It had been two years since Kris and I had any kind of vacation to speak of. Layoffs and job changes had ensured that we either had no money or no time off. Even now, as we hastily prepared for 10 days of leave, it was a result of Kris getting a new job and having to use all of her accrued vacation.
Eric and Dawn were coming along and Dawn had taken on the task of planning the route and agenda, nice because it freed up Kris and myself to get ready for the last minute holiday. I was deathly ill and had spent the four days of preparation sprawled out the couch playing Xbox.
Eric was coming by our house with his bike loaded in the back of his truck, ready to hook up to our trailer. We would load our bikes, return to his house, pick up Dawn and drive across the Nevada . The plan was to drive into the night to Winnemucca, about half-way across the desolate state, to give us time Saturday to ride around Lake Tahoe.
Eric is head of the sales department for coffee supply company, but Eric's boss, knowing that Eric had hoped to leave early and be gone for a full week, wanted to get the most out by giving him the duties of two delivery employees. Eric got to spend the day scrambling to cover the routes of two drivers in addition to his sales duties, meaning he didn't get to our house until after 7pm; three and a half hours later than we had planned.
But vacation was about to start, right? We loaded the trailer and headed towards his house. One of the few advantages of leaving so late was that commuter traffic had subsided. We soon arrived at Eric and Dawns house, loaded up the last of the gear and hit the road. Unfortunately, 100 miles into the drive Eric made a realization. He had been in such a rush getting off work late and leaving that he left his motorcycle key back at his house. After two hours of driving, almost to Nevada, we turned around and returned to Salt Lake.
Back in Salt Lake, again, it felt like everything was going wrong. We fetched the key and visited a late night coffee shop. Eric was feeling guilty and insisted on buying everyone their favorite caffeinated beverage. Certainly not needed.
We'd been driving for more than four hours but hadn't gotten anywhere. I was feeling terrible but was spared the return drive when I passed out in the back seat. I wasn't revived until we reached the Nevada border and filled up with gas. We made it as far as Elko, then stopped for the nite. A Harley-Davidson rally was in town, (oddly enough, my dad was attending). The only hotel we could find was the nicest in town, so we shared a room figuring if you divide the cost by two it wasn't that bad. And it was a very nice room – even with the half eaten chicken wings in the stairwell.
We awoke early Saturday morning and wandered down to the lobby for the complimentary continental breakfast. So when you add the cost of breakfast to the price of the room, divided by two, it was almost affordable. The argument held more humor than weight.
Wandered through the breakfast tables were a smattering of typical looking families mixed with black t-shirted, do-ragged Harley riders. It was an odd mix. I was not feeling much better but decided a quick walk down the street to spot my dad would help. I didn't find him among the drones of Harley riders, all wearing the black t-shirt, black boots and bandana uniform. We stopped for a cup of coffee before returning to the delights of I-80.
Once in Tahoe, we drove straight to the condo where we would moor the truck and trailer. We proceeded to shift our gear to the back of the bikes. The couple (in-laws of the brother-in-law of a friend of ours) was not at home so we proceeded gingerly and tried to think of alternatives, just in case. When the gracious hosts returned from their golf game, we were instantly reassured by their warm welcome. We were invited in, offered cold drinks and access to the private swimming pool. However, we felt bad that we didn't have more time to socialize. The pollen from the spring-time pine trees was wreaking havoc on Dawns allergies forcing a prompt departure.
4pm: We were on the bikes and thumbed the magic starter buttons, bringing them to life after more than 24 hours of anticipation. Gingerly we pulled out; the vacation had finally and officially started. We opted to wander the back side of the lake, towards the KOA. We had never been on the back-side of the lake, and it was a comfortable way to start out. Touristy, wandering roads follow the shoreline through a smattering of small communities with names like Dollar Point and Meeks Bay, all trying to elbow their position onto the limited shore-line. We stopped at Emerald Bay to drink the spectacular view, snap a few photos to get things started before continuing to South Lake Tahoe for dinner.
When Kris and I had come through here on our way to Laguna Seca in 2001, we had a fantastic dinner at a small outdoor burger/brew pub and I was confident that I would be able to find it again. While I had remembered my toothbrush, I had neglected to bring my swim trunks and I distinctly remembered that the pub was neighbor to a swimsuit-based store. Swimming pools sounded divine and I hoped the KOA we reserved for the evening would accommodate.
Things were starting to look up. I was able to ride directly to our dinner spot, procure swim trunks and a grab a desireable table on the patio. Dinner was fantastic but we were anxious to go set up camp, so we paid the tab and headed south on 89 towards the KOA. It looked great, and the host was extremely friendly, promising to have put us in the best spot the facility had to offer. Unfortunately, the campground was nestled directly on a small tributary of Lake Tahoe and on a severe slope, forcing the roads to be extremely steep with tight corners littered with eroded gravel. Not one campsite featured even a single blade of grass.
The site we were promised was fantastic, but it was so steep and so full of deep, fluffy, dust that it would be almost impossible for us to safely get the bikes into and out of the site without risking a major tip-over. Visions of a loaded bike toppling into the adjacent river encouraged an alternative location. We took a less attractive site that was not so steep and had enough gravel to mitigate the flour-like dust. We unpacked and set up the tents with the aspiration of making it to the pool before it closed in 20 minutes. We soon gave up when we learned that the pool was unheated and frigid cold. Instead we purchased wine (from the KOA gift shop! Isn't California great) and opted to sip chilled Chardonnay in the flickering light of our citronella candles that were doing a pathetic job of keeping the mosquitoes at bay. At least the West Nile virus hadn't found its way to California … yet.
Sunday morning we awoke West Nile Virus free and promptly dashed to the showers before the morning rush. We packed up the bikes, trying to keep things as clean as possible despite the dust that was finding its way into everything. As we packed up, the discussion of donuts came up. It was unanimously decided that California has the best donuts. Kris had not had the opportunity to compare California donuts so we decided that breakfast would be donuts and coffee.
We rode back to Lake Tahoe and found a strip mall with a quaint donut shop. The little shop had the best Bear Claws known to man! They were even shaped like a bear's claw. And let's not talk too much about the cream filled donuts. Utah donut shops need to learn the California definition of “filled”!
Heading directly south on Highway 89 over Luther Pass towards Woodfords then a right turn towards Markleeville the tourist traffic surrounding the popular lake seemed to disperse, leaving us with desolate roads. The strangest part was the absence of RV's, normally clogging the back roads like a fat in the arteries of Atkins dieters. The rarity of the RV was pleasant and over the next 100 miles we were not forced to slow to sub-speed-limit rates and stare blankly at the ornately painted, stupid RV names like Cruise Master, American Dream and Land Yacht (is that supposed to be a good name?). RV's would continue to be rare throughout the trip. Dismissing good fortune, we guessed it was a result of the higher gas prices. At least there is one thing good about increased fuel costs.
As we zipped over Monitor Pass towards Topaz, we encountered the first of the “California Drivers” that so many people seem to complain about. This would be the appropriate time to officially thank all those drivers who so graciously allowed us to pass. On practically every canyon/twisty road, most locals would simply use a pullout or slow down on straight-aways to allow us to safely pass. Combined with legal lane splitting and we are plucking the proverbial bugs from our teeth.
We linked up with 385 and rode south along the eastern foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains until we hooked up with one of our favorite roads, Sonora Pass, aka; highway 108. We were greeted to this extremely technical road with a huge yellow sign warning large and heavy vehicles to find another route. The sign promised light traffic and, for the rest of the trip, became a friendly announcement for good roads.
Unlike Utah, where many of the roads seem to have been bulldozed straight through the world, 108 wandered over every undulation and contour, around rocks and trees, following the path of the adjacent stream. The road felt like a part of the landscape and less of an intrusion upon it. Best of all, it made for some fantastic riding.
Sonora Pass is one of the routes mountain men and settlers used to cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains . It's also the epicenter of the stomping ground for the real-live character, (John) Grizzly Adams who, after failing to make his fortune with gold, began catching and training bears and then selling them to zoos and private collectors. He became a well-known figure in America when he took his bears to New York City and later became involved in Phineas T. Barnum's American Museum before he died in 1860, more than 100 years before the prime-time TV character.
We stopped in, what I think is, the small town of “Cold Springs”, “Spring Gap” or “Strawberry” although, I cannot be certain. But every other motorcyclist seemed to be stopping in the same place for the staples of sport tourers; gas, water, ice cream and energy drinks.
After the pleasant stop, we continued towards the town of Sonora. Sonora first earned notoriety as the center of the 1840's gold rush and then again when Mark Twain wrote The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County while living just outside of Sonora in the elegantly named town of Jackass Hill. For the most part, Sonora has survived by being a mining town until more recent times as tourism appears to be taking over.
We linked up with highway 49, another favorite road that serpentines its way along the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Then we headed north through Angels Camp before going straight west on Highway 12. Much to my delight, the lower elevation was already rearing is head. The engine on the triple was accelerating with rapidness that I was unaccustomed to. I found myself giggling through 60mph wheelies while cresting sharp hills, an activity that is virtually impossible in Utah, 4000 feet higher in elevation.
Once on Highway 12, unfortunately, most of the days good roads were behind us and we were left with the flat, hot drone across the Sacramento Valley towards Lodi (pronounced low-die), Rio Vista and eventually into the Napa Valley and Sonoma for the evening. However, once we got to Fairfield, traffic got really heavy and we partook in our first venture of lane splitting for two exits. As we hopped off the interstate, the scenery changed considerably to what was distinctly, wine country.
Vineyards were draped over the rolling hills adorned with cured grasses (it was only June 20th) creating a gentle beige background to the evenly spaced rows of green vines. Picturesque Chateau's perched on the hilltops and signs advertising wine tasting varied from elegant wood carvings to hand-painted plywood. This being our first venture into the land of vino, I was surprised by how agricultural the area was. As soon as we dropped off the main roads, leaving the Sunday afternoon traffic to scurry back to work, we were left with good old fashioned farming vehicles drudging to finish the days work before the sun set.
The first vineyard was planted in the Sonoma Valley in 1857 by a Hungarian Count who was summoned to the area by General Vallejo to help him with his vineyards of Mission style grapes. The vineyards were purchased from Vallejo's brother and planted on 18 acres in one year. Sonoma Valley is now home to dozens of wineries, and the Hungarians favorite vintage, Zinfandel, is the most prevalent variety in California. Neighboring regions include Napa Valley, Alexander Valley, and Russian River Valley. The Sonoma Valley comprises the center of the United States' winemaking industry because of rich soil from some prehistoric volcanic activity in the area. Another reason wine does so well is due to a favored micro-climate in the coastal California landscape; basking in the sun and cooled by the ocean breezes results in the wine's sweetness.
We rolled into Sonoma and I found a town that met all my expectations. The quaint settlement was centered on a courtyard that had evolved into a park bordered by Spanish mission inspired architecture, housing a smattering of galleries, café's and restaurants.
We decided to eat at a fancy looking joint that offered a great view; the bikes sedately resting on their side stands. The waiter came out with menu's and made recommendations at the family style restaurant. We ordered four entrée's, an appetizer and a bottle of house Cabernet Sauvignon.
Each entrée was in the neighborhood of $15 to $20 and we were shocked to see them come out a few minutes later, barely big enough for four small bites. Not what we were expecting. To top it off, they were not even good. We were not looking for a Denny's stuff-and-bloat sized meal, but this was silly. Combined with the pompous waiter, we skipped desert, paid the tab, left a small tip and were on our way. We walked down the street to another restaurant to order coffee and desserts and were treated to reasonable prices, reasonable portion size and excellent service. I wish I could remember the names of the restaurants to warn any travelers who may also be in the area near supper time but at least I have a photo. Avoid the restaurant behind the bikes.
After eating our dessert, we headed back to our unmolested bikes and were greeted by a San Franciscan, originally from Hong Kong, who was beside himself with excitement about the Speed Triple. Apparently he was a former Hawk GT owner who recently upgraded to an S3. He was equally stammered when he learned that we were on the road from Utah and didn't seem to be any less impressed when we told him the bikes rode on a trailer through the hardest part.
We would be staying in Sugarloaf Ridge Campground and it was a few miles away yet. The evening was warm as we rode north in the dwindling, soft, orange light. Passing closed wine-tasting rooms and desolate vineyards until we turned right on Taylor Lane, climbing over 1500 feet in elevation to the campground. We were welcomed by cooling temperatures and gentle relief from the day's heat. We arrived just as it started to get dark, to set up camp. We were pretty wiped, so we skipped wine and cheese and headed straight for bed.
Monday morning, we arose to a typical California coastal morning; look to the sky to see clear blue, mist filling every depression. We packed up camp in the dappled morning light and headed back to Sonoma to find some vineyards. After breakfast we dropped off the main road and started riding roads that were the equivalent of paved goat trails with names like Trinity Road and Dry Creek Road that zigged and zagged over the hills and between the countless vineyards. Brilliant riding!
Our first stop was the Hess Collection vineyard, our first taste of a California Vineyard. Hess leases the land for the vines from a nearby mission, which sounds very quaint. But what we found was too much pomp and spectacle for our taste. The ritzy, polished and exquisite exterior was matched by its interior featuring a three-level modern art museum that came across as more eerie than artistic. Wine tasting was $20 a glass. We left and decided to visit the Mission on the top of the hill. The serenity of the Mission was a contradiction to the vanity of the nearby visitor's center. Skip the Hess Collection.
We left and headed into the town of Napa. It was a severe disappointment. The town, with bustling streets, Wal-Mart's and Checker Auto Parts on every corner, is much larger than we expected. Everything was commercialized and exploited. Sonoma, if you are considering a visit, should not be missed while Napa should be avoided. However, a local informed us that if one is looking for local color, the Silverado Trail should not be missed. We heeded the advice and went straight to the localized vineyards. Signs of wine labels that we'd never heard of were everywhere. We stopped first at Hagafen cellars, a kosher wine meaning “fruit of the vine”.
The exceptionally personable staff chatted with us while we tasted the made-with-love vintages. We were learning a lot about wine, such as; while Merlot is very popular, it is rare to get a Merlot that can compete with a Cabernet Sauvignon. I was also learning that I had yet to taste a wine that I did not like. With every sip when I would pronounce to the room “ooh, this is good! ” Eric asked about other vineyard not to miss. A list was drawn up, a few phone calls made and we were advised to first, backtrack a block or so.
We did and I thought we had made a mistake. There was no elegant tasting room in sight. Plastic lawn chairs stacked under a portable awning protecting several round folding tables from the weather. The concrete was cracked and degrading. Yellow hoses wandered across the driveway. A yellow Wino Way sign featuring a drunk, crawling stick figure, was nailed to a tree that overhung the awning. A home-made wagon with oversize tires and dirt stained cushions sat next to a stack of toppled orange safety cones and a well-used dolly. A sign planted in a bucket pointed to the “tasting room.”
I was ready to turn around and leave; thankfully we stuck around for a few minutes longer. The lady at Hagafen had called ahead to the stocky, five and half foot tall, bearded man with pleated khaki's, a red Hawaiian shirt and a well-worn bucket hat. As soon as we were off the bike he announced sharply, “This way”. Obediently we followed him into a tiny, threadbare room.
The white paint was hardly white at all, darkened where hands regularly came into contact. Photographs, magazine and newspaper stories were stuck to the wall with silver thumb tacks. Hand written signs asking for customer compliance were taped to the counter and a small oak trophy case held everything from a stack of awards to bottled insects. Faded boxes and bottles filled the windowsill and a thick layer of dust glazed everything. Welcome to Van Der Heyden Vineyards, and meet the vintner himself.
This was not a large scale operation. This man was taking time out of his day to walk us through his wines. He filled every sip with cute stories and articulate information on how wine is grown and processed, flavored with colorful opinions on his craft.
Living in the Bay Area, this eccentric Dutchman started growing a few vines in his yard making them into wine in his spare time. For fun, he took them to a few tasting competitions where he won several awards, year-after-year. So he quit his job and sold everything he had, bought a few acres in Napa Valley and went into production full-time. Eventually, he quit going to tasting competitions because it took too much time, and he didn't need competitions to know his wine was good. In his own words, he didn't need a “fancy medal” to prove anything. One taste and you'll agree. His wine is fantastic.
During all this, he repeatedly mentioned his Late Harvest Cabernet Sauvignon. I did not understand the significance, so Van Der Heyden explained. Traditionally Cabernet Sauvignon is harvested in August or September, before frosts can destroy an entire crop. He waits until as late as December before harvesting; which is a huge risk. The chance for destruction and the loss of the entire crop increases but the sugar levels change in the grape. If a late harvest is successful, which is only every few years at best, the result is unquestionably, the best Cabernet Sauvignon imaginable!
After Van Der Heyden, everything else paled, we visited one more vineyard and quickly gave up. We, instead opted for a fitful lunch before moving on. We found a quaint French restaurant, drank lots of water and planned our route towards the coast.
We tacked back to Trinity Road, passed Coppola vineyard while looking for Bennett Valley Road that would take us into Santa Rosa. Tight technical riding left all three of us in first gear for most of the way as the liter bikes jostled along tight roads. Eric and I were jealous of Kris' smaller and lighter Monster which seemed right at home on the tiny European-inspired roads. Eric proved his salt, leaving Kris and I far behind while he, two up with double the luggage, left us in his wake. Out of Santa Rosa we found Guerneville Road, a long straight, four-lane highway that would take us, after looking straight into the setting sun, to highway 116, which ran us over the last mountain pass before arriving at highway 1 and the Pacific Ocean. After the better part of the day spent in first gear the fast sweepers of 116 were a challenge. Mostly because three or four sweepers would be followed by a second gear, 20mph corner destroying all rhythm. But the asphalt was smooth and the traffic was light, so there was no balking by any of us.
The warmth of wine country faded into the humid chill of the coast with mist, even this late in the afternoon, clinging to the shadows. We passed Guernerville and I had to slow to look at the homes that seemed to be stacked into an enormous stand of Giant Redwood trees. If it weren't for the few derelict cars parked in front of the homes, I would have thought I was dropped into a scene from some fantasy novel with elves, fairies and trolls. The view combined with the soft, warm, low light of the setting sun was completely unearthly.
But the coast was calling. I could smell the salt and feel my gloves getting tacky on the handgrips. Highway 116 joined highway 1 just south of Jenner. I could not remember the town of Jenner, but Kris and I had stayed in Bodega Bay, so I knew there would be accommodations. We stopped at the intersection to confirm it would be better to go south to Bodega Bay instead of north to Jenner. Within a few miles, I rounded a corner and the landscape disappeared. My facesheild was filled with the view of the Pacific Ocean. Misty clouds clung to the shore, limiting visibility. An icy wind blew off the water, pushing enormous waves into the jagged rocks standing against the tide, defiantly keeping their chins out of the water.
I welcomed the ocean like an old friend. I was so taken with the reunion that I stopped at the first pullout to express my joy. Unfortunately, Kris was right behind me and took a short video of my celebration.
The day was waning we felt an urgency to find the evenings accommodations. The wind and razor sharp chill in the air ensured that we would not be sleeping in a tent that night. We raced southward as the icy ocean wind blew onto the coastline; severe contrast to the high 90's we were experiencing only a few hours ago.
The road was just as I remembered, repetitive corners suspended on craggy cliffs overlooking the ocean. Occasional swells in the road caused by the soil sloughing toward the ocean, provided opportunities for high-speed, sea-level wheelies. It was fantastic riding. Extremely cold, but fantastic! The moist, cool air sharpened the sensations, even my teeth felt cold in my mouth. The sun was drifting towards the horizon and low hanging clouds charging into land after crossing the pacific. Had the clouds, only a few days before, been floating over the far east of China and Japan ?
We arrived in Bodega Bay, where Hitchcock filmed his classic horror movie The Birds. I rode directly to the Bodega Coast Inn, right on Highway 1. We raced out of the wind and into the lobby to be greeted with a warm smile and fresh cookies. I was needlessly worried about vacancy as tourist season wouldn't start until early July. Unfortunately, the hot tub was not yet open. Much to the credit of the Bodega Coast Inn, we coerced the concierge to give us one room to share at a discounted price. And to be extra nice, she gave us the suite complete with an in-
room hot tub – heart shaped no less! She also loaned us a VHS copy of the birds to watch in our room. This is twice we've received excellent service at the Bodega Coast Inn and would recommend them to anyone!
Lunch wasn't too long ago, but warm Chowder (properly pronounced Chaw-Dah) was irresistible. Despite being summer solstice (June 21 st – the longest day of the year) it felt late despite Mickey's little hand only pointing to the six. We unloaded the bikes, grabbed our warmest clothing and hoofed it north to the Inn at the Tides – Bay View Restaurant offering a full bar and a panoramic view of the Bay. The place was packed, but warm. We sat at the bar and ordered up the only warm alcoholic beverages that we knew of – we were walking by the way – and awaited our table. We got seats facing into the setting sun diffused by low-hanging clouds. We sat and watched the fishing boats bounce against the pier just outside the window. The fresh chowder was great and the cheesecake that followed was even better. We ate the last of cheesecake and sipped the last of our coffee as the sun dipped below the horizon on its way back towards winter.
We have a wide assortment of CanyonChasers T-Shirts of which the proceeds go towards maintaining this site. Each T-shirt can be applied to a wide variety of t-shirt colors and styles in both men's, women's and even children's apparel. Support your local CanyonChaser or show your support for CanyonChasers riding ethics with one of these cool t-shirts! Simply click on the styles below, or check out our t-shirt gallery to see all our designs.
________________
w w w . c a n y o n c h a s e r s . n e t
 |
|
Flashing red dots represent people who are currently visiting CanyonChasers, solid red dots are visitors from the last hour.
The content of CanyonChasers.Net is for general information purposes only and does not constitute advice. CanyonChasers.Net tries to provide content that is true and accurate as of the date of writing; however, we give no assurance or warranty regarding the accuracy, timeliness, or applicability of any of the contents. Visitors to CanyonChasers.Net should not act upon CanyonChasers.Net's content or information without first seeking appropriate professional advice. More »
