enough about this that I went without my morning Kick Start but made up for it later. It was a warm morning and I was headed to Pahrump for a couple of days of writing and riding my character’s rides.

Up the Antelope Valley Freeway I went and headed right into storm clouds. I could see scattered areas of rain but lucked out pretty much and just got smatterings of rain here and there for some time. I was finally forced to don my rain gear in Littlerock as it seemed obvious that I would end up smack dap in a hefty storm cell complete with periodic lightning strikes. I took advantage of the stop and consumed my favorite rider’s breakfast, chocolate milk.

As I was sitting on the curb of the gas pump island pulling on my rain pants a woman walked by and chuckled at me on her way to her mini-van to go to work after dropping her kids at school. We traded a couple of good-natured barbs and some serious talk about needing rain - I’ll not complain about rain when we need it so much and so many people in the southeast are losing everything to it. She was the first in a pair of bookends and ended by telling me to stay safe as she buckled up. People are generally goodhearted.

The skies were fantastic as I rode east on the Pearblossom Highway and I was not disappointed in my decision to put on the rain gear. With every curve in the road I either headed directly into the path of that nasty cell or it appeared that I would skirt it while all the time smaller cells splattered my just-detailed bike. The cell moved from my right to left in a general way, southwest to northwest. When I made the junction to Highway 15 north toward Vegas the big cell pelted the desert with rain and lightning but continued to fade off to my left. The skies continued to clear to leave only high and nonthreatening clouds.

I pulled over for a multi-purpose stop in Barstow to refuel, remove the rain gear, and down a Grape flavored Kick Start. All was right in this rider’s world. After polishing off the heavenly beverage complete with electrolytes and caffeine I packed away my gear. While doing so a lady sitting in her mini-van offered me a towel saying that she had beach towels I could use to dry off. I didn’t need them as it was hot and dry enough even with the clouds that I’d dried within minutes. I thanked her anyway and she wished me a good rest of my trip. The other bookend.

My original plan was to have breakfast at The Mad Greek in Baker where I’d breakfasted often with AT&T’s radio operations guys. I scrapped that idea as I just wasn’t hungry and topped off my tank at the station next to the telephone central office where many a high desert radio project was kicked off. By this time, I was riding in triple digit temperatures and heading deeper into the Mojave.

I made a stop at the Salt Creek preserve, a little site just off CA State Highway 127 on the way to Shoshone. You wouldn’t know it from the road but there is a spring-fed gully there with vegetation and wildlife, though on this day around noon the animals all had sense enough stay low until evening leaving just a lone wolf stalking the grounds…

Pahrump is what Pahrump is – a place to buy fireworks, gamble, visit a Chicken Ranch if you’re so inclined. My purpose was to ride around town a bit and check on locations I’ve used in the book I’m now editing. Tomorrow I’ll take a ride that my character makes in the story - from Pahrump to Mount Charleston with its peak at nearly 12,000 feet. I’m watching the weather reports as there was a 40% chance of rain for the mountain in yesterday’s predictions. I don’t really like riding in the rain – I’ve lost my comfort level for it since I grew up.

When there’s no meet point, just go.

Keep the iron side up and stay cool.

jerry