This past weekend, Mr. Jamey Thorpe assembled a small group of guys, including myself. He then devised a plan to ride to s.f. to meet our buddy Dave Kafton. Sunday came and we executed this plan with godlike precision. Kind of.
The Stockton detachment left from Jamey's to meet up with George and Willie in Manteca. We hop on the freeway and I notice a funky noise...my clutch lever is flopping around, no tension on it whatsoever..apparently I didn't tighten my adjusting nut after dialing in my clutch the night before. I guess last minute checks while stoned isn't a good idea. We pull off the freeway and I quick fix, readjusting with a big guess. Perfect. Or, close enough. Back on the road.
We meet up with George and Willie and hit the road. Over the altamont, gas stop in Castro valley, through Hayward, San Mateo bridge. Shit nigga, we're there. Good weather, a shit ton of bikes, food and beer.
Dave should be arriving at the Dudley Perkins hd dealer anytime now. This is the last stop of the cannonball run, a cross country endurance race on pre 1930 motorcycles. Fuckin rad!
We hung out and ate/drank and bullshitted for a bit, all of the racers rolled in after a month of ass-punishing riding and Dave ended up finishing in the top ten. Also Fuckin rad. We greeted him, fucked off some more and headed home.
Smooth sailing all the way home except for Pat's off ramp hijinks. Those stopped cars come up quick sometimes.. No serious breakdowns, no dickheads cutting us off, awesome ride. Our group was small. Small but mighty. If a good time was our primary objective, mission: accomplished.
•End transmission•
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