Redwood Run: Part Two!

   "Again?" you ask? "So soon?" you say? That's right, shitnuts. I'm officially off of my ass. This installment of the Redwood Run Chronicles is being brought to you by...whiskey and soda! So, sit tight on your sofas and toilet seats, and prepare for the debacle.
   Day two. We departed the campsite, our crew in full force. Today's destination, Fort Bragg! We hit the road and quickly went from warm-ish weather to straight up HOT weather. What the hell..backroads and turns, hills and curves. The ride was VERY awesome aside from the rising temperature.
   The crew and I made a pit stop at the Anderson Valley Brewing Co. in Boonville CA. From the start of the trip, Dirty Dan had been plagued by shifter issues, the damn splined shaft had stripped letting his shifter rock back and forth almost at will. Yes, it's hard to find gears like that. Anyhow, maintenance staff at the brewery were kind enough to break out the mig for us and get Danny back to shifting properly. Meanwhile, inside the brewery, some of the crew had a few beers while myself and a couple others hung out by the parking lot, soaking up the SHADE! We kicked back for a while and decided on burgers at a local drive in, ate em up quickly and got back on the road. Next stop, Fort Bragg.
   We headed down the road, braving the heat, cursing the sun. Then, like a true godsend, we reached the pines. The climate change went from 'dang it, my balls are sticky', to 'holy shit, maybe I should've worn a sweater'. A welcomed change and not a minute too soon. The road stretched on for days, winding through trees as tall as you've ever seen, like a black river cutting through the forest. We executed a plethora of different turns, uphill, downhill, you name it-we did it. Awesome.
   The forest soon opened up and we were on the coast, close to our day's destination. Now...I've seen the ocean a number of times..never like this. Highway 1 offers (in my opinion), one of the best views you could imagine. Ocean as far as you could see, cliffs with waves crashing against them..I mean fuck..you could see the horizon, the goddamn curvature of the EARTH. It was beautiful, everything about it.
   After maybe another twenty minutes of glorious coastal riding, we reached Fort Bragg and stopped in at some local brewery that offered the finest of ales and craft beers that I don't give two shits about. Whatever, bro. Some of drank in the brewery, some of us drank in the parking lot. We ended our liquid snack time and boarded the choppers. Let's head to camp!
   A few miles up the road led us to the Kjeldsen's, a 40 acre plot that housed 4 separate families that all shared the same last name. Pretty rad. Long time friends of our own  Patrice LaMoomba, and relatives of the Great Wizard, Mr. Dave Kafton. The Kjeldsen family quickly made us at home offering up any corner of their beautiful property for us to lay our sleeping bags. This place was fuckin AWESOME. From thick, wooded areas, to wide open  prairies, perfect weather ranging from the low to mid 60's. There was a volleyball/basketball court, a zipline, a barn full of cool old shit including an old wooden bowling lane. Bad. Ass.
   So, I can't lie..there was a fungus among us, along with gardening and liquor. We did it up proper and what a perfect setting to get properly FUCKED UP. The Kjeldsen's took great care in making us comfortable, ordering and picking up a shit ton of pizza. They also introduced us to a variety of Viking games, one of which Papa and I cleverly named 'Stick'. The object of the game is to throw certain logs at other certain logs. There are rules and all that good shit, they didn't really matter, especially when George and Aaron were laying waste to any duo that challenged them. Bastards.
   The night went extremely well for most us while others, namely Richie, had a bit harder of a time. He fell. A lot. And often. Like.....if you could fall off of it, down it, or over it, he did that. Now...let me explain..when someone falls, it's funny. Period. This is where I feel a bit bad, Richie isn't the youngest of bucks in our group. The fact of the matter is, the older you get, the more shit hurts when you fall. So, since he wasn't seriously injured during any of his MANY tumbles, it was ok to laugh my ass off. And I did.
   We partied into the wee hours, waged war on our livers, and beat the shit out of our brain cells. The Kjeldsen family took great care of us, even letting us stay indoors on any vacant bed of our choosing. Thanks fellas, you guys are awesome. I personally would love to head back to Fort Bragg, next year!
   Day two down. Sleep: engage! Day three is coming right up, who knows what's in store......stay tuned to the MOTO and find out what's next!
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BlogThis!

Redwood Run: Part One!

Well, hello there. It has been forever and this shit was a LONG time ago..well maybe like 3 weeks ago. If you know me or went on the trip, you know why there's been a lapse. A motherfucker has been busy, cut me some slack. Now then, for those of you who still read this, here we go! After Born Free 4, the fellas and I decided that going down south was for the birds..aside from our usual Pismo stop and our rad stay with Mr. Matt Noble. (Noble Fabrication, check him out, he's a wizard.) Anyhow, we planned a trip northward to the Redwood Run, a show that's been going on since I was still shitting my pants, I guess I still shit my pants from time to time. Keeps me humble. Papa, myself, Willie, and a couple others loosely focused our attention on planning the route. After a few sessions of google map-ing and a whole bunch of 'dude, fuck it, let's just go wherever', we had a rough outline of where we wanted to go. We got word that the show had an ungodly high entry fee and gave that idea the middle finger. My honest opinion, I don't really give a shit where we go, as long as the crew is in tow, good times will be had! Let's just head north? Sounds good! Itinerary: day one, Healdsburg. Day two, Fort Bragg. Day three, Clear Lake. Day four, home! June 6th, around 9ish, I drop my kiddos with ol whatsername (boooooooo) and hug my goodbyes. I haul ass home and pull out The Slayer, ready to roll and running SWELL. I zip over to Papa's, our usual launch pad. We kick back for a few and wait for a few more rad chopper dudes to arrive. The roster for leg one of the journey was as follows, Marty, Richie, Papa, Big Phil, Dirty Dan, Aaron, Timmo, myself, and Dirty Joe, this year's Road Guardian. We hit the road, aiming our choppers directly at the bay area. We gassed up in Castro Valley and continued on. The plan was to ride over the bay bridge, then the golden gate. Mission accomplished, and holy shit...it was beautiful. Perfect weather, my bike running like a fuckin top, AWESOME. We again gas stopped in Novado, which was filled with yuppies and folks who feared the eye contact. Fine with me. We found a place to eat in a nearby shopping center and were met by our friend and bro Mr. Willie Mandella. Hugs and handshakes, burgers and beers. Fuck yeah. We concluded our stay with cigarettes and what have yous, and sailed onward to our resting place for the night. I don't remember if we gas stopped or not, but we made it to the campsite right around beer thirty. We set up shop quickly, and I do mean 'commenced with the getting fucked up'. Old Man Jack came rumbling up out of nowhere and was greeted warmly by the crew, hells yeah! The sun was still up and a bit of swimming and wading was had as it just so happened to be hot as shit. As the sun sank, our bellies rumbled and the barbecue was fired up. An earlier donation pot and store run yielded a glorious bounty of food. Like a goddamn biker Thanksgiving. I barbecued 4 tri tips, cut em up and we went to town. Our cornucopia supplied us with shit tons of goodies, and we all ate, drank, smoked, etc. A damn good first night. After some RAD campfire story telling and a bunch of nasty meat farts, the crowd began to dissipate. People drifted off into the dark, finding their ways to their sleeping bags. The morning came quickly and coffee was an order. A few of us headed into town, coffee shop within reach. I had noticed my headlight doing a funky wobble, which upon further investigation, was actually my headlight bucket slowly breaking apart. Fuck my life. We found a nearby bike shop with a dickhead-ish owner, who after some mild convincing, sold me a CHEAP light (uh, no fucker, I don't want the $80 chrome bullet thing). Back to the campsite. We arrived to find a couple new guys joining us on this leg of the journey, Mike and George. Fuck yeah! I slapped my new light on as Glenn and Patrice came rolling up, holy shit yeah! Our large group just became a full on caravan, I'm down with that! We watered up, beered up and prepared for the next leg. Kick em up, and crank em over, we're Fort Bragg bound!
   Stay tuned asshole, part two is right around the corner!
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Flat track races with Timmo!

   Last weekend my eyes were opened to the world of flat track. The Stockton fairgrounds hosted their first ever 1/2 mile AMA event, and it was FUCKIN AWESOME! Timmo's wife, Cyndi told me she had bought a pair of tickets to the races and asked if I'd like to be Timmo's chaperone, um...FUCK YES! I get to hang out with my bro AND check out some moto shit? That's a win-win!
   Tim came to my place and helped me figure out an issue with the Slayer that ended up being re-tar-ded. It was still early on in the day, so we kicked back in the driveway and had a frosty beverage. A little gardening may have also taken place, as per usual. After the chores were completed, we saddled up and headed to Manny's for a burger. Delicious. Eyes glazed and bellies full, we made our way to the track.
   A quick zip through town led us to the fairgrounds, we parked the choppers and headed in. There were a couple racing booths, and a beer truck. What else do you need? After a bit of milling around and sweating our asses off (it was hot as SHIT!), we ran into a couple of Timmo's old pals. We shot the shit for awhile and the heat races started. HOLY HELL!! I'd never been to the races before and seeing the competitors haul ass around that track made me excited, something awful! Damn, that shit was so awesome!
   The heat races ended and Tim's buddies, John and Steve invited us out to the pickup for a few beers before the main events. Uh..hells yeah! We braved the elements, the searing heat of the sun beat down on us relentlessly. It was extremely hot, you get it. We got to the truck and popped a beer, did a J, and then....yeah, I'm about to pass out. I don't know if it was the heat..dehydration..me being a pussy.. I don't know, but I seriously almost fell down.. So anyhow, there I sat, sweating in the sun like a Tijuana hooker. I was actually in the shade, but sweaty and nauseous, nonetheless. Terrible. As I sat there, fading in and out of consciousness, a few racing fans came up and bullshitted for awhile. These dudes had driven serious miles to come watch the 1/2 mile in Stockton. One fella was from Santa Barbara, making the drive that morning. Crazy.. The fans we met were EXTREMELY serious about flat track and shared stories about other races they had been to, or certain riders they had been following and what have you. Pretty damn cool.
   I regained some sort of composure right before the main events and we headed back to the track. We found our seats and aimed our heads at the racetrack. HO-LY-SHIT! The heat races were nothing..these guys are going FULL ON, the roar of the bikes ripping down the straights seriously left me with a wide eyed, mouth open stare. It was bad ass. Dirty Joe from Manteca (hey bud!), met us at our seats with his woman in tow. We exchanged hello's and talked a little shit as the races continued, bikes ROARING by, jockeying for position.
   As the races came to a close, we walked through the pits and got to check out all of the race bikes. A bunch of WAY cool machines, perfectly tuned specifically to whip ass. There were a shitload of 750 sportsters that I will be taking inspiration from when I rebuild my ironhead.
   We said our goodbyes and split off on our own ways, Timmo to lodi, Joe to Manteca, myself, further into the shithole known as Stockton. The flat track races were fuckin rad. The fans were awesome, no bullshit attitudes, just very passionate about racing. I got to spend some time with some good friends, and the actual races were amazing. You can't beat that. Needless to say, I will try to make every flat track race in Stockton. Thanks for the ticket, Cyndi!
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Alice's restaurant!

   So! This past weekend, as in, one week ago (I'm lagging, I know..), I hit up a couple of the homeboys for a Sunday ride. All of the Stockton/Lodi crew were either busy or had more important shit to do, you Bastards! George, Willie, Mike, and his wife Anna were down to ride, let's roll!
   Sunday morning we met at George's in Manteca around 9ish. I had no real idea where we were headed, I just knew it was called Alice's. Whatever, I'm down! After a bit of bullshitting and catching up, we hit the road.
   120 to the 205, we were bay area bound. Willie set a nice pace and we cruised, low and slow, pretty nice! I mean...not like, 'getting the middle finger' slow, but just cruising. Perfect. The sun was out, not super windy, definitely ideal riding weather, fuck yeah! We made our way to the 580 and were zipping along nicely and we stumble upon wet asphalt..oh shit. The dark, nasty, motorcycle hating clouds had rolled in and it was starting to rain. What the hell.. Luckily, we were approaching a gas stop in Castro Valley. Those goddamn rain drops don't feel very awesome on the freeway, quite the contrary. They sting like a sumbitch.
   We gassed up and huddled under a tree as the rain came and went. Only a few minutes and we decided on coffee at the local Starbucks. Right up the street, caffeinate! The skies cleared up as we downed our drinks. Let's hit it. Back on the 580, San Mateo bridge, coming right up. If you've never been, the bridge is fuckin AWESOME. I've never been across it in a car, but on the bikes...holy shit.
   After the bridge, we hopped on the 280 (I'm guessing here..), which led us to 84 (once again, guessing). Pretty cool stretch that took us through a bunch of curvy roads and what seemed to be the damn forest. Complete change of scenery. I like. After a couple of miles of some serious corners, which are fun as shit on the Slayer, we came upon our destination. Alice's Restaurant in Woodside, CA. Like an oasis in the middle of the forest. Right on!
   Outside the restaurant, there was a SHIT TON of bikes. Apparently, we weren't the only ones with the good idea. Before we made our way in, we met a nice gentleman named Kenneth who happens to to REALLY like self portraits and pictures of buff ass naked dudes. Whatever. We moseyed around back to the bar where we ordered drinks and lunch. We ate and drank, and were lucky enough to bump into Kenneth again, who ended up paying George a dollar for 'something'. Again, whatever..
   We headed back out front and poked around for a few, looking at bikes and talking shit. Not about the bikes...just in general. The crew saddled up and we rode down to the gas station. Last gas stop. George and Willie thought it would be a good idea to ride all the way back to Manteca with no more stops. Fuck it, let's go..I was pretty sure I'd run outta gas, but let's find out I suppose.
   Back on the freeway, across the bridge, up and over the Altamont, and on into Tracy...George keeps waving off my attempts at a gas stop, calling me a pussy and laughing. Fuck it! We kept on and I kept my eye on my gas filter, expecting to see it run dry. Mossdale came and went, Manteca: dead ahead! We exited the 120 and pulled into a gas station. Holy shit, we really did make it! 78 miles. One tank.
   We filled up and headed for our last stop, The Rusty Hook. A local watering hole in Manteca. We each had a drink and said our goodbyes. Our 200 some odd mile journey had come to an end. I followed George home to swap a taillight bulb, and was asked to join him and his wife Melissa at dinner. Well, fuckin a! I like food.
   Again, we ate and drank and talked more shit, I have a tendency of doing that. Mealtime ended and we headed back to the Perry's. Tired as shit, I said my goodbyes and thank yous. I stomped the Slayer to life and hit the road. Stockton bound. Short trip.
   The ride to Alice's was a GOOD one and I hope to do it again soon.. It was fun as shit hanging out with the Manteca friends, like always. We put on some pretty decent miles and didn't get too beat up in the process. Sweet. Also, some of the pictures were taken by George and Anna. Enjoy.
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Commercial? WTF?!

   So! A couple weeks ago, the boys and I were involved in the shooting of a....commercial. Strangely enough, it was a commercial for cookies. Even stranger, the cookies are shaped like crosses and have a scripture in them. Oooookay.
   We were approached about 2 months ago or so. Nobody really wanted to do it, especially Papa, who was to have a major role in this commercial. I said, 'Fuck it', free booze, lunch, and we get to ride out. Sounds very similar to any other outing we have, minus the free.
   We rode out to the bar, short trip up 99 to Grant line..I think it's like 15 miles, whatever. We arrived around 8am and took full advantage of the open bar. I got drunk and the filming began. I had somewhat of a serious role, shoot pool and start a fight with Papa. Easier said than done. Holding back laughter proved difficult. It's HARD to fake fight Papa when everyone knows he would just tear me in half and wipe his ass with my upper torso. Nonetheless, we did it.
   The standard JTO crew was in attendance and we ALL talked shit and shared laughs. Pretty Eyes was thrust into a role on the spot, as well as Pat. I think we all just kinda wanted to be extras. Either way, shit was pretty funny...seeing everyone trying to act serious. It's not really in my nature, that's for sure.
   When all was said and done, we burned through a couple hundred bucks of bar tab, ate some NASTY ass tacos, and has a fuckin good ass time. I got to ride and hang out with my boys, that's the part I was really interested in.
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