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

Jan 14, 2008

New Year’s Day ride

Click the thumbnails to see a larger image.

New Year. New Day. The sun was shining in an ice-cold sky swabbed by cotton-puff clouds. Part of my New Year’s ritual is to be in the saddle on New Year’s Day, so I got out a map and picked my route.

I left Lodi on bare county roads, the 2008 vintage languishing nakedly in rows on either side. Trees guarded the vines, and the occasional orchard gave promise that in spring these lanes would be a riot of green and blossom. The cold air rushed through my helmet as I let other more hasty travelers pass. Everywhere it seemed that I was seeing wild birds: hawks, an egret and once, notably, a chicken.

Soon I was in the heart of historic Lockeford, its buildings a mixture of dilapidated abandonment and carefully preserved history. The entire town is a state landmark, but today was not the day for me to explore. I turned the wrong way onto state highway 12 and kept going.

The outskirts of such a charming little town should not be generic–but, alas, they were. McLubes and Burger Bells ran the gauntlet of a town that was never meant for suburbs. Soon, though, I was in open country…passing, amused, through Waterloo and thence past lanes with remarkably familiar names. Harney, Eight Mile Road…

The afternoon sun was in my eyes. I was supposed to be going east.

I could have turned at Waterloo, but I decided to just go with the flow. One lesson from last year was that going with the flow is something I need to do more of. I was quite happy, zen, more or less in the moment, though by now a little chilly and wishing for the extra layer I’d packed in my saddlebags.

I pulled over at one of those rural gas stations that seems associated with no town and yet is always busy. I checked my map: sure enough, I was well on the way to Stockton. Not seeing any large bodies of water ahead, I decided that I would go back to Lockeford and assume my original route. I grabbed a bean burrito (and my extra layer) from the suburban Taco Bell and ate it in the sun, near my bike. A woman came up to me and enthused about riding and how she wished she could do it. I told her about motorcycle safety classes, and her eyes lit up.

Lockeford passed again, and I was heading now into the foothills. I rode into Amador County and took highway 88. This for me was all new terrain–at least from the front of a bike. I passed signs for snarfs and little clustering towns until my turn-off to Camanche Reservoir.

The terrain here was so reminiscent of the English Lake District that I felt entirely at home. Small grassy knolls sprang up from the ground and mature bare trees speckled the landscape. Later, there would be eroded crags, jutting up like mushrooms. Following the countours of the lake, the road angled upwards with enough of a mix of swoops and tighter turns to be challenging. To the right was a vast expanse of glimmering water, softened by vegetation. To the left, in the far distance, snow clung to the peaks of the Sierra Nevada.

I headed down to the lakeshore and traveled a cracked downhill road. At the entrance, the ranger gave me a half-hour free pass and off I went. Down there I found that this area was more for boaters and picnickers than for a biker looking for a quiet walk on some rocky shore; but still I found some time to watch a boat come in, creating ever-expanding ripples. I took a moment to contemplate the nature of the universe, breathe, and then move on.

I had spotted a vista point on the map, and navigated my way down there. The roads became narrow, shadowed by groves of mature trees. The vista point, when it came, was a circle of black asphalt reached by a driveway so steep that on the ascent I could see nothing but the sky. At the top, to my delight, I found a mixed posse of bikers–I saw BMWs and Harleys all mingled together. I said hello but didn’t attempt to join in, instead enjoying the expansive views over Pardee Reservoir with its spectacular curving dam.

Once my eyes and spirit had drunk their fill, I headed down to the dam. A traffic light controlled what soon became a single lane, crossing far above the water behind a tall barrier. At the center was a marker and alcove, but I saw it too late to stop. On the other hand, I had the oddest hunch that I’d be back here again soon. ;)

I was on my way home now. Country lanes gave way to the fast streak of state highway 12. Before I knew it I was coming in through a hitherto unexplored side of Lodi, past industrial buildings with big metal pipes. I stopped in downtown Lodi long enough to place my penguin on two markers and thus start my 2008 Challenge…and then, one hundred and twenty miles of wonderful riding later, I was home.