I rode from Sacramento to Clear Lake yesterday. The journey wasn't long, and the latter half occurred on gorgeous winding roads, with vineyards and rolling hills in every direction. It was sublime.
To get to that beautiful patch of road, I needed to slog 55 miles down Interstate 5. That stretch was as unpleasant as it gets.
The 5 is California's main north-south highway. It's often two lanes in either direction, though it occasionally swells to enormous proportions near bigger cities. In August, the temperatures can get frighteningly inhospitable, and the wind adds a degree of difficulty that no biker needs.
As you hold on for dear life in 100+ degree temperatures, you have two choices. Stick in the slow lane, where trucks are going about 20 mph slower than the fast lane. Or hop in the fast lane and marvel at the fact that cars tailgate you mercilessly and weave into the slow lane to pass you even if you're going over 80 mph. Everyone on the 5 is mad, it seems.
At one point, feeling some extreme heat sensations on my right flank, I looked down to see if my right butt cheek had been set ablaze by my muffler or something. Nope, it was just that hot out, and my flank got an extra dose of heat from the sun's reflection off the paved road.
At two points, I had the pleasure of weaving around intimidating obstacles. One was a large, mostly intact tire sitting right between the I-5's two lanes. The other was an entire fender, somehow removed from its rightful home, just lolling in the breeze directly in the middle of the fast lane.
The cars are jammed together in either lane, and everyone seems (justifiably) in an enormous hurry to finish their journey on the 5 as fast as humanly possible. One moment, you're cruising at 85, and the next you're at a complete standstill, enjoying a symphony of car horns. Traffic speeds right back up to breakneck speeds without any apparent reason within moments.
Motorcycles slow down quickly when you hit the brakes because they're so lightweight. They slow quickly even without brakes, as downshifting can force your engine to do the work for you. This creates a challenge when you're being ruthlessly tailgated by a neverending stream of cars. You look ahead through traffic and notice that every other car ahead of you is mashing the brakes. But the other half of the cars are accelerating. You want to signal to the car that's about 8 feet from your rear tire that you may need to slow down soon, but you don't want to stop unless traffic is really slowing. What do you do? I try downshifting, tapping the brakes, weaving a little to try to acquire some more space. Nothing works well. You do your best and hope that the impatient driver behind you doesn't decide to check her text messages.
The road is in disrepair, with nasty potholes and concrete ravines winding across the driving surface. At one point, I traversed a very long bridge with some consistently uneven pavement. I bounced along as though my bike was on a trampoline -- boing, boing, boing -- for well over a mile, semi-convinced that my suspension had broken or that some of my luggage was dragging behind me.
The jubilation one feels when leaving I-5 for good is up way up there with other great life moments, like witnessing the birth of one's first child or winning a World Series. I will not be returning to that inhospitable road any time soon. Good riddance, I-5, you nasty, surly, untamable beast.
To get to that beautiful patch of road, I needed to slog 55 miles down Interstate 5. That stretch was as unpleasant as it gets.
The 5 is California's main north-south highway. It's often two lanes in either direction, though it occasionally swells to enormous proportions near bigger cities. In August, the temperatures can get frighteningly inhospitable, and the wind adds a degree of difficulty that no biker needs.
As you hold on for dear life in 100+ degree temperatures, you have two choices. Stick in the slow lane, where trucks are going about 20 mph slower than the fast lane. Or hop in the fast lane and marvel at the fact that cars tailgate you mercilessly and weave into the slow lane to pass you even if you're going over 80 mph. Everyone on the 5 is mad, it seems.
At one point, feeling some extreme heat sensations on my right flank, I looked down to see if my right butt cheek had been set ablaze by my muffler or something. Nope, it was just that hot out, and my flank got an extra dose of heat from the sun's reflection off the paved road.
At two points, I had the pleasure of weaving around intimidating obstacles. One was a large, mostly intact tire sitting right between the I-5's two lanes. The other was an entire fender, somehow removed from its rightful home, just lolling in the breeze directly in the middle of the fast lane.
The cars are jammed together in either lane, and everyone seems (justifiably) in an enormous hurry to finish their journey on the 5 as fast as humanly possible. One moment, you're cruising at 85, and the next you're at a complete standstill, enjoying a symphony of car horns. Traffic speeds right back up to breakneck speeds without any apparent reason within moments.
Motorcycles slow down quickly when you hit the brakes because they're so lightweight. They slow quickly even without brakes, as downshifting can force your engine to do the work for you. This creates a challenge when you're being ruthlessly tailgated by a neverending stream of cars. You look ahead through traffic and notice that every other car ahead of you is mashing the brakes. But the other half of the cars are accelerating. You want to signal to the car that's about 8 feet from your rear tire that you may need to slow down soon, but you don't want to stop unless traffic is really slowing. What do you do? I try downshifting, tapping the brakes, weaving a little to try to acquire some more space. Nothing works well. You do your best and hope that the impatient driver behind you doesn't decide to check her text messages.
The road is in disrepair, with nasty potholes and concrete ravines winding across the driving surface. At one point, I traversed a very long bridge with some consistently uneven pavement. I bounced along as though my bike was on a trampoline -- boing, boing, boing -- for well over a mile, semi-convinced that my suspension had broken or that some of my luggage was dragging behind me.
The jubilation one feels when leaving I-5 for good is up way up there with other great life moments, like witnessing the birth of one's first child or winning a World Series. I will not be returning to that inhospitable road any time soon. Good riddance, I-5, you nasty, surly, untamable beast.
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