From Worn and Frayed to Slick and Shiny

 

Pt. Mugu on the PCH Northbound

Always make sure your rubber is up to the task.

How are your tires? Are they good for taking the long way home with the few twisties you like? Always take a peek before you throw your leg over, make it part of your own circle of safety as you walk around your bike to make sure there are no loose ends and everything is shipshape for your ride. Planning a long trip? Do more than peek, inspect everything. Who needs to be halfway between Bass Lake and Yosemite when a tire goes or your battery gives up the ghost?

The last few weeks I’ve been planning a 1500-mile ride that includes, a run up the coast from Santa Monica to Cayucos, over to Walnut Creek to visit my best friend Jim and take in a Giants game with him, then ride through Yosemite to stay in Lee Vining before riding through Death Valley to Pahrump (a scene visit for my book) before heading home.

I made a checklist for myself:

• Q  Check battery and replace as needed
• Q  Ensure tire wear is in line for a 1500-mile ride
• Q  Inspect helmet, replace if it is time (okay, I’ve wanted to make a change anyway)
• Q  Check brakes, belts, electrical cables, and nuts and bolts
• r  Wash the bike, especially the windscreen
• r  Change the oil and filter
• r  Check tire pressure

The battery was a no brainer because I suspected it was at its end. The helmet was easy too simply because I’ve wanted to make a change and upgrade my helmet cam/communications unit anyway. Brakes, belts, and such I do regularly. The tires on my Victory Cross Country? I needed help. I suspected the rear tire needed to be changed because it appeared close to the wear marks. The front tire I thought might be okay for my trip.  The receipt from the last tire change was not to be found and I wanted to go back to the same place. They were/are very good and being a repeat customer is a good thing to be. There is something comforting about having someone you trust work on your bike. My friend Jed gave me a recommendation and bingo, it was the place. Jed was likely the person who sent me to M-C Tire Works in the first place.

My grand plan for the day of the tire change was to arrive promptly when they opened at 9am, kill time while they worked their magic with a little reading and writing, and then ride up to Santa Barbara via the coast route to catch my grandson’s freshman football game. It was a brilliant plan that needed a bit of tweaking with Jeremiah’s game being pushed back a couple of hours. It turned out I would need the extra time and extra tweaking.

I was a few minutes early and was there to watch Tony open up the shop for the day and greet the technician who would work on my bike. Tony and I walked around the bike so he could assess my needs. It turned out that I really needed his practiced eye. My front tire was due, there was no maybe about it. The rear tire had some miles left on it and Tony said I could have the 1500 miles left on it but couldn’t make anything certain as every bike and rider wear tires in their own way. I opted to go with the safe and secure option. Finding a lift and getting a new tire in Death Valley at 120-degrees with a blown tire is dicey thing, we’ve already lost a couple of riders this year to the heat out there.

They were done with the work at just under the estimated time and I was ready to roll out by 11am or so. This is where I found the need for more tweaking for the ride up to Santa Barbara. Tony reminded me that the new tires are slick and need 100 miles of careful riding. I remembered the slick part, just not the 100-mile recommendation. I had to watch for water, tight turns, and be mindful of my throttle. He pointed out a sign on the counter warning about the slickness, the 100-mile recommendation. The sign ended with, “Too much gas and you will be on your ass.”

I am a big fan of M-C Tireworks! 5 of 5 ês!

I took these things seriously and altered my route to use as much surface street mileage as possible from North Hills to Malibu Canyon. Traffic wasn’t bad, thankfully. I left plenty of space between me and the next guy and maintained a good safety bubble. I made the most of the ride up Venture Blvd. When I was a Communications Technician for the phone factory I had offices all throughout the valley and good memories accompanied me along the ride.

Malibu Canyon presented the big challenge and was a cause for some clinching and I’m not talking about my teeth. I thought it would be okay since there would likely be traffic to hold me in check and I was correct. Traffic up PCH was reasonable with only one or two cagers trying to run up my tailpipes. I had enough space on the 101 Highway from Oxnard up to Santa Barbara and simply bided my time until I got off the highway at Cabrillo Blvd. to ride along the coastal part of Santa Barbara. I came to a stop at Milpas and Cabrillo and hit the 100 miles dead on. Now, I didn’t immediately start slaloming through Santa Barbara traffic and hitting the gas on every turn. Not my style. However, I breathed a bit easier.

I made it to the game to watch an improved San Marcos High Royals’ team play with my grandson at center, the prize at the end of the ride. This made it a night ride home which was fine by me, though it had been a while since I’d taken a long one at night.

As an epilog of sorts to this post, I took my wife’s car in for a quick oil change and added on a change of break fluid while we were at it. During the process to change the fluid the tires were removed and I was treated to their technician rolling a tire over to me and pointing out some damage, pictured here. At some point, one of us hit something sharp and we were close to having a blowout at any time. Too close.

Inside edge of an otherwise healthy tire...

My takeaway from this is whether bike, car, truck, with or without a trailer – check the rubber and make sure it is up to the task.

Keep the iron side up my friends!

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Prime Ride

 

Can't quite get myself to call this bunch the 'Dirty Dozen' but this is us

My first group ride in what seemed like ages was set for June 5, 2022*. Home to Buellton and back, hosted by Jed and Sue with a visit with others for lunch. (I didn’t know who all would be there when I started) I set out a little early for the meet point just off Golden Valley Road and was on my own for the first twenty miles. The weather was excellent and boded well for the ride up. Prime number = 1.

Jed and Sue arrived at the pumps just as I was topping off. Warm greetings were exchanged in the cool of the morning. The days since we last rode together had rushed by like the Rogue River on a storm-swollen day. They are a joy to ride with and Jed always sets a great pace on a well-chosen route. Before mounting up he laid out our route for the morning run – over Newhall Ranch Road to Highway 126, through the agricultural area and Fillmore and Santa Paula to Highway 101 and on up the coast to Buellton. I love this section of the Pacific Coast Highway and travel it often to see my daughter’s family. I waved to them just after passing their offramp in Santa Barbara; pretty sure they didn’t see us flash by. The weather held perfectly; the traffic was agreeable for us but not so much the southbound traffic. Prime number = 3.

We arrived at Flying Flags RV Resort (that’s code for glamping) right around 10:30 a.m. and we were able to locate Tim and Bev’s nifty trailer to park our Victories behind it. Another long overdue series of hugs ensued. I miss these guys. We availed ourselves of a key resort facility and hung out for a little while hoping for the next pair to join us. During the wait I was gifted two excellent journals from Bev, a gift I felt was from all of them. I put my new “Sin City – Victory Motorcycle Club, 20^th Annual National Meet Journal to work right away for this posting, pen and journal helping me keep the momentum up for me getting back. Prime number = 5.

We didn’t have to wait long for Kevin and Jeanie to join us as they pulled into the space next to the trailer, Kevin on his Victory Vision, Jeanie on her touring Cam-Am. They were packed and ready for a stay at a hotel within walking distance of the RV resort. More hugs and more catching up. I love it! Their ride over from Bakersfield over Highway 166 and south on the 101 was a bit more congested than our ride in but was nevertheless appreciated. Prime number = 7.

We ambled over to find Karen and Keith and were joined by Karen’s mother, Norma and thus ended my theme of prime numbers but I wasn’t about to be the one to tell her she couldn't hang out with us and I wasn't willing to stand apart. Norma and I were the only unattached attendees and made our number eight when she joined our stroll. Nevertheless, it was prime time for friendship. Norma fit in the group like a glove and I found myself calling her ‘mom’ like everyone else.

We arrived at Karen and Keith’s space and I found myself touring the most luxurious motorhome I’d ever been in. Slide outs for the length of the RV made it spacious and I was informed that the group, as assembled just then, had broken it in with style and grace with a dance. I’m reserving my own assessment on the grace until I have a chance to see them in action. I made two new friends here in Calvin and Lisa though our interaction was limited. And then we were a dozen.

Lunch for our group of twelve was at Firestone Walker, a brewery/restaurant. The food was excellent and conversations even better. I had a nice corner seat that allowed me one of my favorite pastimes, watching people loving being with each other. An observation worth mentioning is that three of the five couples were made up of a husband and wife who had each lost a spouse. Love had found a way, several times over and in my estimation included the other two couples. I will attest that each of these five relationships are made up of people with large hearts capable of holding on to memories of lost loves and still able to hold on to the one found – without remorse and likely made all the stronger. I’ve seen it and written about it for them in the past. I was honored to be there and watch it happen and honored to watch it continue. Thank you, friends.

Now, I need to make a confession here. I know one of the other two couples are holding fast to second (and third chances) but I don’t quite know about my ride-mates for the day and I am flummoxed that wouldn't know them down to the day they wed. But, I love researching my stories…

Our ride home was more eventful than anybody ever wants.

We stayed off of the PCH and thus missed the southbound grind above and into Ventura. Jed had us winding through foothills and canyons, twisting and turning and loving nearly every moment. Our route back was on Hwy 246 through Solvang with its smorgasbords on to Hwy 154 taking us by Lake Cachuma on to Hwy 192 through the foothills above Santa Barbara to Hwy 150 through Ojai where we fueled up to continue down to Santa Paula and on home.

The downer was along Hwy 192 (I think). We were in a long string on vehicles on the two-lane highway with a long string of cars heading the opposite direction as well. I spotted a deer grazing at the edge of the highway on our side. Just as I was passing a signal to the following cars the deer picked her head up and stepped in front of Jed. Jed swerved and narrowly (within inches) missed the deer who leapt to clear Jed but directly into an unsuspecting oncoming car. Sue swerved further to the right to miss the poor beast while I moved on to the shoulder in case the car who struck the deer lost control. It was over in a flash.

By the time we fueled up in Ojai the adrenalin rush was over and we were spent. We related the event to each other from our various perspectives and splashed down some Gatroade. We headed home somewhat heavy hearted. This was a sobering part of our day, an event that brings a harsh reminder that when we ride we have to be ever vigilant.

Ride safe and keep the iron side up. And for God’s sake, keep your big hearts open and love.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

* Jed, Sue, and I actually got together for a short ride on 2/27/22 to Ojai for lunch.

ATGATT

Photo of a photo my Grandma Matt took in their yard at Bass Lake,
near to the campground I took those kids around. STICK1 and me near
the end of a 4-week, 4k+ mile ride and a year before this story took place.

I was 19 and knew nothing while living moment-to-moment believing I wouldn’t live past 22. The Viet Nam War may have played a part in that belief even though by then I’d escaped the draft by luck of the lottery. I was coming out of my dark days and trying to figure what the long play of God’s plan was for me since my dream of playing Division II basketball, possibly at Humboldt State, had crumbled like a sand castle built too close to the surf.

I worked weekends during the school year and full-time over the summer as a pier coolie at Paradise Cove to pay for community college plus gas and upkeep on my Honda CB500. I lived in my friend’s family trailer up in the park from the cove and on any given weekend Doug and I would have breakfast at 5:30 a.m. at the Sandcastle Restaurant before working our 10-hour shift on the pier running personal fishing boats up and down the pier, launching them and the fiberglass rentals via the hoist at the end of the pier opposite the Baywatch hut. The uniform of the day was deck shoes, swimsuit, Hawaiian Coconut Tanning Oil, and maybe a tank-top.

The trailer park, pier, and restaurant were run by a guy everyone called The Commodore. I don’t think he owned the place but you wouldn’t have known it by him. Bob ran the bait and rental shop out on the pier and was our boss. Doug, Rob, and I were the three-man team running the hoist and taking care of the outboards and fiberglass boats during weekends. Chuck was the head of maintenance for the whole shebang and was a known alcoholic, a man of dubious mental stability.

Living moment-to-moment left me vulnerable to swings in my temperament and I was far from what I’ve become – patient and even tempered, even if a bit stern and surely.

During a particular day of the summer of ’73 Chuck had come down from his yard up on the bluff to repair a metal railing on the ramp that led to the loading area and launch dock. Lit as he was on this early afternoon, he pulled his arch-welder out. I was tasked to assist him and held the two railing pieces together that need to be welded. I felt a charge run through me when he flipped the power to ‘on’. I let go and looked at the idiot happy he didn’t try to arch the railing. He pulled over a dry (ish) pier plank and told me to stand on it to insulate myself. Flip – buzz – and I let go again. I told him he’d kill somebody and left him to himself. I was not too happy with the man.

That evening after the pier shut down the younger crowd gathered around one of the picnic tables between the restaurant and the set for The Rockford Files. And by younger I mean little teens I needed to be careful around, me being an adult teen. I had my bike with me in the parking lot which was posted not to allow motorcycles (much different than today). It was after hours, okay? Chuck turned up reeling and stinking drunk with a handgun stuck in his waistband. He ordered me out of the lot all belligerent like and posing for the kids. My recollection is that he chest-bumped me while he kept a hand on the butt of his gun. I probably could have taken him down gun and all but some reason prevailed and I left.

I was in a rage when I got on the bike; no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or jacket. I raced up the entrance road to the PCH and headed north leaving reason behind with my friend. By the time I hit Zuma Beach I was zoned. The last I’d looked at the speedo I was near 90 mph. A second or two later my eyelids flipped up to my brows and reason took over again.

Since then and to this day I’ve not ridden without my helmet and gear with the exception of second-gear rides around a campground with a kid on the back wearing my helmet. How close was I to self-fulfilling a prophecy of dying before 22? Close enough.

The point is this, or rather, points are these:

Œ  All The Gear All The Time (ATGATT)

Œ  Check your mood and emotional well-being before turning over the engine

Œ  Know the roads and your capabilities at the start of the ride, don’t learn them during the ride. You will improve and live and live to improve.

Œ  Be vigilant

Ride and ride safe – let’s keep the iron side up, shall we?

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

---------

PS – just now I am recalling a time that puts a lie to the notion that since that day I hadn’t ridden without a helmet with the one exception. It was during my second life as a rider and I had just checked into McGrath State Beach campground with a day pass to visit friends camping there. I road from the kiosk to their camp space with my helmet on the passenger backrest of my Honda VT1100. My friend reminded me that the helmet law applied to state park roads as well.

When I got home that evening I pulled into the garage to park the bike. I didn’t get the kickstand down all the way and it slid under the bike as I leaned it over and the doggone thing threw me into the workbench where I knocked my helmet against the table leg. You don’t even have to be moving to need a helmet while on a bike. At least I don’t. And, I guess, we all need reminders for important things.