tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48083410504478278822024-03-07T19:09:41.730-08:00Tales Of The Bonneville Boys IVGrumblerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02003774128193899393noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4808341050447827882.post-73194736060980876522009-11-29T12:00:00.000-08:002009-12-20T11:22:59.276-08:00Boonevilles To Clear Lake by Jack Jensen<br>Grumbler's note: <em>It was during the 70s when Jack and I happened to own Triumph Bonnevilles. Mine was a '72 T120R while his was a '73 T140RV. <br />
One of our weekend rides was up to Clear Lake.</em><br />
<br />
Skyline Boulevard from Santa Cruz to "Four Corners" was packed with tourists. <br />
The ride was hectic and we were glad to get off the drive, heading for <br />
Redwood City down below and ease back on the freeway and continued on to <br />
Oakland. <br />
<br />
Most of the time we have the Skyline Boulevard for ourselves and with other <br />
bikers who want to test our machines, skills and most of all "guts" against <br />
each another. Of course the stop at four Corners to see the other's work of <br />
art on their bikes was the highlight. <br />
<br />
But not this time... We found ourselves sitting in Tom's pad having smokes, <br />
drinking beer/wine, relaxing, enjoying each other's company and swapping <br />
outrageous "stories" on a three day weekend holiday which we already used <br />
up one day in Oakland. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, we decided to get out of this damn intense heat and go on a camping <br />
trip anywhere up north. Since it was Saturday afternoon we knew that finding <br />
an available camp site was next to nil but anything is better than this hot <br />
box. <br />
<br />
Using our Bonnys as tools of navigation we're dodging and weaving through-<br />
out the traffic with ease. But there is so much one can do in traffic jams. As <br />
we're "splitting lanes" some of the pissed off drivers, out of spite, suddenly <br />
throw their doors open to vent out their volatile anger when they are<br />
miserably stuck in traffic jams. I don't find this appealing, especially <br />
trying to peel myself off of some Ford LTD driver's door. <br />
<br />
I should "feel" for those who are confined in their four wheeled gas guzzler. <br />
But I don't! They could have move up in the world of two wheels. The gas <br />
crisis was in full force and threatening their way of life as they know it. <br />
<br />
Seems that, it's "us" against "them" world. Thanks to the OPEC Nations and <br />
the freeway planners, we as American tax payers are fighting amongst each <br />
other on our nation's roadways. Sad, but true... <br />
<br />
After leaving Oakland on a hot and muggy three day holiday weekend, battling <br />
through the I-80 chaotic rat race then turning towards north on highway #29 <br />
heading towards Napa my stress factor "gauge" had reduced immensely. <br />
<br />
Few miles later we stopped and at the first winery in Napa Valley. <br />
<br />
The "Bonneville Boys," Greg, whom I'm packing, you, (packing our sleeping <br />
bags and gear were on this run) Tom, his wife, Olin and a few others that I <br />
can't remember their names caught up with us in Tom's VW Bus half an hour <br />
later. Soon we found ourselves sipping on free wines in the winery's Tasting <br />
Room. <br />
<br />
Greg, a biker bro, had a 1950 500cc Triumph in the process of rebuilding and <br />
custom work from the ground up. When he finished the project, the original <br />
highly polished professionally painted stock black gas tank and frame reminds <br />
me of a low slung hill climber with chrome galore. Show room quality to the <br />
Max! He had put a lot of thought and time into that bike. <br />
<br />
The road throughout Napa Valley was a slow an easy ride, no pressure and no <br />
rush. Just laid back and watched the world slowly passed by. We must have <br />
had hit every wineries in the valley and indulged ourselves with all their <br />
hospitalities and free drinks. By the time we arrived at Clear Lake I was <br />
swimming in a kaleidoscope world. <br />
<br />
From Clear Lake till I came to my senses at a camp site at Whiskey Springs on <br />
highway #20 between #101 and #1, I had lost a day. Heck! I woke up with a <br />
splitting headache at the river bottom next to my Bonny beside creek few <br />
yards off. The other campers were scattered near by. Seems that we've had <br />
partied-hardied in those lost hours of mine. Sheeesh! <br />
<br />
The "Hippies" had made breakfast and invited us over. <br />
<br />
Bacon, eggs, hash browns, pancakes and piping hot coffee was served. <br />
<br />
A lot better than our usual. I guess having four wheels has it's advantage, <br />
as long it's a VW Bus or a van. <br />
<br />
After breakfast we checked our rides and packed our gear. Some of the <br />
weekend regulars stopped by, saying that we were real lucky that there <br />
was no afternoon/evening storms at the mountains that weekend. <br />
<br />
They said the river bottom is well known for flash floods whenever the storms <br />
brew in the mountains. It'll be dry here but you can bet the floods come <br />
down the creek and would have carried us, our camp and vehicles down the <br />
valley several miles below. <br />
<br />
"Lady Luck" is with us as I was thinking to myself. <br />
<br />
We didn't have any plans when we pulled out from the camp site. Just head for <br />
the Coast Highway and then south. That's the beauty of these runs. Some runs <br />
are planned to the blue prints and other runs we just spit in our palms, slap <br />
and follow. Hell! At least keep moving! It was getting hotter as the <br />
morning sun was climbing higher in the blue-grey sky. <br />
<br />
We sped along the winding forest road leaving the rest behind. With my levi <br />
jacket off and having the wind blowing in my face slowly cleansed my <br />
throbbing head from all the partying this weekend. <br />
<br />
At times I forget that I was packing Greg. The only times I noticed that I <br />
was packing him is when I tried to power out of the curves. <br />
<br />
Hell! I weighed 235 LB and Greg probably weighed 175 LB. <br />
<br />
We've had reached the maximum gross weight of my Bonny if not more. <br />
<br />
We turned off on #1 heading south and pulled at a roadside "Mom and Pop" <br />
gas/store. Did some sight seeing, bought some pop and waited for the rest of <br />
the gang to show up. It was refreshingly cooler on the Coast Highway. <br />
<br />
In fact, I had to put my jacket back on. <br />
<br />
I noticed the rear tire was low and checked it out. Found a sliver of metal <br />
or wasted nail impaled in the tire. Shit! Not a bike shop open for the <br />
weekend and most M/C shops in the cities are closed on Mondays anyway. <br />
I'm not a patch person, I like my inner tubes intact. But in this situation the <br />
"patch" has to do. <br />
<br />
We all know what it takes to yank the wheel off the swinging arm, pull the <br />
tube out of it's rim/tire and put a cold patch on it... So, I'm not going to <br />
get in the mechanics of it. HMMMM... <br />
<br />
Soon, we're cruising down the road, the bike feels good between my legs <br />
again. On this particular stretch it had long loping curves. Perfect for <br />
keeping in high gear running at 70-75 mph without banking excessively. <br />
<br />
We had better make the best of it cause in about 20-25 miles further down the <br />
road will be nothing but "twisties," S-curves and short straights for about <br />
100 miles then we'll crest the Golden gate Bridge. <br />
<br />
Packing Greg or anyone else for that matter does take the fun out when we hit <br />
those types of combinations. Although he does leans right and left with me <br />
perfectly. Still, the combined weight has it's limits. <br />
<br />
As we exited and cleared an apex of one of the curves which it led into a <br />
long straight stretch. I thought Greg was repositioning himself cause the <br />
rear end of the bike was wallowing a bit. <br />
<br />
"BANG!" the bike was fish tailing and the rear tire was flipping from one <br />
side of the rim to the other. <br />
<br />
What the F---! We were still doing 70 mph and it just occurred to me that we <br />
have a "major" flat. Every man for himself! <br />
<br />
The rear end of the bike went down but I did managed to keep the front wheel <br />
up, and followed the "dotted" line in the middle of the pavement. <br />
<br />
The bike went down on it's right side, still sliding in the middle of the <br />
road while Greg and I lifted our right legs up in the air and kind of sitting <br />
on the bike's left bank. I felt Greg bailed out then I followed soon after. <br />
<br />
The bike slided and bounced further down the middle of the lane in front me. <br />
<br />
I slid on my left rear pocket where I put my wallet and with my gloved hands <br />
dragging behind me till I slammed into the then resting bike. <br />
<br />
I ended up in a sitting position while my legs were straddling over the <br />
bike's seat and tank. <br />
<br />
A couple of seconds later Greg slammed into me from behind and his legs <br />
wrapped my waist. <br />
<br />
We're sitting there like we're in a two-man toboggan. <br />
<br />
From behind, tiny white feathered dust bunnies suspended in the air, <br />
blanketed the road and passed ever so slowly by... Gee, I thought that was <br />
odd. Come to find later out it was debris from Greg's "English Dockers" type <br />
pants that wore through to the skin of his ass. His pants had a hole at the <br />
size of a small dinner plate. <br />
<br />
We quickly got up and asked each other if we were all right. Then Greg <br />
walked to the side of the road while I proceeded kicking the tire like a <br />
crazed maniac. Yelling all kinds of obscenities. <br />
<br />
My sanity came back when you pulled up from behind and used your bike to <br />
block any traffic that happened to come along. You checked if we're okay and <br />
not bleeding profusely, or have head injuries, etc. <br />
<br />
You flagged down the first south bound vehicle that happen to be a first <br />
generation Ford Econoline van pick-up with two "Joe Regulars" guys in the <br />
cab. <br />
<br />
With your usual "tactful manners" you persuaded them to help you to move the <br />
bike and it's debris off the road. <br />
<br />
Remember, to these guys, their first impressions that we're the "Bad Ass" <br />
bikers from the low budget biker movies that were sweeping the movie theaters. <br />
<br />
Greg's hands, elbows and left side of his ass had road rash to the max. We <br />
found some clean rags to wrap his hands and elbows up and he put other <br />
clean ones inside of his pants to cover up the cheek wound. Needless to say <br />
when he sat down he had to use his right side. <br />
<br />
I was lucky. My wallet was in my left rear pocket,( being a southpaw) riding <br />
gloves and my engineer boots took most of the "bump and grind" of the road. <br />
<br />
Of course the leathered wallet and gloves were obliterated to burnt shriveled <br />
pieces of masses. I highly recommend wearing full leathers and after this <br />
stint I should have worn a helmet but I didn't. <br />
<br />
The "Joe Regulars" offered to haul the bike and us in their van pick up to <br />
Tom's pad since they are on their way home in San Francisco. <br />
<br />
I don't remember Tom's pack being around afterwards but they were, I guess... <br />
Must have been the shock. <br />
<br />
Shortly after, Greg and I found ourselves leaning against the back of the cab <br />
in the bed of the pickup heading south with the my Bonny between us. <br />
<br />
You were following us for a while then got tired of that and passed the pick <br />
up van so you can ride further up the road, pull over and have a smoke break <br />
and watch us go by. A few minutes later you're behind us for some time then <br />
repeat the whole process again. <br />
<br />
It was long trip sitting in the bed of the pick up. Took rest of the afternoon <br />
and evening to reach the Golden Gate. It wasn't the Joe Regulars fault.<br />
It was the homeward bound holiday traffic in the afternoon slowed them <br />
down. <br />
<br />
Greg wasn't complaining but I could tell he was in agony. He kept re-<br />
positioning himself and couple of hours later he went to sleep on his good <br />
side. I slept on and off all the way to G. Gate. When there was any sudden <br />
movements in the ride I would wake up to see the world moving backwards <br />
while my bike was pointed forward between me and Greg. It was just <br />
outright eerie! <br />
<br />
It was dark when we arrived at San Francisco side of the Golden Gate Bridge. <br />
<br />
The Joe Regulars pulled over to tell us that they decided to take us to our <br />
home in Santa Cruz. Gee! What a break. <br />
<br />
It was almost midnight when we finally put my Bonny in our garage and we <br />
invited the "Regs" in our humble abode and chatted with them for an hour or <br />
two since we never had a chance to. <br />
<br />
They had to leave to get home, sleep and get up in the morn to report for <br />
work. We said our byes and thank them. <br />
<br />
We gave the Joe Regs some more cash for gas and smokes for their run <br />
back home. <br />
<br />
Tired and sore, I went to bed wishing that I could cut work but dare not to <br />
cause I need a full pay check to get my Bonny back on the road.<br />
<br />
As I was drifting into sleep thanked "Lady Luck" for the second time today, <br />
estimated the repairs in my head and asked myself where to for the next run? <br />
<br />
Note: Greg sold his "500" Trump and used the cash it to get a 70 Bonneville. <br />
He tried his damnedest on not sitting in the "Buddy Seat" again...Grumblerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02003774128193899393noreply@blogger.com0