HARDLEY DAVIDSONS

We were scarcely back from our trip to Maui when the siren of the open road called.  Our Los Angeles Scooter Group was having the annual ride to the wildflowers, specifically the California Poppy Reserve up in Lancaster.  This is one of the longer rides, at about 170 miles round trip from our house.  We did this ride last year, to spectacular fields of blossoms. 

Glad I have last year’s shots, cause this year was a bust, poppy-wise.  Too much late rain and not enough sun yet.  I suspect things will be pretty nice in a couple of weeks.

We met up at NoHo (North Hollywood) Scooters at 10:00, and actually got underway almost on time at 10:30.  The first part of the ride is through city streets.  We had about 23 scoots at the start.  As you can see, we’re not a bunch to be trifled with.

The route north climbs through the San Gabriel Mountains and provides some great twisties for riding.  We stopped at one summit rest area to get everyone caught up and take a breather.

From here we went up a short ways, then began the descent into the Antelope Valley.  Here’s a taste:

Oops.  I was going to insert a video, but I need to learn how to edit the thing first.  I’ll post later.

Once at the Poppy Reserve, we talked the rangers into letting us in for the price of three cars, since we could get 6 bikes in each parking slot (we lost some riders along the way).  We packed them in.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing to see.  Miles of brown, barren hills with only the occasional lonely flower sticking up.  Definitely the wrong week to visit, although the poppy hotlines and web sites all promised there was more.  They lied.  We shared a potluck lunch, with the lifeless Reserve behind us.

Loni baked chocolate chip cookies the night before, and they were a big hit.  We had enough, so I took the bag over to a group of Harley riders (tattoos, colors, and all).  They liked them so much (and were so surprised anyone would approach them) that they pronounced scooterists to be “all right.”  C’mon, after all, they were at a poppy reserve.  How tough could they be?  They wondered how we got the scoots here.  Trailers?  They didn’t quite believe we came over the same mountains they did.  Gee, guys, you don’t really need 1200 cc’s to get around.

The flowers having been a bust, the next best thing is beer, so we headed back over the hills to a middle-of-nowhere hangout called “The Big Oaks.” 

This place is twenty miles in each direction from the nearest habitation.  It had a huge outdoor deck, draft beer, a decent-looking dining room, and a dog grave right where we were sitting where lies the fabled pooch that adorns their sign. 

 

One of another group of Harley riders told us the dog had been a fixture of the place for over twenty years.  It probably lapped up more beer than I’ve ever drunk.  We kicked back for a good hour or so and enjoyed the warm weather, shade, and beer.

Appropriately lubricated, we made our way out of the mountains, split from the group, and headed west towards home.  Aigh!  A full day of riding and 170 miles meant for sore backs and tushes.  But a good day!