It was a fine day indeed to ride up the coast.
I was up before dawn,
I was up before dawn,
and walked up the hill for breakfast at the Lighthouse Café, then back to the room where I packed at a very leisurely pace – today’s ride needed to start after rush hour (and conclude before rush hour).
I knew the Bose system would never be able to cope with what was to come next; there would be a lot of fast traffic until after Santa Cruz. So for the first time I plugged my iPod directly into the Sena unit. Larry and Jana and I had tested this earlier, with the aim to make the music shareable between us, but we never succeeded. But I knew it would work for just me.
Rolling out of Monterey was a breeze. It was a comfortably cool morning and I hit all the green lights. In the Sena headset I enjoyed a Pink Floyd medley: Terminal Frost, A New Machine Part 2, and then Time, which is probably my favorite Floyd song. As I climbed the ramp to CA-1, one of this playlist’s many copies of Flying In A Blue Dream kicked in.
The Sena/iPod configuration was…better than no music at all. It was better than the Bose noise-cancellation in this turbulent environment; the Bose would have been unlistenable, whereas the iPod direct to Sena speakers was merely inaudible (to varying degrees) even with both the Sena and the iPod maxxed out to overcome the wind noise, and to overcome the foam earplugs I was using to suppress the wind noise.
Sheesh. After all this and still all I’m doing is cooking a recipe for hearing loss.
Worse, though, was having to run the gauntlet at Santa Cruz.
Much like Chicago is a dreaded gauntlet for me, so is the run through Santa Cruz. The worst part is just before coming into town, when the CA-1 freeway abruptly becomes a tight 270 degree decreasing-radius ramp down to merge with the Santa Cruz Highway.
Rolling out of Monterey was a breeze. It was a comfortably cool morning and I hit all the green lights. In the Sena headset I enjoyed a Pink Floyd medley: Terminal Frost, A New Machine Part 2, and then Time, which is probably my favorite Floyd song. As I climbed the ramp to CA-1, one of this playlist’s many copies of Flying In A Blue Dream kicked in.
The Sena/iPod configuration was…better than no music at all. It was better than the Bose noise-cancellation in this turbulent environment; the Bose would have been unlistenable, whereas the iPod direct to Sena speakers was merely inaudible (to varying degrees) even with both the Sena and the iPod maxxed out to overcome the wind noise, and to overcome the foam earplugs I was using to suppress the wind noise.
Sheesh. After all this and still all I’m doing is cooking a recipe for hearing loss.
Worse, though, was having to run the gauntlet at Santa Cruz.
Much like Chicago is a dreaded gauntlet for me, so is the run through Santa Cruz. The worst part is just before coming into town, when the CA-1 freeway abruptly becomes a tight 270 degree decreasing-radius ramp down to merge with the Santa Cruz Highway.
The first time I went through that ramp was back in the 80s, on my R80/7 Nada 2 with Laurel on the pillion. I had no idea what was coming. I was completely surprised by the suddenness with which the ramp becomes a confluence of 4 lanes of traffic, all of it either swerving or hitting the brakes or both.
I thought we were both going to die.
In 2012 I ran that gauntlet again. This time I was solo on my R1100RS Nada 3, and I knew exactly what was about to happen. I thought, “This time I’m ready for it.”
I thought I was going to die.
This morning I’d considered riding into San Francisco along the ridge of the peninsula, rather than via the coast, purely to avoid this one specific interchange. But fires had closed portions of of the high road, so I decided to do the coast highway to stay clear of the fires.
I swung into the dreaded ramp, thinking I was ready for it.
I thought I was going to die.
But once again I cheated death...and was rewarded with the interminable crawl through downtown Santa Cruz.
At least at the end of this gauntlet is one of the best riding roads anywhere, instead of a thousand miles of prairie.
Grandeur splendor yadda yadda.
I stopped at the Pigeon Point Lighthouse for a coffee break.
I thought we were both going to die.
In 2012 I ran that gauntlet again. This time I was solo on my R1100RS Nada 3, and I knew exactly what was about to happen. I thought, “This time I’m ready for it.”
I thought I was going to die.
This morning I’d considered riding into San Francisco along the ridge of the peninsula, rather than via the coast, purely to avoid this one specific interchange. But fires had closed portions of of the high road, so I decided to do the coast highway to stay clear of the fires.
I swung into the dreaded ramp, thinking I was ready for it.
I thought I was going to die.
But once again I cheated death...and was rewarded with the interminable crawl through downtown Santa Cruz.
At least at the end of this gauntlet is one of the best riding roads anywhere, instead of a thousand miles of prairie.
Grandeur splendor yadda yadda.
I stopped at the Pigeon Point Lighthouse for a coffee break.
More Flying In A Blue Dream as I rolled north again.
The ride into San Francisco was better than I’d hoped: light high-speed traffic as CA-1 became I-280, and on toward the US-101 merge.
Approaching the Bay Bridge, it was as bad as I’d feared it would be. Traffic became a gridlock moving single digit speeds, if at all.
But I was in one of the few places in the U.S. that has an enlightened view of motorcycles.
When the first lane-splitter went by me I pulled in behind him, and kept up for a while, letting him part the way. But his bike didn’t have saddlebags, unlike Therese where the custom saddlebag installation I’m so proud of is a full meter wide. At some point I chickened out and then had to make my own way forward in fits and starts, I'm sure to much derision of the drivers around me who must have been wondering what flavor of dunce I was. Hopefully they'd give me a little credit once they saw my Michigan license plate.
Gradually I got used to the claustrophobia, and I took particular advantage of treating the shoulder as my own private HOV lane. Somehow, I made it through without scratching anybody and suddenly I was on the bridge where traffic was moving along just fine. The cool breeze across the bay was very welcome – I’d been sweating bullets – and I really enjoyed the view coming into the east bay.
The only other time I’ve ridden the Bay Bridge eastward was by accident, in the dark, back in 1980 on my R60/6 Nada 1.
The rest of the ride to the Claremont Hotel was quick and easy. I performed my usual trick of surprising the bell staff, coasting into the portico with engine off, then having to explain that Therese is not an electric motorcycle.
The staff was impressed with the tales of my travel.
I was impressed with my room, which has a view of the Golden Gate.
I’m now back on the clock. Tomorrow is the first of two days of the Plex Product Management Group’s quarterly meeting; I should probably spend this afternoon and evening catching up with what’s been going on during the two weeks I spent getting here.
The ride into San Francisco was better than I’d hoped: light high-speed traffic as CA-1 became I-280, and on toward the US-101 merge.
Approaching the Bay Bridge, it was as bad as I’d feared it would be. Traffic became a gridlock moving single digit speeds, if at all.
But I was in one of the few places in the U.S. that has an enlightened view of motorcycles.
When the first lane-splitter went by me I pulled in behind him, and kept up for a while, letting him part the way. But his bike didn’t have saddlebags, unlike Therese where the custom saddlebag installation I’m so proud of is a full meter wide. At some point I chickened out and then had to make my own way forward in fits and starts, I'm sure to much derision of the drivers around me who must have been wondering what flavor of dunce I was. Hopefully they'd give me a little credit once they saw my Michigan license plate.
Gradually I got used to the claustrophobia, and I took particular advantage of treating the shoulder as my own private HOV lane. Somehow, I made it through without scratching anybody and suddenly I was on the bridge where traffic was moving along just fine. The cool breeze across the bay was very welcome – I’d been sweating bullets – and I really enjoyed the view coming into the east bay.
The only other time I’ve ridden the Bay Bridge eastward was by accident, in the dark, back in 1980 on my R60/6 Nada 1.
The rest of the ride to the Claremont Hotel was quick and easy. I performed my usual trick of surprising the bell staff, coasting into the portico with engine off, then having to explain that Therese is not an electric motorcycle.
The staff was impressed with the tales of my travel.
I was impressed with my room, which has a view of the Golden Gate.
I’m now back on the clock. Tomorrow is the first of two days of the Plex Product Management Group’s quarterly meeting; I should probably spend this afternoon and evening catching up with what’s been going on during the two weeks I spent getting here.
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