Saturday, October 25, dawned a clear day. Don Allison, Lord of the Tour, had dialed up another gorgeous day for the tour ride, this time to Greenhorn Campground near Rollins Lake in the western Sierra. As I cruised down I-680 from my Walnut Creek home toward the Sunol café from which the tour began, I wondered if the ride up to the mountains was going to prove as exciting and fun as my first tour ride, just a month before when we motored up to Meyers Flat.
The first thing I did upon arrival in Sunol was count the bikes lined up in front of Bobby Jo's Old Town café. This time around we had another beautiful stable of machines. Various new and old boxers from a brand-new only 600 miles R1100RS to '83 R80RT, a way spiff K12, some fine K's, and a pair of thumpers (if the F650 power plant, a full 650 cc, DOHC, 4 valve, dual plug, fully mapped capacitor discharge ignition, twin 33mm carbs, balance shafted, multi-plate clutch, 5 speed marvel can be considered a "thumper"), were all lined up and ready to roll. And we had two first timers, a pair of second timers, and a triumvirate of former tour captains among the group.
The tour whirred out of town at 8:37 with Don at the helm and John Caramagno as sweeper. Jonathan Jefferies graciously placed responsibility for the 7 minute lag on his wife's shoulders, claiming that she had problems eating breakfast quickly enough. Such a gentleman! After a brief stint on I680, we headed through the hills towards Pleasanton on Route 84. Several miles of warm-up curves later, we passed through town and moved north of I-580 en route to Morgan Territory Road. This stretch of asphalt through the slopes east of Mount Diablo varies from 5 to 12 feet in width, with an interesting variety of slippery stuff sprinkled across the road surface. At the campfire that evening, one of the riders noted "There's always one corner on that road that scares me to death. I just never know which corner it will be!"
As we came out of the turns, we made a 335 degree cutback onto southbound Marsh Creek road for more fun. As we winded our way toward Antioch through the rolling hills, we were joined by Russ Drake on his blue R1100RT. He had arrived a couple of minutes late to Bobby Jo's, scouted the map, and plotted an intercept course. With our full complement of Deutches Wunder-Machinen (OK, I just made that up) we headed on through Antioch and over the bridge onto the delta.
Traffic was light, and we moved along the tops of the delta levees at a spirited pace. Somehow, Don had devised a course which seemed to traverse just about every centimeter of paved levee-top road in the county - thus his new appellation of "Lord of the Levees." And levee riding on a bike is an odd experience. The curves are plentiful and varied. In fact, sometimes it appeared that the levees had curves in them strictly to increase the amount of work it took to build them - no obvious hydrographic purpose is served by having S-curves carved our by 30 foot high embankments.
But what sets levee curves apart from mountainside, forest, or shoreline twisties is that you can see everything that's coming well in advance. Since the levee top is flat but raised, it's like riding embossed letterhead around a sheet of parchment. You can see each curve as you approach, as you bank, as you power out. No hills and generally few trees obstruct your ability to see what's upcoming - alleviating the unpleasant/exhilarating 90 degree left turn followed immediately and without warning by a hairpin to the right. And levees are the only place where curvy roads are almost unbanked. A pleasant change of pace.
Partway through the 60-minute levee wanders, we all piled onto the Caltrans ferry the "Real McCoy" and crossed the Sacramento River. Suffice it to say that if that ferry full of German engineering had capsized, a couple of insurance companies may have gone belly-up as well. Struck by the incongruity of the scene, a few folks pulled out the ol' Instamatic and took advantage of the photo-op.
Several more miles of levee-tating later (sorry), we rolled up to Wood'ys in Sacto for lunch. (Not sure why the apostrophe is deliberately misplaced.) After a brief motorized Grand Circle tour of the parking lot, we parked and moved into the building to dine. The food was competent Tex-Mex fair, augmented by the battle of the NCAA's MU vs. MCU on ESPN, or some similar collection of acronyms playing football. At which point, our Australian friend Mark Edwards wondered if Americans knew how to play any proper sports, such as rugby. I suppose as soon as we figure out how to sell serious advertising time with rugby, we'll have rugby on TV.
One group of acronyms triumphant and lunch concluded, we continued our journey, running north-east in the direction of Marysville. During this stretch, the primary excitement was provided by a saddle-bag that chose to launch itself, unannounced, into flight in the middle of the Garden Highway. Cathy Jefferies was able to pick up the errant saddle-bag and tuck it under her arm. Another rider scooted ahead to notify the rider from whose bike it had fallen, and Don pulled the group over until the bag and bike were reunited safe and sound.
As the afternoon wore on, Scot Marburger seemed to get the itch to pilot the procession. After each stop following route turns, he made sure to maintain his #2 slot and would not relinquish it for anyone. On one occasion where Don consulted his map after a couple of unexpected intersections, the word "lost" could be distinctly heard coming from Scot's general location. But a palace coup was averted when Don quickly got us back on track - with no U-turns needed.
As we moved east, the terrain beneath us began to modulate from the flatlands north of the delta into gentle rolling topography of the Sierra foothills. We climbed through the western foothills, coming into the Grass Valley area from the northwest. One of the final segments of the ride, Dog Bar Road, was particularly nice - an enjoyable combination of hills, turns, adequate road-width, and clean dry asphalt that allows you to play the bike out a little. Overall, this Saturday afternoon revealed the Sierra in some of its finest raiment - despite a little haze from controlled burns, the day was clear and crisp.
Except for a minor rear-end collision involving two subcompacts driven by daydreaming motorists moving westbound, all went well, and our Tour Meister brought the group into the campground at about 4 p.m. We all had plenty of time for tent pitching, windscreen and helmet cleaning, and camaraderie prior to the meeting. All in all, another successful ride with fine weather and top-notch roads. Great job, Don "Lord of the Levees" Allison!
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