MORE SCOOTER MADNESS

In addition to our RV groups, we belong to two scooter clubs here in LA.  One is the larger Los Angeles Scooter Group and the other is a smaller offshoot, devoted to more demanding rides, called (sigh) the Adventurists.  Well, you gotta call it something.

Last weekend the Adventurists undertook a beaut, a 210-mile jaunt through canyons and high desert.  On the map, locate Frazier Park at top center.  Drop down 1/2 inch from the “F” and that was our destination.  The ride went from sea level to about 4500 feet a couple of times, alternating between bright sunshine and dark, black clouds that were so thick it was like driving through rain, and ended with a pitch black night return down US 101 and Pacific Coast Highway.  Nutso.  Loni begged off, saying it’s not much fun riding pillion for that distance.  Can’t say as I blame her.

Four of us Westsiders met up on PCH, then crossed the Santa Monica Mountains on Los Virgenes  Road, recently paved to delightful smoothness,  and made our way west to the group meetup just before Thousand Oaks.  There were 15 scoots by the time we were ready to roll.  As usual, we were late getting started, but made our way north to Santa Paula via Balcom Canyon Road.  From there we continued north to Ojai, which was the jumping off point for the good part:  the Maricopa Highway, SR33.  This goes north through the Los Padres National Forest, including a couple of wilderness areas, and is a motorcycle/scooter delight.  Tons of curves, hills, switchbacks, and precious few signs of civilization for 50 miles.  Scoot, don’t fail me now!  The below pick was taken in nicer weather. 

As it turns out, one of our number did suffer a breakdown, apparently a cracked fuel tank that started leaking copiously.  Fortunately, there was a ranger station where we could leave him to phone for assistance.  (We made sure he had contact before, ahem, abandoning him.) One of our members made a 4 minute video of parts of our ride. I’m in the yellow jacket on the black scoot in just a couple of shots.  It doesn’t have the scariest parts, because those were on our way back when the weather really turned bad.  Our stopping point, before turning around, was an iconic dive bar/café called the Reyes Creek Bar & Grill.  Located in the middle of nowhere, it looked like a biker bar movie set, and, to be sure, there were plenty of Harleys parked outside.  But it served great burgers and other fried delicacies, and we less-than-macho scooterists were welcome.  It was pretty mellow in mid-afternoon, but I suspect it could get a lot wilder after dark.  I had a heart-stopping patty melt with grilled onion, and fried onion rings for bad measure.  Hmm, heart don’t fail me now!  One of our riders was my fraternity brother, Dave , who has downsized from decades of Harley and BMW riding to a Vespa 300.  On the wall and ceiling behind him are pasted thousands of dollar bills stuck there by patrons who write their names and visit dates.  We didn’t indulge.  Outside the bar, the Fall color was pretty nice.  Too bad the tree we parked around was mostly dead (these are cellphone shots).  My scoot is second from right.

The ride home was something else.  We retraced our route over the Maricopa Highway (curious designation for a barely 2-lane road with no shoulders), but this time into some of the blackest clouds I’ve ever seen.  At 3:00 it was so dark I had to stop to shed my sunglasses as I simply couldn’t see with them on.  Although it didn’t really rain, the low clouds were so thick that we were getting soaked, and my windshield was covered with drops that pretty much obscured all vision.  I took to looking around the thing, but then my visor misted over.  All this and blind hairpin turns with several-hundred foot dropoffs.  We gradually got separated according to riding speed.  No way to get lost, as there weren’t any cross roads, but it was a little eerie to be barreling through the blackness with no one in sight for tens of miles.  When I finally descended to about 2,000 feet the clouds broke and it was setting sunshine in my face.  We regrouped somewhere just north of Ojai, and then headed west towards Ventura.  There, we gassed up and, in full darkness, group-rode down US 101 to Oxnard.  There, Dave, I and one other split off and took CA1, Pacific Coast Highway, all the way home.  No lighting along that road, so we were constantly playing hi-beam/low-beam with oncoming traffic for 40-odd miles.  Woof.  I was mighty ready for a beer after all that.  So I did.