It had been a long time since I’d felt strong enough to make an overnight motorcycle trip. Fortunately, I’d made great progress recovering from my Lyme disease, and a short foray up the California coast seemed like a reasonable experiment. Was my health robust enough? Had my strength recovered enough? I wanted to find out.

I was VERY happy with the decision. (Now what’s next? Dunno.)

It’s always a treat to venture up or down the coast. California’s Highway 1 is world-renowned, and with good reason. I aimed for an area north of my home, above Marin and below Mendocino. My route took me past the Golden Gate Bridge, forever a grand treat, and especially on a motorcycle. Even on a foggy day, it’s special.

Couldn’t resist a short video (apologies for the low quality, I’ll blame website limitations instead of my inexpertise).

Just a few miles north of the Bridge, Highway 1 turns off of US101, and takes its rightful path along the gorgeous Coast. The first of many wonderful views is of Bolinas Bay.

At this point, Highway 1 is a touring dream; sections of the roadway run right along the placid edge of the water.

But I just had to leave it (temporarily) to head outbound on the Point Reyes Peninsula. This chunk of land juts out into the ocean, and picks up some of the nastiest weather to be found in summertime California. From the balmy sunshine and photogenic clouds of noontime, I was into dense, chilly stratus by 1PM. My summer mesh riding jacket was no match for 58F fog and 20mph winds.

Back in WW2, soldiers were stationed along the shoreline to look out for enemy vessels. The Supply Quartermaster balked at a summertime requisition for Alaskan parkas. They explained, “Unless you’re from the Bay Area, you just won’t understand.” Almost a century earlier, Mark Twain remarked that “… the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”

Do I look that cold? Yup, I was. I considered putting on my rain gear (for added warmth), but was too lazy; I’d be out of the fog soon enough…

The north coast of the Peninsula is always a bit bleak, battered as it is by the prevailing winds. On the day I visited, the shoreline was barren of hikers, and even the Thule Elk were bedded down, awaiting better times.

I rode all the way out to the Lighthouse, but the fog was unrelenting; when I got to land’s end, there was absolutely nothing to be seen but a dull grey sheet of leaden sky. Visibility was about 100 yards. Here’s what the old lighthouse looked like on a less foggy day (from wikimedia).

Here’s a short clip of the fog/wind conditions…

Given the severe crimp in sight-seeing, I decided to boogie back off the Peninsula and head north again. To do this, it’s necessary to go a bit south along Tomales Bay, before following Sir Francis Drake Blvd back to CA-1. On the way, this curious private house rests on pilings above the shoreline. The greenish cupolas (click and zoom in) appear to be made of copper.

With the chill fog behind me, CA-1 up through Jenner was a sunny, wonderful ride, and I arrived at my cozy little motel (Ocean Cove) not too frozen, not too tired, and I could still feel my butt… a little. True to its claim, my motel room looked out over the Cove.

The nearby Bar and Grill served up a decent dinner, and I ordered some extra vittles to supply breakfast the next AM (since they don’t open until noon).

The next day dawned — you guessed it — with a dense fog. However, I knew two things: first, the fog usually ends soon after it encounters land, and second, I was only going north for 12 miles or so before turning inland, and away from the fog. So, despite the dreary appearance of ‘beautiful’ CA-1, I set off with high spirits.

When I got to my turn-off, it was like diving into the Land of Hobbit. Dense, dark, fog-shrouded woods. A narrow, lumpy, patches-on-patches twisty road. In other words, Adventure Motorcycle Heaven. Right here on Earth.

Sure enough, the road was an absolute delight for the next 43 miles. I had never driven it before; this tiny little roadway has the assuming/clumsy name of Stewart’s Point-Skaggs Springs Road, and it ranges from a lumpy asphalt track, barely more than a lane wide out of Stewart’s Point, to 45mph double-yellow-line sweepers before reaching Geyserville.

Along the way, multiple forests, ecosystems, and drainages are crossed, all adding to the delight of the ride.

The Haupt Historic Bridge is near the middle…

And Lake Sonoma near the eastern end (although it’s more appropriately named Pond Sonoma in these drought times).

It’s hard for me to adequately describe the joy of riding a motorcycle along such a road. Forty-three miles of constantly changing views and scenes, with only turns and more turns to weave gently through, feeling the bike’s balance and harmony with the road.

Having gotten a bit of a late start, and taken my sweet time along Skaggs Creek road, I wanted to get back home (150 miles distant) before the crush of rush-hour traffic. Consequently, I traded my beatific, 20mph mused wandering for a 75mph roaring beeline down US101 toward home.

Sure enough, the balmy 80F weather shrank down to San Francisco’s trademark 58F fog bank, but as soon as I was southbound on I-280 it warmed back up again. Once again I was spared donning my rain gear.

EPILOG

Although I had my challenges, it was a pretty successful trip; I’ve validated my strength and health, and I feel good about more m/c travel… well, in semi-decent weather anyway. I wasn’t crazy about crappy weather even before Lyme disease <grin>.

Life is Good.