Doug and I had planned this Turkeyday ride for weeks. I'd been salivating over our destination, Skaggs Spring Road. All our gear was ready. The weather report was perfect: "sunny and seventy." What could possibly go wrong?
Doug showed up on the Triumph after breakfast, and off we went. We stopped at a gas station in Winters then headed west on 128. The only hint that this wouldn't be a perfect day was the lack of sunshine. And seventy degrees? Ha. It was friggin' cold. But the ride was scenic and the bike was flawless. We noticed an open restaurant in St. Helena and decided to stop there for dinner on the way home. We grabbed granola bars at a gas station and snaked our way northwest toward Skaggs Spring Road. I wondered if we'd actually make it all the way to the coast, since the cold wind had picked up and the sky was filled with clouds. I was going to suggest cutting the ride short, maybe turning around after another hour, but the minute we rolled into the recreation area at the beginning of the road the weather changed dramatically. The sun came out, as if to welcome us to this legendary two-lane that's been called a holy grail for motorcyclists.
And it was glorious. Pristine, smooth asphalt, gorgeous scenery, virtually no traffic, and the most incredible twisties imaginable. We leaned left, right, left, right, sometimes leaning so far into the curve that from the corner of my eye I could see the road next to my face. Pure bliss. We wore off any remaining chicken strips from the bike's tires. We stopped to take pictures, and it was there that I suddenly felt...weird. I was hungry and I felt a little bit queasy. I figured it was probably from doing all those twisties. No big deal.
The scenery and road surface changed abruptly as we entered the redwood forest. Here it was dark, damp and bumpy. In some places the two-lane narrowed into a one-lane. We slowed down considerably, especially as we took a hairpin turn on a steep uphill climb. Still, it was beautiful and fun.
And then it hit. "STOP THE BIKE!" I jumped off and scrambled to tear off my gloves and helmet just as a gush of vomit came up. I wretched on the side of the road for several minutes, but all that came up was bile tinged with blood. My breakfast and the granola bar didn't reappear. We had a good laugh over it - how embarrassing is it to puke after riding some twisty roads? I felt fine so we quickly remounted and took off.
I suddenly felt sleepy. We were cruising slowly so I closed my eyes and relaxed. I dozed off and had vivid, bizarre dreams. This happened over and over for the rest of the day - I'd close my eyes, fall straight into a weird dream, then wake up a few minutes later.
As we got closer to the coast, campgrounds and vacation homes started to appear in the forest. Five miles from Stewarts Point, I felt it again. This time I didn't get the gloves and helmet off in time. The puke was in my throat, then my mouth, and I was still tearing at the helmet straps. I did the only thing I could do: I swallowed it. It immediately came up again, so I flipped up my visor and let go. It soaked the hood I was wearing under the hemet, splattered the inside of the helmet and ran down the front of my jacket. This time we didn't laugh. I didn't feel sick and I had no warning until the puke was in my throat. Doug found some paper towels in the tank bag and wiped me off as best he could. We stuffed my hood and the paper towels in a plastic bag and put the whole mess in the tank bag. (We didn't have the heart to litter the forest with this crud.) Again, I felt fine. I smiled and nodded to a couple of locals who tried not to laugh out loud at me as they walked by. We climbed back on the bike, and away we went.
The forest suddenly gave way to a cool, bright view of the ocean, and we pulled into the parking lot of the 1860s-era general store in Stewarts Point. It was open until noon on Thanksgiving...but we'd arrived at 2 pm. Fortunately the restrooms were open, so I cleaned myself up a bit before we took off in search of a place to sit down and eat.
A few miles north, the Sea Ranch Hotel seemed to be doing a booming business so we pulled into the lot. The hostess told us the restaurant was closed but the bar was open, so we took a table in the back corner. As our waitress approached, her eyes suddenly got wide and she asked me, "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?" I guess I looked like crap. I ordered hot tea with honey and we sat there for nearly an hour, warming up and plotting the route home. We didn't want to get caught in the redwoods after dark (especially if I had to puke again) so we decided to take a longer but less-isolated route. As we saddled up, Doug pulled his spare sweatshirt and hood from the tank bag and gave them to me. He'd be taking the brunt of the wind all the way home but I was shaking and shivering and I needed the extra layers of clothes.
As we rode south on Highway 1 toward Jenner I started dozing off again. I opened my eyes and saw cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. I nodded off again. When I opened my eyes I saw...cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. Again, I dozed off. Again, I woke to the sight of cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. That settled it: we were in our very own episode of the Twilight Zone. This ride would never end. I tapped Doug's leg, he pulled over, and right there on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific I got down on my hands and knees and unloaded the still-warm tea. By now we knew this wasn't due to the twisty roads we'd ridden, but we were mystified by it. I wasn't nauseous and I had no indication I was going to throw up until I felt bile in my throat.
Every bed-and-breakfast we passed beckoned us with vacancy signs, but my dog was waiting for me at home and Doug's dogs were waiting for him at home and dammit, we just couldn't stop. We had to keep going.
We finally reached Jenner. We stopped at a gas station and I went into the porta-potty out back, determined to force out any remaining puke. I looked down at the reeking mountain of crap and piss in the toilet but I couldn't even manage a dry heave, so I figured I was safe for the rest of the ride. We got on 116 and I slept most of the way. We stopped for gas again in Sebastopol, just before getting on 101, and as I climbed off the bike I felt it yet again. By this time I was an expert. I nonchalantly walked to the trash can outside the mini-mart, flipped my visor, and spewed violently while customers looked on aghast. Then I marched back to the bike, all better.
We took 101 south to San Rafael, hopped on 37 east to Vallejo, then rode I-80 for the last leg of the journey. I drifted in and out until we hit the freeway; at that point I had to stay awake because Doug was determined to get us home as quickly as possible. I've been on this stretch of 80 hundreds of times but I was completely lost. I couldn't find any familiar landmarks; I didn't even see any signs telling us how far we were from Sacramento. We were still in the Twilight Zone, as far as I was concerned. It wasn't until we reached Davis that things started to look familiar.
I've never been so glad to see downtown Sacramento as I was last night. By this time we both had to pee and our legs were stiff and aching. We rolled into my driveway exactly nine hours after we'd started this trip. I ran to the garbage can to try to heave again, but I was finally empty. Inside, we tore off our gear and turned on the heat. I warmed towels in the microwave then heated a can of minestrone. My vomit-soaked hood went in a bucket of hot water and detergent. I discovered I'd ripped a two-inch hole in the crotch of my leather pants.
Doug and I have ridden together for twenty years and we've had some hair-raising adventures, but this topped them all. After he left I soaked in a hot bath for nearly an hour, then went to bed. Today I feel fine. Doug called; he's tired but okay. And the Triumph? It was perfect from start to finish. I actually feel up for a ride, but it's raining today. Maybe next weekend...but we won't go to the coast again any time soon.
Doug showed up on the Triumph after breakfast, and off we went. We stopped at a gas station in Winters then headed west on 128. The only hint that this wouldn't be a perfect day was the lack of sunshine. And seventy degrees? Ha. It was friggin' cold. But the ride was scenic and the bike was flawless. We noticed an open restaurant in St. Helena and decided to stop there for dinner on the way home. We grabbed granola bars at a gas station and snaked our way northwest toward Skaggs Spring Road. I wondered if we'd actually make it all the way to the coast, since the cold wind had picked up and the sky was filled with clouds. I was going to suggest cutting the ride short, maybe turning around after another hour, but the minute we rolled into the recreation area at the beginning of the road the weather changed dramatically. The sun came out, as if to welcome us to this legendary two-lane that's been called a holy grail for motorcyclists.
And it was glorious. Pristine, smooth asphalt, gorgeous scenery, virtually no traffic, and the most incredible twisties imaginable. We leaned left, right, left, right, sometimes leaning so far into the curve that from the corner of my eye I could see the road next to my face. Pure bliss. We wore off any remaining chicken strips from the bike's tires. We stopped to take pictures, and it was there that I suddenly felt...weird. I was hungry and I felt a little bit queasy. I figured it was probably from doing all those twisties. No big deal.
The scenery and road surface changed abruptly as we entered the redwood forest. Here it was dark, damp and bumpy. In some places the two-lane narrowed into a one-lane. We slowed down considerably, especially as we took a hairpin turn on a steep uphill climb. Still, it was beautiful and fun.
And then it hit. "STOP THE BIKE!" I jumped off and scrambled to tear off my gloves and helmet just as a gush of vomit came up. I wretched on the side of the road for several minutes, but all that came up was bile tinged with blood. My breakfast and the granola bar didn't reappear. We had a good laugh over it - how embarrassing is it to puke after riding some twisty roads? I felt fine so we quickly remounted and took off.
I suddenly felt sleepy. We were cruising slowly so I closed my eyes and relaxed. I dozed off and had vivid, bizarre dreams. This happened over and over for the rest of the day - I'd close my eyes, fall straight into a weird dream, then wake up a few minutes later.
As we got closer to the coast, campgrounds and vacation homes started to appear in the forest. Five miles from Stewarts Point, I felt it again. This time I didn't get the gloves and helmet off in time. The puke was in my throat, then my mouth, and I was still tearing at the helmet straps. I did the only thing I could do: I swallowed it. It immediately came up again, so I flipped up my visor and let go. It soaked the hood I was wearing under the hemet, splattered the inside of the helmet and ran down the front of my jacket. This time we didn't laugh. I didn't feel sick and I had no warning until the puke was in my throat. Doug found some paper towels in the tank bag and wiped me off as best he could. We stuffed my hood and the paper towels in a plastic bag and put the whole mess in the tank bag. (We didn't have the heart to litter the forest with this crud.) Again, I felt fine. I smiled and nodded to a couple of locals who tried not to laugh out loud at me as they walked by. We climbed back on the bike, and away we went.
The forest suddenly gave way to a cool, bright view of the ocean, and we pulled into the parking lot of the 1860s-era general store in Stewarts Point. It was open until noon on Thanksgiving...but we'd arrived at 2 pm. Fortunately the restrooms were open, so I cleaned myself up a bit before we took off in search of a place to sit down and eat.
A few miles north, the Sea Ranch Hotel seemed to be doing a booming business so we pulled into the lot. The hostess told us the restaurant was closed but the bar was open, so we took a table in the back corner. As our waitress approached, her eyes suddenly got wide and she asked me, "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?" I guess I looked like crap. I ordered hot tea with honey and we sat there for nearly an hour, warming up and plotting the route home. We didn't want to get caught in the redwoods after dark (especially if I had to puke again) so we decided to take a longer but less-isolated route. As we saddled up, Doug pulled his spare sweatshirt and hood from the tank bag and gave them to me. He'd be taking the brunt of the wind all the way home but I was shaking and shivering and I needed the extra layers of clothes.
As we rode south on Highway 1 toward Jenner I started dozing off again. I opened my eyes and saw cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. I nodded off again. When I opened my eyes I saw...cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. Again, I dozed off. Again, I woke to the sight of cliffs on our left, the ocean on our right, and the road sweeping out in a C-shaped curve ahead of us. That settled it: we were in our very own episode of the Twilight Zone. This ride would never end. I tapped Doug's leg, he pulled over, and right there on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific I got down on my hands and knees and unloaded the still-warm tea. By now we knew this wasn't due to the twisty roads we'd ridden, but we were mystified by it. I wasn't nauseous and I had no indication I was going to throw up until I felt bile in my throat.
Every bed-and-breakfast we passed beckoned us with vacancy signs, but my dog was waiting for me at home and Doug's dogs were waiting for him at home and dammit, we just couldn't stop. We had to keep going.
We finally reached Jenner. We stopped at a gas station and I went into the porta-potty out back, determined to force out any remaining puke. I looked down at the reeking mountain of crap and piss in the toilet but I couldn't even manage a dry heave, so I figured I was safe for the rest of the ride. We got on 116 and I slept most of the way. We stopped for gas again in Sebastopol, just before getting on 101, and as I climbed off the bike I felt it yet again. By this time I was an expert. I nonchalantly walked to the trash can outside the mini-mart, flipped my visor, and spewed violently while customers looked on aghast. Then I marched back to the bike, all better.
We took 101 south to San Rafael, hopped on 37 east to Vallejo, then rode I-80 for the last leg of the journey. I drifted in and out until we hit the freeway; at that point I had to stay awake because Doug was determined to get us home as quickly as possible. I've been on this stretch of 80 hundreds of times but I was completely lost. I couldn't find any familiar landmarks; I didn't even see any signs telling us how far we were from Sacramento. We were still in the Twilight Zone, as far as I was concerned. It wasn't until we reached Davis that things started to look familiar.
I've never been so glad to see downtown Sacramento as I was last night. By this time we both had to pee and our legs were stiff and aching. We rolled into my driveway exactly nine hours after we'd started this trip. I ran to the garbage can to try to heave again, but I was finally empty. Inside, we tore off our gear and turned on the heat. I warmed towels in the microwave then heated a can of minestrone. My vomit-soaked hood went in a bucket of hot water and detergent. I discovered I'd ripped a two-inch hole in the crotch of my leather pants.
Doug and I have ridden together for twenty years and we've had some hair-raising adventures, but this topped them all. After he left I soaked in a hot bath for nearly an hour, then went to bed. Today I feel fine. Doug called; he's tired but okay. And the Triumph? It was perfect from start to finish. I actually feel up for a ride, but it's raining today. Maybe next weekend...but we won't go to the coast again any time soon.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
philipfry:
That sucks to hear that your trip didnt go as planned. Good to hear that youre doing ok. Thats what I miss about living in California, all the great riding
mrgrey:
the morning comes quick around here