Dino
Pro
Posts: 1422
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posted July 18, 2002 05:37 PM
we're baaaaaaack!
Just got home from Laguna....good time had by all..lots of killer twisties....cold weather-hot weather...gave my autograph to a CHP....LOTS of twisties....made it home in 1 piece(bike also)need shower...need food.
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uh oh
  
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fish_antlers
Administrator
The Truth is Out There
Posts: 21894
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posted July 18, 2002 06:26 PM
Just got back as well! What a trip!
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frEEk
Administrator
ummm... yeah
Posts: 9660
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posted July 18, 2002 06:42 PM
lucky bums! 
glad y'all made it back safe, altho it was certainly nto as casualty free as last year by the sounds of it. oh well, long as it's only the bikes that got damaged.
so dino, u took a ride or 2 on our road? i'v since read that it's often considered the holy grail of roads. apparently it's patrolled much more than it used to be because of that tho  i suspect on weekdays it's not so bad tho. prolly locals mostly that the cops r targetting.
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Zhooligan
Moderator
Post Whore Extraordinaire!
Posts: 3829
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posted July 18, 2002 08:04 PM
Your autograph to a CHP? Hope he doesn't bend the corners and devaluate your autograph!!
Hopefully it was a small ticket. Welcome back home.
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To those who do not count their life in years, but in how life
has touched them in the past and how much it can hold in the
future; -- Youth is forever.
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ddpete3
Pro
Posts: 1189
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posted July 19, 2002 09:53 AM
I got back around 10:30 last night.
Cool time
Next year, I will definitely cruise up to Oregon for the ride down.
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My name is Doug, damnit!
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frEEk
Administrator
ummm... yeah
Posts: 9660
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posted July 19, 2002 10:11 AM
yeah, next year i should be there too, so would b good to ride down w ya. need some support for the veg heads!
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BlackMandingoWarrior
Expert Class
Posts: 320
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posted July 19, 2002 11:41 AM
I Have Some Friends Who Went Too...
Here's a copy of their trip report, enjoy. I enjoyed it but now I've got to find some money to do a keft coast trip too. I guess a can abstain riding the baddest bike on the planet to rent a Hondog and tours the coast!?!?!?
I could never match the detail of the typical Rough Riders trip report, but here's a few memorable notes from the northern California, two-week, two-wheeled escapade. Pass this on to whomever might enjoy:
Left Cruise America, the bike rental shop, with 3 red VFR800s. One 2001, two 2002s. Mike on the '01, Dick and I on the '02s. Very nice rentals, even for Hondas. On to 15 days of splendor. The plan? Hwy 1 coastline from San Francisco to Oregon including Redwood forests, then on to Crater Lake, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, and Hwy 1 from San Luis Obispo to Monterey. At that point, see three days of Laguna Seca Superbike Racing (including World), visit downtown San
Fran, then head back to the prairie. Here we go! Promptly headed for the Golden Gate bridge, dodging Monday morning congestion on one of Oakland's expressways. Noticed I was riding alone after the first mile. Pulled off and walked back to assess the situation. Please, no carnage already, I was hoping! Turned out, Dick's soft saddlebags slid backwards due to the fierce acceleration and wheelie of the VTEC-powered bike down the on-ramp. Mike, riding behind, noticed the bags' nylon strap obstructing the under-seat muffler outlet which was melting it to bits. Ten minutes and three more bungee cords later, we were on our way. Those new under-the-tail mufflers are said to make the new VFR more "saddlebag friendly" and keep them from drooping onto hot pipes below. Yup. Whatever you say, Honda.
Proceeded up Hwy 1, obstructed by various cars and 'Bagos until we were well clear of the city. This was a good time to see what the double yellow meant to each rider, a good initiation of sorts. I realized quickly, though, that the
"RSG" signature-series pass wasn't advisable. That is, if you meet a car in the left lane around a blind curve, don't shoot left and try to get around on the berm. The Hwy "berm" is a three-inch wide stip of sand separating asphalt from the 200 foot cliff down to the Pacific. Nothing "pacific" about that rocky shoreline below. Before long, though, we had the passing trick mastered -- even
in the coastal fog. Even a splat of Winnebago-shed shit on the road wasn't stopping us.
Hwy 1 is as twisty as can be and beautiful to boot. One eye on the sights, one on the road. But a few times we headed inland to catch the intense, hair-raising passes over the coastal range then back to the coast. But the temps go from 55 on the coast to 100 degrees inland over the course of 30
miles. Amazing. Ten stops per hour to change configuration of jacket vents, sweatshirts, etc. Clean the helmets while we're at it, although there were few bugs to contend with. The never-ending fog on the coast spotted up the shields
alot. In a few days, our re-usable shield cleaning cloths would smell like a side street on Fisherman's Wharf. Fabreeze, anyone?
One highway across the coastal range is known by locals as the "race track" due to 30 miles of perfect pavement, triple-digit sweepers, tight hairpins, and absence of cars. Many roads on our voyage were incredible, but the quality of
pavement on this one set it apart. Not the black-tar variety, but the gray-ish type with the sparkling chips that glitter in the sun. Almost like riding on a 400-grit sanding block. Great grip, and if it eats away the tires, well...they're rent-a-bikes. You can see every crack, bump, pebble, and fluid on the surface, and there were few blind curves. Scary speeds in the turns. In fact, Dick spent the night in the hotel bathroom until I offered some of my Imodium A.D. stash. I stocked up, knowing at least one rider would about shit his leathers out on those roads.
On yet another stretch of twisties across the coastal mountains, Mike decided to overtake two old Hogs over a double yellow. These were the gen-u-whine rebel variety, disgruntled with the surprise pass and the bright red rice-burner now showing its taillight. The lead Hog, with a passenger Sow, pursued Mike aggressively through the following sets of hairpins. Hog #2 was in the hunt for
a moment, but looking more pissed the more he fell back. It looked to me like he was mad that we interrupted their casual Sunday cruise. (Later, we'd find the source of his frustration: his Springer couldn't hold a line at those
speeds.) I felt uncomfortable with a pass at this point, but I had to get ahead of Hog #2 in order to watch the action between Mike and Mr. Clean. I passed briskly without looking back. Dick, our guy in third, would have to deal with the consequences of Hog #2. Dick's bike at home is a Road King, after all, so he might know the appropriate language should there be an altercation. Besides, maybe the Imodium hasn't yet set in and Dick can just shit on him. Or so I figured. Who cares! Good luck, Dick! Now it's Mike, Mr. Clean, and I racing through the canyon! I came the closest to crashing, out of laughter and blinding tears, because try as Mike did to shake the fat-assed concoction, he couldn't do the deed. Eventually, Mr. Clean fell back to wait for his friend and waved me by. Mike and I soon stopped and waited for Dick -- is he alive or on a rotisserie at the rodeo? The two Hogs passed us looking none-too-pleased, then Dick pulled up. We waited a few, lest not to pass the pair again, and soldiered on. Mike decided to stop at a cafe up ahead, not noticing our friends
already had the same idea. Nice move, Noland. Dick offered up a Harley tale and they softened up a little. The slower Hog #2 only offered "my shit don't turn like my buddy's." Mike's shit apparently didn't turn too well, either, and he
had a new appreciation for American Iron. The excuses came pouring in: "That guy knows the road" followed by "I shouldn't have eaten that Bratwurst for breakfast."
On the Harley front, the next day I had an encounter of my own. I was in the lead, pushing moderately through the canyons, when suddenly a shiny fourth bike appeared in my rear-view at the end of our gravy train. Ignoring it as a
rubbernecker that must have just pulled out of a vistapoint, I was soon startled when the left side of the Viffer vibrated and my headlight was sucked into the wake of a custom chopper. Down a gear...no, make it two...alright down to third gear, wound out and that chopper is still pulling away! "I'm gonna get him I shouted in my helmet, I'm not going down in the Mike Noland hall of
shame. Not this day." As we pushed hard, turn after turn, I wondered if Keith Code had ever taught such a race form. This guy had the posture of a woman-in-stirrups at the OB-GYNs, yet he was flat-out flying. We approached a
sign that read "Bikers Beware -- Dead Man's Curves Ahead." But there was a fork in the road so I decided to wait for Mike and Dick. Shucks. Might have been interesting to see how a hemorrhoid splats against the bark of a Ponderosa
Pine. Dick thought the "Dead-Man's Curves" were where Jan and Dean had their fateful crash. Photo of the sign will follow. Good wallpaper for y'all.
On several days ahead to Yosemite. Incredible scenery, including long tunnels ripe for winding out a sportbike. In at 30, out at 90, I always say. Had just enough daylight to take a detour -- a 20 mile dead-end route up to Glacier
Point. Highly recommended views of Yosemite Valley from the top, the locals said. Dick and I approached the vista, but where was Mike? ... oh here he comes, putting in now... and his back tire is as flat as a fart! What's the plan? Well, no apparent damage to nor nail in the tire. It's 20 miles back to the main road, then 50 miles to the nearest cow town. And we have 15 minutes of daylight left. Alright, Dick and Dean ride the 70 miles to town, get a can of
Fix-a-Flat, return, then limp back top town with Mike. 200 miles of hairpins, deer and elk in the dark. Alrighty, then. Returned with the can of 'Flat, got it in the tire, and we then knew we had a big, unfixable puncture on our hands. I squinted, and for a minute thought I was in Yellowstone, not Yosemite, as the Fix-a-Flat became Old-Faithful, spraying several feet out of the puncture hole
under pressure. The bike on its centerstand, we spun the wheel and shined the flashlight on the mess. It looked like one of those spinning fireworks we saw the day earlier on July 4. Even Imodium wasn't holding back that drizzlin'
shit. Dick and I rode back to town (got to bed at about 2:30 AM), leaving Mike alone on Glacier Point in the unmanned Ranger's cabin for the night. Forty degree low, bears circling the cabin, sleeping on a bare mattress in an
unheated cabin with his leathers on. All the comfort of a Caribbean Cruise. Ah, but for one night I didn't have to listen to him snore. He'd call a tow truck the next day and meet us in Fresno at the Honda shop. Last but not least, the races: Not just AMA Superbike, but two World Superbike
events, too. Laguna Seca is a beautiful track. All the big vendors are there. This is a big deal, not just a sideline show. Lots of Californians have a bike and no car, so $20-30K bikes were common. Thousands of bikes in the lots, too,
from new MV Agusta F4s to wild custom sportbikes. One-off trick mufflers and bodywork, carbon-fiber everywhere, and plenty of grey-market race bikes that snuck their way into the U.S. Ducati had their own island in a pond area in the
infield and invited all Ducks to park on it. Probably 100 Ducati 996/998s alone at the event. Great racing, too. Many spooky crashes on that wild track, though. The corkscrew is wild. Eric Bostrom dominated the AMA event, with the #32 Kaw ZX7 crushing the much newer RC51 entries. Suzuki and Mladin strangely sucking wind this year. Yamaha and the R7? Nowhere in sight. Just one dominant Kaw and the RC51s sucking wind. Mike and Dick are devout Honda guys, so I was
loving it. World was a different matter. The Green #32 Kaw was in there, but the twins rule in World. It was a non-stop contest between the RC51s and Ducati 998s (and a very quick Aprilia piloted by a crash-prone Haga). Proudly wore my Ducati cap as Troy Bayliss and the Duck took race #1. Colin Edwards won race #2 on the Honda -- barely. But with Edward's bike done up in a special "Stars & Stripes" graphic for that weekend, it was hard not to cheer on the hometown favorite as he got the Checkered Flag. The best racing I've ever seen. Many lead changes and mid-corner contests of traction and power. We departed the festivities Sunday night, exactly two weeks after arriving in San Francisco, and rode up the busy highway back to Oakland. This time, we split lanes -- when in Cal... Later that night, we jumped hills and dodged trolleys in downtown San
Fran as a farewell. But we'll be back.
Dean916
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BMW
The QuickSilver Ridin MoFo
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princesskiwi
Administrator
MISTRESS of SMACK
Posts: 7688
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posted July 19, 2002 04:55 PM
The best part about the trip this year was quiting my job to go...
Heres to the New Roads, the New Friends, and the New Memories.
And to spending more time with the friends we have met before. Because of LaBusa + Bikeland, this once a year event is the ONE event that is worth not missing.
Even if it rained the whole time, getting together with the people on the board would somehow make it fun and worthwhile.
Thanks to everyone who came out. It was too short...how does the time on the top of the hill go buy so fast?
Next year we have to organize a group photo.... How did we miss that this year?
And hopefully more people will RSVP to the Muzzy breakfast.
'Cause that was a cool new tradition, to an evergrowing event.
Maybe we will be able to book off even more of the hill next year...
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