The rhythm of the road.

'Organized chaos' is an oxymoron I've often used though rarely experienced but these last few weeks would qualify as an apt example. All of a sudden it feels as though a trip that has been in an eternal state of planning is finally upon us, abstract deadlines on a wall sized calendar are now a looming reality we can no longer ignore. All the gear we've acquired, the bike modifications we've made and the paperwork we've chased is finally about to be put to the test. Will it meet the challenge, will we meet the challenge?

After breakfast at Sweetie Pies with Mo and Dan

We decided that a test run would be a good idea and the closest terrain we could find that would mimic the toughest conditions we may encounter was on the other side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.  Death Valley, part of the Mojave Desert in Eastern California, is the lowest, driest area in North America. Holder of the record for the highest recorded air temperature on Earth, 134F (56.7C) at Furnace Creek in 1913, we hoped it would test our equipment and resolve adequately. Venturing into this harsh environment in the height of its intensity was not for the faint hearted, especially in the blistering months of June, July or August, so we decided to go in the winter.


To get over the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the winter, on a motorcycle, requires some imaginative route planning. Many of the passes are closed because of heavy snow and those that are open are subject to occasional chain controls which require all drivers to fit snow-chains to their tires. Since nobody has invented snow-chains for a motorcycle, these routes would be off limits too. We chose to travel south  towards Los Angeles via the coastal Highway1, after a breakfast stop with family in Placerville and a lunch stop with more family in Walnut Creek. While in Placerville, waiting for a table at Sweetie Pies Cafe with Mo and Dan, we noticed another biker on a similar enduro style Triumph Tiger. We were soon recommending roads and, noting our planned route, he suggested we take the Nacimiento-Ferguson Rd south of Big Sur. It turned out to be a great tip.

Leaving Walnut Creek we pushed west toward the San Francisco bay area, over the San Mateo bridge and up into the coastal Redwoods via the Skyline Drive, Highway 35. As the road wound its way into the hills of the Pacific coast, a thick mist enveloped us, the temperature dropped and we eased back on our speed to allow for the wet road conditions. On reaching the ridge line we turned south into the shelter of the heavily wooded hills. The majestic Redwoods towered over the road creating a dense forest wall on both sides of the meandering asphalt. Where the afternoon sun did pierce the canopy, wisps of moisture hung in the air. Before long we were descending towards Santa Cruz and our chosen destination, New Brighton Beach State Park. As darkness fell we pulled into camp, cold and hungry and set about pitching our tent and cooking dinner.

As we slept on new sleeping pads, in new sleeping bags, inside a new tent, mischievous raccoons prowled the campground looking for food left out by careless campers. We'd learned our lesson on a previous visit when they had opened the side luggage on Beth's bike and devoured our supply of home made cookies.

An early start, after breakfast at the Windmill Cafe in Santa Cruz, saw us making good progress down Highway 1, California's coastal road. The skies had cleared, the roads were dry and the ocean was blue, but the remnants of a storm swell brought huge waves crashing against the shoreline. We cruised south past empty beaches with perfect breakers, through the twists and turns, over narrow bridges toward the more rugged and remote Big Sur coastline. Several major landslides had closed this section of road over the Winter but roadwork delays were short and infrequent. We soon reached the Nacimiento-Ferguson Rd junction and were, once again, climbing into the coastal range and through the thick clouds that seem to hang over these hills permanently. We welcomed the drop in visibility as the narrow shoulders on either side of the road seemed to drop vertically into thin air and the hairpin bends got tighter and steeper. As we crested the ridge and the sun emerged again we came through the Los Padres forest into the US Army training grounds of Fort Hunter Liggett. Empty green meadows flanked the lonely road as we turned south through vineyards and almond orchards to Paso Robles.

Always time for ice cream

A relaxed lunch in the town square and an
amazing ice cream at the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory helped recharge our batteries for the last push to Santa Barbara. Another helpful tip from a friendly biker led us to the San Marcos Pass Rd, Rte 154, which brought us winding down into the City of Santa Barbara late in the afternoon where we were warmly welcomed by Beth's Uncle Steve, Aunt Sheila and cousins Patrick and Maureen. A tasty home cooked meal, a cold beer and their wonderful company brought a great day to a perfect close.




We awoke to a feast of hot coffee and fresh baked scones before packing the bikes for the next leg of the journey and saying our goodbyes. Before leaving, we hiked the Jesusita trail in the Ontare hills overlooking the city, it was a good opportunity to stretch our legs and our lungs as riding motorcycles is hardly the most aerobic of activities. After our hike we dropped into the city centre to meet a friend we hadn't seen in over 8 years. River legend, marathon running, coffee magnate Annie Breytspraak treated us to a late lunch and a tasty beer at the Santa Barbara Brewing Company. I'd worked with Annie when I first arrived in California ten years ago and we had shared many adventures, and a few misadventures, on the forks of the American River near Coloma. As we reminisced of days gone by we lost track of time and overstayed our welcome in Santa Barbara, on returning to the bikes we found two parking tickets flapping in the breeze.

Looking for The Road Runner 

Any plans to avoid rush hour traffic in Los Angeles went out the window and our late departure saw us hit the worst of it as we dropped into the sprawling metropolis. With the bikes fully loaded splitting lanes was not an option so we were forced to join the rat race. Traffic moves at two speeds in LA, stop and 100 mph. What we'd hoped would take 3 hours took 5, fast and furious, not entirely sure of our route, we tried to keep up with the rhythm of rush hour traffic, from a slow crawl to a frantic chase, surrounded by distracted drivers eager to end their working day. We finally reached the home of Beth's Uncle Greg and Aunt Jeannie where, again, we met with a warm welcome and a hot meal.

Titus Canyon

We made a slightly later start to avoid the morning traffic and by 9 o'clock were ascending Interstate 15 into the Mojave desert. Twisted Joshua trees stood watch over the wandering tumbleweed as the miles rolled by. At the town of Baker we pulled over to refuel the bikes and our bodies, snacking on some tasty Baklava at the Mad Greek's Diner. The lonely Highway 127 took us north to Shoshone where we picked up the 178 into Death Valley National Park. The wind and the temperature began to rise as we dropped into the valley floor and a fine desert sand streamed across the road ahead. We'd been in the saddle for most of the morning and the buffeting winds made the last 50 miles a slog. The spectacular scenery and several stops eased the strain but we were both exhausted by the time we reached Furnace Canyon Camp. It felt good to pull off our gear and kick off our boots.

Ubehebe Crater, Death Valley

We stayed in the park for a couple of days where we camped beneath the shelter of several weathered Juniper trees. We assumed a slower pace and took time to explore the park, visiting the lowest point in North America, 282 feet below sea level, riding off-road through the narrow Titus Canyon, walking along the rim of the half mile wide Ubehebe crater and wandering around the bizarre Scotty's Castle. We had barely scratched the surface of what the park had to offer before it was time to pack up and move on. An ugly storm was moving into the Sierra mountains threatening to block our planned route home. From our camp below sea level we rode west gaining over 5000 feet in elevation as we left the park, although the sun was shining the temperature refused to rise and by the time we reached Highway 395 we had to pull over and add a few thermal layers. All routes north were succumbing to chain restrictions as fresh snow began to fall, so we were forced to abandon our plans to ride to Carson City in Nevada. We sought a lower pass to the south returning to the central valley via Highway 58 and the Tehachapi Pass, a little over 4000 feet. It was still a bitterly cold ride with sleet coating our gear and ice forming inside our visors. The weather remained unsettled but the temperature returned to a tolerable level as we returned to the valley and rounded the southern end of the Sierra range. As we rode north, toward home, the setting sun painted the sky with a fiery pallet in a fitting end to our week long test ride.