NORTHERN MOUNTAINS
“How much more of this is there?”
“I’m a retired SEAL. Today I feel more like a retired manatee.”
“That’s gonna require that five-pound hammer Neil was talking about.”
Shop donuts. Genuine BMW coffee.
Its always a pleasure to pull into the BMW shop parking lot early Saturday knowing that, though “there beye Dragonnes” not too far beyond what can be seen of the rest of the morning, Mike is behind the counter right this minute, with a smile in one hand and a cup of coffee & a doughnut in the other, and if you walk in those doors, well, he’s gonna throw all three right at you. An adventure ride is … an adventure: The comfortable & inviting atmosphere of BMWoVC – reassuringly predictable – inadvertently serves to throw GS rides into sharp relief.
At least, that’s what I was thinking when the unforeseen road closure diverted us into slightly more challenging terrain where – again; predictably – bikes became slightly more top-heavy than had been hoped for. But I get ahead of myself:
Ten riders gathered round the shop “porch” to hear the pre-ride briefing. The Series was beginning anew; this was to be the first and easiest of the new iteration of the Ride Series. Can you hear the music? “A threeeee hour tourrrrrr….. A threeeee hour tourrrr….”
We covered standard group riding issues like formation, planned route, and also emphasized the skill learning opportunity represented by these rides, & how to take advantage of that. We were off in fairly short order, leader and sweep rider bookending the rest of the group. Our route included a dreary four entire miles of freeway, or thereabouts, before we exited and quickly zig-zagged off into the agricultural surroundings of rural Ventura County, like a staggered row of colourful and loudly buzzing bees. Mostly, bees seemed to be crossing our route, and may have posed at least some small hazard at times: The last of the citrus is still in bloom, as is the surrounding coastal sage scrub of Ventura County. Spring smells are still wafting down the air currents … chased in blind passion by a plethora of pollinators.
The odd helmet-duck or rapid right-hand visor-slamming maneouver saw us through and beyond, out over narrow steep canyon roads into broad river valleys, back up into the narrows again, and across high protected meadows, eventually into Ojai. As is usual for VCARS rides, our group sometimes stretched out, as front riders enjoyed a fast stretch, or back riders slowed to take in the scenery. At times, you might approach an intersection and see nothing but trees and fields and empty road, and a lone motorcyclist astride his idling bike on the roadside, pointing off in one direction or another. Following the line of his arm with your eyes you might just catch a glimpse of another rider disappearing around a bend well ahead – or you might not. Off you go, as directed, knowing that when the sweeper comes round, holding up a balled fist to show the posted rider how many people are behind him, that your street-sign pal will be following behind you or, if he rides faster than you feel like riding, may be passing you in short order.
In this way, our loosely cohesive group found its way onto highway 33. Intersections do not abound there. Miles of well-engineered curves do, and so do turnouts sporting brilliant views. We made use of two of these over about 35 miles, for re-grouping and gawking at scenery. At one point, a powerful, richly floral perfume filled our helmets. Ahead and above was a line of brilliant yellow, winding its way diagonally, this way and that, across & up steep slopes: This is Scotch broom, a non-native bloomer that grows like gangbusters along the verge of 33 this time of year, producing mammoth sprays of yellow flowers. Those well-engineered curves are often edged with a 6-foot wall of perfumed yellow – beautiful, and a little disconcerting due to the decrease in visibility around the corners! One takes time to slow, and smells the flowers…
On our second regroup stop we found ourselves looking north over Cuyama Valley and the imposing, rough country surrounding it. Clear mountain air revealed in sharp detail just how steep and rugged are the hills in this area. We descended into the valley, but soon turned east on the road to Lockwood Valley. Great sign at the beginning of this road:
It’s a challenging road at times; extremely sharp corners come up suddenly on steep inclines, then drop down into dreaded shallow paved water crossings. There were little or no algae growing yet, however, and no one slid. Upright to the last man, we followed the narrow road as it wound through the steep-sided hills we had seen from our last stop, until the terrain opened up into a wider valley. Our turnoff, however, had a gate across it. What should have been a quick turn became a road shoulder pit stop where, amidst mild cursing & nefarious ogling of the gate’s locking mechanism, a new route was chosen. This is only somewhat challenging to do for an intermediate dualsport ride. It can be extremely difficult for a beginning ride like this one. This is because the vast majority of unpaved routes – no matter how “easy” they are, for the most part – include from one to several short sections that are much closer to “quite hard” than they are to easy. The result is that whereas the experienced off-pavement rider sees in the unpaved roads of California a vast venous system ready to whisk him off anywhere in the state or beyond, the novice adventurer is looking at an intimidating tangle of blocked arteries.
Be that as it may, the decision was made to continue eastward, and grab an early lunch, for starters. That we did. It was beautiful riding, through high wide valleys between tree-covered mountains, until we reached the I-5 corridor, and had lunch just off the highway. After filling up ourselves & our rides, we again headed off for the mountains. A short stint on an incredibly dilapidated section of pavement brought us to a broad turnout, overlooking row on row of blue-green ridgelines, and overlooked by a somewhat steep and loose unpaved road climbing the face of a mountain, at the feet of which we were stooping to adjust our tire pressures.
The more experienced riders took the lead, and the “ride leader” rode in back, to provide assistance as needed. It was. If you have never ridden your motorcycle off pavement, the learning curve can initially be quite steep; the number of unknowns that suddenly crop up can be overwhelming; it really is another world. A novice isn’t looking at the next 40 feet of road -- while riding onto it -- and thinking that it looks-like-the-rocky-loose-section-on-the-right-is-no-go-but-in-the-middle-the-bare-hardpan-gives-way-to-silt-that-might-be-hiding-a-small-rut-which-is-probably-doable-with-care-and-on-the-far-left-it-is-also-rocky-but-since-they-are-embedded-on-that-side-the-traction-should-be-good-although-bumpy-and-as-long-as-I-can-stay-out-of-the-rut-just-a-little-further-left-that-might-be-the-best-line-because-it-sets-me-up-wide-for-the-hairpin-right-with-the-diagonal-water-ruts-that-start-shallow-at-the-high-outside-and-get-quite-deep-down-low-on-the-inside-so-I-will-definitely-want-to-be-on-the-outside-and-have-some-speed-on-since-the-road-camber-is-steep-enough-that-extra-speed-will-mean-less-outside-lean-is-required-and-there-is-no-way-I-want-to-try-the-section-fast-enough-to-require-inside-lean – oops – should-have-been-feathering-the-clutch-already –
– No. The novice is just thinking, “I wonder what’s going to happen next…”
[It may perhaps be interesting to note that long ago the highly experienced rider blocked both of these somewhat uncomfortable learning stages from his memory: At this point, he is already a quarter mile up the trail, standing over his idling machine, having skidded sideways to a halt in the shade of a convenient Douglas fir tree. He is looking back down the trail, listening for engine noise behind the last bend, expecting to see the other riders any second. He is wondering what is taking so long; must be either a photo stop or somebody’s luggage came loose.]
A few such 40-foot sections got the better of our riders, for our new route was harder, of course, than the route originally planned. This was about a grade harder than the R2 original plan. Which means, we were on an R3 route. Which means, as it says in the EarthRider Rating System description, a route that is vastly R3 or easier, and has a few short sections that are slightly more challenging. Which means, what was going to be a few R3 water crossings on an R2 route became a few more R4 rutted – or rocky, or both – sections on an R3 route. Which is great for a beginning ride, when you consider that the last time the Series re-started, the first ride became R8, when riders opted to continue over 12 miles of muddy clay rather than turn tail and head for home on pavement from Tehachapi. No one rode that one in its entirety, and almost everybody fell over at some point.
Phrom a philosophical standpoint, it seems obvious that Kobe had to miss a lot of phree throws to become so good at phree throws. The same equation applies to adventure riding. Glossing over a few missed baskets, let us focus on this; our newest novice riders are well and phirmly on their way to becoming our newest intermediate riders.
If you are going to ride your bike off pavement, and you are going to do it at all well, you are going to fall over a few times beforehand – or you are going to be deified. (No new deities in the pantheon yet, by the way.) This can come as a shock to those who know only slab riding – those whose single-minded (and quite justified) fear & loathing of falling prohibits them even from breathing the word “autumn” while touching a motorcycle. The adventure rider, on the other hand, tends to replace the turn signals with smaller, shorter ones, and pack a spare brush guard mount in the toolkit, and carry on, perhaps comforted by the knowledge that Kobe doesn’t miss too many phree throws, any more.
The best way to approach a minor adventure riding get-off seems to be to take a deep breath, right the bike, drink a little water, and most importantly, go over what happened. Discussing why a fall happens – and how it could have been avoided – helps to decrease further … happenings. This we did – when required – as we followed a long and remote line of mountains on a winding unpaved track. When just beginning to ride off pavement, almost everything is a new experience. This is inescapably fatiguing, in any situation; almost you can tell how many times a rider has been off pavement by how tired he looks at the end of an adventure day ride. It was no surprise that when after untold miles we emerged onto tarmac, the idea of ice in a drink, preferably under shade, held broad appeal. No, problem: Back in front again, our ride leader had us seated in a tiny mountain town restaurant within about ten miles, wiping our brows and ordering Arnold Palmers.
Mission accomplished, day seized. And we got a jump on things; next month’s ride should be no more challenging than this one turned out to be. Unless – like all adventures – it fails to go exactly as planned.
Its always a pleasure to pull into the BMW shop parking lot early Saturday knowing that, though “there beye Dragonnes” not too far beyond what can be seen of the rest of the morning, Mike is behind the counter right this minute, with a smile in one hand and a cup of coffee & a doughnut in the other, and if you walk in those doors, well, he’s gonna throw all three right at you. An adventure ride is … an adventure: The comfortable & inviting atmosphere of BMWoVC – reassuringly predictable – inadvertently serves to throw GS rides into sharp relief.
At least, that’s what I was thinking when the unforeseen road closure diverted us into slightly more challenging terrain where – again; predictably – bikes became slightly more top-heavy than had been hoped for. But I get ahead of myself:
Ten riders gathered round the shop “porch” to hear the pre-ride briefing. The Series was beginning anew; this was to be the first and easiest of the new iteration of the Ride Series. Can you hear the music? “A threeeee hour tourrrrrr….. A threeeee hour tourrrr….”
We covered standard group riding issues like formation, planned route, and also emphasized the skill learning opportunity represented by these rides, & how to take advantage of that. We were off in fairly short order, leader and sweep rider bookending the rest of the group. Our route included a dreary four entire miles of freeway, or thereabouts, before we exited and quickly zig-zagged off into the agricultural surroundings of rural Ventura County, like a staggered row of colourful and loudly buzzing bees. Mostly, bees seemed to be crossing our route, and may have posed at least some small hazard at times: The last of the citrus is still in bloom, as is the surrounding coastal sage scrub of Ventura County. Spring smells are still wafting down the air currents … chased in blind passion by a plethora of pollinators.
The odd helmet-duck or rapid right-hand visor-slamming maneouver saw us through and beyond, out over narrow steep canyon roads into broad river valleys, back up into the narrows again, and across high protected meadows, eventually into Ojai. As is usual for VCARS rides, our group sometimes stretched out, as front riders enjoyed a fast stretch, or back riders slowed to take in the scenery. At times, you might approach an intersection and see nothing but trees and fields and empty road, and a lone motorcyclist astride his idling bike on the roadside, pointing off in one direction or another. Following the line of his arm with your eyes you might just catch a glimpse of another rider disappearing around a bend well ahead – or you might not. Off you go, as directed, knowing that when the sweeper comes round, holding up a balled fist to show the posted rider how many people are behind him, that your street-sign pal will be following behind you or, if he rides faster than you feel like riding, may be passing you in short order.
In this way, our loosely cohesive group found its way onto highway 33. Intersections do not abound there. Miles of well-engineered curves do, and so do turnouts sporting brilliant views. We made use of two of these over about 35 miles, for re-grouping and gawking at scenery. At one point, a powerful, richly floral perfume filled our helmets. Ahead and above was a line of brilliant yellow, winding its way diagonally, this way and that, across & up steep slopes: This is Scotch broom, a non-native bloomer that grows like gangbusters along the verge of 33 this time of year, producing mammoth sprays of yellow flowers. Those well-engineered curves are often edged with a 6-foot wall of perfumed yellow – beautiful, and a little disconcerting due to the decrease in visibility around the corners! One takes time to slow, and smells the flowers…
On our second regroup stop we found ourselves looking north over Cuyama Valley and the imposing, rough country surrounding it. Clear mountain air revealed in sharp detail just how steep and rugged are the hills in this area. We descended into the valley, but soon turned east on the road to Lockwood Valley. Great sign at the beginning of this road:
It’s a challenging road at times; extremely sharp corners come up suddenly on steep inclines, then drop down into dreaded shallow paved water crossings. There were little or no algae growing yet, however, and no one slid. Upright to the last man, we followed the narrow road as it wound through the steep-sided hills we had seen from our last stop, until the terrain opened up into a wider valley. Our turnoff, however, had a gate across it. What should have been a quick turn became a road shoulder pit stop where, amidst mild cursing & nefarious ogling of the gate’s locking mechanism, a new route was chosen. This is only somewhat challenging to do for an intermediate dualsport ride. It can be extremely difficult for a beginning ride like this one. This is because the vast majority of unpaved routes – no matter how “easy” they are, for the most part – include from one to several short sections that are much closer to “quite hard” than they are to easy. The result is that whereas the experienced off-pavement rider sees in the unpaved roads of California a vast venous system ready to whisk him off anywhere in the state or beyond, the novice adventurer is looking at an intimidating tangle of blocked arteries.
Be that as it may, the decision was made to continue eastward, and grab an early lunch, for starters. That we did. It was beautiful riding, through high wide valleys between tree-covered mountains, until we reached the I-5 corridor, and had lunch just off the highway. After filling up ourselves & our rides, we again headed off for the mountains. A short stint on an incredibly dilapidated section of pavement brought us to a broad turnout, overlooking row on row of blue-green ridgelines, and overlooked by a somewhat steep and loose unpaved road climbing the face of a mountain, at the feet of which we were stooping to adjust our tire pressures.
The more experienced riders took the lead, and the “ride leader” rode in back, to provide assistance as needed. It was. If you have never ridden your motorcycle off pavement, the learning curve can initially be quite steep; the number of unknowns that suddenly crop up can be overwhelming; it really is another world. A novice isn’t looking at the next 40 feet of road -- while riding onto it -- and thinking that it looks-like-the-rocky-loose-section-on-the-right-is-no-go-but-in-the-middle-the-bare-hardpan-gives-way-to-silt-that-might-be-hiding-a-small-rut-which-is-probably-doable-with-care-and-on-the-far-left-it-is-also-rocky-but-since-they-are-embedded-on-that-side-the-traction-should-be-good-although-bumpy-and-as-long-as-I-can-stay-out-of-the-rut-just-a-little-further-left-that-might-be-the-best-line-because-it-sets-me-up-wide-for-the-hairpin-right-with-the-diagonal-water-ruts-that-start-shallow-at-the-high-outside-and-get-quite-deep-down-low-on-the-inside-so-I-will-definitely-want-to-be-on-the-outside-and-have-some-speed-on-since-the-road-camber-is-steep-enough-that-extra-speed-will-mean-less-outside-lean-is-required-and-there-is-no-way-I-want-to-try-the-section-fast-enough-to-require-inside-lean – oops – should-have-been-feathering-the-clutch-already –
– No. The novice is just thinking, “I wonder what’s going to happen next…”
[It may perhaps be interesting to note that long ago the highly experienced rider blocked both of these somewhat uncomfortable learning stages from his memory: At this point, he is already a quarter mile up the trail, standing over his idling machine, having skidded sideways to a halt in the shade of a convenient Douglas fir tree. He is looking back down the trail, listening for engine noise behind the last bend, expecting to see the other riders any second. He is wondering what is taking so long; must be either a photo stop or somebody’s luggage came loose.]
A few such 40-foot sections got the better of our riders, for our new route was harder, of course, than the route originally planned. This was about a grade harder than the R2 original plan. Which means, we were on an R3 route. Which means, as it says in the EarthRider Rating System description, a route that is vastly R3 or easier, and has a few short sections that are slightly more challenging. Which means, what was going to be a few R3 water crossings on an R2 route became a few more R4 rutted – or rocky, or both – sections on an R3 route. Which is great for a beginning ride, when you consider that the last time the Series re-started, the first ride became R8, when riders opted to continue over 12 miles of muddy clay rather than turn tail and head for home on pavement from Tehachapi. No one rode that one in its entirety, and almost everybody fell over at some point.
Phrom a philosophical standpoint, it seems obvious that Kobe had to miss a lot of phree throws to become so good at phree throws. The same equation applies to adventure riding. Glossing over a few missed baskets, let us focus on this; our newest novice riders are well and phirmly on their way to becoming our newest intermediate riders.
If you are going to ride your bike off pavement, and you are going to do it at all well, you are going to fall over a few times beforehand – or you are going to be deified. (No new deities in the pantheon yet, by the way.) This can come as a shock to those who know only slab riding – those whose single-minded (and quite justified) fear & loathing of falling prohibits them even from breathing the word “autumn” while touching a motorcycle. The adventure rider, on the other hand, tends to replace the turn signals with smaller, shorter ones, and pack a spare brush guard mount in the toolkit, and carry on, perhaps comforted by the knowledge that Kobe doesn’t miss too many phree throws, any more.
The best way to approach a minor adventure riding get-off seems to be to take a deep breath, right the bike, drink a little water, and most importantly, go over what happened. Discussing why a fall happens – and how it could have been avoided – helps to decrease further … happenings. This we did – when required – as we followed a long and remote line of mountains on a winding unpaved track. When just beginning to ride off pavement, almost everything is a new experience. This is inescapably fatiguing, in any situation; almost you can tell how many times a rider has been off pavement by how tired he looks at the end of an adventure day ride. It was no surprise that when after untold miles we emerged onto tarmac, the idea of ice in a drink, preferably under shade, held broad appeal. No, problem: Back in front again, our ride leader had us seated in a tiny mountain town restaurant within about ten miles, wiping our brows and ordering Arnold Palmers.
Mission accomplished, day seized. And we got a jump on things; next month’s ride should be no more challenging than this one turned out to be. Unless – like all adventures – it fails to go exactly as planned.
[Meantime, inspired by experiences on this & other BMW shop GS rides, EarthRider is offering a brand new type of riding class. Check it out HERE.]
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