I hadn't been to the top of Mt Shasta for years, so included a picnic at 8500' in our Thursday agenda. It was an easy 75 mile ride on quiet roads to the mountain, but some of us needed to do a little maintenance in the morning, so the lax schedule was welcome; that's Don Danmeier (president of the BSA club) taking care of his unique blue Venom.
Once again Norlene provided our high-altitude picnic, which really made for a dramatic lunch spot, overlooking the valley below. We were high above any smoke, but the lowlands were fairly well covered, so the usual crystalline visibility from up high was obscured. The final 6,000' of Mt Shasta towered above us as we ate at picnic tables seemingly at the edge of the world. Our progress to the top, and down again, was spotted from millions of butterflies which had recently hatched. It was bizarre to ride through huge clouds of lovely Painted Ladies - when I first saw them along the road it was cheery, like seeing pretty flowers in bloom, but as I soon began to kill them by the hundreds with my body, helmet, and motorcycle, I felt a combination of horror and humor. It was also terribly distracting as we wound our way to the top, and many riders mentioned the challenge of ignoring the butterflies and keeping their eyes on the route. Panther Meadows sit at tree-line, with clumps of mountain heather and wildflowers carpeting the terrain while small streams of snowmelt wind through. These meadows are held sacred by the local tribes, and make a perfect spot to listen to the breeze and the butterflies (yes, it's so quiet you can hear them crisply flapping their wings). Lanora Cox (editor of Fishtail West) thinks its a nice place as well.
It's 14 miles all downhill from the top of the mountain, and I love a good engines-off race. Jeff and Lanora were game too - those black specks on the video are suicidal butterflies! We were doing about 50+mph on the straight bits...
The Callahan-Gazelle road proved the be lovely and fast, but on the return high marks were awarded Forest Road 17, which paralleled C-G road, but wound over a dramatic mountain pass with deep canyons. 17 has no lines or guard rails, and is basically one lane, with only moderately bad pavement (nothing like as bad as Alderpoint or Mattole roads). It's my feeling that the narrower the road, the fewer lines, and the less marked the transition from pavement to vegetation, the greater the experience of intimacy with nature.
But at the end of the day, intimacy with a beer was just about perfect, and as mentioned the town of Callahan hides a perfect wild-west bar amongst abandoned hotel and bank buildings. The upper pic shows a few of the expats joining our rally - Dai Gibbison (Velo Tech forum guru, from London), Cheryl and Neville Mickelson (classic sidecar racing champion in New Zealand), and Graeme Glover from Australia.
I hadn't been to the top of Mt Shasta for years, so included a picnic at 8500' in our Thursday agenda. It was an easy 75 mile ride on quiet roads to the mountain, but some of us needed to do a little maintenance in the morning, so the lax schedule was welcome; that's Don Danmeier (president of the BSA club) taking care of his unique blue Venom.
Once again Norlene provided our high-altitude picnic, which really made for a dramatic lunch spot, overlooking the valley below. We were high above any smoke, but the lowlands were fairly well covered, so the usual crystalline visibility from up high was obscured. The final 6,000' of Mt Shasta towered above us as we ate at picnic tables seemingly at the edge of the world. Our progress to the top, and down again, was spotted from millions of butterflies which had recently hatched. It was bizarre to ride through huge clouds of lovely Painted Ladies - when I first saw them along the road it was cheery, like seeing pretty flowers in bloom, but as I soon began to kill them by the hundreds with my body, helmet, and motorcycle, I felt a combination of horror and humor. It was also terribly distracting as we wound our way to the top, and many riders mentioned the challenge of ignoring the butterflies and keeping their eyes on the route. Panther Meadows sit at tree-line, with clumps of mountain heather and wildflowers carpeting the terrain while small streams of snowmelt wind through. These meadows are held sacred by the local tribes, and make a perfect spot to listen to the breeze and the butterflies (yes, it's so quiet you can hear them crisply flapping their wings). Lanora Cox (editor of Fishtail West) thinks its a nice place as well.
It's 14 miles all downhill from the top of the mountain, and I love a good engines-off race. Jeff and Lanora were game too - those black specks on the video are suicidal butterflies! We were doing about 50+mph on the straight bits...
The Callahan-Gazelle road proved the be lovely and fast, but on the return high marks were awarded Forest Road 17, which paralleled C-G road, but wound over a dramatic mountain pass with deep canyons. 17 has no lines or guard rails, and is basically one lane, with only moderately bad pavement (nothing like as bad as Alderpoint or Mattole roads). It's my feeling that the narrower the road, the fewer lines, and the less marked the transition from pavement to vegetation, the greater the experience of intimacy with nature.
But at the end of the day, intimacy with a beer was just about perfect, and as mentioned the town of Callahan hides a perfect wild-west bar amongst abandoned hotel and bank buildings. The upper pic shows a few of the expats joining our rally - Dai Gibbison (Velo Tech forum guru, from London), Cheryl and Neville Mickelson (classic sidecar racing champion in New Zealand), and Graeme Glover from Australia.
After two 'loop' days which ended up back at the Benbow, Wednesday we ventured deeper into the wild heart of California. Our first challenge was Alderpoint Road, which heads northeast out of Garberville for 50 miles, eventually landing at Hwy 36. The surface is in very poor condition, and I think the locals prefer it thus, as it keeps tourists at bay - and motorcycle speeds distinctly down.
Barring the bumps, Alderpoint rewards exploration with breathtaking views of the inland Coastal Range, and passes through two tiny hamlets which haven't seem much progress in 40 years. The houses in Blocksburg are very close to the road, common in extremely rural areas, as the road used to be a horse trail. The first time I rode through here, perhaps 20 years ago, a laundry line fluttered white sheets from a house, while a girl of 8 or 9 wearing an old-fashioned gingham dress was spinning around in the sun, and I wondered if I was glimpsing a previous century.
But, we had come this way to visit Mike Cook as well, and completely inundated him and Bonnie with visitors. Mike was happy to have a task at hand, as Pete's '38 MSS had broken a sidecar strut - too many bumps! Being used to taking care of his own motorcycles, Mike had everything on hand needed to re-tube and weld up the break, and Pete's bike was soon repaired.
We had another casualty of the 'road disintegration blues', Bill Getty's Venom began to handle strangely a few miles after leaving Alderpoint Rd, and on stopping for lunch in Mad River, was mildly amused to find his frame had a 3" gap between the headstock and front downtube! By luck, the local towing company, headquarted several feet from the Mad River cafe (see pix below), was owned by a drag-racing enthusiast who built his own chassis, and was also well-equipped to repair the Venom frame. This took a bit more time than Pete's sidecar tube, as quite a few parts had to be removed from the bike to access the frame. The details of the fix are painful - the lower tubes were pried apart using blocks of wood and a jack, then a smaller tube was pounded into the headstock lug, slipped into the lower frame tube, and pinned at the top with a bolt, and spot welded at the bottom through holes in the tube. The new inner couldn't simply be welded to the headstock as Velocette frames are pinned, then hearth-brazed together ('sif-bronze welding'); thus there is brass contamination on the lugs and tubing where they join.
Bill and riding buddy Mark Hoyer (of Cycle World - this year without a press entourage) didn't leave Mad River until 9:30pm - and it was still a 3.5 hour ride to Etna, our destination. Their journey must have been epic - riding in the dark over 150 miles of relentlessly twisty mountain roads, using Lucas 6v headlamps. Cojones. The only saving grace, according to Mark - he couldn't see the deer coming, so didn't have time to be scared when they continually leapt across his path!
Hwy 36 began a stretch of true motorcyclists paradise, with smooth paving and 170 miles of beautiful bends. Our speed was kept down a bit when we began to encounter smoke soon after Mad River, which eventually became so thick it reduced visibility for riding quickly. Several large forest fires were growing near our path, but fortunately not near enough to close the roads - yet. The town of Hayfork, on Hwy 3, was particularly smoky, and the outskirts were being evacuated soon after we left. We almost lost one of our members, Kevin B, as he had a near-fatal encounter with a bee, as he's deadly allergic. Fortunately, he was stung just a few hundred yards from an ambulance depot, and was only unconscious for a few minutes...! As his wife Melissa was driving our chase truck, by 7pm I began to worry that it was so late, and was lucky to reach her by cell. 'Don't worry, we're just leaving the emergency room' was not reassuring! I felt like a mother hen all evening, until the last of the flock arrived at 12:30am. Luckily Kim and Kimberly felt like staying up late and drinking, so I wasn't waiting alone.
How do you feed 70 hungry motorcyclists in the tiny town of Etna, on the night when the local restaurant is closed? Call 1.800.Norlene. Not only did she cook for all of us, the food was excellent - her famous 'garbage can' turkey and beef, plus several salads etc, it was terrific - thanks again Norlene. Afterwards, there was plenty of time to tell lies about the day's adventures, like this gang of old friends. A keg of Gold Ale (delicious - not as hoppy as the usual CA microbrew, but malty like English beers) from the Etna Brewing Company made for a relaxing evening.
After two 'loop' days which ended up back at the Benbow, Wednesday we ventured deeper into the wild heart of California. Our first challenge was Alderpoint Road, which heads northeast out of Garberville for 50 miles, eventually landing at Hwy 36. The surface is in very poor condition, and I think the locals prefer it thus, as it keeps tourists at bay - and motorcycle speeds distinctly down.
Barring the bumps, Alderpoint rewards exploration with breathtaking views of the inland Coastal Range, and passes through two tiny hamlets which haven't seem much progress in 40 years. The houses in Blocksburg are very close to the road, common in extremely rural areas, as the road used to be a horse trail. The first time I rode through here, perhaps 20 years ago, a laundry line fluttered white sheets from a house, while a girl of 8 or 9 wearing an old-fashioned gingham dress was spinning around in the sun, and I wondered if I was glimpsing a previous century.
But, we had come this way to visit Mike Cook as well, and completely inundated him and Bonnie with visitors. Mike was happy to have a task at hand, as Pete's '38 MSS had broken a sidecar strut - too many bumps! Being used to taking care of his own motorcycles, Mike had everything on hand needed to re-tube and weld up the break, and Pete's bike was soon repaired.
We had another casualty of the 'road disintegration blues', Bill Getty's Venom began to handle strangely a few miles after leaving Alderpoint Rd, and on stopping for lunch in Mad River, was mildly amused to find his frame had a 3" gap between the headstock and front downtube! By luck, the local towing company, headquarted several feet from the Mad River cafe (see pix below), was owned by a drag-racing enthusiast who built his own chassis, and was also well-equipped to repair the Venom frame. This took a bit more time than Pete's sidecar tube, as quite a few parts had to be removed from the bike to access the frame. The details of the fix are painful - the lower tubes were pried apart using blocks of wood and a jack, then a smaller tube was pounded into the headstock lug, slipped into the lower frame tube, and pinned at the top with a bolt, and spot welded at the bottom through holes in the tube. The new inner couldn't simply be welded to the headstock as Velocette frames are pinned, then hearth-brazed together ('sif-bronze welding'); thus there is brass contamination on the lugs and tubing where they join.
Bill and riding buddy Mark Hoyer (of Cycle World - this year without a press entourage) didn't leave Mad River until 9:30pm - and it was still a 3.5 hour ride to Etna, our destination. Their journey must have been epic - riding in the dark over 150 miles of relentlessly twisty mountain roads, using Lucas 6v headlamps. Cojones. The only saving grace, according to Mark - he couldn't see the deer coming, so didn't have time to be scared when they continually leapt across his path!
Hwy 36 began a stretch of true motorcyclists paradise, with smooth paving and 170 miles of beautiful bends. Our speed was kept down a bit when we began to encounter smoke soon after Mad River, which eventually became so thick it reduced visibility for riding quickly. Several large forest fires were growing near our path, but fortunately not near enough to close the roads - yet. The town of Hayfork, on Hwy 3, was particularly smoky, and the outskirts were being evacuated soon after we left. We almost lost one of our members, Kevin B, as he had a near-fatal encounter with a bee, as he's deadly allergic. Fortunately, he was stung just a few hundred yards from an ambulance depot, and was only unconscious for a few minutes...! As his wife Melissa was driving our chase truck, by 7pm I began to worry that it was so late, and was lucky to reach her by cell. 'Don't worry, we're just leaving the emergency room' was not reassuring! I felt like a mother hen all evening, until the last of the flock arrived at 12:30am. Luckily Kim and Kimberly felt like staying up late and drinking, so I wasn't waiting alone.
How do you feed 70 hungry motorcyclists in the tiny town of Etna, on the night when the local restaurant is closed? Call 1.800.Norlene. Not only did she cook for all of us, the food was excellent - her famous 'garbage can' turkey and beef, plus several salads etc, it was terrific - thanks again Norlene. Afterwards, there was plenty of time to tell lies about the day's adventures, like this gang of old friends. A keg of Gold Ale (delicious - not as hoppy as the usual CA microbrew, but malty like English beers) from the Etna Brewing Company made for a relaxing evening.
Monday morning began with a rider's brief at 8:30am, to discuss the protocol for using the Chase Truck (keep ahead of it!), and make a few points about tricky intersections and recommended detours, such as the Drive-Thru Tree and Mike Cook's barn. The ride looped south of Benbow to the coast via Highway 1, veering inland on Hwy 20 at Fort Bragg, going north to Branscomb Road, then heading to Hwy 1 again to loop back northwards. The stretch of Hwy 1 between Leggett and the sea is well-known among motorcyclist for being fast, well-paved, and well-banked for 20 miles over the low coastal hills; a real pleasure on two wheels at any speed, so it seemed best to traverse in two directions.
Feedback from riders at the end of the day was excellent, but I have no photos, as I was sitting in the parking lot of Benbow trying to sort out a major clutch issue on my 1960 Venom Clubman, which revealed a magneto issue (successfully sorted). The clutch defeated me after three complete teardowns and rebuilds - I switched to a belt drive kit a year and 100 miles prior, but on reactivating the bike after last year's disastrous high-siding front brake lockup, found that all grip on the clutch vanished instantly when kickstarting the engine. The same thing happened after the following three rebuilds, and I am still vexed. Luckily (well, I had an inkling) I had brought a backup machine, my '66 Norton Atlas, which proved absolutely trouble-free on the trip, although in need of some attention to the brakes.
So let's roll on to Tuesday; morning dawned foggy and cool, which is typical for summer near the northern coast, but many riders had scant warm clothing and were well chilled from our ride through the Avenue of the Giants. I think the redwoods are especially spooky and majestic on grey days, and really enjoyed a modest pace through this sanctuary of gigantic trees, stopping often to explore the odd little tourist spots. The Chimney Tree was a living tree which was completely hollow from bottom to top - which happens on occasion when fires attack the groves. Many redwoods have hollows at the bottom, but as the living part of the tree is under the bark, the trees can live indefinitely in this condition, although they are more vulnerable to collapse without their solid core. Drive-Thru Trees are made this way as well, and yes there are several in the area.
Note the scale of my Norton beside one of the larger trees - 350' is pretty damn tall. The older trees have no branches for the first 100' or more, and create a high canopy, in which unique animal species thrive - most never come down to the ground.
Ironically, the first town after exiting the Avenue is Scotia, home of the Pacific Lumber Company, which was bound and determined to cut the last of the old-growth trees until just this year, when a deal was finally hammered out to purchase the last unprotected stand of old trees. The lumber mill is pretty quiet these days although still functioning, albeit at a small percentage of its capacity. The mill is over a mile long in total, but most buildings are empty. The photo shows that some wood is still being harvested - second and third growth trees from the hinterlands. Demand for redwood is still strong, as it's excellent for outdoor decks and fencing, but all woods are becoming expensive to cull and mill these days.
The town of Scotia also houses a Museum of Logging, which is built entirely of redwood in the manner of a classic Greek temple! The columns as you can see are tree trunks with bark attached to mimic the fluting of marble columns. The local movie house is similarly a temple to the redwood, and the town has a beautiful Inn as well. It was a good place to stop and warm up, as temperature still hovered in the low 60's. The Museum housed artifacts and photographs of the glory days of the logging town, with trees taking two men up to two weeks EACH to fell by hand - that's how big they were. I've worked in many Victorian houses in SF which have Old Growth redwood panelling, and it catches the light like mahogany, with black zebra striping perpendicular to the grain - this is called 'curly' redwood, and is absolutely gorgeous. Apparently only trees which were a couple of THOUSAND years old produced such wood. The mind boggles.
The next town on our trek towards the Lost Coast was Ferndale, an oasis of Victorian architecture in a very damp clime. The lumber mills and other natural riches made for a very wealthy citizenry, and the area boomed during the early years of the 20th century. Nowadays the industries are gone, but the lovely old buildings bring new riches from tourism. Hot chocolate was on everyone's agenda, as we were all chilled by noon, although there were hints of blue over the ocean, and that was where we were heading.
The Mattole Road from Ferndale is the only paved road on the Lost Coast, so called as it's the only stretch of California coastline which has no real road access. The Mattole only touches the actual coastline for 5 miles or so before turning inland, and the southern part of the Lost Coast has only a dirt road and is little explored by tourists. The area was almost unknown until fairly recently, when motorcycle websites extolled the fascinating remoteness of the area and diversity of microclimates along the 50 miles of paved road. The first climate is the Cloud Forest, which is almost always shrouded in a mist, making for spectacular moss growth on the trees (see pic with green Spooky Tree). The actual tarmac is in awful condition, and our riders on rigid-frame machines had a tough job of keeping both wheels in line over some of the worst potholes and road heaves. Still, the profusion of greenery and wildflowers help ease the pain and drama of the hundreds of tight bends as we ascended the coastal hills to arrive at - a sunny seacoast! And nary a car to be seen, as was the case for most of the day. This photo of the coastline gives an idea of how remote the area feels - not much of any sign of civilization for 30 miles or so, when we arrived at the little town of Petrolia.
Petrolia is so named as the site of the very first oil wells in California, established in 1865, the very end of our Civil War. The oil was transported by ship to San Francisco to be refined there, probably as a cheap alternative to whale oil. No doubt the oil was simply seeping from the ground, as it was in other parts of the state later on, and of course in Saudi Arabia too! Easy to find in those early days, not so easy nowadays.
Petrolia (and why not Gasolia? or just Olia?) still has a few wells nearby, but is mostly a cattle ranching town, consisting of a church, a store, a hamburger stand, and a graveyard. Gotta love the pictographic hamburger sign, for the illiterate hungry. And yes, you can get petrol in Petrolia, which these local ranch women had come for, as all of the dwelling in the area are 'off the grid' and must make their own power. Lots of solar and wind power generators are hidden in the hills, as well as a lot of marijuana plantations. After seeing these two ranchers, several of our party expressed a desire to take up ranching themselves. They seemed to take the undivided attention of 60 leatherclad men with a sense of humor.
The remainder of the ride was warm and bumpy and twisty, and we hied back to the Benbow to shower off dust from several dirt sections, and have a cold beer. Day 2 was a success by most accounts, although I heard dramatically different interpretations of Mattole Road. Bill Getty, owner of JRC Engineering and a rider for 40 years or so, felt that the day's ride had been one of the finest of his whole life (his mount was a '65 Venom). Pete Young, riding his '38 MSS with sidecar, said he would be happy never to see the Mattole Road again in his life, unless it is re-paved.
overlooking the valley below. We were high above any smoke, but the lowlands were fairly well covered, so
the usual crystalline visibility from up high was obscured. The final 6,000' of Mt Shasta towered above us as we ate at picnic tables seemingly at the edge of the world.
pretty flowers in bloom, but as I soon began to kill them by the hundreds with my body, helmet, and motorcycle, I felt a combination of horror and humor. It was also terribly distracting as we wound our way to the top, and many riders mentioned the challenge of ignoring the butterflies and keeping their eyes on the route.
abandoned hotel and bank buildings. The upper pic shows a few of the expats joining our rally - Dai Gibbison (Velo Tech forum guru, from London), Cheryl and Neville Mickelson (classic sidecar racing champion in New Zealand), and Graeme Glover from Australia.
