Late Season Yosemite and Highway 1
- Thread starter Trout
- Start date
I got this new-to-me bike in March and had only been on a pair of real rides this summer. Sometimes I feel like the "glory days" are almost gone. My old riding group sort of broke up. Some friends just moved away, some got rich and famous, and some sold their bikes.
I do still have a couple of riding partners. Jeff (not to be confused with Jeff), invited me to join him and his brother for a season closer to California. The original plan was to trailer the bikes to Vegas, but we decided that would be bad form, especially since the fall weather has been kind this year. We decided to ride south and meet Jeff's brother in California.
I didn't have any concerns about getting motels this late in the season. This turned out to be a bad assumption. We decided to leave after work Tuesday the 16th and make McDermitt, Nevada. I know... McDermitt! Ewww. I called the Diamond A Motel and she said they were full. What? On a Tuesday? In the middle of nowhere? I called the McDermitt Motel and Mini-Mart and talked to Marion. She took my name and said she had us down for room #25. No credit card to hold the room, nothing. Just my name.
I met Jeff at the Chevron in Marsing. I hesitate to mention this experience, since I still question what I really saw, but while waiting there for Jeff, in the store, I saw a man that was most peculiar. He was probably mid-60's, and looked the stereotypical homeless man... long stringy silver hair, long thick silver beard, weathered face... you get the picture. He was wearing a pink dress, with pink shoes and knee-high socks. This wasn't a costume dress, it was a real, modest, well-worn dress. Something I would expect my grandmother to wear. I was so tempted to try to get a full frontal shot with my camera, but strongly feared he might be packing heat in his bra.
Ready and waiting in Marsing:
View attachment 1560815
Somewhere south of Jordan Valley, I saw another strange site... a big white horse running down the center of the highway. Straight down the middle. She wasn't trotting or jogging, she was running and held the solid yellow center lines. I knew that the rules of the road dictated that I pass on the left, but I wasn't entirely convinced that she knew the rules. I knew it was a mare because... well... why would a stallion be running down the middle of the road? That would be crazy. She let me pass on the left.
We stopped somewhere south of Burns Junction and put on clear visors. I always like riding at sunset, with the tall shadows and setting sun. The sky was clear, so we had a great desert sunset view.
At McDermitt, we pulled into the Mini-Mart, filled the tanks, and asked for our room. Marion, the big Native American woman, made some not-so-funny remarks about having her way with my credit card. She gave us the key to #25 and we rode behind the gas station and through the empty parking lot. We had to remove some big tumbleweeds and a pile of leaves to get to our door. I put the key in the knob and it didn't seem to work. Jeff thought they gave us the wrong key, but I jiggled it for a few minutes and finally got it open. The room was surprisingly clean. We walked across the street to the "Say When" casino, bar, grill, restaurant and sat down. Another big Native American woman waited on us. We both had the hot turkey sandwich, which turned out to be canned gravy over toast and cheap deli sliced turkey. We also tried the homemade bread pudding, which turned out to be better than the hot turkey.
The low in McDermitt for Tuesday night was 27F. Vance had loaned me a heated jacket liner (with full sleeves) to go with my heated gloves, but Jeff just had a heated vest liner (no sleeves). We got to Winnemucca and the first stop Jeff made was a Yama/Kawa/Suz/Honda dealer, looking for heated gloves. No luck. We had a fine breakfast at the Winnemucca McDonalds. We turned south at Fernley, planning to skip the Reno/Carson City traffic. We turned off Highway 50 and made a scenic detour through Virginia City. Yes, this is the Virginia City of "Bonanza" fame. Remember that TV show? It's your basic old mining city turned tourist trap. It's built on the side of a mountain and every building is built on a slope. We kicked around for a few and bought a very expensive ice cream cone.
Virginia City:
View attachment 1560816
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We came into the south end of Carson City and found another bike dealer. No luck again. The guy there told us about an "Adventure" bike shop on the north end of Carson City. Jeff wanted to make the trip up there. That's how cold the morning was. He happily plopped down $140 for heated gloves.
New heated gloves... Ahhhhhh:
View attachment 1560819
Jeff called a few motels in Bridgeport and found out that there was road construction in town and the crews had taken all the motel rooms. Two-fer two. He did find one available room at the Bridgeport Inn, in the "historic" part of the motel. "Historic" means that the rooms are old, small, and they can charge whatever they want. Our room was small, upstairs over the lobby, had a pair of twin beds, and a small bathroom. The bathroom was one of those that you could sit on the toilet, soak your feet in the tub, and wash your hands in the sink... all at the same time. We woke to frost covered bikes, but Jeff had gloves that he wanted to test out, so we were happy. Our "historic" room fee included $3.95 toward the purchase of breakfast at the "historic" Bridgeport Inn restaurant. We wanted to keep breakfast free, so the $3.95 coupon got Jeff a coffee and a waffle, and I got a Coke and a bowl of Cream of Wheat. I usually wait a few hours for my jolt, but the ticket included coffee or a soft drink. I would have had to pay for milk or juice, and well, that wouldn't have been free!
Continued ...
I do still have a couple of riding partners. Jeff (not to be confused with Jeff), invited me to join him and his brother for a season closer to California. The original plan was to trailer the bikes to Vegas, but we decided that would be bad form, especially since the fall weather has been kind this year. We decided to ride south and meet Jeff's brother in California.
I didn't have any concerns about getting motels this late in the season. This turned out to be a bad assumption. We decided to leave after work Tuesday the 16th and make McDermitt, Nevada. I know... McDermitt! Ewww. I called the Diamond A Motel and she said they were full. What? On a Tuesday? In the middle of nowhere? I called the McDermitt Motel and Mini-Mart and talked to Marion. She took my name and said she had us down for room #25. No credit card to hold the room, nothing. Just my name.
I met Jeff at the Chevron in Marsing. I hesitate to mention this experience, since I still question what I really saw, but while waiting there for Jeff, in the store, I saw a man that was most peculiar. He was probably mid-60's, and looked the stereotypical homeless man... long stringy silver hair, long thick silver beard, weathered face... you get the picture. He was wearing a pink dress, with pink shoes and knee-high socks. This wasn't a costume dress, it was a real, modest, well-worn dress. Something I would expect my grandmother to wear. I was so tempted to try to get a full frontal shot with my camera, but strongly feared he might be packing heat in his bra.
Ready and waiting in Marsing:
View attachment 1560815
Somewhere south of Jordan Valley, I saw another strange site... a big white horse running down the center of the highway. Straight down the middle. She wasn't trotting or jogging, she was running and held the solid yellow center lines. I knew that the rules of the road dictated that I pass on the left, but I wasn't entirely convinced that she knew the rules. I knew it was a mare because... well... why would a stallion be running down the middle of the road? That would be crazy. She let me pass on the left.
We stopped somewhere south of Burns Junction and put on clear visors. I always like riding at sunset, with the tall shadows and setting sun. The sky was clear, so we had a great desert sunset view.
At McDermitt, we pulled into the Mini-Mart, filled the tanks, and asked for our room. Marion, the big Native American woman, made some not-so-funny remarks about having her way with my credit card. She gave us the key to #25 and we rode behind the gas station and through the empty parking lot. We had to remove some big tumbleweeds and a pile of leaves to get to our door. I put the key in the knob and it didn't seem to work. Jeff thought they gave us the wrong key, but I jiggled it for a few minutes and finally got it open. The room was surprisingly clean. We walked across the street to the "Say When" casino, bar, grill, restaurant and sat down. Another big Native American woman waited on us. We both had the hot turkey sandwich, which turned out to be canned gravy over toast and cheap deli sliced turkey. We also tried the homemade bread pudding, which turned out to be better than the hot turkey.
The low in McDermitt for Tuesday night was 27F. Vance had loaned me a heated jacket liner (with full sleeves) to go with my heated gloves, but Jeff just had a heated vest liner (no sleeves). We got to Winnemucca and the first stop Jeff made was a Yama/Kawa/Suz/Honda dealer, looking for heated gloves. No luck. We had a fine breakfast at the Winnemucca McDonalds. We turned south at Fernley, planning to skip the Reno/Carson City traffic. We turned off Highway 50 and made a scenic detour through Virginia City. Yes, this is the Virginia City of "Bonanza" fame. Remember that TV show? It's your basic old mining city turned tourist trap. It's built on the side of a mountain and every building is built on a slope. We kicked around for a few and bought a very expensive ice cream cone.
Virginia City:
View attachment 1560816
View attachment 1560817
View attachment 1560818
We came into the south end of Carson City and found another bike dealer. No luck again. The guy there told us about an "Adventure" bike shop on the north end of Carson City. Jeff wanted to make the trip up there. That's how cold the morning was. He happily plopped down $140 for heated gloves.
New heated gloves... Ahhhhhh:
View attachment 1560819
Jeff called a few motels in Bridgeport and found out that there was road construction in town and the crews had taken all the motel rooms. Two-fer two. He did find one available room at the Bridgeport Inn, in the "historic" part of the motel. "Historic" means that the rooms are old, small, and they can charge whatever they want. Our room was small, upstairs over the lobby, had a pair of twin beds, and a small bathroom. The bathroom was one of those that you could sit on the toilet, soak your feet in the tub, and wash your hands in the sink... all at the same time. We woke to frost covered bikes, but Jeff had gloves that he wanted to test out, so we were happy. Our "historic" room fee included $3.95 toward the purchase of breakfast at the "historic" Bridgeport Inn restaurant. We wanted to keep breakfast free, so the $3.95 coupon got Jeff a coffee and a waffle, and I got a Coke and a bowl of Cream of Wheat. I usually wait a few hours for my jolt, but the ticket included coffee or a soft drink. I would have had to pay for milk or juice, and well, that wouldn't have been free!
Continued ...
We met Brent, Jeff's brother, on his Harley at Lee Vining on the east entrance route into Yosemite. He'd spent the night in Bishop with... well, never mind. The route over Tioga Pass is very spectacular. It's on par with Independence Pass, Bear Tooth Pass, and all the other good ones. We rode to Yosemite Village and ate an overpriced national park lunch. At the park exit, we let Nancy the Navigator on Jeff's GPS pick the route to Salinas. Nancy picked an efficient route for sure. We rode through orchards, past big farms, and otherwise on roads that we never would have picked... or even known about. The last section over the inner coastal hills was a marginal road with patchwork pavement. Think of frost heaved cobblestone. I was seriously hoping that my fork seals would endure the ordeal. On the bright side, we didn't encounter any traffic and we saw a great sunset.
Meeting in Lee Vining:
View attachment 1560820
Yosemite
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El Capitan:
View attachment 1560824
At Salinas, we pulled into a motel, I forgot if it was a Super 8, or Econolodge, or what. I walked across the street to get a price at Motel 6 while Jeff and Brent checked the price where we were parked. I called Jeff with my price and he said Brent was in negotiation with the poor Hispanic kid behind the counter. The price started at $89 plus $10 for a roll-away bed. The negotiations ended at $69 including the extra bed.
From Salinas, we rode over to Monterey and down Highway 1. I had hoped for blue skies on the coast, but it was not to be. At one of our stops, we met a young couple on an overloaded Kawasaki KLR650. He was dressed head to toe in the finest new adventure bike gear. She looked like she'd been in her closet and picked an outfit that looked most like "biker gear." She had black knit leggings and some high heeled lace-up boots that resembled something a bad biker chic might wear. He looked sharp. If he'd been wearing a tie, he would not have been out of place in a corporate board meeting. He didn't look seasoned enough for his destination. No bugs on the jacket or anything. She was riding with him as far as San Diego, where she would grab a flight home to San Francisco, and he was planning to proceed south, as far as the tip of South America. Good luck, my friend.
We stopped at another spot along the coast where there were dozens of Elephant Seals lounging on the beach. A guy and his gal pull up and park next to us. She's on a little Rebel and he climbs out of a Vespa scooter with Bonneville Salt Flats body work. This thing looked like a rocket. Of course, he was more than willing to talk about it. He said it was a regular babe magnet. I felt inferior on my sleek and modern wind tunnel designed Hayabusa. He boasted up to 100 miles per gallon and a top speed of 75 or so. I didn't mention that I'd still prefer my 175 horsepower that got me nearly 60 miles per gallon.
Elephant Seals:
View attachment 1560825
Babe Magnet:
I had higher hopes for the California coast. Aside from the gloomy sky, the shores were particularly clogged with acres and acres of floating seaweed crap. It looked like a large and poorly designed sewage treatment facility, or the windward end of a pond full of carp and catfish. There were a few nice spots, but I think overall I still prefer the Oregon coast, especially with all the interesting towns along the Oregon coast. Granted, we only did a section in California, but still.
Foggy coastline:
At Morro Bay, we ate an expensive Tai lunch. Brent's choice. We decided to take a scenic road east, but the first thing I know, we're on the freeway and Nancy is calling the shots. We'd decided to get gas at the first big station, but they came and went. I was getting a little worried that Jeff forgot about gas. We pulled out of Santa Margarita and into the desert... with a range of about 60 more miles at the most. I pulled Jeff over and he said the lake up ahead might have a marina. What? That turned out to be the craziest idea of the trip. Oh wait, not the craziest... Brent suggested that I was worried about nothing, after all, "we're not in the middle of the desert, or anything like that." I suggested that we were, in fact, in the middle of the desert. We rode back to Santa Margarita. They had a single station with exactly 2 pumps. It reminded me of the fillin' station where Goober Pyle worked in Mayberry RFD. One pump was diesel, and the other was gasoline. If you wanted gas, you got 87 octane. Brent protested that his Flame Blue CVO Harley Special Operations Road King needed 92 octane. Suit yourself. I'm pumping the 87 into my high compression Hayabusa. I didn't say it, but I was thinking that the engine on that hog was just a glorified John Deere with a chrome air cleaner and it would probably run just fine on old coffee. The pump didn't have a card reader and we had to find the cashier after filling up.
Look at a map of California. Find that road between Santa Margarita and Bakersfield. Put your finger on the map about 3/4 of the way to Interstate 5. That's where I would have been pushing my bike, and might still be there pushing if not for the tank of 87 pumped from Goober's fillin' station.
At Bakersfield, we found full motels... again. Three-fer four. We stopped at the full Motel 6. She gave me the numbers of the other motels in the area. I asked about "cheap dirt bag" motels, and she said there were some over on Gomer Street, but she wouldn't send me there. I called the other motels. Full. We got there on the eve of the big hot rod car gathering and drag race event. There were cool cars everywhere. The Motel 6 lot was full of '32 Fords and excellent rat rods. I went in and asked her for directions to Gomer Street. She looked hesitant... I said, look, we either need to get a sleaze bag motel, or we will be sleeping in the street. She got some compassion in her eyes and said: Well, I do have a double smoker that just came available and I do have one single. Never have 3 tired riders been so grateful to have a smoking room with a pair of double beds. I took the single.
Continued ...
Meeting in Lee Vining:
View attachment 1560820
Yosemite
View attachment 1560821
View attachment 1560822
View attachment 1560823
El Capitan:
View attachment 1560824
At Salinas, we pulled into a motel, I forgot if it was a Super 8, or Econolodge, or what. I walked across the street to get a price at Motel 6 while Jeff and Brent checked the price where we were parked. I called Jeff with my price and he said Brent was in negotiation with the poor Hispanic kid behind the counter. The price started at $89 plus $10 for a roll-away bed. The negotiations ended at $69 including the extra bed.
From Salinas, we rode over to Monterey and down Highway 1. I had hoped for blue skies on the coast, but it was not to be. At one of our stops, we met a young couple on an overloaded Kawasaki KLR650. He was dressed head to toe in the finest new adventure bike gear. She looked like she'd been in her closet and picked an outfit that looked most like "biker gear." She had black knit leggings and some high heeled lace-up boots that resembled something a bad biker chic might wear. He looked sharp. If he'd been wearing a tie, he would not have been out of place in a corporate board meeting. He didn't look seasoned enough for his destination. No bugs on the jacket or anything. She was riding with him as far as San Diego, where she would grab a flight home to San Francisco, and he was planning to proceed south, as far as the tip of South America. Good luck, my friend.
We stopped at another spot along the coast where there were dozens of Elephant Seals lounging on the beach. A guy and his gal pull up and park next to us. She's on a little Rebel and he climbs out of a Vespa scooter with Bonneville Salt Flats body work. This thing looked like a rocket. Of course, he was more than willing to talk about it. He said it was a regular babe magnet. I felt inferior on my sleek and modern wind tunnel designed Hayabusa. He boasted up to 100 miles per gallon and a top speed of 75 or so. I didn't mention that I'd still prefer my 175 horsepower that got me nearly 60 miles per gallon.
Elephant Seals:
View attachment 1560825
Babe Magnet:
I had higher hopes for the California coast. Aside from the gloomy sky, the shores were particularly clogged with acres and acres of floating seaweed crap. It looked like a large and poorly designed sewage treatment facility, or the windward end of a pond full of carp and catfish. There were a few nice spots, but I think overall I still prefer the Oregon coast, especially with all the interesting towns along the Oregon coast. Granted, we only did a section in California, but still.
Foggy coastline:
At Morro Bay, we ate an expensive Tai lunch. Brent's choice. We decided to take a scenic road east, but the first thing I know, we're on the freeway and Nancy is calling the shots. We'd decided to get gas at the first big station, but they came and went. I was getting a little worried that Jeff forgot about gas. We pulled out of Santa Margarita and into the desert... with a range of about 60 more miles at the most. I pulled Jeff over and he said the lake up ahead might have a marina. What? That turned out to be the craziest idea of the trip. Oh wait, not the craziest... Brent suggested that I was worried about nothing, after all, "we're not in the middle of the desert, or anything like that." I suggested that we were, in fact, in the middle of the desert. We rode back to Santa Margarita. They had a single station with exactly 2 pumps. It reminded me of the fillin' station where Goober Pyle worked in Mayberry RFD. One pump was diesel, and the other was gasoline. If you wanted gas, you got 87 octane. Brent protested that his Flame Blue CVO Harley Special Operations Road King needed 92 octane. Suit yourself. I'm pumping the 87 into my high compression Hayabusa. I didn't say it, but I was thinking that the engine on that hog was just a glorified John Deere with a chrome air cleaner and it would probably run just fine on old coffee. The pump didn't have a card reader and we had to find the cashier after filling up.
Look at a map of California. Find that road between Santa Margarita and Bakersfield. Put your finger on the map about 3/4 of the way to Interstate 5. That's where I would have been pushing my bike, and might still be there pushing if not for the tank of 87 pumped from Goober's fillin' station.
At Bakersfield, we found full motels... again. Three-fer four. We stopped at the full Motel 6. She gave me the numbers of the other motels in the area. I asked about "cheap dirt bag" motels, and she said there were some over on Gomer Street, but she wouldn't send me there. I called the other motels. Full. We got there on the eve of the big hot rod car gathering and drag race event. There were cool cars everywhere. The Motel 6 lot was full of '32 Fords and excellent rat rods. I went in and asked her for directions to Gomer Street. She looked hesitant... I said, look, we either need to get a sleaze bag motel, or we will be sleeping in the street. She got some compassion in her eyes and said: Well, I do have a double smoker that just came available and I do have one single. Never have 3 tired riders been so grateful to have a smoking room with a pair of double beds. I took the single.
Continued ...
Brent stayed in bed Saturday morning and later went to the hot rod drag races before heading for home. Jeff and I got up early and got on the road. Our goal was Battle Mountain, Nevada, nearly 600 miles up the road. We had initially planned to stay out through Monday, but the forecast for 1 to 2 feet in the Northern Sierra's caused us to reconsider. We rode southwest over Tehachapi Pass and to Mojave before turning north. The pass was clogged with big freight trains laden with containers, carrying Chinese goods into the core of a nation with an endless appetite for cheap "stuff."
The ride north through the desert was relaxing and enjoyable. I was fresh, the air temp was pleasant, and the scenery was great. We pushed on, stopping when necessary for food and gas. Highway 14 turned into highway 395, then eventually into highway 6 and into Nevada. I'd called ahead and asked if there was gasoline in Austin. We were pretty sure we couldn't make the run from Tonopah to Battle Mountain on a tank. On at least one of my maps, the roads from Tonopah to Austin, then from Austin to Battle Mountain were marked as scenic. They were scenic, but the scene was singular... it didn't change: Long straight road, high desert flats, hills in the distance. That's it. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but the middle of Nevada is empty. Totally empty.
We pulled into Battle Mountain at dusk. Another great sunset ride in the desert. Perfect. The girl at Super 8 was very happy to let us know the pricing and condition of the other choices in town. Finally, a town with rooms available! Based on the recommendation of the girl at Super 8, we picked the Big Chief Motel. The old leather face woman behind the counter was pretty rough with us. We asked about the condition of the rooms, etc., and she made it very clear that we were welcome to move on down the road. She had dentures that were not staying in place very well. She kept having to re-position them and bite them back into place. Finally, Jeff just commented that we for sure didn't want a room with bed bugs and she almost went into orbit... "You want BED BUGS, I'll tell you where they have bed bugs... but I wouldn't send you there. I'm not going to twist your arm. Suit yourself!" It turns out the rooms were first rate. I uncovered my bed to check for bugs and found a box spring still in the plastic, with a shipping label dated May 2012. Nice.
The ride home was uneventful. We rode the interstate over to Elko, filled the tanks, then headed north to the Duck Valley reservation. Jeff bought gas there on the reservation, but I decided I'd had enough of the nearly $5 per gallon fuel that we'd been buying in California and Nevada and opted to finish the 190 miles to Mountain Home where I could buy gas closer to $4 per gallon. For the entire last leg of the trip, I could see the thick silver clouds building in my rear view mirror and it was apparent that we were literally on the very last minutes of a warm autumn. It was a perfectly timed late season trip. The cold rain began to fall within hours of our arrival home.
Jeff
The ride north through the desert was relaxing and enjoyable. I was fresh, the air temp was pleasant, and the scenery was great. We pushed on, stopping when necessary for food and gas. Highway 14 turned into highway 395, then eventually into highway 6 and into Nevada. I'd called ahead and asked if there was gasoline in Austin. We were pretty sure we couldn't make the run from Tonopah to Battle Mountain on a tank. On at least one of my maps, the roads from Tonopah to Austin, then from Austin to Battle Mountain were marked as scenic. They were scenic, but the scene was singular... it didn't change: Long straight road, high desert flats, hills in the distance. That's it. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but the middle of Nevada is empty. Totally empty.
We pulled into Battle Mountain at dusk. Another great sunset ride in the desert. Perfect. The girl at Super 8 was very happy to let us know the pricing and condition of the other choices in town. Finally, a town with rooms available! Based on the recommendation of the girl at Super 8, we picked the Big Chief Motel. The old leather face woman behind the counter was pretty rough with us. We asked about the condition of the rooms, etc., and she made it very clear that we were welcome to move on down the road. She had dentures that were not staying in place very well. She kept having to re-position them and bite them back into place. Finally, Jeff just commented that we for sure didn't want a room with bed bugs and she almost went into orbit... "You want BED BUGS, I'll tell you where they have bed bugs... but I wouldn't send you there. I'm not going to twist your arm. Suit yourself!" It turns out the rooms were first rate. I uncovered my bed to check for bugs and found a box spring still in the plastic, with a shipping label dated May 2012. Nice.
The ride home was uneventful. We rode the interstate over to Elko, filled the tanks, then headed north to the Duck Valley reservation. Jeff bought gas there on the reservation, but I decided I'd had enough of the nearly $5 per gallon fuel that we'd been buying in California and Nevada and opted to finish the 190 miles to Mountain Home where I could buy gas closer to $4 per gallon. For the entire last leg of the trip, I could see the thick silver clouds building in my rear view mirror and it was apparent that we were literally on the very last minutes of a warm autumn. It was a perfectly timed late season trip. The cold rain began to fall within hours of our arrival home.
Jeff
mysticblu999
Registered
Wow thanks for the pics! That is something I normally forget. I'm having such a good time I forget about the camera!
TommyGunn1300
Registered
Awesome. I did the PCH ride 2 months ago on a rental. Best ride i've ever been on
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