Since I couldn't find my trip report and Pete did such a good job:

If you see an *  Pete used a different word, but since this is a PG rated site, I had to change it... ;-)

SF 2001 By Pete Springer

The whole thing was LTL's fault. I was sensibly going to slab up I-5 with Don on Friday, do the ride and BBQ Saturday, and then hurry home Sunday. Quick and Dirty, In and out, or stick and run would have defined my plans. But no, Larry says lets go Thursday and Stay on 395 at Michele's hostel, and ride up 395 and make a Sierra crossing Friday. We kept watching the weather reports, and Larry kept trolling our SoCal list with how much fun we would have and how good the weather was going to be. First to be sucked in was Milt, he's usually smarter then that, then Scott, Dennis, and Frank signed on. A little more trolling by LTL, and I abandoned Don and my plan for the high profile plan of *Old Fun Hog* Larry. Later Don Y and Bob H saw the wisdom of the inland route and Larry had them as well.

Our first job was to get to the hostel in Johannesburg. Four of us met Larry at his house near El Toro on I-5 at 2:30pm Thurs. We got started just in time to nail me at a toll both for $2.25. Not ten minutes into the trip and already I get blind sided by a hidden cost. Whew. Anyway, Paid the ransom to get me and the bike off that blasted toll way, just in time to hit bumper to bumper traffic on I-91 toward Riverside. There was a little hesitancy to engage hostile lane splitting as Larry's ex next door neighbor was on his new (to him) V65 Sabre for his first ride. He soon proved his riding abilities and the split was on. California rocks, I can't imagine living in a state where Lane sharing is against the law. What the hell, who want's to live forever?

Forty five minute's later and the worst of the traffic was behind us. We were headed toward the Mtns and deserts of Southern Cal where Sabre and Magnas can stretch their legs and put some of the powerful dark side to good use. Larry lead Scott, Milt, Frank, and myself up HWY 15 and over Cajon Pass toward the hostel. It was feeling good becoming free of red lights, stop signs, and Traffic. I always enjoy climbing Cajon pass as the 2000 ft climb takes it's toll on nearly every vehicle on the road, but the strength of our V4s is unhindered, and the weaving through the less fortunate near the top requires a some skill and some luck to get to the top without being trapped behind a slower vehicle.

Michelle, bless her heart had baked a frozen lasagna for those of us that were there on Thursday evening. Milt, was the first to see the value of having a second helping of lasagna as opposed to saving some for Maggots that might arrive later. Seconds were had by all in a frenzy that would have made a pack of hyenas proud.

Bob H got to the hostel at midnight, and Don and Dennis hooked up together as Dennis was rescuing an errant sleeping bag off the side of the road Friday morning. The group was completed by 8am Friday morning as Don and Dennis were in time for breakfast at the hostel.

Michelle sent us on our way with a belly full of pancakes. Our ETD was 9am. We pulled out onto 395 for the trip north at 8:58am. Larry, the manager, at work, no doubt. Our only rule of the road was to pass any rider that was dropping back, and fill the space that he made by lagging. Thereby keeping the group tight enough that whoever was leading could keep track of our 8 riders.

The ride to Bishop was fairly uneventful. The sites were interesting and the weather held good, sunshine and in the high eighties with a slight headwind. All of us had different fuel ranges so that issue became a slight problem which cost us some time, but what the hell, we didn't need to be there before the rider’s meeting tonight at 8PM. We were on holiday.

Scott knew a place where the best jerky in the west could be purchased in Bishop. It was near a Mex /American food place so we combined the stop to a lunch and gas stop also. As our various stops grew into bullshit sessions, a few of us would start getting ready to ride. In an effort to get things rolling, I would holler, "So who are we waiting on now?" And invariably Milt would answer with a, "*#### you, Springer".

But it did help keep us moving. Bishop was key here because that was the end of 4 to 5 thousand foot elevations and ho hum scenery as we ran in the shadows of the mighty Sierra Mountain Range. Seventy five miles earlier we had just run under the brow of Mt Whitney, which is the highest peak in the contiguous US. I know how every body but Californians hate that so I thought I would throw that in. Anyway, right out of Bishop the elevation jumps to 7000 feet and runs between 7 and 9 thousand for the next 275 miles. There were 4 passes above 8000 ft including the one on HWY 88 that crosses the Sierras to Volcano. We had been wasting time all morning, and as we began to bear down in an attempt to reach our destination, it made the twisty mtn roads a welcome challenge.

Don led us nearly all the way from the hostel at a pace that would usually be tolerated by the law, but there was this one canyon where Don and I had made the pass on the last RV where the rest got caught behind. We were running on a beautifully paved and twisty section next to rushing stream some 30 feet wide. Well, Don was feeling frisky, and I must admit that it felt good, he put the hammer down. There were several miles of letting it all hang out with very little traffic. And when we came upon a car as soon as it was Sabre clear, out across the double yellow and back to laying into the following corners. One such bit of traffic held us up for several corners, and just as it was time to nail it, there sat John Law with his radar gun at the ready. Don and I never looked so good. We were running along behind those cars at about 45 MPH the perfect picture of innocence. I don't know how the others looked to the nice officer, as they had all made the pass on that RV and were in hell bent catch up mode having some fun of their own. Just another instance of luck beats good.

The Scenery in all the afore mentioned mtns was inspiring. The trouble was that running the winding roads fast was so much fun that you could scarcely glimpse the sights. Both HWYs 89 and then 88 to Ron E's fling were just so much fun as Don, although tired from riding 200 miles farther than anyone else, laid that Intercepter over again and again leading the rest of us on a 50 mile section of 88 that brought us to the end of a wonderful ride.

The Ride

It was may 19th, the day that all the SoCal Maggots who were attending Ron and Doe's Spring Fling '01 would get together for riding the gold country foothills Near Jackson CA. As I opened my eyes I remembered the night before that I had been selected to lead a group of bikes around Ron's well laid out pre planned route. Ron had planned 4 or 5 legs of 30 to 40 miles each, generally sticking to the back roads to avoid traffic. Sometimes I wonder if you should ever mix Maggots with the public. This year we were avoiding Angels Camp, a town where the Harley riders congregate to watch frogs race or something.

LTL, Frank, and I went to breakfast at around 8 am which left plenty of time before *The Ride* which was to begin at 10 am or near abouts. As we were riding to the cafe we noticed that the temperature was already near 80. Oh oh...that was at 8 am. How bad can it be...we thought?

According to Ron (who was counting), there were 37 bikes with several people going 2 up, anyway there were a half a dozen groups chosen to ride together. My group was made up of Randy M, LTL, Frank, Claton ?, Bob H and his brother Dave, Milt, and myself. In order of age that 54, 48, 44, 45, 49, 52, 55, and 60. Some of those ages are estimates, but my point is, there weren't any spring chickens here for this ride.

I had led one of these rides before with no map case, big problem. This time I was prepared with a see through grocery bag wrapped around my very small tank bag. It worked pretty well, and the result was that we were at the lunch stop by 11 am. It was too early for lunch, besides nobody else had gotten there yet, so we decide to stall by riding up to some reservoir for a look see. Took some pictures and were back to the lunch stop at 11:45. It was still too early but better. There were some nice conversations at lunch, and some good pizza. We were ready to ride by 12:30. Milt declined to continue with us as he wanted to visit more with those that were new to the Fling this year.

Our cycles consisted of Randy's Late Magna, LTL's late Magna, Frank's V65 S, Claton's V65 S, Bob and Dave both had V45 Ss and My big Sabre. After Lunch we encountered some wide open deserted roads and were opening up the bikes a little. Randy had geared his late Magna down some for more acceleration. Larry confirmed that it worked when he came back from a test ride the day before. I wasn't sure until I found that I couldn't shake him loose as I did my best on the post lunch run over to Hwy 4. Did I mention that the Temperature was near a 100 by now at 1 PM. It was tolerable as we rode the course on Hwy 4 east. Hwy 4 is an excellent bike road. It is a main feeder road from the coast, but there are places to pass and a good amount of up and down twisties. Great fun.

Still it was hot, and I was thinking to myself that not far from here was some 7 and 8 thousand foot mtns with 65 degree weather, so I looked for a tree to stop under and called a pow wow. It didn't take long to elect a couple of Sierra crossings for the rest of the afternoon's riding.

In only a half hour we had attained 4000 ft of altitude at our gas stop and were already sensing a cool down ahead. We were taking HWY 4 east and there would not be too many gas stops, and the Light Sabres and Magnas couldn't make the loop back to camp without another refill. At the gas station I was chatting with a Harley rider who was just aching to tell me how powerful his new ride was. I just let him rant on. Dumb shit.

Continuing east and up the hill was pleasant as the temps were dropping, but the traffic was still a little much. None of us had ever been across Ebbet's pass before and we didn't realize that once you get to the ski lodge the road closes down to a un-center lined road barely wide enough for two cars to pass. As the traffic fell off to nothing the riding got a little more frisky. At some point I traded leading to bringing up the tail, and was able to watch the Hampton boys ride since they were immediately in front of me. Now these two guys have been riding forever and are not afraid of a lively pace. I think Randy was leading, who always keeps his bike well leaned over, but he was easy to keep up with as there was so much scenery like half frozen over lakes and long mtn vistas where you could imagine seeing John Muir traipsing across the landscape, that we all could catch up when he was stopped taking in the beauty of it all.

The east side of Ebbet's Pass was a completely enjoyable delight of down hill switch backs with views of rocky mtn cliffs and peaks, snow banks, and icy clear lakes. Just amazing. It was great riding with more than competent riders. No worries! At the bottom the road followed a stream to HWY 89 where The San Diegan riders had come in on the day before. We all stopped for gas in Markleeville, and something cool to drink as well. We'd spent 2.5 hours getting this far. It was 4:30 when we left the gas station with about 75 miles of Mtn road and a 8500 foot pass to navigate in order to get to camp.

Randy was leading as we left Markleeville with Claton #2 and me third. Randy was like an old fire horse returning to the stable. It wasn't long and he was trying out the new gearing to the max. Claton was caught napping for a second as was I. We both learned that unless we kept our V65s in their power band that little Magna was going to kick our asses. Randy has been riding his Magna long enough that he is good at keeping his bike in the 7000 RPM power band, and he is excellent at judging the speed that he can negotiate a corner. He is a great rider to follow, but there is no time for relaxation if you’re going to keep up.

The challenge had been issued, and it was accepted. In the words of the renowned Jason G, Randy was ringing the nubs*  off that Magna for the next 50 miles, and we were required to do the same thing to keep up. This road (HWY88) is a road with only one corner that is a below 60 MPH corner, and plenty that are 80 mph with enough straight between to get speed to and beyond the ton. As I followed Clayton and he followed Randy I could only imagine the sound of Randy's V4 straining at his command to go faster, faster you little *. Don't you dare let those liter bikes catch you. I know what was going through his mind because the nubs* were coming off my Sabre as I warned it against letting that little * make me look bad. Time and time again as we came out of corners nearly together Randy would get a little jump and some distance only for it to disappear as slowing for the next corner became necessary. Clayton was keeping 100 to 150 feet of clearance between himself and The Rand while I probably was running inside of 50 feet behind Clayton. At one point I wondered why we were running so fast and pressing the limit. I didn't have an answer. If someone were to ask, I probably would have said "well, he started it".

Clayton had a moment of good sense as my following him that close caused him to wave me by. After that Randy and I were locking into corners almost as one. I was confidant that Randy wasn't going to make any mistakes and we made like the flocks of birds down at the beach that all turn the same way without any signal. It was a beautiful ride as our rhythms meshed (that sounds nasty) turn after turn, up and down in the power band, with the joy of no cares in the world for those fifty miles. At one point the three of us were caught behind some traffic waiting for a good spot to do a double yellow pass. Were running along about 45 mph when who should pop out of the next corner coming at us but the man himself. Three little angels riding Motorcycles was all he saw. At the next opportunity over the double yellow and stretch that RPM band, then hard on the binders to set the speed for the next corner. Smoothly glide through the turn only to nail the throttle again. Damn what a great ride. BTW, Clayton was still there for the whole 50 miles. He just liked more space than I was giving him. At some point I remember telling someone that if "HE" would just get me through this day, I would never do this again, I promised. Somewhere around the 4000 foot level we pulled up for a break and a collection of us all. The rest of the riders weren't more than a minute behind.

Those old farts had been hauling ass as well. It was somewhat reassuring that they weren't any smarter than I was. I hate when Larry looks too intelligent. After a few lies at the break stop we remounted and ran the last 20 miles or so to camp just in time to get into Ron E's very excellent BBQ. We had a story to tell after dinner.

Hot Damn what a ride.

Note by Bob: As we came down out of those mountains, we saw the nice officer going the opposite direction. When we stopped for that last rest stop that we did, Mr. CHP had turned around and came back our direction. Since we were all stopped, not much he could do but continue on his way. We remounted and continue on our way back to the camp grounds. As we were passing Hwy 26, Mr. CHP was coming out of a convenience store and saw us. I was pretty close to the back of the pack, so I could see that he was now following our little group, but about three cars behind the rider behind me.

I continued to watch him as the boys at the front of the pack decided to get it on, and away they went. I decided that a) I wasn't going to get it on with Mr. CHP behind us and b) That if I could slow down Mr. CHP; that would give the boys a bit of time to get away from him.  I had been having (still do to this day) problems with my carbs in the higher elevations, of them flooding. So I sort of faked it again, slowed way down just before the highway split to two lanes in our direction and gave the boys at the front of the pack enough time to disappear. My brother Dave was one of them.

As soon as Mr. CHP got around me, he took off like a shot. By that time I was pulling over to the side, since I was at the road widening spot anyway. The rider behind me, (I think it was Terry Day but I’m not sure.) pulled over with me and asked if I was ok? I told him that the cop was just itching to take off, so I did what I could to slow him down. (-:

I waited for traffic to get around me and then I took off back to the camp ground. As I turned on the road that goes to the camp ground, I saw Dave sitting about 100 yards in, on the road. I stopped and asked him if he saw the cop and he said he saw him fly by in his mirrors. You should have seen Dave's face when I told him that the cop was after him and the rest of the boys that had taken off. We all had a good chuckle later when we found out that the Cop never was able to catch up to the rest of the group.

After the BBQ, Dave and I headed back to Sacramento. I was staying at my mom’s and Dave just went home. The next day, I was on the road for home. By the time I got there, I had such a bad case of TB, I couldn’t sit, nor walk. I was in bad shape!