An Eventful First Day

Day: 1
States: 2
Miles: 662

Well, we had enough things happen today to fill up the entire three weeks' worth of blogging.  If the events keep coming at me at this rate I'm going to need my own server at blogspot.com.  And about three additional weeks to document them.  I'll try to be brief but no promises.

The day started innocently enough.  Former next door neighbor and fellow Harley enthusiast Steve tracked me down as I was gassing up Herm and getting ready to depart.  I had sent him an invite to follow the blog, and apparently I inspired him to get his Ultra out and track down the missing wife and kid.  (Actually they were camping, but I like to embellish).  So after fueling Herm up with gas and me with a breakfast sandwich bagel, he accompanied me for the first part of the trip, but soon had to peel off and go find the family.  I was on my own. 

Traffic in LA was initially much lighter than expected.  I figured that the holiday week had people staying away from the freeways.  I figured wrong.  Once I cleared Orange County, traffic came to a standstill.  I'm not one to split lanes much, although it's legal in California.  But looking at approximately 9,950 miles in front of me and going nowhere, I decided that it was a better alternative than sitting still.  So along I went, happily splitting the number 1 and number 2 lanes, making reasonably good time.  Suddenly my mirrors filled with headlights.  A convoy of bikes was bearing down on me at a much higher rate of speed than I dared.  So at a convenient spot I pulled into the creeping traffic to let them pass.  The first one roared past me and right there on the back of the rider was the patch of the Mongols.  About 10 of them went by me, a prospect in the rear.  Oddly, none of them gave me the little motorcycle wave.  I wasn't quite sure what to do after they shot by me.  Get back between lanes?  Uh, no.  Flying up from behind on a group of 1%ers is not exactly a good way to introduce yourself to the boys in the club.  But sitting in LA traffic wasn't real appealing either, and only marginally more hazardous to my health.  I decided to wait about five minutes, whereupon I promptly made up roughly the time I lost saving myself from certain doom. 

Once I cleared LA, the road opened up - somewhat.  Traffic on the 5 heading to Sacramento was as thick as Gene Simmons' tongue.  So I just took it easy and watched the road ragers fight over the left lane.  I wasn't counting on one of them involving me though.  I was minding my own business, listening to my tunes, when in the mirrors I noticed a shape coming at me quickly.  From my angle it looked somewhat like one of those South American buses with all of the goods belonging to the entire village piled on top of it - the kind that Indiana Jones seems to favor.  I happened to be in the process of passing one of the 7,367 trucks going my way, so I was in the left lane.  He seemed adamant about continuing his charge regardless of my presence.  So I gunned it and pulled over, and he roared past.  I expected to see the thing filled with chickens and goats, but I was disappointed to find only humans.  The vehicle turned out to be a Jeep Cherokee with indeed what looked like all of the goods belonging to an entire village piled on top of it.  Duffel bags, folding chairs, coolers, and lots of things with poles adorned the roof.  The only thing missing was Grandma in a rocker.  But something caught my eye.  He had some orange tie-downs, and they were not tight.  In fact they were fluttering in the 90 mph breeze he was creating.  When you're on a motorcycle, you instinctively avoid things like this.  Having things like chairs, rakes and ladders fly out of vehicles in front of you is a good way to screw up your ride.  And it looked like he had already deposited some of those types of things on the road.  I dropped back and tried to stay out of his lane, but that proved to be harder than expected.  The thick traffic kept bunching up and somehow he kept ending up right smack in what I perceived to be danger territory.  Sure enough, several minutes after observing the fluttering tie-downs, I witnessed one of the duffel bags shift, stop, then bloop!  Right off the top and rolled off the right side onto the road.  It never came near me, but I saw a few cars swerve behind me and I could see it tumbling onto the berm.  The Jeep never stopped, apparently unaware or unconcerned.  As I was worrying about more deposits, I was relieved to see a split in the freeways that took him in a different direction from my route.  I'm still trying to picture him pulling up to this destination only to find the entire assembly on the rooftop to be gone.  And I'm smiling. 

The weather on the 5 can only be described as stifling.  The Road Glide has a gauge that measures air temperature.  I'm not sure where it takes its measurement, but I'm pretty sure it's located somewhere near the earth's molten core.  I marveled as the gauge went from 100 to 105 and on to 110.  And the scenery was about as unappealing as can be imagined.  Unless you're a big fan of zillions of square miles of dairy cattle pens, in which case it's pure heaven.  But once I reached Sacramento and turned up toward the Lake Tahoe/Reno area, things turned much for the better.  The contrast between the heat and ugliness of the 5 and the beauty and fun of Interstate 80 is remarkable.  The pine trees, the twisty, flowing road and beautiful views of the Sierras were absolutely stunning.  Not to mention the satisfying 25 degree drop in temperature.  85 never felt so cool.  And traffic was decidedly more sparse.  I didn't want it to end, as I finally entered my second state, Nevada. 

Upon reaching Reno I headed north on highway 395, a gorgeous highway that took me right back into California.  Not that I missed my home state, but it's pretty much necessary to go in that direction to get to Oregon.  The road was a four lane highway that eventually became a two-lane, with some limited passing areas.  I knew things were going to be promising as there were scores of motorcycles coming the other way - all of them demanding the little biker wave.  i felt like the Rose Bowl queen returning all of the waves.  Just as I was getting settled in and enjoying a little misting of rain I came up a sign.  It advised that the area ahead might feature some gusty winds.  The fact that the sign itself was waving back and forth like Richard Simmons guest hosting Glee was a clue.  More appropriate might have been: "Warning - F-5 Hurricane AND Tornados Ahead."  I hit a crosswind blast that would have capsized the Navy's largest carrier.  It was the kind that deposits you in the next lane before you knew what hit you - if you manage to remain upright.  Luckily there was nobody next to me.  It was necessary to lean the bike at approximately a 45 degree angle to make headway.  I'm not sure I've ever experienced such strong crosswinds.  It was incredible fighting to maintain a line to stay on the road.  If I had a bat wing Harley, I might be somewhere high above Kansas right now.  I know for a fact that I've never had the wind take my helmet and rip it off my head.  Oh, wait - that did happen once before.  Same helmet, in fact.  I guess my chinstrap isn't quite as strong as it needs to be, for it lost the battle and I watched in the mirror as once again, my helmet when bounding onto and then off of the road.  I pulled over immediately and tried to identify where its resting place might be.  This was a bad idea.  Not only were cars a trucks screaming by only inches away, but the wind was actually rocking the bike as it sat on the sidestand.  Fearing that it might blow over (yes, it was that strong) I decided it would be better to turn the bike around and let the sidestand act as a brace.  And that's when I spotted what could be the most beautiful site of the trip.  The misting rain and the angle of the sun had combined to create a magnificent double rainbow that I was completely unaware of over my shoulder.  Unlike this guy, I somehow resisted the urge to cry and scream, but I did take some pictures.  

I also dug through the weeds and managed to find my helmet, which now appears to have more road rash that Evel Knievel.  The chin strap was rendered useless, but since California requires helmets, I had to figure out a way to make this stay on my head.  To make things just that much more fun, the inside of the helmet was filled with burrs that had collected inside as it journeyed through the weeds.  To my rescue, as is often the case, came my trusted and proven solution to almost every problem I've encountered - the plastic tie wrap.  Unfortunately, my tie wraps were not long enough to substitute as a chin strap, so in one of my many MacGyver moments, I looped two of them together, pulled tight, and magically I had an instant chin strap.  

Albeit, a rather permanent one, for plastic tie wraps do one thing very well, and that is not come loose.  I think I'm going to have to come up with a better solution, because I don't have enough tie wraps to continue this for the next three weeks.  And the removal process is a bit unnerving.  Or so thought the folks watching me jam a pair of needle nose pliers into my neck, then squeezing firmly.  Then again those gasps could have been for my sunburned nose.  

I decided to call it a day in Susanville, CA, a bucolic village with stunning views of the mountains and a cozy feeling.  Or at least that's how a real estate agent might label it.  I'm really going to have to figure out what bucolic means.  I thinks it's a good thing.  I'm about 150 miles short of my intention, but it was just too dark and dangerous to continue, and hopefully tomorrow I can avoid bike gangs, blast furnace heat, camping obstacles, and removal of my helmet.  I will take another one of those rainbows, though. 

Unusual things seen on the road today: 

• the entire dashboard of a car on the side of the road
• a full size golf bag on the side of the road
• a helicopter on a flatbed truck
• a subway car on a flatbed truck
• a crashed helicopter on a flatbed truck
• 20 pairs of shoes and boots hung in a tree bordering the highway