Archive for December 2016

I was a little worried that the riding season had come to close early this year. I had missed a bunch of events towards the end of September and October last year, although California was amazing.

My father just retired, and my Dad's wife had arranged a surprise weekend down in some large house in a lake in Maryland. The area was called Deep Creek Lake, which my girlfriend informed me was sort of the Hamptons of West Virginia. I didn't think I'd get any riding in, as she was coming along, and 40' rainy weather isn't the most conducive atmosphere to convince a girl to ride 2 up for four hours.

But my brother in law let me know (after I had left all my gear behind), that he was sentimental about our ride through northern Italy and Switzerland last year, and was thinking about bringing two dirtbikes down to Maryland, in addition to his three and one year-old children. He threw some riding equiptment in the back of his Toyota Tundra, and strapped down a kick-start KDX 250 2 stroke along with his dad's Husqvarna TE 610 single.

Friday and Saturday were miserably cold and rainy, which was alright as we had stocked up on plenty of beer. However, by Sunday, the seven kids were getting a bit rambunctious, and Alex and I decided to brave damp, 45 degree weather and get a little ride in.

So we made sure the bikes had gas. Alex estimated his KDX could get about 80 miles to a tank, though the "Husky" had two pannier tanks, one filled with two-stroke gas (a mixture of engine oil and gasoline) and the other simply gas.

The morning was freezing, and the vacationing wonderland, built for watersports and wintersports... was basically abandoned. I was a little sad I had missed a bear wandering across our front porch, but not 10 minutes after we set out, 3 bears lumbered across the road, not 50 feet in front of our bikes.

We rode for a while, making it most of the way around the lake till our hands began to feel freezing.
I was determined to do a little bit of offroading, though it wasn't quite to be.

There was one stretch, an access road to the state park, which we thought had some nice trails, but they were blocked off to ATVS and other vehicles.

We made it around the lake, though it didn't get any warmer out. Luckily, there was plenty of beer, a warm hot tub, and women to keep us warm when we got back.

There was some sun out the following day, and we decided to go for a quick jaunt again before we had to leave.

There were some pretty good roads, and we agreed that we would both like to come back, but hopefully in the warmer months when we could enjoy ourselves a little better.

We packed up the bikes and headed home, to Pennsylvania and NYC respectively.

Today was one of the most magical roads I've ever ridden, traveling across the Lost Cost through Capetown to Petrolia, and then back through the fog, most of the way down Route 1, all the way back to Santa Rosa.

I woke up in Fortuna, California, in a little truckstop motel, not really ready to go back yet, even though I had only a day left (and the next morning) to get the Hyper back down to San Francisco. Yesterday had unquestionably been the best day of riding I've ever had in my life, and my knees and IT bands were aching.

I had heard about this mysterious place called "The Lost Coast" from the Bay Area DOC President, and decided I would make my way as far into unpopulated coastal wonderland as I could. It wasn't quite as cold as Crescent City yesterday, but there was a drizzle in the air, and I thought about getting out my rain gear. Almost immediately out of Fortuna, I rode through a quaint Victorian town, that looked like it could have housed the set for E.T., or some other nostalgic 80's movie.

Ferndale was shrouded in fog, though the GPS took me by this quizzical sign, pointing the way towards this secret area, that was sort of hidden in mystery itself.

I took off sharply up a dilapidated road, which was washed out in many places, suddenly and unexpectedly turning a two lane road into a one-lane venture. Rapid switchbacks obscured sudden potholes, and the dripping mist hanging around my head up to the trees, complicating not only my visibility, but also the traction on my tires should anyone come careening around the next blind corner.The most spectacular thing was that the foliage had drastically changed again. Perpetual fog had given rise to a landscape of evergreens and other trees covered in what looked like Spanish moss, and everything was covered in bizarre growths of lichens hidden by other undergrowth. The resulting ambiance was this sort trippy wonderland, a scene from some psilocybin induced 70's animation come to life behind my motorcycle.

The road didn't actually get too bad till I got to the top of the mountain, where I again nearly ran out of gas, but there were literally no houses along the way, and seldom a car traversing through this mystical ascent. The most bizarre thing was the feeling that there were vast expanses just behind the foggy trees, and untold depths of space beyond. I had to turn around back to Ferndale to get gas, but made it back to what I thought was the summit, then all of a sudden the sun came out, revealing I was on giant rolling hills of scrub-brush.

One second I was in the clouds, with ten-foot visibility, and the next moment the sun would pierce through and a vast range of hills would plummet away before my eyes. The landscape was like nothing I had seen yet in California, and honestly reminded me much more of Scotland or Wales than the US of A.

Cows roamed these hills without fences, but not cars. Potholes could be a foot or two deep, and sometimes the road just became rocky gravel. I hope the mystery of why no one lives along this enchanted route remains, as somethings are better left unknown (to me and to the world)

Suddenly, in a little valley below, I saw the crest of waves breaking from beneath the cloud-cover.

I pulled off to take a quick shot of the bike in the clearing fog. The camera did not nearly justify what a spectacle this was.

I was pushing for a town called Capetown, whose name suggested it resided by the sea, though as I arrived, there were only a handful of houses. I tried to get over to the ocean on some back roads, but wound up at someone's house, and nearly mauled by a dog, so I pushed on, deeper into the Lost Coast, towards a town called Petrolia. The roads got worse, and suddenly the fog was so thick I felt like i could feel it pressing up against my helmet. I was riding along straight for about three or four minutes before I realized I was driving a few feet away from the ocean.

Mile after mile along the sea, with dunes and clouds fading in and out of view, licked by random buts of sunlight.

Then, as quickly as I had found the place, the road abruptly left the sea, ascended up a steep hill, and sunlight blanketed the land, without a trace of the fog, rain and mystery I had experienced the few hours before.

I found myself in Petrolia, designated by a little rock pile spelling out the name, amongst a few buildings that rural people would call a town.

I wasn't ready to go home yet though. And even though it was around lunchtime, and I had half of California still to ride, I turned down a promisingly named "Lighthouse Road," that I hoped would get me out to the sunlit coast.

The road quickly turned to gravel though, and then got very rough, though I pushed on, determined for nearly half an hour.

The few houses dissipated, and I found myself on a dirt road traversed by heavy machinery and little else.

The road finally came to a halt with signs for an estuary, with a locked gate protecting an access route, and I quickly hopped off and ran up the path, determined to find the sea.

There had been earth-movers and machinery here recently, but nothing now, and I found that the path ran along side a little river.

that I hoped would deposit itself out into the sea. I had abandoned the bike, which probably wasn't the best idea, but I was determined to reach the sea, which would signify the penultimate moment outward, and from which I would inevitably return home.

I turned back towards Honeydew, and from there took

Mattole Road up into the mountains through Humboldt Redwoods National Park back towards 101.

The roads were amazing and the scenery dazzling, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was finally leaving.

Humboldt Redwoods State Park, and Mattole Road were amazing.
Mattole Road snaked up the mountain, then turned into tiny little creekside route through redwoods before I hit 101, and Avenue of the Giants. (Snaking along Bull Creek Road below:)

Avenue of the Giants southbound, as I had missed a bit on the way up, and had a terrible little late lunch at this tourist trapp in Weott.
Back on the bike, and back on the road, I needed to push it for the rest of the day to make it down to Southern California. My cousin Jake had generously offered to put me up for the night, rather than spending a hundred bucks on a hotel room, but I needed to seriously ride to get there before he went to bed.

I rode those amazing twisties above Leggett on 101, and stopped at a scenic overlook around Westport, where I pulled the bike right up to the bluff to get a good shot. Unfortunately, I did NOT estimate what a lean angle I was on, or how short my legs were, and as I backed the bike down the hill, I lost it to the right in slow motion like an amateur.

I was mortified, especially as a fellow standing outside a Winnebago watched the whole thing transpire, but I picked the bike up, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the bike worse than some dirt on the bag and pegs, as well as the already-damaged frame slider on that side.

I didn't trust my adreniline-fueled state to assess damage, but it turned out that I dropped the bike so slowly there was barely a scuff. I was beginning to love this Hyper, although personally I felt like an idiot.

I got back on the road, and the clouds returned, this time for good, and rode on through the gray day. The gloomy clouds kind of mirrored my mood

I stopped at a place called Seaside Beach, where the

rocks formed a rather stoic arrangement in front of the fog,

poetically jutting out of the sea.

I snapped a quick vid.

The day waxed sun and gray, and I stopped behind a cyclist on the same spot I had come down, to snap a shot of the twisty pavement plunging down the hill.

The sun started to hang a bit low in the sky, which began to clear a bit more, and I stopped off to take a few photos as the skies cleared...

but mostly pushed on.

Once I got down to Fort Ross, I began to hit these incredible roads I had not gotten the chance to ride on the way up.

There was unfortunately a little bit of traffic, but there was one point around what must have been Russian Gulch, where you could see miles of road hundreds of feet below you laid out like a wet piece of spaghetti.

There was another terrifically beautiful sunset, before I had planned on dinner in Bodega Bay, where I stopped around Jenner to take a last few pics of the sunset.

There's something so beautiful here, that doesn't exist on the East Coast.

Fourth Day NYDUCATI West Coast Videolog Playlist © 2016 Tigh Loughhead

Last night, I stayed up late on Facebook at the Super 8 in Crescent City, trying to determine a route that would take me up through Oregon. A friend of mine Kevin had mentioned,
"Oh and you should note there are shortcuts (you've probably been looking at them) down to 96 from above the border. None are paved and the quality of those fireroads changes drastically from season to season. I would not do them alone on a bike." which made me second guess my goal to get as far up into Oregon as I could. So, I resolved to get up early, and cut inland when I could, "avoiding" any abandoned back roads.

Crescent City was COLD, but $45 a night include a free continental breakfast, and I was on the road by 7:15am, sporting a new Bilt FREEZE OUT onesie beneath my riding gear. I don't think this undergarment would withstand real winter cold, but it kept me warm underneath some wind protection in 40-50' clammy and foggy weather.

Coming south down the Del Norte Coast Redwoods State Park was chilly, but I soon rose above the clouds with a scenic view of a stunning sunrise.

I later found out there was some sort of lighthouse of note in Crescent City, and that I didn't explore the town's coastline, but I wasn't about to turn back in the cold.

There's something amazing about riding high above the clouds, as the sun crests and cuts through the cold moisture.

I stopped off at the same place I had seen such a scenic sunset in False Klamath the night before,

and though I was regretful I wouldn't make it to Oregon this trip, I was determined to get as far into the Northern California wilderness as I could get. South of Klamath I took the scenic Newton B Drury Parkway route through the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, and was met with absolutely no traffic on a cold, damp, Monday morning.

The roads were wet, but I raced through the forrest, dwarved by these massive pillars of wood and bark, ascending to the sky around me and my bike.

I stopped to marvel at their size, and my comparitive newness compared to millenia of slow growth around me.

At some point, I decided now was the time to turn westward, and make for a far-off town called Weaverville. Somewhere around Orlick, I looked at my phone GPS to see a terrificly gnarled looking route (for non-motorcycle riders, the more mangled a mountain road looks on a map, the more fun you will probably have) called Bald Hills road.
I took off up the mountain on this deserted incline of one switchback after another, for miles and miles, without passing a single other car. As I ascended I was hit with this type of riding euphoria that must be akin to a runner's high, or some sort of transcendent meditation, and absolute bliss of nowness, and living solely in that very moment.

Here I was. On my own. On a bike, doing what I love: riding. One of the lucky few that could take off up a mountain road with not another person for miles around, in the presence of such beauty that it made my heart hurt with what I knew was the uniqueness of the circumstance, that would never happen again.

I pulled off and rode my bike down a little paved walkway at Redwood Creek Overlook, and caught a glimps of the clouds still meandering through the valley.

The road quality was incredbly variable, with patch spots of asphalt giving way to freshly paved macadam, perfect for leaning into turns. The crest of Bald Hills Road gave way to expansive views of fields and the mountains beyond on either side, until all of a sudden I was riding on a relatively rocky gravel road, in the middle of what looked like a scrubby field.

To make matters even more bizarre, as I rode on for mile after mile at about 10-15mph (about as fast as I could muster), I began to see smoke in the distance, and suddenly the right half of the road down the mountain was a charred mass of burnt scrubbrush.

I was totally confused, but I had no cell phone reception to even locate myself, let alone Google what a controlled burn would be, and if they were doing it in this area.

All of my trailblazing bliss and self reliance was about to desert me though, as after about 65 miles of riding, I saw the last thing I wanted to see by myself out in the wilderness without cellphone reception for the past half hour: THE FUCKING GAS LIGHT came on.

I had nearly 90 seconds of absolute panic, where suddenly a pit of fear wrenched at my gut, quickly turning into anger at myself.

How could I be so stupid to not fill up and plan this out? You don't really deserve to ride a motorcycle around...

This fear and anger morphed into vulnerability, where I wanted to call for help, and tried to visualize the worst possible outcome, having to ditch a $12K bike, or even worse running out of water or freezing before anyone came by... all of this stream of conscioussness in less than two minutes, before I managed to get myself together again.

I stopped to see if I could locate myself on a map, and first resolved to get as far as possible before running out of gas. There was no coverage, but I guessed it couldn't be more than 30 miles before the next town, where I hopefully I could find a gas station or appeal to a kindly stranger. After riding for about 10 minutes further, I realized that I was coasting mostly downhill and I just turned the engine off. I coasted for at least 10 miles, back and forth down a mountain, and turned on my GoPro, giving voice to an inner monologue, which I thought at the time would be one of the most epic speeches I've ever given on the reason why we ride motorcycles.
I hit Tulley Creek Road at the bottom of the mountain, crossing the Klamath River below Martin's Ferry, picking up 169 south.

169 was actually really cool; totally blind corners and no yellow divider, but the road was like glass and filled with non-stop twisties that you could really lean into.

I began to see other cars, and my heart jumped when I saw some old gas prices and a finally a station in a podunk town called Weitchpec, which reminded me a little bit of West Virginia.

The roads after Weitchpec were absolutely amazing. I took 96 south along the Trinity River towards Hoopa, and into Shasta Trinity National Forest.

The roads wound around and around pineforests up and down mountains, and up and down, past Willow Creek, where I picked up 299 Salyer, Burnt Ranch and Del Loma and finally passed the recent wreckage of a car crash befofe I rode onto Weaverville for lunch.

I found a diner with seating outside, and had a relatively non-descript Ruben sandwich, as a fellow bike chatted me up about the roads I should take south.

Credit: http://grumbler-lolo-pass.blogspot.com/ NOT MY PICTURE

Apparently, I had missed one of the coolest riding roads through a place called Forks of Salmon, but the road I was about to ride was probably the most fun ride (from technical and fun point of view) I've ever had. I don't even have too many pictures from today, as I spent most of the day agressively riding and riding and riding.

The following 30 miles on Route 3, especially between Douglas City to Hayfork, was probably the best road of my life. The following video is a bit long (about 20 minutes), but I highly recommend to any interested rider.

The roads were empty, immaculate, and absolutely perfect for diving into turns. After the drama of the morning, this little route was especially incredible, and to make the day even more special, my sister called when I stopped for gas around Hayfork, just to let me know that she was pregnant!

I rode on picking up 36 after Peanut, California, and on through Forest Glen, Dinsville, Bridgeville and Mad River, elated by the wide open space and the consistency of the blacktop.

The only traffic was heavy machinery and road crews, which would back up traffic every 50 miles or so, and as the afternoon wore on, I began to reflect on a perfect day. There comes a point in every road trip, when you realize you're turning back, or heading home, and even though I was three days in (out of four and change), I still hadn't exhausted that high just yet, and still wasn't deflated in the slightest.

Endless sweeping hills and turns had me hanging off of the bike for most of the day to the point that my knees ached like they had never done before.

Route 36 eventually dead ends into Fortuna, California, not half an hour sout of where I had started this morning. I found a Starbucks, and then a Super 8 hotel for under $100 to rest my aching knees. I had dinner at the Eel River Brewery,

then stopped to see how far over I had gotten over on the bike. I had begun the journey with new tires, and there was no virgin tread on the front tire. And while I wouldn't call these "chicken-strips," I guess I had about an eighth of an inch to play with on either side of the tire.