Two-Wheeled Ballet

          There is something balletic about a group ride of four or more riders, particularly when they are as well in-synch as our group was for our early Sunday matinée. Two or three riders? It’s jazz man. A solo ride? Why free-form expression, of course.

          My friend Webster defines ballet as “a kind of dancing that is performed on a stage and that uses dance, music, costumes, and scenery to tell a story.” I think it’s an excellent analogy for our performance this past Sunday. I would only add one thing to Merriam’s definition since most stories and plays are composed of more than one act; we had three with a preamble and a postlude.

          Our prolog as seven characters, and we all are characters, prepared for the day’s ride in private or, as was the case for two couples, in tandem. Our troop was varied in our costuming both in bikes and dress; two Victory Visions, Tim’s U.S.S. Enterprise – NCC 1701 and Jed’s trusted bad-ass version; two Victory Cross Countries, mine and Sue’s who rides hers ever so much more elegantly than I do mine; Bev’s Vegas, a pure cruiser; Mike’s Harley Road King, a nod to the classic, and Vicki’s new Honda Goldwing F6B, it’s sleek and quiet and suites her well. While our bikes are an eclectic group we still had the same theme for the day’s performance; we love to ride, we love the bikes we ride, and we love riding with riders who love to ride.

The seven of us met for the preamble (a statement that is made at the beginning of something and usually gives the reasons for the parts that follow) in Newberry Springs to be followed by Act I, a ride through the back roads to Ventura Harbor for lunch at Andria’s Seafood Restaurant and Market and a little walkabout. I had the best fresh-caught halibut fish and chips…ever.

Vicki heading into Act II
(photo courtesy of Tim and Bev)

          Act II was a quickly planned ride up to Ojai via Highway 33 for ice cream; no one demurred as each of like our ice cream and twisty riding. Two-lane mountain roads are a favorite of mine as I’m sure most riders would agree. The movement of riders along the curves in a nice tight pack is so striking and graceful and being a part of the intricate maneuvers of the group are what, for me, really bring to mind the ballet. And for me, even when seeing a well-rehearsed group simply pass across the stage in a line is a thrill, just like a troupe of swans.

          For Act III we left Ojai and headed out to Santa Paula where we stopped for a quick recap before heading off in our respective home destinations, our postludes, if you will. Any road in and out of Ojai is a fine one for a ride like ours, particularly on a day like we had with the perfect riding weather and ever-changing scenery. Tim took the lead as he had throughout the day and by a fluke I ended up sweeping with several cagers between me and the group. By the time I closed the gap with the rest of the troupe Tim was no longer lead as they had joined other riders ahead and in less than a mile I was no longer sweep as others caught up with us. There were plenty of riders who mostly made the day that much more interesting as troupes passed and complimented each other going this way and that along the way, interlopers (persons not wanted or welcome by the other people in a situation or place) notwithstanding. Really though, we’d have welcomed them but their actions on the road were contrary to our balletic theme, enacting unsafe passes and just generally being unwise to no good purpose.

         

          Vicki, Mike, and I peeled off from JSP Riders onto Highway 5 from the 126 and Vickie informed us later that Mike had a near-accident experience while we were maneuvering the two lanes over to the 210 for our finally. We are all glad that Mike will be with us for another performance.

Y’all keep the iron side up and dance baby dance!

Voyage of the Suburban Valdez

Suburban Valdez

My friend Jim calls his car the Suburban Valdez and we used it this weekend for a road trip; really, a pilgrimage to Spokane, Washington to honor the late Reverend Walt Estelle and support his wife and family during a memorial service for him. Walt and Marlene had been adult advisors for our high school youth group and family friends of our parents. Jim and his wife Shirley later provided the same guidance for the Estelle kids. We felt it was important for us to be there; both for ourselves and the family and important for my own parents to be there as well. The expressions of gratitude and the depth of appreciation from Marlene in particular was all that was needed to make the journey worthwhile.

I left La Crescenta on Wednesday morning and drove the route to Walnut Creek in my ’98 RAV4, a tinny old rattle trap of economy, more or less. The next morning at four Jim and I clambered aboard the Valdez and left port for Merlin, Oregon where we picked up my folks and jumped right back on the road to Spokane. For Jim and me it was an 18 hour road trip to catch up with each other added to the chance for all four us to spend hours together; Jim is a bonus son for my parents and the time was well spent. The Suburban was the ideal vessel for this voyage as it was comfortable enough for the parental units, big enough for all us, and easy enough for us to hand off driving duties to each other along the way.

I’d never been to Spokane and the terrain was new to me; my driving stint along the Columbia River was especially fascinating as Jim serenaded us with facts along the way from his iPhone searches to gather info, including where we would stop for breaks, gas, and food.

I’d blown by the planned off ramp as it had gotten dark while tooling along the Columbia and there were no billboards or gas signs to mark it. We had to stop at the next place for gas or run out and it was Boardman Oregon or bust.

The first sign that we saw was a big bill board proclaiming C&D Drive-in-Bakery as the “Home of the Bozo Burger”. Jim and I found this outrageously funny. It didn’t take much to set us off.  As we topped off the Valdez and talked about where to eat we looked at the other side of the parking lot and found ourselves at the Bozo Mecca, looked at each other, and busted out laughing again.

We ate a passable burger and loved it for what it was, an iconic clown-named burger. My dad flashed some of his old form. While Jim was sitting there trying to pop the straw out of its paper cover without success. After several animated attempts my dad, in his deadpan demeanor, calmly reached across the table, took the straw, and peeled back the paper to hand it back to Jim. Jim and I were transported to our teenager years again sitting around the pool and being schooled by dad in the finer points of deadpan humor. 

The return trip the day after the service was no less entertaining. My mom, whom Jim and I, along with many other friends and family, feel would have been a fine female driver on the NASCAR circuit, took a couple of stints at the wheel. She was at home and into a driving grove that I envied. Her final lap through the Siskiyous was a work of art as she rarely hit the brakes to negotiate the curves. This is a woman who drives from Merlin, Oregon to our place in La Crescenta in a Nissan Sentra with a manual transmission in eleven hours. She punctuated her otherwise flawless passage through the mountains by reaching for the water bottle in the console to downshift as we left the freeway for their place. It was classic.

True to my rider’s mentality I drove and rode along thinking how cool many of the roads we traveled would be if I were on the bike.

The Voyage of the Suburban Valdez, a 2000 mile round-trip pilgrimage, will remain as a grand memory for me on all counts.

Y’all keep the iron side up.

Ride in the New - 2015

     I was just about to mount up and back down the driveway to head out for the meet point in Sylmar when my wife pulled in from her long New Year’s Eve nightshift at the hospital. I told her that I didn’t remember being this crazy to head out on a ride with the birdbath frozen solid. As she walked up the stairs to the house she waved her hand and without looking back said, “No one’s got a gun to your head.”

     True, but I’d been looking forward to the ride with the SoCal Victory Riders and I was geared up and ready. I should learn something every ride; about myself, my bike, the road, or my friends and something from each would be great; a grand slam of epiphanies, if you will.

     What I learned about my bike is that it is set up like I like it but that it wants a little more bling and lighting. It is ready when I am; whenever, wherever I want to go.

     Between my place and the meet-point in Sylmar I learned that I can take the cold and that I’m geared up just about right though I could use more thermal boot-socks for the feet and heated gloves for my hands or maybe heated hand-grips if I plan on doing cold weather runs more frequently. I deployed a lesson learned a couple of years ago about what to drink during a cold ride; nothing cold. I had hot chocolate and was in balance when the six bikes and seven riders headed out; JSP Riders as ride leaders, then Brad, myself, Shawn and Danielle (2 up), and Kevin as sweep.

    JSP had the route so I didn’t worry about where to turn next and couldn’t recite it if my life depended on it; one less worry on a clear day, if cold, and with holiday traffic at a minimum the ride was ideal. We headed out toward Fillmore and had a nice tight grouping. I really liked watching JSP in the lead; great pacing and style. I learned about them that they ride so well together it is quite apparent that they were made for this.

     Jed led us into the foothills before reaching Fillmore, over back roads in and around Highway 23 where we picked up three more bikes and riders, Martine, Tim, and Bev. The addition was seamless and we never stopped. The views we had all along this route were diverse; along orange orchards on the right with the chaparral covered hills to the left and then making a right turn we passed between a red pepper patch and an Alpaca ranch. It was great riding along the edge of this agro-belt and then into the hills. Along one citrus orchard the irrigation system had run overnight leaving icicles reaching the ground from the juvenile trees. Can you say “Frozen OJ”? What I learned about the road here was that even on the driest of days, if it’s cold enough you have to watch for ice. We all traversed the ice patch from the irrigation runoff without incident.

     We rode by Lake Sherwood above Thousand Oaks and in the northwest corner of the Santa Monica Mountains. I’d never heard of this little lake surrounded by high-roller estates and gated communities. We skirted the lake at one point cautious of a group of Canada Geese with several species of duck behind and a wading Great Egret on the hunt for small fish or frogs. A cold hunt is was for that great white bird.

     One of my favorite scenes (who could have only one on a day like this?) was coming out of Kanan Dume to see the Pacific Ocean shimmering in the bright winter sun. What I learned right then was that I need to get my camera set up so I can try to capture and image of it. The ocean was like a sea of diamonds sparkling in the sun. We had that view on down the coast to Duke’s in Malibu for lunch; indeed, we had it all through lunch with the great window view where we watched a dolphin pod cruise by and loons hunting just beyond the surf line.

Photo courtesy of Shawn Frausto
at Duke's in Malibu

     At the iconic Duke’s (I looked it up and it is iconic) we met our last two bikers in the parking lot, Ed and Debbie, standing by a pair of Harleys. That rounded out our headcount to 12, down from 20 due to the weather and equipment issues. We fit at a nice table and could converse with anyone we wanted while eating the Hawaiian/surfer food. The service was great in the pleasant environment even counting the three times Brad had to receive his burger.

     As with most of the destination rides that I’ve been on, this one’s return trip was one of attrition with riders peeling off to head for home, some right from the parking lot and others as the route down PCH, up Sunset and into the Santa Monica Mountains to Mulholland Drive and down in to the valley in Burbank rolled along. Light traffic again and it was a fun little ride. Star Tours’ vans were out in force like yellow jackets at a picnic; they looked like sardine cans with the lids peeled back. We waved at a lot of them – how were they to know that we weren’t stars under all our gear?

    It was a grand-slam day to ring in the New Year with friends and new friends.

Y’all keep the iron side up.

Only the Ride Will Tell You

     I sent my character PAR up the Pacific Coast Highway from Santa Monica as far north as Refugio State Beach and he loved it as have I on several occasions. For the second of his two-day bike rental, a Triumph Bonneville, he opted to ride south on PCH as far as Dana Point where the US 1 hands over PCH responsibility to the US Highway 5. To sketch out the scene I took our 2005 LA & Orange Counties Thomas Guide and went page for page from Santa Monica to Dana Point. I had the black and white version down but it needed color so I planned to take that ride myself this past Friday; December 5, 2014, for the record.

     I headed my Victory Cross Country down the hill at just after six in order to get through L.A. commuter traffic before it built up but I got bogged down on the 10 east. It took an hour to reach a beach parking lot where I set up a GPS route for Power Sports in Long Beach/Harbor City to meet up with Cyndi L and Keith, her friend, at ten. I calculated that I would have at least an hour and a half in remote office nearby before meeting up, but due to a transposed entry on my GPS it turned out I had a little less than an hour there, enough time for note taking and my morning drink, a Diet DP.

     From my map review I knew that the early going would be strictly urban with the route inland as opposed to actually being on the coast. Still, I was on the right side of US 1 with traffic heading to the airport on the south side and away from it on the north side.

    I had expected that from Seal Beach on down it would be really coastal for nice long stretches. I was wrong in my assumption but right about needing to ride the route to write it well. We did have a nice stretch around the Bolsa Chica Wetlands and Huntington Beach but it was stop and go with controlled intersections and moderate + traffic congestion. PCH is a long roadway with businesses on either side traversing city handoffs without a lot of fanfare. My clutch hand was worked overtime and we only had glimpses of the Pacific Ocean at cross streets. There were rare stretches where PCH was next to the beach with only a sidewalk between. Still, we were riding and it was good to see the surf and bike shops, the health food stores, and auto malls of the coastal cities and that California had earned at least of portion of its reputation with the rest of the country.

I could have done a Google street view of the route to get that much; a black and white view of what was months in the past. What I got with the ride was color and feel. We passed through at least three towns announcing the planned closure of PCH for Christmas Parades. We had an escort of young guy with the top down on his silver Camaro who just could not get enough of seeing Cyndi on her customized Victory High Ball being escorted by two old guys. I would not have had the pleasant memories flood back as we rolled through Laguna Beach of the great two-day getaway with my Cindy. We wouldn’t have gotten the feeling of sitting at the signal at Laguna Canyon and watching a two-man girl’s beach volleyball game and the two guys shooting hoops with the sand stretching out to the steel-blue Pacific behind them. Only the ride will tell you those things about the route and yourself, things that lines on a map or a street view photo can only hint at.

     Guess what; it’s the same with people. You can only get so much by looking at Facebook photos and posts. I’ve enjoyed watching the progression of Cyndi’s bike on our group page and had seen her pink hued bangs and the tips of her hair and have thought, “This lady really likes pink and rivals the pink lady of Paradise Cove.”  When I rode into the parking lot at Power Sports Cyndi was walking through. She was decked out in her new pink riding boots, pink-suede chaps with tasteful fringe, and her white on black Victory riding jacket. Her bangs were held back by a wide pink headband with the back braided showing pink tips. She rides with a half-helmet with pink flames and be-jeweled silver highlights. She goes very well with her bike and its custom paint, the grape-laden vines running down the tank to the rear fender and her custom Corbin seat – black and burgundy with the pink lotus that Cyndi had made herself.

     The pink that I had pre-conceived changed throughout the morning as I watched her ride; confident, consistent, and comfortable. While we all talked over lunch her color changed to the color of an orchid or fuchsia, or the color you’d get when slicing a particularly fine zinfandel grape. Only the ride will tell you things like that.

     And Keith? Well, I had no preconceived notions to erase about him.  My sketch-notes show that he’s recently come to California, still has a Tennessee license plate on the back-up bike he road with us, a blacked-out Kawasaki V-Twin. He doesn’t mind sprinting out with a Camaro convertible but sets a nice pace when he leads. I’d ride with him any time and I liked hearing about riding in the mountains of Tennessee. Only the ride told me that.

Y’all keep the iron side up.

IMS 2014 - Trike Ride

     I went to the International Motorcycle Show in Long Beach this year with a goal in mind to ride something completely different and the Can-Am Spyder three-wheeled cycles qualified. Can-Am has several models; the Spyder RT for a fully equipped touring cycle, the Spyder ST for sport touring, and their newest model, the Spyder F3 which was the big draw to their demos that Saturday. However, the timing didn’t work out well for that and I ended up passing on my scheduled demo and, as I outlined in the previous post, went for a putt on an Indian Vintage with several of the other Victory riders.

     The weather for our demo rides was perfect. Scattered high clouds to give the bright cyan-sky definition, mid-seventies temperature – just enough to make me regret not packing my mesh riding jacket, and just a whisper of a breeze to bring in the fresh aroma of the Pacific. One or two deep breaths when I’m on the coast is all it takes to wash away any lingering stress. In the middle of the demo lot with groups coming and going, riders rumbling in for the show, and dealership hucksters trying to bring in buyers and I still had the easy going feeling the coast always brings me. Mother Nature treated us very well.

     Once Kevin, Steve, Dale, and I were done with our Indian demo we decided to see what all the noise about Harleys is. Dale wanted to compare his current ride and Harley’s CVO Road Glide, a newer version of what he upgraded from when he went to Victory. Kevin opted for the CVO 110 Electra Glide, and has posted a nice review of his Harley demo on Facebook and he and Dale’s ad hoc demo route.

HD Tri-Glide Ultra

     I jumped over to a Harley trike just for something different. Curiosity, you know? I was required to watch a video on trike riding before proceeding with the actual demo. It was a good thing too as they are very different in steering and the spatial relationships with those two rear wheels. I also had to demonstrate a couple of the maneuvers, backing and weaving between cones, to a Harley rep before going out on my own on a prescribed route through Long Beach. I was on a Harley Tri-Glide Ultra, a touring model trike. The other model is a Harley Freewheeler equipped to cruise. The unguided demos amazed, and somewhat amused us, especially when Dale and Kevin created their own route. During the video there was a close up of the instrumentation panel of an idling trike and I felt like my eyes would wobble out of my head; this sensation was confirmed when I started the trike and it told me all I really needed to know about Harley Davidson and their progression as motorcycle designers. It would take me several hundred miles of riding to get used to the trike and another few hundred to feel proficient.

     I found that the trike was a whole lot more work than its two-wheeled cousin. You really have to steer a trike and start later into a turn or you end up cutting the corner with the inside wheel. Also, while putting along a straightaway the trike seems to want to wobble one way or another and you have to keep a very straight line with the front wheel. During my fifteen minute ride I never got comfortable. Additionally, I was instructed not to put my foot down at a stop and it wasn’t until the last three or four stops that I didn’t take my feet off the floor boards before realizing my error. Evidently, you could end up running your own foot over.

I won’t be riding a trike until that’s all I can handle. I did wonder the show floor looking for a sidecar outfit as I’ve been fooling around with the idea of setting up my Victory Cross Country with one so that Ollie Verdoodle can come along sometimes. Dogs love the fresh air hitting them in the face and having their ears flap behind their heads – me too!

Y’all keep the iron side up.

IMS 2014 - Vintage

     I hadn’t seen some of these folks for a year, maybe longer. While you never really forget how great it is just to be with people like the “Greater Los Angeles Area Victory Riders” memories do have a tendency to fade or fog over a bit. The measure of friendship is found in how easy it is to take up where you left off, something time itself has little power over; it’s only those experiences, the trials that test all of us, that change us over those periods of separation that can roughen up the edges of any friendship. A further measure is how adroitly we step through those experiences and get to the heart of our being together. I suppose I was a little more sensitive to this after a late writing session the night before putting some old cruddy experiences into a story. Pretty mushy stuff for bikers but still, we have our soft sides.

     I arrived at the IMS show in Long Beach, CA right about the time I’d wanted to but still later than I should have. The lines for demo registrations were lengthening as I dismounted. Even so, my timing was pretty good because I rolled in and parked next to Vicki’s new Honda Gold Wing F6B, a beautiful bike that suits her well. I joined her and Tim in the line to register for a Can-Am demo ride just to experience something really different but somehow landed up in a later group than they did and I floated over to the Indian demo trailer where I found several of the other Victory riders; Steve, Kevin, Dale, Brad, and Karrie. Brad and Karrie were signed up for the new Indian Scout, easily the most popular ride of the day and they had to wait for a couple of groups to finish before they got their demo while the rest of us got rides in the next group. Steve and Kevin opted for the Roadmaster, a bike roughly equal to their Victory Visions; Dale and I went for the Vintage, a bike on par with our Cross Countries – something to be said for our preference for continuity. Actually, it was a sound way to compare the rides with what we saddled up on every day.

     In addition to the class relationship to my VCC, I like the Vintage because I favor the classic styling and, well, as I said, at my age, I can be considered vintage. This was the first bike that I’ve demoed that I felt would be competitive with the Victory cross bikes if I was in the market for a new bike again. The Vintage was smooth riding, had an intuitive feel to the balance, and at my 6’3” frame it fit me comfortably. The acceleration and cruising are on a par with my Cross Country. Dale reported that the red line is lower on the Indian, something that my conservative riding style wouldn’t uncover. Another thing that I really liked was the keyless ignition; the folks at Indian aren’t afraid that the latest in technology will spoil the classic styles or history of the bike. The one drawback for me is that the combination of the classic tank-mounted instrumentation and my full-face helmet are incompatible as I needed to look down to see what’s going on with the gauges; I’m spoiled by the faring mounted gauges on the cross and being able to glance down with an eye roll and get updated information. I was a little concerned about taking my eyes out of the riding environment to check the gauges. Still, it’s a good thing that I have only room for one bike in my life. Also good? I ride a bike that is nearly perfectly suited to me.

Me and Vintage - Photo credit to Dale Moews

     Kevin, Steve, Dale, and I went from the Indians to the Harleys and then into the convention center to take care of some Sena business before meeting others for lunch over at the Victory area. I’ll cover those on separate posts to keep each one shorter but post them in rapid succession.

     We ended up with twenty or so riders for lunch together. We opted, though I’m still in the dark as to how the option was decide upon, for lunch about a block away from the convention center and further away from the harbor. Somehow Sue kept us on the move without seeming to, an admirable skill; bikers appear to be harder to keep together on foot as opposed to riding on the open road. Jed is a fortunate man. We ended up at the Rock Bottom Restaurant and Brewery and were quickly rewarded with outdoor seating for all us, the strategy of moving away from the convention halls paid off. We enjoyed a relaxed lunch of good food and company which was topped off with a surprise birthday brownie a la mode for Dale. Nicely done Tim!

     Those folks are just plain fun and pleasant to be around. Thanks to all of them for such a great day!

Y’all keep the iron side up.

STICK1

I pulled up to Betty’s place for the KSU of 7:30 on a Wednesday morning with a fresh tank of gas in the bike and the Men’s Ministry meeting for the soul. I’d run into Betty at a friend’s 50^th birthday party the Saturday before and she invited me to ride with a group that pulls out of Lancaster on Wednesday mornings. Well, ‘run into’ is a bit misleading since I expected her to be there and had a 40 or so year old photo of her younger son Brian in my pocket. The honoree, Michelle, and Brian had been a part of a youth group that my wife and I acted as youth pastors for and I had searched for a photo of Michelle as an 11-year old with my helmet and gloves on. Betty’s invite came at a good time since I haven’t been able to connect with my riding friends from the southeast and I really wanted to ride with some folks.

Betty had her kick stand up and ready to pull out when I rode up but she needed to gas up her red 1996 Harley Dyna with a black rose detail on the tank and soft bags behind her. I’m not sure what type of Dyna it is; Street Bob, Low Rider, Wide Glide, Fat Bob, or Switchback. Regardless, the bike fit her well. And, I only know those names from the Harley website. We rode out to the Antelope Valley Harley-Davidson dealership to meet up with the main group - a 65 mile freeway ride to just to get started. I was a little apprehensive about riding my Victory Cross Country (VCC) into a Harley ride - after all, we bikers can be a zealous lot when it comes to our rides. I found them to be a likable group of experienced riders out for a little morning run with friends and any friend of Betty’s…

My '71 Honda CB500

Our 65-mile run to the meet point in AV was uneventful with the traffic flowing toward LA and wide open in front of us to the northeast. I’d ridden with Betty on one other occasion over Angeles Crest to Newcomb’s Ranch for a birthday lunch when I was still riding my ’07 Honda Sabre. Betty led the way and set a comfortable pace with a nice line. I had some time to think and found myself going back over the photos that I’d dug up the Saturday before. They included a B&W of my first bike, a ’71 Honda CB500. Those four cylinders took me wherever I wanted to go, including a 6,000 mile western-states tour that should be the subject of a multi-part flashback post. Those earlier rides also included taking Betty’s kids as well as the others from that church group for little rides around the neighborhood and rides up to Bass Lake to meet church groups that my mom worked with and taking those kids on rides around the campgrounds. If I tried to do that today the church leaders would only walk away shaking their heads and mumbling about liabilities. The old photos included one of my license plate: STICK1. I’m tempted to see if I can resurrect that one for my VCC. 

STICK1 - 'nough said

I took a walk through the showroom with Betty to pick up a turn indicator bulb for her Dyna and was very impressed by the bikes on the floor. Harley-Davidson builds some beautiful bikes. To be honest with you, they have a better color selection than Victory, particularly when my selection for 2010 was black or maroon. Victory now has a much better selection of colors and custom looks. To be equally as honest with you, none of those Harleys made we want to beg a salesperson to take my black VCC in trade; I love that bike, it’s taking me anywhere that I want to go.

The group ride was from the dealership out to the Pine Mountain Club where shared a late breakfast. There were 16 riders in total, 11 or 12 Harleys of various models, including a trike that road slack, 2 or 3 Honda Goldwings, and my VCC. We stayed off of the freeways and went out of Lancaster via some two-lane roads passing by Elizabeth Lake to Highway 138 and across the 5 freeway, up a side road to the Pine Mountain Road to our destination. It was a great combination of high desert roads lined with Joshua Trees and low-elevation mountain/canyon roads. These guys were very comfortable together and stayed in a tight formation at an easygoing pace. My relaxed ride held over to a nice breakfast with Betty and the three guys at our end of the long table having pleasant get-to-know-you conversations. I’m looking forward to another ride with them someday, maybe with STICK2.

Y’all keep the iron side up.