Wild Will
08-20-2006, 09:21 PM
Brothers, I can't write for awhile, so I was looking thru some aged ride stuff and thought I might share this long-gone but special weekend in Sonoma Valley with you. Forgive an old, medicated hoon and hit delete if you've neither time nor inclination!
3 May 2000
Friday was a perfect day for a ride from the coast to Calistoga, land
'o' the geysers and hot springs, good wine and down home BBQ smoked pork
with all the Loosiana trimmings...The rain Thursday had me wondering,
but Fri. dawned as sunlit as it can, and so off we, the glistening and
newly fettled GS, and I, went.
Down the coast on Hwy. One, turn off onto Annapolis Rd, where you
cross the Gualala River, switchback and forth, pass the perfect sylvan
landscape of Annapolis, past the young green vines at my friend Basil
Scalabrini's Annapolis Ridge Winery. Basil's a cool guy, and loves to
show off his excellent creations. Hiccup... Farther
along the back country ridgetops in the sun, on a particularly cool day,
and across the 1906 green iron bridge which is the twin of the bridge
across the Little North Fork of the Gualala River, where we swim and
engorge on fat sweet blackberries until we fall down in the river...
Then East onto Skaggs Springs Rd, one of the most satisfying,
challenging, perfectly paved, scantily patrolled snakes of a racetrack,
I mean road, that exists! Following the Gualala River to the cable
crossing that leads to the largest redwood tree hereabouts, placard reads 2,600 years old. Pass riverside ranches, as close as one can come to flight on rubber tires, as perfect, vast, green vistas open before you and you can fly along the twisty blacktop and skim the new spring weeds as you approach Warm Springs Dam, and Lake Sonoma.
On along the pricey wine growing
properties of Dry Creek Rd, east on Canyon Rd, takes you beneath the
fwy. at Geyserville. No need to fret hassling with the superslab at
all! Through the old farm town of Geyserville on 128, I stop at Jimtown
Store, for some "Real Food". I choose a red potato, italian
sausage and green bean salad, lite fair for a day on the bike, and eat
as I sit on the porch of the old store, and gaze across miles of baby
grapes swelling into heady promise, and I stare at my machine.
Now, to me, one's machine must inspire one somehow even when it's not running. I'm pleased as I look at my half hearted attempt to make my beast
unique...red rim stripes, custom paralever torque arm,
Ohlins' yellow springs just visible, and giving me the most satisfaction
of all. After a brownie, and a stroll around back to see all the great
old rusted tools hanging around in the tin roof warehouse, overhung by
an enormous, bright green Sycamore tree, I'm off again. Around
the vast vinyards, workers just about ready for six packs and bull
sessions, I wind around the lushness of the trees along Redwood and
Yellowjacket Creeks, and take a right onto Franz Valley Rd, where a few
miles farther, the lovelies Vicki and Nita, sisters, await my arrival so
we can have a meal to remember in Calistoga!
This is a great place for
superb surrounding rides, and repast you won't forget, and wines
aplenty, something for every taste and budget... Here you're free to
head across the extinct volcano, Mount St. Helena, whose prehistoric
upheavel created this lushest of grape growing valleys, on onto Lake
County. Or, as I did, follow the Silverado Trail south past the most
fantastic stone wineries, estates and a wide green valley full of vines
and vistas. 5 huge hot air balloons watch me as I exceed the limit a bit
and cut through the early Sat. air, down past Anguin, Oakville (try the
Oakville Grade...!), and Yountville. Then I picked up Rt. 12, and 121
at Schellville, and on into Sears Point Raceway!
Into the track with bikes old and new, trailered and in pickup beds, pay
the $15 and in I am. Past the fuel pumps selling $6.50 race gas, past
race teams, privateers all, prepping for the day's races. I park amidst
Moto Morinis, old bevel drive, round case Ducatis, glistening candy
apple BSA's with perfect chrome all fresh and new, and 4 of Kenny
Dreer's otherworldly hot rod Nortons, sounding nostalgic, crisp and
throaty through brand new reverse megaphones from Britain.
Then the
routine: Aerostich off and locked with Arai to GS, camera and binocs
into backpack, boots off and Tevas on, head for the flea market. Now
there are flea markets, and there is the once a year SonomaFest AHRMA
(American Historical Racing Motorcycle Assn.) sponsored event,
consisting of everything vintage bikers could want, except maybe the
Norton Girl... Tables of mufflers for everything from Vincent to Norton,
Amal carbs, concentric and Monoblock, tires classic yet new, chrome
wheels to brighten any biker doldrum imaginable, hundreds of gas tanks,
some old, some redone with perfect, bright paint, new chrome gas caps,
and shiny N.O.S. fuel taps. I saw Bultaco, Husky, Harley, BSA, Tri,
Velocette, Greeves, Maico, Honda, Yamaha...
Then there were the bikes
brought out in pickup beds, offered for sale at bargain and heart
stopping prices, but mostly REALLY reasonable. There were more Hondas
for sale than I could count: CB 160's, Super 90's, Dreams, CL 160
Scramblers, Super Hawks from '65, Elsinore dirt bikes, a pair of Mini
Trails that were both perfect and collectible, one for $1,200, and 1 for
$1000, which a Japanese gentleman was counting crisp hundred dollar
bills over when I got there at 8 a.m. There were a plethora of 2 cycle
bikes, in every condition and variety. Kawasaki Triples in 500 and 750,
Yamahas in water and air cooled varieties, Pursangs, Metrallas, TD-1
rolling chassis for $2000 (!), Triumph 500, 650, an Ariel Square four
for $8000 which idled like a new bike, and looked better than some CBR's
I know; Maicos with wide mud deflecting cooling fins, Aermacchi Harleys
looking exotic and ready for the coming 1970's, KR racing Harleys, "made
to fit Mert Lawill, and everybody else could just make do" proclaimed
the vintage racer from back east.
Rare racing Benly Hondas for under
$2000, Ozzie Auer's race prepped airhead BMW's, a pre WWII BSA military
bike on a flatbed that was the only thing standing between the owner and
his wife's new kitchen...replete with ORIGINAL tools, goggles, papers,
and saddlebags, in a barn since 19??, all for $4500, and it ran well
(under 1000 miles...). Then there was the jewel of the whole event, an
OSO 4 stroke single from Czechoslovakia, around 1964, which could have
stood beneath glass in God's own office! How can I go on, English
rubber Triumph knee pads, Czechered Flag Racing tee shirts, proclaiming
Brad Lackey's many feats on a CZ 2 stroke, boxes of dusty engines, Jap
and Brit, trans's, heads, gauges, small parts, big parts, a sweet 1900
hardback book for $100, "Bobby's Boardtrack Racer", which I really
wanted, but my kids have yet to go to college... I'll force myself to
stop here, although I could go on.
Nope, I can't stop: 1964 Catalina BSA DBD 34 Gold Star,
owned by the very same 1969 Triumph poster boy,
Cazadero's own glass artist Sunny Cresswell, since 1969. A beautiful
and rare example of a revered model and marque for only $12,000. Jeeez!
More old bikes that I've ridden from the 60's than I've ever seen
assembled before, all for sale! Then there were the Parilla racer, not
for sale, which was so gorgeous with its uniquely beautiful single
cylinder, next to its partner, a famous 1955 500 Manx Norton, with dated
external valve springs, and a definite attitude. Oh, for a Manx in my
living room. And that Gold Star, oh please, I'll do anything... One
Bultaco 250 Metralla race bike was so tiny, it was precious; it screamed
on the track, 2 stroke wail and cloud of smoke, fragrance of my errant
youth, Yamaha Autoluber feeding like mad as I ran from those red lights
in my mirrors...
There was racing all day long, with a lot of classes, from big modern
Duke twins to 125 GP mosquitos from hell. The sounds were spine
tingling, reminiscent of days I'd long forgotten, as the machines
rounded the complex and spectacular track, set in an emerald field. I
ran into a friend, Marla, and we walked the whole track, watching
vintage trials on slippery steep grassy hillsides, vintage motocross on
fields prepped like ones back in the Illinois 60's, and camping
families, riding the bikes they hauled and rode freely around the track
perimeter, DT-1 Yammys, Cz's, Bultacos, Honda Trials bikes, a chopper or
2, lots of British iron, including a 500 Triumph I wanted, looking fine,
for $2000.
After a late lunch of Sonoma Sausage, and a last turn
around the huge lot full of yesteryear and glory, I headed for the
Teutonic Freighter, unlocked, loaded, booted, suited, earplugged and
ignited, and took off at 4:00 and made my way back along 116 through
verdant dairy farms, through Cotati, into western Sonoma
County and some killer roads! 116 to Bloomfield Rd, Valley Ford,
Freestone, Occidental...all along the most wonderfully scenic byways
imaginable, as the GS upped the anty on roads I know so well...
Bohemian Hwy to Duncan's Mills, where I met up with some neighbors
heading back from Sears to Gualala. They stopped in Jenner, I flew past
with a wave in anticipation of some serious fun on Hwy one, Jenner
Grade, Seaview Rd, past Sunny Cresswell's place where the Gold Star's
lived for so long, riding the crest of the best ridge on the coast -
King's ridge. Instead of heading down to the Pacific via Timber Cove
Rd, I took off on the little-travelled wonderful Hauser Bridge Rd,
with it's hidden gravel, and switchbacks to keep me on my toes, as I
rode as fast as was safe, skirting and threading my way through potholes
and gravel traps yet to be filled by the County Road crews.
You really
have to stay on your toes on Hauser Bridge, and my GS
makes it all seem so easy! How can such a big bike be so supple in the
turns? Love that TeleParalever! Love that terrific carrying capacity,
as I'm carrying cameras, lenses, and lots of other things one may
need. It doesn't seem to affect the handling of this fine machine. At the track I saw what I believed to be a lunchtime meeting
of the Airheads, but decided to throw no monkey wrenches into any works on such a splendid day as this, so I just went on by, muttering "hell, I've
got no radiator, I'm as air cooled as the next hose-less SOB..."
Anyway, onto Tin Barn Rd, past land forms green and pretty enough to
make you sing! There's Odiyan, the copper domed Tibetan Monastery
hidden in those splendid coastal hills. You could almost miss it as you
revel in the roads, but I catch a glimpse of the burnished copper (who
polishes more than 5000 square feet of solid copper roof metal? Only
devotees would do that, all for Buddha!) roof in my mirror, and stop to
catch the setting sun reflected gloriously on those exotic domes, take a
few photos, and ride on to Skaggs Spgs, where I descend the
sunlit redwood and fern canyon, front wheel in the air as I come off the
whoops, and I'm back on Hwy One.
A quick thread up to Gualala through
Sea Ranch, and it's Old Stage Road, following the stagecoach route of
the old days, back up the ridge 6 miles to my place, several acres
overlooking the Pacific, above the occasional fog, beneath the redwoods,
where I spend an hour washing my bike, which for me is a meditation
that keeps the machine looking fine, and lets me keep close tabs on
every part of her exterior, thereby visually inspecting all, that I may
begin my next ride assured of a leak free, tight fuel lined blast. It's
just something I like to do. I put the gear away in
its cabinet, hang the bug-splotched Aerostich in its space, and retreat
to the hot tub beneath the redwoods...what a day! What a ride! What a
lucky man I am to live along such magnificent roads, which I never tire
of!
And one last thing I did was to stop at
an old steel trestle bridge which rests about 75 feet above the Gualala
River near Odiyan, resplendent with crystal water, huge boulders and an
open steel grid surface that I love to ride slowly, as you can see the
river pass beneath you as you traverse the deep gulch on ancient
steel, with fresh green plants growing through the mesh at the bridge's
ends. There's so little traffic. I hung out on that bridge for half an
hour with my camera and not a car appeared! I went down the steep bank
to the river bottom, full of beautiful red, black and green boulders,
wishing I could take them home, and took a few shots of the bridge from
the river. You know, life ain't half bad.
3 May 2000
Friday was a perfect day for a ride from the coast to Calistoga, land
'o' the geysers and hot springs, good wine and down home BBQ smoked pork
with all the Loosiana trimmings...The rain Thursday had me wondering,
but Fri. dawned as sunlit as it can, and so off we, the glistening and
newly fettled GS, and I, went.
Down the coast on Hwy. One, turn off onto Annapolis Rd, where you
cross the Gualala River, switchback and forth, pass the perfect sylvan
landscape of Annapolis, past the young green vines at my friend Basil
Scalabrini's Annapolis Ridge Winery. Basil's a cool guy, and loves to
show off his excellent creations. Hiccup... Farther
along the back country ridgetops in the sun, on a particularly cool day,
and across the 1906 green iron bridge which is the twin of the bridge
across the Little North Fork of the Gualala River, where we swim and
engorge on fat sweet blackberries until we fall down in the river...
Then East onto Skaggs Springs Rd, one of the most satisfying,
challenging, perfectly paved, scantily patrolled snakes of a racetrack,
I mean road, that exists! Following the Gualala River to the cable
crossing that leads to the largest redwood tree hereabouts, placard reads 2,600 years old. Pass riverside ranches, as close as one can come to flight on rubber tires, as perfect, vast, green vistas open before you and you can fly along the twisty blacktop and skim the new spring weeds as you approach Warm Springs Dam, and Lake Sonoma.
On along the pricey wine growing
properties of Dry Creek Rd, east on Canyon Rd, takes you beneath the
fwy. at Geyserville. No need to fret hassling with the superslab at
all! Through the old farm town of Geyserville on 128, I stop at Jimtown
Store, for some "Real Food". I choose a red potato, italian
sausage and green bean salad, lite fair for a day on the bike, and eat
as I sit on the porch of the old store, and gaze across miles of baby
grapes swelling into heady promise, and I stare at my machine.
Now, to me, one's machine must inspire one somehow even when it's not running. I'm pleased as I look at my half hearted attempt to make my beast
unique...red rim stripes, custom paralever torque arm,
Ohlins' yellow springs just visible, and giving me the most satisfaction
of all. After a brownie, and a stroll around back to see all the great
old rusted tools hanging around in the tin roof warehouse, overhung by
an enormous, bright green Sycamore tree, I'm off again. Around
the vast vinyards, workers just about ready for six packs and bull
sessions, I wind around the lushness of the trees along Redwood and
Yellowjacket Creeks, and take a right onto Franz Valley Rd, where a few
miles farther, the lovelies Vicki and Nita, sisters, await my arrival so
we can have a meal to remember in Calistoga!
This is a great place for
superb surrounding rides, and repast you won't forget, and wines
aplenty, something for every taste and budget... Here you're free to
head across the extinct volcano, Mount St. Helena, whose prehistoric
upheavel created this lushest of grape growing valleys, on onto Lake
County. Or, as I did, follow the Silverado Trail south past the most
fantastic stone wineries, estates and a wide green valley full of vines
and vistas. 5 huge hot air balloons watch me as I exceed the limit a bit
and cut through the early Sat. air, down past Anguin, Oakville (try the
Oakville Grade...!), and Yountville. Then I picked up Rt. 12, and 121
at Schellville, and on into Sears Point Raceway!
Into the track with bikes old and new, trailered and in pickup beds, pay
the $15 and in I am. Past the fuel pumps selling $6.50 race gas, past
race teams, privateers all, prepping for the day's races. I park amidst
Moto Morinis, old bevel drive, round case Ducatis, glistening candy
apple BSA's with perfect chrome all fresh and new, and 4 of Kenny
Dreer's otherworldly hot rod Nortons, sounding nostalgic, crisp and
throaty through brand new reverse megaphones from Britain.
Then the
routine: Aerostich off and locked with Arai to GS, camera and binocs
into backpack, boots off and Tevas on, head for the flea market. Now
there are flea markets, and there is the once a year SonomaFest AHRMA
(American Historical Racing Motorcycle Assn.) sponsored event,
consisting of everything vintage bikers could want, except maybe the
Norton Girl... Tables of mufflers for everything from Vincent to Norton,
Amal carbs, concentric and Monoblock, tires classic yet new, chrome
wheels to brighten any biker doldrum imaginable, hundreds of gas tanks,
some old, some redone with perfect, bright paint, new chrome gas caps,
and shiny N.O.S. fuel taps. I saw Bultaco, Husky, Harley, BSA, Tri,
Velocette, Greeves, Maico, Honda, Yamaha...
Then there were the bikes
brought out in pickup beds, offered for sale at bargain and heart
stopping prices, but mostly REALLY reasonable. There were more Hondas
for sale than I could count: CB 160's, Super 90's, Dreams, CL 160
Scramblers, Super Hawks from '65, Elsinore dirt bikes, a pair of Mini
Trails that were both perfect and collectible, one for $1,200, and 1 for
$1000, which a Japanese gentleman was counting crisp hundred dollar
bills over when I got there at 8 a.m. There were a plethora of 2 cycle
bikes, in every condition and variety. Kawasaki Triples in 500 and 750,
Yamahas in water and air cooled varieties, Pursangs, Metrallas, TD-1
rolling chassis for $2000 (!), Triumph 500, 650, an Ariel Square four
for $8000 which idled like a new bike, and looked better than some CBR's
I know; Maicos with wide mud deflecting cooling fins, Aermacchi Harleys
looking exotic and ready for the coming 1970's, KR racing Harleys, "made
to fit Mert Lawill, and everybody else could just make do" proclaimed
the vintage racer from back east.
Rare racing Benly Hondas for under
$2000, Ozzie Auer's race prepped airhead BMW's, a pre WWII BSA military
bike on a flatbed that was the only thing standing between the owner and
his wife's new kitchen...replete with ORIGINAL tools, goggles, papers,
and saddlebags, in a barn since 19??, all for $4500, and it ran well
(under 1000 miles...). Then there was the jewel of the whole event, an
OSO 4 stroke single from Czechoslovakia, around 1964, which could have
stood beneath glass in God's own office! How can I go on, English
rubber Triumph knee pads, Czechered Flag Racing tee shirts, proclaiming
Brad Lackey's many feats on a CZ 2 stroke, boxes of dusty engines, Jap
and Brit, trans's, heads, gauges, small parts, big parts, a sweet 1900
hardback book for $100, "Bobby's Boardtrack Racer", which I really
wanted, but my kids have yet to go to college... I'll force myself to
stop here, although I could go on.
Nope, I can't stop: 1964 Catalina BSA DBD 34 Gold Star,
owned by the very same 1969 Triumph poster boy,
Cazadero's own glass artist Sunny Cresswell, since 1969. A beautiful
and rare example of a revered model and marque for only $12,000. Jeeez!
More old bikes that I've ridden from the 60's than I've ever seen
assembled before, all for sale! Then there were the Parilla racer, not
for sale, which was so gorgeous with its uniquely beautiful single
cylinder, next to its partner, a famous 1955 500 Manx Norton, with dated
external valve springs, and a definite attitude. Oh, for a Manx in my
living room. And that Gold Star, oh please, I'll do anything... One
Bultaco 250 Metralla race bike was so tiny, it was precious; it screamed
on the track, 2 stroke wail and cloud of smoke, fragrance of my errant
youth, Yamaha Autoluber feeding like mad as I ran from those red lights
in my mirrors...
There was racing all day long, with a lot of classes, from big modern
Duke twins to 125 GP mosquitos from hell. The sounds were spine
tingling, reminiscent of days I'd long forgotten, as the machines
rounded the complex and spectacular track, set in an emerald field. I
ran into a friend, Marla, and we walked the whole track, watching
vintage trials on slippery steep grassy hillsides, vintage motocross on
fields prepped like ones back in the Illinois 60's, and camping
families, riding the bikes they hauled and rode freely around the track
perimeter, DT-1 Yammys, Cz's, Bultacos, Honda Trials bikes, a chopper or
2, lots of British iron, including a 500 Triumph I wanted, looking fine,
for $2000.
After a late lunch of Sonoma Sausage, and a last turn
around the huge lot full of yesteryear and glory, I headed for the
Teutonic Freighter, unlocked, loaded, booted, suited, earplugged and
ignited, and took off at 4:00 and made my way back along 116 through
verdant dairy farms, through Cotati, into western Sonoma
County and some killer roads! 116 to Bloomfield Rd, Valley Ford,
Freestone, Occidental...all along the most wonderfully scenic byways
imaginable, as the GS upped the anty on roads I know so well...
Bohemian Hwy to Duncan's Mills, where I met up with some neighbors
heading back from Sears to Gualala. They stopped in Jenner, I flew past
with a wave in anticipation of some serious fun on Hwy one, Jenner
Grade, Seaview Rd, past Sunny Cresswell's place where the Gold Star's
lived for so long, riding the crest of the best ridge on the coast -
King's ridge. Instead of heading down to the Pacific via Timber Cove
Rd, I took off on the little-travelled wonderful Hauser Bridge Rd,
with it's hidden gravel, and switchbacks to keep me on my toes, as I
rode as fast as was safe, skirting and threading my way through potholes
and gravel traps yet to be filled by the County Road crews.
You really
have to stay on your toes on Hauser Bridge, and my GS
makes it all seem so easy! How can such a big bike be so supple in the
turns? Love that TeleParalever! Love that terrific carrying capacity,
as I'm carrying cameras, lenses, and lots of other things one may
need. It doesn't seem to affect the handling of this fine machine. At the track I saw what I believed to be a lunchtime meeting
of the Airheads, but decided to throw no monkey wrenches into any works on such a splendid day as this, so I just went on by, muttering "hell, I've
got no radiator, I'm as air cooled as the next hose-less SOB..."
Anyway, onto Tin Barn Rd, past land forms green and pretty enough to
make you sing! There's Odiyan, the copper domed Tibetan Monastery
hidden in those splendid coastal hills. You could almost miss it as you
revel in the roads, but I catch a glimpse of the burnished copper (who
polishes more than 5000 square feet of solid copper roof metal? Only
devotees would do that, all for Buddha!) roof in my mirror, and stop to
catch the setting sun reflected gloriously on those exotic domes, take a
few photos, and ride on to Skaggs Spgs, where I descend the
sunlit redwood and fern canyon, front wheel in the air as I come off the
whoops, and I'm back on Hwy One.
A quick thread up to Gualala through
Sea Ranch, and it's Old Stage Road, following the stagecoach route of
the old days, back up the ridge 6 miles to my place, several acres
overlooking the Pacific, above the occasional fog, beneath the redwoods,
where I spend an hour washing my bike, which for me is a meditation
that keeps the machine looking fine, and lets me keep close tabs on
every part of her exterior, thereby visually inspecting all, that I may
begin my next ride assured of a leak free, tight fuel lined blast. It's
just something I like to do. I put the gear away in
its cabinet, hang the bug-splotched Aerostich in its space, and retreat
to the hot tub beneath the redwoods...what a day! What a ride! What a
lucky man I am to live along such magnificent roads, which I never tire
of!
And one last thing I did was to stop at
an old steel trestle bridge which rests about 75 feet above the Gualala
River near Odiyan, resplendent with crystal water, huge boulders and an
open steel grid surface that I love to ride slowly, as you can see the
river pass beneath you as you traverse the deep gulch on ancient
steel, with fresh green plants growing through the mesh at the bridge's
ends. There's so little traffic. I hung out on that bridge for half an
hour with my camera and not a car appeared! I went down the steep bank
to the river bottom, full of beautiful red, black and green boulders,
wishing I could take them home, and took a few shots of the bridge from
the river. You know, life ain't half bad.