Hey! Just because you can't see the Mount Palomar telescope behind me
doesn't mean it's not there.
Temecula CA to Seattle WA, May 1995
Vehicle: 1974 BMW R90/6, loaned to me by my high school
pal Josh, who lives in Temecula, a nasty place in the desert north of San
Diego. Josh, you've earned a placed in heaven if there is one.
I have no idea of the mileage of this trip, as the weathered R90 was missing
its whole instrument cluster, and I lost count of how many times the little
cable spun around.
Day 1 (May 14, 1995):
After a satisfying Rocky Cola breakfast with my benefactor Josh, I took
the 5 to the twisty Ortega Highway (74) to San Juan Capistrano. Getting
the feel of the fully laden bike.
The Pacific Coast Highway (1) through traffic-jammed Laguna and Newport
Beaches, and a slow hack through Long Beach and LA to Santa Monica, where
I stayed over with Julia and Ben.
Day 2
Left LA at 2pm, after waiting out the uncharacteristic drizzle, got a fill-up
in Malibu, and continued up the PCH under threatening skies. Santa Barbera
is pretty. Pretty expensive, especially: I got a Coke and a move on.
At Las Cruces I switched to the temporarily more scenic 101 (avoiding Lompoc
and the air base). The skies delivered on their threat just before Arroyo
Grande, so I got off the highway drenched, filled up, and waited it out
under the gas station's canopy. After a half hour the rain let up and I
continued up the 101 to San Luis Obispo, took the 1 to Morro Bay and followed
signs to the beautiful Montana de Oro state park, and camped.
Day 3
was all the 1 along the coast. Filled up at Gorda (overpriced), as the scenery
got better and better through Big Sur all the way to Monterey. Another fill-up
in Santa Cruz, and a pause to stroll the boardwalk and ride the large wooden
coaster, because dammit, I just can't get enough excitement. (By the way,
Chris in Santa Cruz says hi to Rod the Cod in Seattle.) Then more dramatic
scenery up the PCH to Half Moon Bay, where slides forced all northbound
traffic onto the 92 (past a motorcycle parts place on the right, just a
mile off the 101) to I-280 into San Fran, where I spent the next 4 or 5
days. Thanks to Tracer, and to Aggie and Steve for putting me up and up
with me too.
Favorite bar: Clooney's on 25th & Valencia. I was talking with this
one guy for an hour or so, about how he's treated his lady so fine, and
so why'd she have to slap him, and he's been so clean since he got out of
prison, and he gets no respect, frexample from assholes like that
one over there (Snick! my buddy's got a switchblade open under his arm)
"Hey! what the fuck are you looking at?" Guy comes over to face
him down--doesn't know my pal has the blade that I'm looking at. Drunk men
looking for respect can be dangerous. Good job by bartender preventing bloodshed
by bodily interposition.
Favorite burrito: on Mission just below 19th.
Day 4
I filled up and crossed the Golden Gate into Marin County. Crappy road surface
on the 101 there, but it was good enough to get me to the 37e, the 121n,
and the 12e into the Napa Valley.
The 29n through the valley is only sporadically scenic and offers few twisties,
but I was rewarded by the corkscrew climbs after Calistoga (where you can
get a hot springs bath for $4-5, though I didn't) up to Robert Louis Stevenson
state park. I took a break there for the 1 mile hike up the mountain to
RLS's honeymoon cabin site and the overlook just above it, then twisted
and turned down through the hills to Clearlake and a fill-up. Here the nice
scenery comes to an end, and Lake County's relative poverty is in stark
contrast to Marin and Napa.
The 29 feeds into the 20w and then into about 40 boring miles of the 101
which improves as it enters the redwood forests of Mendocino County. This
is where the 60's came to die. The grave is marked by numerous psychedelically-painted
school buses rusting in yards, and strewn across the hilly landscape. I
stayed in the comfy Bel-something hostel just north of Leggett ($15), after
a quick peek at the "Drive-Thru Tree", which had closed for the
day but hey, I'm a rebel so I sneaked in.
Day 5
began with a lovely cruise on the 101 through the Standish-Hickey redwoods,
and more redwoods, and then more and more, especially in Humbolt Redwoods
state park. Yup, they sure are big. There was the "Grandfather Tree",
and the "House Built In A Tree", and the "Chimney Tree"
and another "Drive-Thru Tree", and the "Bigfoot Legend",
too, but I rode right by 'em, because I was headed for hippie heaven: Arcata,
California. But first a stop in Eureka at the camping store to pick up some
highly poisonous artificial chemical bug repellent (rather than the natural
stuff the zoned-out clerk tried to push). Then I chugged a shot of espresso,
scored a wool blanket from the Army-Navy, and blew out to Arcata. Hey, they
have more used bookstores there in 2 blocks than Philadelphia has in the
whole city, got to give them that. Otherwise, nothing of note except for
Dead tour dropouts in the square and the fact that every bar there has that
old-fashioned martini-glass-with swizzle stick logo on it the facade. Must
be some weird regulation.
Come on baby, Let's Do the Twist: From Arcata I cut inland--and uphill--on
the 299 towards Willow Creek, then a left onto 96 through the Hoopa Valley
Indian Reservation. I had a flashback to the kindly old ladies in the McKinley
tourist info center just north of Arcata, who had advised me not to camp
within the reservation because "it can get pretty wild there at night,
you know, because firewater and Indians don't mix so well--although our
Indians are very nice around here, of course. But be careful." Well,
I escaped with my scalp thank God--even risked stopping for a fill-up in
Weitchpec--and continued up the 96 along the Klamath River. Like 150 miles
of twisties, don't miss it! Just past Happy Camp I found a free roadside
campground, and pitched the tent next to the mighty Klamath. Beneath the
roar of the waters I could hear the giant muffled thumps of boulders rolling
along the river bed.
Day 6
Breakfast at the Yummy Stop, a trailer in tiny (actually invisible except
for the post office) Klamath River CA, then a fill-up in Hilt and the reluctant
turn onto the I-5 into Oregon. To its credit, the 5 has an impressive set
of giant sweepers on an 8% downhill grade descending from Mt. Ashland to
the towns of Ashland (got a malted milkshake) and Medford (got some more
motor oil). Those purchases reflect the characters of the two towns pretty
well. Then it was up 62e past White City (appropriately named, I'm sure)
toward the promised glory of Crater Lake and its fabulous Rim Drive. 62
followed the Rogue River for 20 or 30 miles, and then turned into a beautiful,
if interminable, canyon of fir trees which rose gradually into the Cascade
Range. Snow appeared on the ground and the trees thinned out. Then the ground
disappeared beneath a continuous blanket of snow and I began to wonder it
maybe I should have checked if the roads up there were even open. When I
finally left the 62 and turned north into the Crater Lake National Park,
I discerned that the snow was still eight to ten feet deep on either side
of the road, and there was more coming down. To enter the visitor center
one had to go through a tunnel of snow. But no matter, I went on up to the
rim and had a look, and even climbed a little mountain, sinking thigh-deep
into the snow. Of course, the Rim Drive was still closed, and I had to retrace
my tracks back down the 62w to the 230n to the 138w towards Steamboat.
There was no one else around, the shadows were getting longer and there
was still snow on the ground as I headed from the Mt. Thielsen Wilderness
into the Boulder Creek Wilderness, when the engine hesitated. It felt like
my heart did a bit too. The results of my detour were being manifested as
a shortage of fuel. I switched to reserve, but Steamboat, was still 20 miles
away, probably well beyond its reach. I started cursing a bit, but it didn't
help at all. Then I passed a side road marked with a sign for Diamond Lake
resort and gas. Tuesday night in the off-season didn't seem like the best
time to abandon the main road on the chance the gas station was open, but
decided to chance it and won. Fill-up at Diamond Lake! I was all smiles
as I paralleled the Umpqua River down 138w. The snow disappeared, the setting
sun lit up the trees and canyon walls, and the air grew warmer. I waved
hello to a group of vultures feasting on carrion by the road's edge. All
was well again as I rolled into the verdant embrace of Horseshoe Bend campground.
Day 7
On the seventh day, I didn't rest, but continued on 138w and glided into
Glide for breakfast. Down out of the Cascades I roared, through the lush
valley pastures for the shortcut through Wilbur (where an indecisive crow
collided with my helmet) and Sutherlin, crossed over the I-5 and returned
to 138w and my new friend, the Umpqua, which had grown to much larger proportions
as it approached the Pacific. At Reedsport I filled up and turned north
on the 101 through the Oregon Dunes. The Oregon coast is every bit as scenic
as California's, but even more afflicted by pokey drivers. I turned off
the 101 and rode 900 feet up to the top of Cape Perpetua, an enormous promontory
topped with a little rain forest. From WPA-built parapets you can see 150
miles of coastline.
But north of Newport 101 turns into kitschy little resort towns, strip shopping
malls, and tourist traps desperately competing. The sky grew gray, the wind
grew cold, and I yearned to go inland again. After a fill-up in Otis, I
turned east on 18, crossed the Coast Range and enlarged my bug collection
as I crossed the fertile plains. With the late afternoon sun behind me the
landscape was lit up in gold. Contributing to the golden effect was a bright
yellow bugsplat partially obscuring my faceshield. In McMinnville I wiped
it off, switched to the 99W and reached Portland by 9pm. After a day off
to explore Portland, (thanks, Michael, for hosting) I embarked on
Day 8
The 30n out of town parallels the Columbia, but not very scenically. I filled
up in Rainier, and then crossed into the state of Washington. There, in
my continuing effort to avoid the I-5, I got way lost in the suburbs of
Longview, and worked my way north with the sun as my guide. The suburbs
soon gave way to farmland, and long wide-open-throttle stretches of the
411 north, interrupted by sharp unexpected bends to give a little challenge
to it.
I blazed through Vader, Winlock, and Napavine, and then succumbed to the
I-5 for 3 exits before I found the 507e which allowed me to avoid 40 miles
of interstate and get a better view of Mt. Rainier as well as a shot of
espresso (and motor oil, but not in the same cup) in Tenino. They sure do
have a lot of espresso shacks out here! Good caffeinator. Tacoma to Seattle?
Just slow freeway traffic under the hot sun.
By the time I got to Seattle, the rear tire had lost nearly half an inch
of depth, i.e. almost 1" of diameter and 3" of circumference.
There was cloth coming through from the next layer of the tread. Overinflation
probably to culprit, as wear was down the center line, and was not riding
the interstates.
The folks at Buckingham BMW (7020 Woodlawn Ave Seattle, 527-5511) pointed
out the dire condition of the rear drive splines, which actually push on
the rear wheel to make it go. They were wafer thin. Actually, much thinner
than the typical wafer. They showed it to me and they showed me a new one.
Each tooth is maybe 10-20% as thick as a new one, and bent over some. Mostly
this is due to failure to lube them. Is it dangerous? Well, they say the
engine is strong enough to snap them all off if you twist too hard.
Packing up
I found the most comfortable backrest was to wrap the tent in the middle,
with the sleeping bag (folded in thirds), blanket, pad and finally tarp
around it (as it is now). Put the roll on the back seat and bungee net it
from the frame under the seat to the sides of the sissy seat. Then use short
bungees to connect the middle hooks on the two sides of the net to the sides
of the sissy bar, running across the ends of the tent bag. This technique
was stable, didn't flap around, and offered reasonable rain protection for
the gear without the noisy and way uncool garbage bags.
Camping
The national forests and state parklands are packed with beautiful and uncrowded
(on weeknights) camping grounds. Along the Umpqua in Oregon they are every
couple of miles, and cost $4-6, depending on the facilities. Look for "primitive"
or "ecological" sites, which are less developed and more like
actual camping. In the morning sneak over and use the modern facilities
at the regular campground. Who's to know?
In California campgrounds can be $8-14, although I stayed at a fine, unnamed
one with no facilities--or other people--on the Klamath River a couple of
miles north of Happy Camp, and it was free of charge. Lock your luggage
at night. I found raccoon footprints all over the bike one night, and they
had worked one latch open.
And wash the toothpaste off your mouth before going to sleep, so hungry
bears don't rip your face off!
Selected hostels from a book I copied out of in S.F.:
Chinook WA (on 101): 206/777-8755
Bingen WA (14): 509/493-3363
Dexter OR (58): 503/937-3357
Cave Junction OR (199): 503/592-3203
Bend OR (97): 503/389-3813
Ashland OR (off I- 5, 150 N Main St): 503/482-9217
Klamath CA: 707/482-8265
Mt Shasta CA: 916/926-6724
Legget CA (101, 1 mile north of town): 707/925-6469
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