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Published: April 9th 2008
Jalama Morning
The surfers wear full wetsuits, and the fishermen are after perch feeding on sand crabs in the surf. Anchovie are their bait.My lovely wife Dana suggested today’s title. (She’s the woman who bought me eleven six-packs of beer for my birthday a couple years back!)
Friday April 4th dawned clear, mid-40s and breezy. Before sunrise surfers were in the water and fishermen were casting into the waves. After unburdening my bike of all it’s luggage for my day ride, I down loaded a route into the GPS. Intelligence was gathered from a subscription website, Pashnit.com, which contains hundreds of beautiful motorcycling roads in California. The site is run by a photojournalist and his photos combined with his descriptions and sensibilities make these roads quite appealing. Marc and Grace in LA provided valuable insight on routing as well.
The plan for the day was to ride a 350 mile loop north and inland and enjoy a steak at Jocko’s in Nippomo. On the chance that there might be a wi-fi opportunity enroute, the laptop was wrapped in a jacket and secured on the seat, along with the collapsible cooler for evening groceries. Departure was made around 0900.
Riding the Jalama road in reverse from the evening before was beautiful. Rolling green hillsides were accented with fields of blooms, yellows, purple
Wine Country
Green hills and wildflowers in Spring and blue. Orange poppies dotted the roadside. There were to be many beautiful vistas this day.
A routing priority for me is small quiet roads, so short stretches of highway are often the price paid to reach these spots. My turn off Highway One occurred quickly as I followed Santa Rosa Road toward Solvang. This beautiful agricultural valley began as produce fields and progressed into vineyards and wineries. Early on the idea of counting wineries occurred, but it soon became apparent that final figure would be “countless.”
Failing to locate the Vintage Motorcycle Museum in Solvang, I quickly got out of that blue-haired tourist town. It was Leavenworth on steroids, but in a Dutch theme. Yow!
My route took me north over the first range via the tight and twisty Foxen canyon, then east and north on Highway 166 to Maricopa. The run on 166 was beautiful country that transitioned from green rolling coastal hills to scrubby dry sage steppe.
Maricopa is the oil patch. You can understand why the little fuss is made over this country being hacked up for its petroleum resources. Not a pretty place.
Lisa’s Diner is Maricopa was about the
California
You start to get an idea there's lots out here. only thing open in this failing town, and pulling up for lunch was a gamble: it could be great, or it could be a disaster. It was a classic small town, center of everything kind of place.
The motive for a loop this far inland (45 miles from Bakersfield) was the ride back west on highway 58. Leaving Taft and heading up into the hills, the scrub oil patch is quickly left behind and green rolling hills are covered. Along the ride to Santa Margarita, the road passes several small ranges with beautiful twisty, smooth, and empty sections.
In the middle stretch of the California Valley, a herd of Antelope was spotted just 100 meters off the road. Less shy than those of Idaho/Oregon/Montana, these guys let me stop and snap their photo. They just went back to grazing. By the time I reached Hwy 101 in Santa Margarita, the day was too late to make a planned loop to Morro Bay, so I slabbed it south to Lompoc for groceries. It was with some regret that I will have to experience the best steak around at Jocko’s on another trip.
I loaded my bachelor salad (Caesar in
Classic Cafe
The biggest clubhouse sandwich in California? Score baby! a bag, what an invention!) and six-pack of beer in the collapsible cooler on ice, secured the laptop on top of the cooler to keep it dry, and wrapped the jar of peanuts in an elastic mesh net. By this time the sun was low in the sky and turning off on Jalama road left me 14 twisty enjoyable miles to camp.
Anybody seen that sign on the strip joint that says, “45 beautiful women and one ugly one”? How about, “Jalama Road: 45 beautiful corners and one ugly one”? Me neither.
So, yes, I crashed my bike. Lost control of my vehicle. Laid ‘er down. Dumped it.
Here’s what happened: I was going through a set of tight 15mph-rated curves when I hit a patch of sand in the middle of a cresting right hand turn. My front tire washed out and I low-sided the bike, both bike and rider sliding to the inside shoulder. For you non-riders, a low-side crash is where you fall inside and behind the bike, much different and preferred to a high-side where the rider is flipped up and over and in front of the motorcycle.
In the moment of
The Oil Patch
Scenic Maricopa, CA. the crash, I was completely taken by surprise. I don’t recall seeing a lot so I must have closed my eyes during much of the slide. The sound and smell and sparks of my sliding motorcycle suggested this was a major mistake.
I immediately determined I was injury free and the first thought that occurred was traffic cresting the turn and hitting me. I walked to the crest of the hill and place my helmet on the road, a universal sign of problem ahead. On returning to my bike I turned off the key, as the engine has a tip sensor and had cut off immediately. The bike lay on its right side, front wheel on the pavement, the rest of the bike on the shoulder/ditch. It was belly up with the wheels facing back up the road. A series of black marks on the asphalt scribed the arc of the engine guard as the bike slid top-first, the back end overtaking the front by 90 degrees during the slide as we slid to the inside of the corner.
Within a minute or two some cars stopped, the first driver carrying my helmet. It was gratifying how concerned
California Antelope
Calm at 100 meters. and helpful everyone was. Three fellows helped me get the bike upright. The initial assessment showed that the right handlebar was bent down somewhat, and the brake lever was broken. The right mirror cover was hanging by its tether and the mirror assembly was trash. Otherwise the main damage was to the right engine guard. The bike fired right up and I rode it a few yards to the next corner. The helpful bystanders brought my gear down to my bike, and I declined their offers of further help. It seemed I could ride the last three miles to camp okay.
Arriving in camp at sunset, I assessed the situation. It was good new, bad news.
The bad news: I will be making an insurance claim. The front brake lever is broken, the right mirror gone, and the right handle bar bent. The glass jar of peanuts broke.
The good news: All six bottles of beer in the cooler survived! The laptop strapped on top of the cooler never touched the ground. I have some battle scars on my new leather pants.
The stub of brake handle remaining can be squeezed with great force and provides some
California Valley
That's really the name of this verdant stretch. front braking. The ST1300 is equipped with linked brakes, so applying the rear brake gives braking both front and rear. The heated grips still work, despite having the bar end ground down. The mirror cover snapped right back in place, providing a mounting space for the aftermarket mirror I mounted the next day. The side bags were in camp so they missed out on the road slide. My vacation could continue, with some sorting out of replacement brake levers and parts. There is a major Honda dealer in Lompoc, 20 miles away.
Overall things were about as good as they could have been, considering. Two beers into the evening I began to get my vacation mood back.
The cause of the crash? That night as I replayed the events as best I could, it seemed that I violated my rule of never outdriving my visibility. I ride at a speed so as to never go faster than I can see the road to stop. I thought I was going too fast to see the sand in the road, that it came up on me to fast to avoid. I also thought I might not have seen the sand
The Arc of Descent
That's the black plastic cover on the engine guard. because the sun was in my face, as I had raised my helmet visor for a clearer view 9 miles earlier.
The next day I stopped and investigated the accident scene. The cause of the crash was different indeed. The patch of sand was as clear as could be, visible far enough ahead to change either speed or course through the corner. I had seen the sand but did not recognize it as a hazard. I had in fact violated a different rule of mine- constant vigilance. This was the last three miles of a long 350 mile day and I was tired. The cause: lack of focus secondary to fatigue. What a lesson.
Inspecting the sand patch showed little sand in the tire tracks, and a thick sand patch in the center hump line. I rode right onto this hump. Both the big black marks on the asphalt from the engine guard and the small scrape of the handlebar end show the kinetics of the slide quite well. The total distance from sand patch to rest was about 75 feet. I estimate my speed around 15-20mph. Had I ridden either tire patch at that speed I doubt
Landing Zone
I was supposed to keep the shiny side up? there would have been any traction issue. Had the sight of the sand registered with my brain, I would have slowed and tip-toed over the section at 10mph in a tire track. The cresting aspect of the turn would play a small role in unweighting the suspension (you skiers know about unweighting to turn) at higher speeds on a clean surface, but likely did not contribute to the existing lack of traction through this sand patch.
The next day I rode with some trepidation as I determined that the bike runs perfectly, if odd to control with a bent bar and little front brake. The bent handlebar prevents me from turning all the way to the right steering lock, so parking maneuvers require more forethought. The throttle return spring is weaker that the friction of the damaged throttle handle, so now I can let go of the throttle to stretch my right arm. My first stop that morning was the Honda dealer in Lompoc. They were very helpful fellows who determined that parts for my model are not common and would have to be ordered. They provided a list of dealers along my planned route to whom I could
Sand in the Corner
The tire tracks are pretty clear, but a thick patch resides in the center. have a brake lever shipped. I actually located a brake lever at a dealer in Corte Madera, just north of San Francisco and put it on hold. That day I skipped the twisty roads and just headed up the road to Cambria, where I was to meet Bill S., a close lifelong friend of Mark’s in Seattle.
After getting a campsite at San Simeon State Park and looping back to town for groceries and firewood, Bill dropped by the campground with great wine and snacks. We got acquainted for a while and then went on a brief local tour (Bill S. driving) checking out the elephant seals and San Simeon Bay before dark. Bill dropped me back at the campsite with plans for a picnic the next day and I settled in with a fire and bachelor salad for the evening.
The best part of this episode was calling Dana to report the crash. At the end of our chat, she said, "Honey, it just shows that we're not infallible." What a woman. I'm a lucky guy. Did I mention the birthday beer?
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