I planned to take 101 to highway 25 south of Hollister to 198 to 33 and then down 5 to beautiful Valencia, just north of LA. This is the route that Sock Monkey chose to get to the XMas party in Pleasanton. Today was the day because a storm was due to hit the bay area around noon and last all weekend. Needless to say, it was early. It wasn't exactly raining when I left the house at 8, but it was definitely threatening. I got to Morgan Hill (20 miles/30 minutes) before a light rain started and put Janis Joplin's tune "Me and Bobby McGee" in my head for a good long while. I sing to myself while riding. And did I mention that I don't have any "rain gear"?

The ride really started in Gilroy at the last gas station heading out of town on 152. People who ride between LA and the Bay Area know the one I mean. I stop to fill up since it was going to be a while before the next station and I thought I'd get a snack and a bottle of water. Too bad the cash register's broken and they can't make change. Oh well, time to ride. So I head east on 152, which would be a nice hilly 2-lane road if it weren't for the constant line of traffic. I enjoy it anyway since I'm able to sneak ahead of a slow-moving semi who has graciously created a nice cushion of free space, at least until the cutoff for San Fillipe Road, which skirts Hollister traffic. At this point the rain is light and as I pass a sign saying "next services 76 miles," I have the feeling I'm heading into the middle of nowhere. It's not that dramatic of course, but I like that sign.

The rain picks up as I head down 25, taking it slow. This is a good road for going fast, but the rain has my speed down. I pass a few cars with windshield wipers going and wonder what they think of me. No bikes on the road. One long stretch sees the speedo reach towards 100, but mostly it's third gear work. After taking a run at the century mark, I see a small animal run across the road and head into the bushes... a coyote or bobcat maybe. It reminds me that this is still pretty wild country, despite the occasional house back against the hills. I wonder if motorcycle riders have fewer auto accidents than non-riders.

If I had had a camera, I'd have taken some pictures. There was one vista, coming over the crest of a hill, looking down into the valley that was quite beautiful. Dark olive green oak trees on the slopes of the hills fading into short, bright green grass with the road snaking down through the valley floor. And up above, touching the far hilltops, a deck of grey clouds, marbled dark and light.

There is a time during many 300+ mile rides, especially rides to some place, when I feel I'm done. I just want to be home and not ride anymore. But invariably, I'm far from that place. And that's one thing I like about riding. It's physical and real and when I get that feeling, I have to deal with it and keep riding. It's inescapable. And that takes me out of the "fun little ride" phase and into "riding as transportation". This time it happened on the straightaway near the cutoff to King City after 25 makes a very uncharacteristic sharp right turn downhill and before it goes on to hug the western side of the valley. It occured to me that I could gas it, but the will just wasn't there. No doubt the constant rain and increasingly cold fingers had something to do with this. I start to reconsider my route and want options.

So I pull into the parking lot of a school not far down the road. Soon after I stop, a guy approaches and asks if he can help me, explaining that they usually don't allow "members of the public" onto their ... property. I'm almost ready to hear "compound". But I explain that I just want to use their awning so I can look at my map out of the rain. He shows me where I can do this and then goes back inside. All in all, a rather odd conversation. I wonder whom he thought I was. The map shows what I knew already. I don't want to head over to King City, which would put me on 101. And 198 is only about 10 miles ahead. I'm almost out of all this. As I put my gloves back on, I add the cotton liners I keep in my glovebox. Maybe I should have put them on sooner, but at least now the wet leather of my gloves is not against my skin.

I didn't much like 198 the last time I rode it and the wet pavement didn't improve things at all, although the rain stopped for the most part. From the 25 junction, you head up the hill for a couple miles, which is fine. But coming down the back side is ugly. There always seem to be semis hauling dirt or rocks or something. The cliffs -- formed by blasting to make room for the road -- shed gravel. The road is rough and to top it off there are leaves today. And I don't like downhill twisties in the first place. Mercifully, this section of the road gives way to a flat section through a very nice valley. But riding as I was, it doesn't last and the road becomes one of my least favorite types. It's gently rolling hills with turns, which means you can never really see very far down the road. There are hidden dips and turns at the crests of hills. I come up behind a pickup truck with a rifle in the back. It's unpredictable and it's deer country.

The rain begins again as I roll into Coalinga around 11 o'clock. I'm hungry and it's apparent that my gas tank has a larger capacity than I do. I stop at a greasy spoon Somebody's "Koffee Kup". The service is horrid, though the food isn't bad and I leave soon. As I'm ready to pull out of the parking lot, a CHP cruiser pulls in, the driver waves to me, and says something to his partner while looking at my bike. Seems somebody recognized it. It's funny and maybe it's the roads I tend to ride on my RT, but most people don't wave to me when I'm riding solo.

The ride down 33 is fast and mostly uneventful. It's farmland and scrub grassland and there aren't many cars on the road today. But there is one truck I get stuck behind. It's doing about 60-65 and throwing up so much spray from the wet road that I can't see past it. Near zero visibility past that truck and to make matters worse, cars are passing going the other direction with their headlights off in an apparent effort to make themselves completely invisible hazards. Meanwhile, I'm playing the "how close should I be" game because I want to pass and there are moments where it seems possible, but I don't want to sit in the spray off the truck. Eventually, I see my chance through the haze, cross the dotted yellow line and gas it. A wall of water distorts my view for a second or two and then I'm past him. The sky clears up and by the time I hit the Kern county line the road is dry, I wipe my face shield off, lower the windshield and enjoy the sunshine for the first time today.

There are two other things of note on this stretch of road. The first is a sign welcoming me to Avenal (read this thread for my comments on this). The second is that northwest of Buttonwillow, I start to think about finding a place to get gas. Highway 33 is pretty undeveloped; there aren't a lot of corners much less corner gas stations. The irony is that this stretch of road is flanked by oil rigs pumping away. And the good news is that the RTs brakes have no trouble hauling me down when I see I've almost missed my turn. Oh, forgot to mention that I also tested the brakes while in the wet on 25 as well. I didn't get the ABS to engage, but I was impressed with their performance.

The rest of the ride up the Grapevine and over to Valencia was unremarkable, except for the ordinary vistas and cliff walls which one sees every time on that stretch of highway. I wonder how I'll get back up north?