Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Jul 31, 2006

End of the month putt

Filed in Days Out

Woke up early on Saturday and had a morning from hell. I had this sudden thought that I hadn’t renewed a domain name and I was right: it had expired. So I tried to log in at the registrar and because the firewall is still reacting like an allergy to secure sites, I gave up when after an hour only the first page without its graphics had loaded. I also pulled out multiple clumps of hair. I need a haircut anyway.

So in disgust I gave up and rode to Kinko’s. On the way I hit every red light (there are six, I counted, and that’s in a 2 mile stretch.) One changed so fast I skidded when I stopped (and didn’t fall off, I hasten to add). Kinko’s wasn’t open when I got there so I sat and seethed, imagining some nefarious person discovering my expired domain name while I waited. Eventually they opened and I ran to the machine and accomplished in three minutes what had taken me over an hour back home. I also discovered that my lovely new Markeroni design looks utterly lousy in Internet Explorer at the moment.

In a vile mood by now, not wanting to go to the end of the month putt at all I threw on my armoured pants and headed out to Hayward. Three miles after the 237/880 intersection I realised I should’ve gone north instead of south, so I did a freeway u-turn (it involved off-ramps and on-ramps, don’t worry). Got to the putt (a monthly club ride tailored to the inexperienced rider) to find only two people there–only one of them riding. I finally got to see Laureen’s new granddaughter pics as I missed them at the meetings. The other lady was Linda, so we had a Linda-fest and no inexperienced riders.

After a while we decided to go to Santa Cruz. 880 and 17 were nightmares with the congealed traffic oozing slowly to the coast, but fortunately it wasn’t so hot. We were going to take Old Santa Cruz Highway and so we did for a whole 500 feet until the road was closed. Back-tracking, we decided to take Summit instead. I am not kidding you, when I took the exit and saw what I had to do I would have made the sign of the cross if I’d not been busy holding on for dear life. Holy chocolate ice cream, Batman! It was a right-turn switchback on at least a 25% grade and I remembered seeing it from a car and thinking “I don’t ever want to ride up that thing.” I made it anyway.

The rest of the ride was all swoopies and leaves and pretties, down to the zoo which is Capitola on a Saturday–four way stops with extra lashings of aimless tourists milling around in the intersections. Today, apparently, I was working on my traffic skills. We tried for the sea-front motorcycle parking, but no dice. Linda asked, “Santa Cruz?” and I nodded yes. Her Harley roared off and I followed her flapping red tassels. We caught an eye or two–me in my yellow jacket and she in her full matching red leathers–two chicks on 1400cc+ motorcycles, looking like traffic lights. Shame we didn’t have a green.

I was enjoying myself, of course. I know I’m overdoing it when I’d rather stay at home and program than actually ride out and have a Good Time. It doesn’t take many miles to have an attitude adjustment.

A few miles later we rolled up the wharf and parked at the top end. Lunch was clam chowder enjoyed in a restaurant overhanging the water, so that boats and canoes and pelicans and maybe the odd mermaid could all be seen floating by.

We took highway 1 home, a delightful run next to the crashing waves of the Pacific. A bank of fog was already rolling in, with a sharp deliniation between coast and inland. Coast was grey and inland was blue, so shiny blue and warm. We headed up 84, a road which starts with curves and then twists and then tighter twists and then tighter tighter twists, warming you up to a pleasantly challenging, fun ride where I practiced my counter-steering and danced delightfully with the turns. At one point I had a pleasant shiver of delight as I did a perfect left-right-left swoop without touching the brakes at all.

At Alice’s Restaurant we parted company, one Linda going back towards 92 and another heading towards 9. I stopped at the overlook, where a huge raven hung about on the fence, not ten feet away, until some yuppies in a white convertible rolled up right into its space and it removed itself. Encouraged and pleased by this visit, I stayed there with the wind blowing my hair–this morning’s adventures had not included remembering a ponytail holder, maps, or even a camera. To the sound of the white-car’s above-average music, I picked out landmarks: Stanford Tower, Skyline Ampitheatre, the blimp hangar at Moffat Air Field and relaxed.

I headed down the hill on highway 9, slow now, tired. The short ride I had wished for was 164 miles of sheer pretty delight. The heat wave is gone, for now, the weather was perfect and clear. On a clear ride, you can see forever…