Old Skool Nostalgia Trip

My problem was that I treated a 1700 mile trip on a 40 year old motorcycle (Boris, my 1973 R75/5 that I've owned since new) like a Sunday ride down to Santa Cruz. The plan was to ride up US 1 (Pacific Coast Highway) to Crescent City on Thursday, then continue the next day up the Oregon coast into Washington, then east on WA 7 to Chehalis, where I’d spend the night before attending The Meet at The Lemay America’s Car Museum in Tacoma. Earlier in the week I changed the oil, torqued the heads, adjusted the valves, put in new plugs, and balanced the carburetors. The bike was running sweetly, but I was a little worried about the rear tire, which was worn and squared off. I finally decided that the tread was still some distance from the wear bars, and since I wouldn’t be tearing it up in the corners the tire would be fine. Then on Wednesday I took a closer look at the front tire, which was worn almost to the wear bars. After a few calls to local dealers and independent classic BMW shops, I had an appointment with California BMW in Mountain View the next day for a new tire. So, on Thursday morning instead of heading north I went 40 miles south to Mountain View. They got the bike on the lift fairly quickly, but after an hour or so I began to wonder if there was a problem. The tech took it out for a test ride, and asked me back into the shop. He had never adjusted a /5 front drum brake before, and couldn’t figure it out. After I showed him unique arrangement with the 4mm adjuster and 13mm hex lock nut, we got it close enough and I was heading north at 1:30 PM. Of course there was traffic on the peninsula, but eventually I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin. Because of the delay and late start I abandoned the PCH ride and went straight up 101 to Crescent City, arriving at the Front Street Motel at 8:30 PM, cold and tired. Part of this “Old Skool” weekend was to dress appropriately, to which end I wore my ancient Vanson leather jacket - no padding, thermal liner, or armor - just a heavy leather jacket with patches and scuffs. Also absent were an electric vest, heated grips, and fairing (or even a windscreen), although I did have a light pullover. I also carried an old rain suit, which wasn't needed.

On Friday morning I left early and rode past the huge All Star Liquor Store near the border (the self proclaimed 8^th Wonder – Case and Senior Discounts!) to Gold Beach, Oregon, where I stopped to warm up and have breakfast at Double D's Cafe. Other than being cold it was a pleasant ride up the coast and I made good time to just outside of Coos Bay, where I noticed that my clutch wasn’t releasing completely. I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and looked at the clutch cable, but didn’t see anything amiss. Fortunately, when I packed on Wednesday at the last minute I threw in a small bag with spare cables, and I took it out to see if I had a clutch cable, which I did. The adjuster was frozen to the old cable, and I had to cut it to get it off, and that revealed that the cable had started breaking where it goes into the adjuster and several broken strands were binding, which had caused the incomplete release. It’s been a long time since I replaced the clutch cable, so it took awhile to remember the secrets and sequence of disassembly. If you’ve ever replaced the clutch cable on a Japanese bike, know that a BMW cable is nothing like one of those. Eventually, everything was back together and I had a working clutch, except that the effort at the lever was about twice what it had been before. I checked everything, but couldn’t find anything amiss, and so set off north on 101. Just outside of town I pulled into a Polaris motorcycle/ATV dealer and purchased a can of cable lube and a cable lubricating attachment. I partially disassembled the clutch cable and lubed it, but there was minimal improvement. The clutch cable had been wound in a tight circle for at least 10 years, and may have been an old cable to begin with, so I hoped that the heavy resistance was due to binding and not something wrong with the clutch itself. (Note: Back home I replaced the clutch cable with one of the new ones I purchased in Tacoma, and the clutch works smoothly, and the pull effort is much lighter.) All in all I was delayed a couple of hours, and I didn’t think that I’d be able to get to my motel in Centralia, Washington before dark via the coast. I turned inland at Reedsport and had a very pleasant ride through elk country, along a river, through woods, and up and down hills to Drain and I-5. I debated calling the whole thing off and heading home, but I had motel reservations for Friday in Centralia and for Saturday in Roseburg, and I hated to waste the money. The clutch was very heavy, but working fine, so I continued North on I-5 (bypassing Portland on I-205) to Centralia, Washington where I spent the night at a Motel 6. Let’s just say that the Motel 6 chain is not known for the exclusivity of its clientele, and this one was less exclusive than most. 

On Saturday morning I was on the road early and stopped at Norma’s Restaurant near Tillicum for a delicious breakfast of French toast and eggs. There was a fair amount of traffic on I-5 through Olympia, and then more traffic in Tacoma, but I found the Lemay museum OK, parked in the side lot (motorcycles free!), paid my $20 and at 9:45 walked onto the large lawn next to the museum where the show was being held. The show wasn’t supposed to start until 10, but this is a fairly low-key event and many people were already there, with more constantly arriving. Right away I spotted a booth for South Sound BMW, a local dealer. I asked about a clutch cable for a /5, and Jon called the shop to find that they had one. I asked them to hold it for me and said that I’d pick it up in a couple of hours. 

There was a small swap meet in the parking lot, and the show itself was quite nice – many more bikes than at Hanford, about the same number as at The Quail, but not as many rare or exotic bikes. After seeing everything twice and taking quite a few pictures, I decided to cool off and stroll through the Lemay museum – admission included as part of the bike show. There have been a few changes since the first time I was there two years ago, and I didn’t feel that I had to take a picture of every car, so I only spent an hour there. 

An airhead BMW and an old BSA in the parking lot

A very complete and restorable Jawa at the swap meet

 

A nice airhead cafe racer was one of the first bikes I saw at the show

The Harley factory cafe racer was a flop when it was introduced, now it's sought after by collectors.

The old Indian Chief looks good in yellow

The new Indian keeps the old look.

A 1970 Triumph Bonneville - I took my first motorcycle test on a borrowed bike like this one

The only Vincent in the show

Nice Moto-Guzzi cafe racer

I lusted after a Ducati 250cc Mark III like this one back in the day

Showing off the cam drive on this Ducati

The Harley Whizzer was built on a bicycle frame

Richard Backus, editor-in-chief of Motorcycle Classics magazine, owns this R75/5

Sidecars aren't my thing, but this Steib outfit is handsome

A very red Honda Dream (circa 1964)

Every good motorcycle show has a Flying Merkel

An early Brough Superior - the Rolls Royce of motorcycles

This unrestored Harley looks like it has some miles on it

Overview of the show

A Cord sedan in an unusual color

A Velocette LE (for little engine)

A collection of small vehicles from the 1950's

A Messerschmidt "bubble car"

Quite a contrast to this 1955 or '56 Cadillac

One last look at the bikes out in the field, and I was back on Boris and headed to South Sound BMW to pick up the clutch cable. It’s a big shop, and I actually bought two cables, a quart of oil, and also the barrel end at the lever and the felt lubricator that goes inside the adjuster. Back on I-5 I fought the heavy clutch and heavy traffic through Tacoma, then past McCord Air Force base, Fort Lewis, through Olympia, and finally the traffic cleared up. Lulled by the smooth ride after Olympia, I decided to take a chance on I-5 through Portland. It was stop and go for a few miles, but probably took less time than the long bypass on I-205. After that it was drone down I-5 to Roseburg, where I spent the night at the very quaint Rose City Motel, and had an excellent dinner at a Mexican restaurant nearby. 

Boris outside of my room at the Rose City Motel

On Sunday morning I checked the oil and tires, and when I returned the room key to the motel owner, she told me about the earthquake in Napa, so I called Carol to learn that all was well at home and no roads on my route were closed. I was on the road early, planning on a quick breakfast in Grants Pass. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the good restaurant Vanya and I and John stopped at several years ago (it may have been at the second exit) so I went to a Black Bear diner. The wait was long and the food was mediocre – the Denny’s across the street would have been a better choice. Once through Grants Pass US 199 turns into a pleasant ride through low mountains, past the Oregon caves, and along the Smith River into California. Dick and I rode our motorcycles (I on a Honda 750, Dick on a Suzuki 500) out to California in 1972, and we crossed into California on 199. He took a picture of me in front of the “Welcome to California” sign at the border.   

Into the promised land in 1972

It was a hot day, so I’m shirtless, and I certainly wasn’t wearing sunscreen. although I did have a helmet. On this day I was smart enough to know that even though it was warm enough at the border, forty miles later I’d be in chilly Crescent City, so I kept my jacket zipped up and my gloves on. 

Boris poses along the coast south of Crescent City, California

After a quick stop in Crescent City for gas I retraced my ride on Thursday down 101. The coast between Crescent City and Eureka is very scenic, then a few twisty and hilly sections with ample places to pass and a lot of four lane. The weather warmed in the redwoods south of Eureka, and I stopped in Garberville at the Calico Café for an excellent salad and coffee. The town is the center of the hemp growing region, and there was a prominent Hemp Connection store, and enough old hippies wandering around that I thought of Bolinas. I made my last gas stop there, and continued south through Willits, where the kids went to farm camp, and Ukiah, and then it was all freeway to San Francisco. There was very slow traffic south of Petaluma at the two-lane bottleneck that has existed since I’ve lived here, more stop and go in San Rafael, and another bit of traffic on Park Presidio Drive, but I was home by 7:15 where Walter greeted me enthusiastically, and Carol and Nikki  seemed glad to have me back as well. 

All through the trip I periodically had sad feelings of nostalgia. This might be the last long ride I take on Boris, and I thought about all the other long trips we’d been on together. Riding the R75 was a lot more tiring than I remember, but then on the last long (over 500 miles) trip we took together (more than 30 years ago) I was a lot younger. I also thought back to 10 years ago when Andrew and I rode down the Oregon coast and then 101 home after visiting Hyder, Alaska with Dan. That was the last motorcycle adventure Andrew and I had and we were on my then-new R1150R. 

Looking back, I should have prepared better for the ride and not treated it as a quick weekend trip. The I-5 in Oregon isn’t as bad as most Interstates, but it is still a drone, and a forty year old motorcycle without even a windscreen isn’t the best choice for Interstate travel. I don’t know if I’ll go to The Meet again, but if I do I’ll allow three days to ride up and at least two and a half or maybe three to ride home, and I’ll avoid 101 in California and I-5 everywhere. 

Back home - old bike, old rider, old outfit (except for the helmet)