A Shorts SkyVan is just about the noisiest plane in the sky to be inside of. The racket generated inside by the turbine engine in each wing makes conversation all but impossible, and the whole damn thing has a rhythmic vibration that will either make you sick to your stomach, or, if you're a female lucky enough to be sitting in just the right seat, put a blissful smile on your face. On the second jump of the day I leaned over towards our videographer, George Katsoulis, and shouted "Where's Celine?" Celine is his girlfriend, his lover, his muse, the center of his world, yadda yadda make ya gag.
"What?" He shouted back.
"Where's Celine!" I practically screamed across the plane.
"What?" came the reply, as loudly as he could say it with his face clamped into the camera helmet.
"The blond with the Big T###!" I shouted. And in that instant, the racket seemed to drop a couple dozen decibels, and everybody in the plane turned to see who had shouted the "T" word.
"Who?" George shouted back.
Jesus Friggin Christ. What the hell is it gonna take? "Celine! You remember her! The French chick with blond hair" and with my hands held out in front of me as if I was clasping a pair of cantaloupes to my chest for emphasis "and big T###".
"Who?" Oh my fucking god. Everybody else in the plane including the pilot heard that one, but not George.
Holding my hands out even further in front of my chest I shouted "Celine! Your girlfriend! Where is she?"
"Oh her! She's back in Canada! But I have pictures for sale if you'd like to buy some!'
I demurred, but several other people in the plane stuck up their hands.
I'm now living the life that everybody imagined they would have when they retired. If they had one hell of an imagination.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
"I Am a Golden God!"
"I am a golden God!"
Robert Plant.
While on tour promoting Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti", Plant stood on a balcony at the Hyatt Regency Hotel overlooking Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. As he looked down from the balcony he noticed the massive billboard advertising the new album and exalted "I am a Golden God!"
Here's the view we had from our room at the Hyatt, dubbed the "Riot Hyatt" back in the day when all the biggest rock stars stayed there. I'm not claiming we stayed in the same room as Robert Plant, but that view looks pretty damned similar to me!
We'd taken highway 74 from Palm Springs all the way out to the coast the day before the Oscars and every single motorcycle and sports car in the state was out there with us. Then it was a nice easy cruise alongside the ocean on the Pacific Coast Highway up to our Fancy Schmancy hotel. There was a pool on the roof and everything. Beth had gotten a staff rate on a room that came complete with a sun room where the balcony used to be. According to Beth management got tired of people like Jim Morrison swinging off the balconies and enclosed them. The house of Blues was right in front of us so we went there for an excellent dinner followed by a couple of atrocious heavy metal bands and one half decent one. (Beth and I have different opinion about which one was which) Their reputation for food is the direct opposite of their reputation for entertainment. But the people watching sure was entertaining, I didn't think any one bar could hold that many tattoos, studs, and leather.
We spent the morning sight seeing, ran a twisting stretch of Mulholand drive past the homes of the rich and famous, took a side trip through the hills just north of LA, then blasted back down the Interstate to retire to the hot tub, beverages in hand. I am so going to hate leaving this place. Next weekend: 60-Way Speed in Perris. It's like 10-Way Speed, but with six times as many people.
Robert Plant.
While on tour promoting Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti", Plant stood on a balcony at the Hyatt Regency Hotel overlooking Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. As he looked down from the balcony he noticed the massive billboard advertising the new album and exalted "I am a Golden God!"
Here's the view we had from our room at the Hyatt, dubbed the "Riot Hyatt" back in the day when all the biggest rock stars stayed there. I'm not claiming we stayed in the same room as Robert Plant, but that view looks pretty damned similar to me!
We'd taken highway 74 from Palm Springs all the way out to the coast the day before the Oscars and every single motorcycle and sports car in the state was out there with us. Then it was a nice easy cruise alongside the ocean on the Pacific Coast Highway up to our Fancy Schmancy hotel. There was a pool on the roof and everything. Beth had gotten a staff rate on a room that came complete with a sun room where the balcony used to be. According to Beth management got tired of people like Jim Morrison swinging off the balconies and enclosed them. The house of Blues was right in front of us so we went there for an excellent dinner followed by a couple of atrocious heavy metal bands and one half decent one. (Beth and I have different opinion about which one was which) Their reputation for food is the direct opposite of their reputation for entertainment. But the people watching sure was entertaining, I didn't think any one bar could hold that many tattoos, studs, and leather.
We spent the morning sight seeing, ran a twisting stretch of Mulholand drive past the homes of the rich and famous, took a side trip through the hills just north of LA, then blasted back down the Interstate to retire to the hot tub, beverages in hand. I am so going to hate leaving this place. Next weekend: 60-Way Speed in Perris. It's like 10-Way Speed, but with six times as many people.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
"It Never Rains In California......"
"It never rains in California.....
But girl, don't they warn ya......
It snoooowwws, man it snows......."
I didn't check the weather forecast before I left to spend a couple of days visiting with friends in San Diego and Escondido. I also didn't turn on my cell phone. If I had done either one of those things I would have known to avoid the route through the mountains and stick to the direct route along the Interstates. There was a weather advisory warning of an imminent snowstorm on the Weather Network, and Anita texted me 42 times (no shit, I counted them) warning me about the weather along highway 74 and recommending a much wiser alternate route. I didn't even wise up when I cleared the first pass and looked at the road ahead.
I figured all I had to do was drive through the clouds and once I dropped down into the valley on the other side everything would be fine. But by the time I reached the Julian Pie Store in Santa Ysabel I was wearing every single piece of clothing I could fit underneath my bike jacket, with my rain suit on over top.
I will never ridicule a California "Winter weather advisory" again.
But girl, don't they warn ya......
It snoooowwws, man it snows......."
I didn't check the weather forecast before I left to spend a couple of days visiting with friends in San Diego and Escondido. I also didn't turn on my cell phone. If I had done either one of those things I would have known to avoid the route through the mountains and stick to the direct route along the Interstates. There was a weather advisory warning of an imminent snowstorm on the Weather Network, and Anita texted me 42 times (no shit, I counted them) warning me about the weather along highway 74 and recommending a much wiser alternate route. I didn't even wise up when I cleared the first pass and looked at the road ahead.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Even at my age I don't need glasses......
Even at my age I don't need glasses, right out of the bottle is fine. Which is a very good thing, because on Fremont Street in Las Vegas they sell Heineken for $2 a bottle, but they don't have glasses. At $2 for a beer from a sidewalk stand, who cares? It turned out that was the cheapest beverage of any type, including water, that we bought for the next day and a half.
We started out on Fremont Street, and Beth, who has never been to Las Vegas, was impressed by "the carnival atmosphere". I was smiling as I thought to myself that she ain't seen nuthin' yet! We left Fremont for our hotel, the Flamingo, right in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, arriving around midnight. We dumped our luggage in the room, took a bunch of pictures of the spectacular view of the strip, and after loading up with a couple travellers of Gatorade and Grey Goose, headed out to join the partyers that were still teeming up and down the sidewalk.
After that things got very fuzzy, very quickly.
But aided by going through the pictures from both our cameras, I was able to recall some highlights.
Beth pretending her 15 inch tall plastic effigy of the Eiffel Tower that was almost straight alcohol was a set of bagpipes as she blew into it making a horrible "Rheeee! Rheeee! Rhreee!" sound as she marched through a casino. The two of us playing blackjack, so completely trashed by that point it defies all logic that we were able to both walk away after 10 minutes having more than tripled our money. I distinctly remember the look of relief on the dealers face when we cashed out, by that point we were pretty difficult to deal with, but we both tipped him well. Lots of beggars and panhandlers, including one guy waving a sign that said "Kick me in the nuts! $10!" There was one particularly well built young lady dancing on the sidewalk waving a sign asking for donations for some kind of operation, and when I slowed down to get a better look Beth pointed out that "she" had an Adams apple, and when he turned around I saw that wasn't the only bulge "she" had, and suddenly understood just what kind of operation the money was for. Ordering a gourmet burger at a Gordon Ramsey restaurant that took so long we ran out of booze as we sat there and ordered several bizarre concoctions to tide us over that almost made it worth the wait, if it wasn't for the sweet potato fries being completely ruined by having powdered icing sugar sprinkled on them. What, the chef thought he had picked up the salt shaker and sprinkled on icing sugar instead? Chef Ramsey! I'm so disappointed with you!
We finally got back to the room at 4 in the morning. This is what the view out our window looked like when we first arrived.
Here's what it looked like at 4 in the morning: Vegas, through the bottom of the last glass.
We surfaced at the crack of noon that morning, and carried on pretty much as we had the night before. We returned to the room for a nap before heading out to dinner and catching back to back shows of Cirque Du Soleil: Mystere, at Treasure Island, followed by "O" at the Bellagio. The plan was to go out dancing, but we were done, and headed back to the room, to discover that one of Beth's co-workers had come good on his promise to arrange "an amenity" for us. He had called a contact he had at our hotel and we returned to find that the Beer Fairy had made a delivery in our absence. As tempting as it was, we called it a night and went to bed.
Sunday morning was quite relaxed. After another ridiculously over priced meal we visited the Pawn Shop that is the setting for the Reality TV show Pawn Stars, went to see the Hoover Dam, and headed home. We had arrived in Las Vegas in a full charge, done the place in style, and even won at the blackjack tables. And most importantly, I fulfilled my promise to Beth, and took her to Vegas.
On the way to Vegas we had driven through a blizzard in the mountains north of San Bernadino, crawling along at times as we climbed higher into the pass and the snow thickened. For the return trip we took a shortcut across the desert from the Dam, arriving 51 hours after we had departed. Booze is available everywhere in Las Vegas, they even give it away free in casinos. Between the free beer we scored courtesy of Beth's co-worker and the stuff that was available on every street corner we somehow returned to Palm Springs with even more alcohol than we had when we left. And it quickly got worse. Or better, depending on whether or not you're a friend of my liver.
On Monday morning I went into our local grocery store and discovered that there was a 30% off sale on liquor, as long as you bought 6 bottles or more. That made the price of a bottle of Grey Goose only $21.99, as long as you bought 6 bottles. Six Bottles? That seemed like a ridiculous amount of Grey Goose to buy at any one time for anyone, even me. I mentioned it to Beth at dinner that night and jumping to the conclusion that I wanted her to help me justify the purchase she quickly did the math and pointed out "It's like getting 2 free bottles! And it won't go bad!"
Hmmm. Tempting, but there were already 2 bottles of Vodka in the freezer including one of Grey Goose, and I just couldn't justify adding 6 more - we'd run out of room in the freezer. Tuesday morning I had to go back to the grocery store, and found myself again standing in front of the sign saying "30% Off!". As I stood there, one of the staff walked past and cheerfully pointed out the part of the sign that said "Minimum 6 bottles", and the part I hadn't noticed that said "Mix and Match". Mix and Match?!?! "You Mean I can buy an assortment, and I get the deal as long as I buy a minimum 6 bottles?" "Of course!" he said.
On some level it made total sense to me to buy 6 assorted bottles of Vodka while buying 6 of the same type was overkill.
From left to right: Effen, Ciroc Snap Frost, Grey Goose regular, Grey Goose Cherry Noir, Grey Goose Le Citron, and Crystal Head.
I'm a weak man.
Beth walked through the door that night to the sight of the bottles lined up on the counter. When she finished laughing she declared "We must have a martini night!" Fabulous idea! But I don't know anything about martinis, so if everybody could please post their favorite martini recipe in the comments section it would be much appreciated.
We started out on Fremont Street, and Beth, who has never been to Las Vegas, was impressed by "the carnival atmosphere". I was smiling as I thought to myself that she ain't seen nuthin' yet! We left Fremont for our hotel, the Flamingo, right in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip, arriving around midnight. We dumped our luggage in the room, took a bunch of pictures of the spectacular view of the strip, and after loading up with a couple travellers of Gatorade and Grey Goose, headed out to join the partyers that were still teeming up and down the sidewalk.
After that things got very fuzzy, very quickly.
But aided by going through the pictures from both our cameras, I was able to recall some highlights.
 |
| Beth, intent on photographing her travelling companion Bee, posing beside a horrid concoction of Guinness based liqueur and Baileys - that we drank anyway because it cost a small fortune, and had alcohol in it. |
Sunday morning was quite relaxed. After another ridiculously over priced meal we visited the Pawn Shop that is the setting for the Reality TV show Pawn Stars, went to see the Hoover Dam, and headed home. We had arrived in Las Vegas in a full charge, done the place in style, and even won at the blackjack tables. And most importantly, I fulfilled my promise to Beth, and took her to Vegas.
On the way to Vegas we had driven through a blizzard in the mountains north of San Bernadino, crawling along at times as we climbed higher into the pass and the snow thickened. For the return trip we took a shortcut across the desert from the Dam, arriving 51 hours after we had departed. Booze is available everywhere in Las Vegas, they even give it away free in casinos. Between the free beer we scored courtesy of Beth's co-worker and the stuff that was available on every street corner we somehow returned to Palm Springs with even more alcohol than we had when we left. And it quickly got worse. Or better, depending on whether or not you're a friend of my liver.
On Monday morning I went into our local grocery store and discovered that there was a 30% off sale on liquor, as long as you bought 6 bottles or more. That made the price of a bottle of Grey Goose only $21.99, as long as you bought 6 bottles. Six Bottles? That seemed like a ridiculous amount of Grey Goose to buy at any one time for anyone, even me. I mentioned it to Beth at dinner that night and jumping to the conclusion that I wanted her to help me justify the purchase she quickly did the math and pointed out "It's like getting 2 free bottles! And it won't go bad!"
Hmmm. Tempting, but there were already 2 bottles of Vodka in the freezer including one of Grey Goose, and I just couldn't justify adding 6 more - we'd run out of room in the freezer. Tuesday morning I had to go back to the grocery store, and found myself again standing in front of the sign saying "30% Off!". As I stood there, one of the staff walked past and cheerfully pointed out the part of the sign that said "Minimum 6 bottles", and the part I hadn't noticed that said "Mix and Match". Mix and Match?!?! "You Mean I can buy an assortment, and I get the deal as long as I buy a minimum 6 bottles?" "Of course!" he said.
On some level it made total sense to me to buy 6 assorted bottles of Vodka while buying 6 of the same type was overkill.
From left to right: Effen, Ciroc Snap Frost, Grey Goose regular, Grey Goose Cherry Noir, Grey Goose Le Citron, and Crystal Head.
I'm a weak man.
Beth walked through the door that night to the sight of the bottles lined up on the counter. When she finished laughing she declared "We must have a martini night!" Fabulous idea! But I don't know anything about martinis, so if everybody could please post their favorite martini recipe in the comments section it would be much appreciated.
Friday, February 8, 2013
"Take Me To Vegas!" She Cried!
Beth only imposed one condition on my stay in Palm Springs. "Take me to Vegas! Can you believe I've never been?"
I'm picking her up at work at 4:00 o'clock. I'm sure she was just kidding when she said "We'll get up to no good!" It's Vegas, what could possibly go wrong?
I'm picking her up at work at 4:00 o'clock. I'm sure she was just kidding when she said "We'll get up to no good!" It's Vegas, what could possibly go wrong?
Thursday, February 7, 2013
"Round Round, Get Around, I Get Around...."
"Round round, get around I get around.....
I get around round round I get around......'
The Beach Boys
My favorite Road sign
The most common California road sign
I have spent the last 5 days constantly adding and removing layers of clothing, and switching gloves back and forth between lightweight and heavily insulated ones to suit the particular micro climate I'm in at any given moment. Over and over again I have gone from desert, to mountain, rain forest, high desert, ocean, and even had lunch sitting on a patio watching skiers go past. I've gone from sea level and up through mountain passes to 5, 6, or 7 thousand feet so many times I couldn't possibly count them. On Wednesday morning I went from the desert, up and over through a tightly twisting mountain pass, out into a lush valley with 50 miles of orange and lemon groves and dump trucks full of fruit parked at the side of the road, back up another canyon that twisted and turned even more than the first, tore along at over 100 miles an hour on an arrow straight stretch of highway in the high desert, through another canyon complete with snow, down to the ocean and the Pacific Coast Highway, watched the sun set over the ocean, back up through yet one more canyon to another high desert, followed by another canyon, a descent down into a gorge on a seemingly never ending series of switchbacks and hairpin turns (by now in the dark and rapidly dropping temperatures), back up another series of switchbacks to long sweeping high speed curves in still one more desert, crossed an oilfield, before finally getting a room in a dump of a hotel in Taft, best known as home to one of the first civilian drop zones opened after the second world war. I was so cold it took a 20 minute shower to stop my shivering.
I've gone out of my way to avoid Interstates and chain restaurants, seeking out every road I could find on the map that held out the promise of constant corners with minimal straightaways. Motorcycle tires are rounded, not flat on the bottom like car tires. Driving on straight, flat, roads with nowhere near enough corners results in wearing a flat spot in the middle of the tires. If I keep finding canyons like the ones I've spent most of my time in for the last few days I'll wear out the tread on the sidewalls long before I wear a flat spot into it. And my brake pads, which had plenty of life in them when I left Ottawa, are wearing down fast.
The most famous motorcycle road in North America is an 11 mile stretch of US Route 129 known as The Tail Of The Dragon. I've extensively researched the subject over the last few days, and I can categorically state that it's over-rated - way too much traffic, way too many Cops, and the scenery isn't particularly great. On the other hand, I can come up with a dozen different roads I've been on in the last couple of days that were longer, with a lot less and in some cases NO traffic, no cops, spectacular scenery, and that would make The Tail Of The Dragon look like some boring boulevard in the middle of town. The speed limit on most secondary highways in this state is 55 mph, but on some of these roads it's taken me as long as an hour and a half to cover 50 miles. I can go for 10 miles at a time only getting out of second gear when I'm forced to drop down into first. Recommended speed signs in the corners as low as 15 or 20 miles an hour are common, and I've learned to never drop my guard.. All the roads have turnouts on them so slower traffic can pull over to let faster moving vehicles pass, and it's pretty rare I get held up behind someone.
If you look closely at the picture above, starting at the right hand side you can see the same road in at least 5 different places. If I'd had a wider angle lens you could see it in 8. I sat on a guardrail eating lunch watching a white pickup truck moving in and out of sight for 20 minutes. It was one of the 2 vehicles I saw on that road in 50 miles.
Jennifer, Mark, Kevin, Ray, you people screwed up. I offered to bring your bikes down with me, you passed, you lose. .
If Beth and I hadn't made plans for this weekend I wouldn't be going back to Palm Springs for at least another week.
Over and over again I've eaten at roadside diners and hole in the wall restaurants in tiny unnamed towns, and over and over again I've had some of the best meals I've ever eaten. At a restaurant in the only building on a 70 mile stretch of highway I ordered the "Fajita Feast". The waitress apologized as soon as I placed the order saying "It will be a few minutes before it's ready, my mom is running out to get some tomatoes". "Running out to where?" I thought. "We're in the middle of nowhere!" Just then I saw mom through a side window as she ran across to a greenhouse, returning a moment later brandishing a pair of tomatoes. The young girl had asked "Do want chicken, or beef?" When I told her both, half and half, she got a funny look on her face but took the order, and a few minutes later when I heard someone else ordering the feast she asked "Chicken, beef, or both?" The guy went for both. I've started a trend.
I'm here until early March if I don't get arrested for excessive speed or vanish completely into a chasm if I miss a corner. Counting the pie run Beth and I made on Sunday I've racked up 1,100 miles in 4 days. The straight route back to Palm Springs is around 250 miles, but a bunch of my favorite canyons from the last few days are only small detours out of my way. If I make an early start I should be home before dark.
I get around round round I get around......'
The Beach Boys
My favorite Road sign
The most common California road sign
I have spent the last 5 days constantly adding and removing layers of clothing, and switching gloves back and forth between lightweight and heavily insulated ones to suit the particular micro climate I'm in at any given moment. Over and over again I have gone from desert, to mountain, rain forest, high desert, ocean, and even had lunch sitting on a patio watching skiers go past. I've gone from sea level and up through mountain passes to 5, 6, or 7 thousand feet so many times I couldn't possibly count them. On Wednesday morning I went from the desert, up and over through a tightly twisting mountain pass, out into a lush valley with 50 miles of orange and lemon groves and dump trucks full of fruit parked at the side of the road, back up another canyon that twisted and turned even more than the first, tore along at over 100 miles an hour on an arrow straight stretch of highway in the high desert, through another canyon complete with snow, down to the ocean and the Pacific Coast Highway, watched the sun set over the ocean, back up through yet one more canyon to another high desert, followed by another canyon, a descent down into a gorge on a seemingly never ending series of switchbacks and hairpin turns (by now in the dark and rapidly dropping temperatures), back up another series of switchbacks to long sweeping high speed curves in still one more desert, crossed an oilfield, before finally getting a room in a dump of a hotel in Taft, best known as home to one of the first civilian drop zones opened after the second world war. I was so cold it took a 20 minute shower to stop my shivering.
I've gone out of my way to avoid Interstates and chain restaurants, seeking out every road I could find on the map that held out the promise of constant corners with minimal straightaways. Motorcycle tires are rounded, not flat on the bottom like car tires. Driving on straight, flat, roads with nowhere near enough corners results in wearing a flat spot in the middle of the tires. If I keep finding canyons like the ones I've spent most of my time in for the last few days I'll wear out the tread on the sidewalls long before I wear a flat spot into it. And my brake pads, which had plenty of life in them when I left Ottawa, are wearing down fast.
The most famous motorcycle road in North America is an 11 mile stretch of US Route 129 known as The Tail Of The Dragon. I've extensively researched the subject over the last few days, and I can categorically state that it's over-rated - way too much traffic, way too many Cops, and the scenery isn't particularly great. On the other hand, I can come up with a dozen different roads I've been on in the last couple of days that were longer, with a lot less and in some cases NO traffic, no cops, spectacular scenery, and that would make The Tail Of The Dragon look like some boring boulevard in the middle of town. The speed limit on most secondary highways in this state is 55 mph, but on some of these roads it's taken me as long as an hour and a half to cover 50 miles. I can go for 10 miles at a time only getting out of second gear when I'm forced to drop down into first. Recommended speed signs in the corners as low as 15 or 20 miles an hour are common, and I've learned to never drop my guard.. All the roads have turnouts on them so slower traffic can pull over to let faster moving vehicles pass, and it's pretty rare I get held up behind someone.
If you look closely at the picture above, starting at the right hand side you can see the same road in at least 5 different places. If I'd had a wider angle lens you could see it in 8. I sat on a guardrail eating lunch watching a white pickup truck moving in and out of sight for 20 minutes. It was one of the 2 vehicles I saw on that road in 50 miles.
Jennifer, Mark, Kevin, Ray, you people screwed up. I offered to bring your bikes down with me, you passed, you lose. .
If Beth and I hadn't made plans for this weekend I wouldn't be going back to Palm Springs for at least another week.
 |
| By the ocean in Guadalupe |
Over and over again I've eaten at roadside diners and hole in the wall restaurants in tiny unnamed towns, and over and over again I've had some of the best meals I've ever eaten. At a restaurant in the only building on a 70 mile stretch of highway I ordered the "Fajita Feast". The waitress apologized as soon as I placed the order saying "It will be a few minutes before it's ready, my mom is running out to get some tomatoes". "Running out to where?" I thought. "We're in the middle of nowhere!" Just then I saw mom through a side window as she ran across to a greenhouse, returning a moment later brandishing a pair of tomatoes. The young girl had asked "Do want chicken, or beef?" When I told her both, half and half, she got a funny look on her face but took the order, and a few minutes later when I heard someone else ordering the feast she asked "Chicken, beef, or both?" The guy went for both. I've started a trend.
I'm here until early March if I don't get arrested for excessive speed or vanish completely into a chasm if I miss a corner. Counting the pie run Beth and I made on Sunday I've racked up 1,100 miles in 4 days. The straight route back to Palm Springs is around 250 miles, but a bunch of my favorite canyons from the last few days are only small detours out of my way. If I make an early start I should be home before dark.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Everybody Beat Off Constantly
Off Constantly was the name of one of the teams entered in the 10 Way Speed competition that ran on Saturday at Skydive Perris. I didn't get the joke until I realized at the end of the day that everybody was snickering about "Beating Off Constantly."
10 Way speed is like roller derby in the sky. The cameraman climbs out, and after a few seconds the 10 team members who had been waiting behind a line on the floor inside the plane pile out as quickly as they can to build their formation. The first formation must be held for 5 seconds, and your time is recorded as the moment you first had the formation built. Then you can break to the next formation on the dive, with every subsequent formation built subtracting 3 seconds off your score. In theory you could have a zero score if you build the first formation quickly enough and then turn enough points after that to reduce your score. The rules in this competition called for "old school" exits which meant everybody went out in a line, leaving bodies strung out across hundreds of yard of sky.
Beth had been invited to help fill out a long established and highly experienced eight way team to the required number, and I tagged along in hopes off getting onto a pick up team. Celine had done some scouting the day before and it looked like there would be plenty of people to join up with.
As soon as we arrived at the DZ, Dan BC ran over to shake my hand and tell me repeatedly how happy he was to see me jumping again, which he continued to do all day long every time he saw me. He had been through the same injury I had suffered back in the summer and had provided a lot of encouragement during my convalescence. Celine and I quickly found ourselves on a team captained by Darylld Light, with team mates whose experience levels ranged from one guy having only 130 jumps over 30 years to people who had competed at the international level.
All in all, this just would have been your average fun competition with the usual amount of stupidity and mayhem, not normally something I may have even mentioned in passing in this blog, except for one incident that will be spoken of around bonfires and beer kegs for years to come.
My team was sharing a plane with Beth's team, and the day for her teams cameraman, which had taken a bad turn on jump number 2 when he had a malfunction and cutaway, got a lot worse.
The ceiling had been coming coming down and we had been warned we might not get full altitude, so it wasn't a big surprise when the door got hauled up at 11,000 feet, the cameraman climbed out, and a moment later, Beth's team went charging out the door. Our cameraman stuck his head out, looked around, shook his head, and reached up to start closing the door just as the red light signalling us to not jump went on at the back of the plane. The guy in front of me flipped his visor up, turned towards back towards the pilot and shouted "Were we supposed to leave too?" I turned to see the pilot looking back from the cockpit, goggle eyed and slack jawed, completely aghast.
"No!" He practically screamed. "And neither were they! We're miles from the airport!" They had exited over downtown Perris. He went on, shouting about idiot skydivers claiming they can spot better than a pilot with 5 years experience using a GPS accurate to within 25 feet and how nobody's supposed to open the door until he starts turning on lights, but we weren't listening. We were all laughing too hard.
Turned out the cameraman saw somebody's hand reach towards the door, and assuming it was time to leave, hauled it up, climbed out, and the rest of them just followed him, not noticing that there was no green light.
Beth and her team captain landed in a trailer park to applause and shouts of "Do it again!" They got a ride back with a very nice Mexican lady named Alejandra. They were the lucky ones. Some people landed in parking lots and sports fields, one guy landed at his hotel, and while most managed to get rides back one girl had to walk all the way and was missing for an hour. Only one person barely made it onto the furthest reach of the airport property.
On top of paying for a reserve repack for his cutaway and rental of replacement gear the cameraman was on the hook for all the beer everybody on that team could hold from now until eternity. He was a good sport about it, absorbing all the insults and cracks with a smile as he bought round after round in the bar at the end of the day.
That night the cameraman for our team posted one of the photo's he'd taken of downtown Perris before he closed the door on Facebook. Instead of tagging their faces, the entire team tagged the places they landed.
Beth's team won, my team dropped to 3rd in the final round, and we all beat Off Constantly.
10 Way speed is like roller derby in the sky. The cameraman climbs out, and after a few seconds the 10 team members who had been waiting behind a line on the floor inside the plane pile out as quickly as they can to build their formation. The first formation must be held for 5 seconds, and your time is recorded as the moment you first had the formation built. Then you can break to the next formation on the dive, with every subsequent formation built subtracting 3 seconds off your score. In theory you could have a zero score if you build the first formation quickly enough and then turn enough points after that to reduce your score. The rules in this competition called for "old school" exits which meant everybody went out in a line, leaving bodies strung out across hundreds of yard of sky.
Beth had been invited to help fill out a long established and highly experienced eight way team to the required number, and I tagged along in hopes off getting onto a pick up team. Celine had done some scouting the day before and it looked like there would be plenty of people to join up with.
As soon as we arrived at the DZ, Dan BC ran over to shake my hand and tell me repeatedly how happy he was to see me jumping again, which he continued to do all day long every time he saw me. He had been through the same injury I had suffered back in the summer and had provided a lot of encouragement during my convalescence. Celine and I quickly found ourselves on a team captained by Darylld Light, with team mates whose experience levels ranged from one guy having only 130 jumps over 30 years to people who had competed at the international level.
All in all, this just would have been your average fun competition with the usual amount of stupidity and mayhem, not normally something I may have even mentioned in passing in this blog, except for one incident that will be spoken of around bonfires and beer kegs for years to come.
My team was sharing a plane with Beth's team, and the day for her teams cameraman, which had taken a bad turn on jump number 2 when he had a malfunction and cutaway, got a lot worse.
The ceiling had been coming coming down and we had been warned we might not get full altitude, so it wasn't a big surprise when the door got hauled up at 11,000 feet, the cameraman climbed out, and a moment later, Beth's team went charging out the door. Our cameraman stuck his head out, looked around, shook his head, and reached up to start closing the door just as the red light signalling us to not jump went on at the back of the plane. The guy in front of me flipped his visor up, turned towards back towards the pilot and shouted "Were we supposed to leave too?" I turned to see the pilot looking back from the cockpit, goggle eyed and slack jawed, completely aghast.
"No!" He practically screamed. "And neither were they! We're miles from the airport!" They had exited over downtown Perris. He went on, shouting about idiot skydivers claiming they can spot better than a pilot with 5 years experience using a GPS accurate to within 25 feet and how nobody's supposed to open the door until he starts turning on lights, but we weren't listening. We were all laughing too hard.
Turned out the cameraman saw somebody's hand reach towards the door, and assuming it was time to leave, hauled it up, climbed out, and the rest of them just followed him, not noticing that there was no green light.
Beth and her team captain landed in a trailer park to applause and shouts of "Do it again!" They got a ride back with a very nice Mexican lady named Alejandra. They were the lucky ones. Some people landed in parking lots and sports fields, one guy landed at his hotel, and while most managed to get rides back one girl had to walk all the way and was missing for an hour. Only one person barely made it onto the furthest reach of the airport property.
On top of paying for a reserve repack for his cutaway and rental of replacement gear the cameraman was on the hook for all the beer everybody on that team could hold from now until eternity. He was a good sport about it, absorbing all the insults and cracks with a smile as he bought round after round in the bar at the end of the day.
That night the cameraman for our team posted one of the photo's he'd taken of downtown Perris before he closed the door on Facebook. Instead of tagging their faces, the entire team tagged the places they landed.
Beth's team won, my team dropped to 3rd in the final round, and we all beat Off Constantly.
Our day in pictures
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| Roadside Folk Art |
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| More Folk Art |
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| I didn't have a wide angle lens anywhere near big enough to get more than a little bit of the road in this shot, and the best part of the road was above us anyway. Speed limit 55, I dare you to go faster than 40. Palm Desert at the top of the pic, Beth's place over to the right. |
25 minutes away from where I took the pic of the road
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| From left to right: MV Agusta F4, Honda CBR 1000RR, MV Agusta F4, Ducati Monster 996, Me and my lowly FZ1, Ducati Diavel, Honda CBR 1000RR One of the many parking lots in Idyllwild California on a Sunday morning. |
Friday, February 1, 2013
California State Highway 74
In March of 2011, on our day off from the Canadian Record Camp in Perris Valley California, Johnny, Brian, Diane and I, drove out out to the coast. We took highway 74 out of Elsinore, winding back and forth as we climbed up into the hills. Between the road twisting and turning back and forth so much as it clung to the side of the cliff and the speed Johnny was driving, I actually started to get motion sickness, something I've never experienced before. I vowed to someday return to that highway on a motorcycle, but at that time the possibility seemed so unlikely as to be only a dream.
After I had finished my 6 laps of ecstasy on the track at Chuckwalla I continued my circle around Joshua Tree National Park and arrived back at Interstate 10, minutes from Palm Springs and home. It was only around 3:30 and I wanted to extend the trip a little so I picked out a loop on the map in the hills above Palm Springs through a town called Idyllwild that I figured would be an hours drive - max. In my mind the highway 74 I had vowed to ride was way over towards the coast, and I didn't make the connection as I went past the sign reading "California State Highway 74".
It started out looking interesting enough, and just got better as it quickly climbed into the hills, the turns were tight and non-stop. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to maintain the posted 50 mile an hour speed limit, I was struggling to get up to 40 with all the hairpin turns and warning signs. It was getting cold fast but I ignored it at first as I focused on doing my best to set up for each turn. I saw a sign go past saying "Elevation 2,000 Feet", then 3,000, 4,000, and by the time the one saying 5,000 feet went past there was a thick carpet of snow on the ground, and I was acutely aware of the fact that I was in shorts and a T shirt under my mesh bike gear. There were trees - real trees! - shading the road as it snaked back and forth and I did my best to ignore the cold as it still continued to climb. It finally maxed out at 6,000 feet, and with the sun getting low in the sky no wonder it was getting cold.
Somewhere along there I heard the sound of sirens. With the road twisting and diving like it did it was impossible for me to figure out where the sound was coming from, until a bright red Fire Engine festooned with lights appeared in my rear view mirror. What The F###? I was a Rock Star on a Race Track a few hours ago and now I'm being shown up on a mountain road by some Lunatic driving a Fire Truck? I swallowed my pride and pulled over to let him pass.
When I reached the town of Idyllwild I had already been on this loop for an hour, I wasn't even halfway around, and the pine trees were now towering more than a hundred feet over the road as I approached the San Bernadino National Forest. Finally I made it up and over the ridge, and the road continued to corkscrew back and forth in a series of switchbacks as it dove down into the valley. Shivering, I finally pulled over into a turnout and turned on the GPS to see how far it was to Beth's place. 5 Miles? 15 Minutes? Oh no! My GPS was broken! I'm screwed! I was in the middle of nowhere, in a turnout on the shoulder of a highway cut through a boulder strewn moonscape, following an endless ribbon of road designed by a motorcycle rider on Acid. I hoped I had enough gas to get me out of here. At least it was warming up fast as the road plunged to the valley floor.
Minutes later, I was suddenly in the town of Palm Desert, which was next door to Palm Springs, and only 5 minutes after I had concluded my GPS was lost I was on Highway 111, which cuts right through both towns. It was incredible to believe that fantastic road was so close to home.
Beth and I are taking the bike to Idyllwild for lunch on Sunday, but we're going to be dressed warmer.
After I had finished my 6 laps of ecstasy on the track at Chuckwalla I continued my circle around Joshua Tree National Park and arrived back at Interstate 10, minutes from Palm Springs and home. It was only around 3:30 and I wanted to extend the trip a little so I picked out a loop on the map in the hills above Palm Springs through a town called Idyllwild that I figured would be an hours drive - max. In my mind the highway 74 I had vowed to ride was way over towards the coast, and I didn't make the connection as I went past the sign reading "California State Highway 74".
It started out looking interesting enough, and just got better as it quickly climbed into the hills, the turns were tight and non-stop. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to maintain the posted 50 mile an hour speed limit, I was struggling to get up to 40 with all the hairpin turns and warning signs. It was getting cold fast but I ignored it at first as I focused on doing my best to set up for each turn. I saw a sign go past saying "Elevation 2,000 Feet", then 3,000, 4,000, and by the time the one saying 5,000 feet went past there was a thick carpet of snow on the ground, and I was acutely aware of the fact that I was in shorts and a T shirt under my mesh bike gear. There were trees - real trees! - shading the road as it snaked back and forth and I did my best to ignore the cold as it still continued to climb. It finally maxed out at 6,000 feet, and with the sun getting low in the sky no wonder it was getting cold.
Somewhere along there I heard the sound of sirens. With the road twisting and diving like it did it was impossible for me to figure out where the sound was coming from, until a bright red Fire Engine festooned with lights appeared in my rear view mirror. What The F###? I was a Rock Star on a Race Track a few hours ago and now I'm being shown up on a mountain road by some Lunatic driving a Fire Truck? I swallowed my pride and pulled over to let him pass.
When I reached the town of Idyllwild I had already been on this loop for an hour, I wasn't even halfway around, and the pine trees were now towering more than a hundred feet over the road as I approached the San Bernadino National Forest. Finally I made it up and over the ridge, and the road continued to corkscrew back and forth in a series of switchbacks as it dove down into the valley. Shivering, I finally pulled over into a turnout and turned on the GPS to see how far it was to Beth's place. 5 Miles? 15 Minutes? Oh no! My GPS was broken! I'm screwed! I was in the middle of nowhere, in a turnout on the shoulder of a highway cut through a boulder strewn moonscape, following an endless ribbon of road designed by a motorcycle rider on Acid. I hoped I had enough gas to get me out of here. At least it was warming up fast as the road plunged to the valley floor.
Minutes later, I was suddenly in the town of Palm Desert, which was next door to Palm Springs, and only 5 minutes after I had concluded my GPS was lost I was on Highway 111, which cuts right through both towns. It was incredible to believe that fantastic road was so close to home.
Beth and I are taking the bike to Idyllwild for lunch on Sunday, but we're going to be dressed warmer.
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