Beer Run '15

Oh boy, its that time of the year again. That magical time of the year when the cool/dark weather starts encroaching on my sanity and I suddenly feel the urge to ride south to where its warmer. Due to my brother's new found freedom I got to include him in the planning too. The basic plan was the same (why mess with something that works?), head south to Happy Camp, down to Eureka, eat at Lost Coast Brewery, come back.

First I had to address some equipment problems. The most important piece of equipment, my body, isn't quite up to riding for four days on my second most important piece of equipment, the CBR. That lead to my decision to take The Bolt. All the better for keeping back with my brother (Sportster ultra low girl bike) and my dad (Vulcan pig on wheels).

With the second most important piece of equipment selected I had to figure out how to carry all the stuff that I might want to wear while not on the bike, extra tools, and of course any souvenirs I decided to get. You may recall that I decried the lack of good luggage available for The Bolt. Well I found a piece of dirt bike luggage from Giant Loop that looked like it'd work and purchased it. It looked like a giant gray sausage slung across the back of my bike, but it worked.

My equipment was all ready, I just had to wait until my scheduled PTO to get the eff out of Corvallis. At work I'm in the middle of a high priority project and can't really be gone for long, so I was only going to take off a Friday/Monday.

Murphy's law kicked in and an executive that I support had a major catastrophe the day before I was supposed to leave. Naturally he wanted someone from my department (me) to work with him on a Saturday in between business trips. I was able to slip the noose and get a co-worker to handle that job, and I was off.

I Bolted south down I-5 as fast as reasonably possible. The ride down was uneventful. I must say that at freeway speeds the little tiny windshield/cowl for The Bolt makes a nice difference in turbulence on my chest and arms, and reduces unwanted rider input from that. One other small thing that makes a huge difference is a Crampbuster.

Arriving in the Rogue Valley long before my brother would be home from work I elected to go bug Ralph (from 2-Wheel Podcast) at Oregon Motorcycle Adventures. That KTM 1190 Adventure bike sure is sweet, but thats a toy for another lifetime.

Leaving Medford I made haste for Grants Pass to hang out at the Dutch Bros downtown and talk to the old bikers. Grants Pass seems to have even more street kids than it used to. I guess when there is no more room in Portland, the unemployed will walk the earth.

The family had dinner at my brother's house and we discussed routes. We cancelled the Grayback Mt and Scott Mt./Hwy 3 options because of possible snow and debris from a recent storm. That left Hwy 101 and Hwy 96 as the remaining options.

^My bike in GP at sunset, sans luggage

^Cold morning in GP

The next morning we made breakfast and ate hardy, for tonight we dine in Hell! Or Eureka, whatever. The boys loaded up and slabbed south to meet Dad in Ashland where we gassed up and peed, before slabbing south. Never ever miss an opportunity to take a leak.

We cut west on Hwy 96 along the Klamath River. Its odd to say that this was literally the first time that I took Hwy 96 at legal speeds. Cruisers are weird like that. It was a beautiful sunny but chilly day and I kept my heated gear going the whole time. The scenery is beautiful out there but its sad every time you come across a small town that is slowly dying out, with signs everywhere blaming the State of California or Federal government for choking away their livelihoods. 

As is our tradition we stopped for greasy pizza at the only pizza place in Happy Camp. They're slow but their pizza is pretty tasty. Our other tradition is to take a picture with Bigfoot. All the tourists probably do it, and the locals probably laugh at them.

I've previously extolled the awesomeness that is Hwy 96 and this year was no different. My caveat this year is no different as well that it is falling apart in a lot of places. The ground is shifting and there's some weird sunken grades all over. I suppose it was good that this year I was riding my slow bike.

Of note is the town of Hoopa. It isn't of note because its a particular nice place (although the highway just north of it is really cool), quite the opposite. Its an Indian Reservation town. There are stripped cars on cinder blocks next to the highway. Buildings are boarded up and rusting. Dogs are running around without any humans with them; this is particularly of note because I've never seen that anywhere besides the ghetto and third world countries.

With the depression of Hoopa behind us we continued to Willow Creek (the junction of rasta looking street people on their way to Eureka/Humbolt) and out Highway 299. We had most of 299 to ourselves while we climbed into the coastal range. I had warned my travelling companions that there was a Vista Point at the top that we'd missed two years prior that I really wanted to take a picture at.

As we neared the Vista Point I honked my horn and waved, and honked my horn some more. Then my brother and dad pulled in at the last possible second. Once we had de-helmeted I asked if they'd heard me. Nope. They had just figured out that it was the Vista Point I wanted. This is a good time to note that my Dad and Brother both got Sena Bluetooth helmet headsets and were listening to music this whole time.

We followed 299 out to 101, 101 down to Eureka, through Eureka to our hotel. We checked in, got a primo parking spot, then hit the hot-tub.

^Our primo parking spot, right under our room.

The primo parking spot I found turned out to be my undoing. Dad was so attached to it that he wanted to leave one of the bikes at the hotel to save it. This meant I had to/got to ride on the back of Dad's pig to dinner. Oh well, its not like I had any dignity left anyways with my bright yellow jacket.

The Lost Coast Brewery pub is really popular these days and we had to kill 40 minutes at their bar before they could seat us. Darn.

Their tacos are pretty good. We went back to the room, brother and dad messed with the Senas and I passed out. The next morning it was pretty wet out. We packed up our stuff and headed out to the Black Lightning Motorcycle Cafe.

^souvenir

The BLMC has pretty darn good food, and the presentation is amazing. Seriously I think they are hiding a trained chef back there or something. They also have a bunch of custom bikes and tons of memorabilia and pictures from all over. Great place, I recommend visiting them.

We cruised up Hwy 101 in the sprinkling rain, through the redwoods, past the stormy ocean.

Earlier Dad had mentioned to me the idea of taking an alternate route home rather than my original plan of heading back up I-5 from Grants Pass. As I rode through the storm that idea started to grow on me. I'd be getting wet either way, why not get wet in a more interesting way?

After refueling at Crescent City I announced my intent to ride up the coast to get home rather than slabbing it back. My family asked me to check in when I got home and to put safety first. We said our goodbyes then headed our separate ways.

I cruised through the storm and had lunch in Brookings where I realized I was actually having a pretty good time despite that I could feel my pants and boots starting to soak through.

^poor Bolt in the rain

The rest of the ride was uneventful and beautiful. With my heated gear turned up high I was really enjoying the low traffic on the coast this stormy day. Unfortunately the wet crept through my boots and up my pants. By Coos Bay I was starting to get miserable. No amount of heated gear can keep out the cold when your pants and boots are completely soaked. I stopped at a Vista Point south of Florence and started re-evaluating things.

I realized I was losing my focus and needed to eat something. The rest of the ride into Florence I felt rather detached, like I was watching helmet-cam footage of someone riding rather than being the rider. I got a protein shake at Safeway and considered things. I was within 45 minutes of sundown, it was still storming, I was cold and wet, and home was 100 miles away.

My sense of survival urged me to stop for the night, so I did. I cruised up the road to the indian casino and got a room. The room was incredibly well appointed and the hot shower/bath was amazing. The sports bar served a decent burger and some good micro brews, then I settled in with some cartoons and got some sleep.

The next morning I was pleased to find that my gear had dried out. Except my boots which were still soaked. Ugh. I grabbed the trashcan liners and put my feet into them, and into the boots. If its stupid and it works it isn't stupid.

Up highway 126 was uneventful. I missed the turn and had to go through west Eugene before I could hop onto 99 north. I hate west Eugene. Its depressing like Hoopa. Street people everywhere, businesses and land owners complaining via sign about the eminent domain robbery of their land, and of course stop and go traffic.

99 north was boring. Just got rained on more. Then I got home.

^Dirty Bolt

A few take aways. I no longer fear riding in the rain. My bike handles it pretty well as long as I'm riding smoothly and not trying to hot dog the corners. I need better touring gear. My pants and boots soaked through quickly. My jacket is literally falling apart because the seams are sewn shoddily. The Giant Loop luggage did its job well but needs quick disconnects to make it easier to mount/unmount it.

Next I want to ride up to Vancouver Island and get some poutine.