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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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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