The Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011 Cheerios

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011

Moto Melee XIV 2011 Chenery Park restaurant

by Roland Chicane

Day One

It was a glorious weekend (June 24-27) and I was fortunate to ride in the 14^th Moto Melee Vintage Motorcycle rally. I’ve heard tales about this vintage ride, whose humble beginnings were shrouded in mystery and more of a whisper among the knowledgeable and privileged few, as in the movie “Gumball Rally”, where participants got a gumball candy to indicate they were in and where to start. It’s now been written about and the legend of the ride has grown to almost epic proportions.

It’s real, and yet humble beginnings, were as a ride for some close friends of vintage motorcycle shop owner Harley Welch and his friend Jeff Guzaitis. Based in San Francisco, the idea was to get out of the city and have a bit of a “motor about” on back roads and a social weekend.

I was particularly impressed at the onset by the diversity of machines. British makers were well represented with Velo, Triumph, BSA and Norton and Japanese bikes with Honda, Suzuki and Yamaha. BMW’s were the bike most plentiful this year with a contingent of / 2’s, and / 5’s.  The unique Italian makes made a showing with the likes of Moto Morini, MotoBi, as well as Aermacchi and Ducati. These bikes ranged from meticulously restored works of art to surviving originals and daily riders.

But as I found out, the legend of the Melee is not without merit, it is a very challenging and exciting vintage journey though beautiful Northern California roads that carve through the mountains and valleys and then descends gracefully to the ocean side. But this two and half day, 1368 kilometer (850+ miles) jaunt for pre-1974 motorcycles, maintains a blistering pace as riders are challenged by the elements as well as the roads. It requires a bit of stamina and a whole lot of bike preparedness—not easy on either the rider nor the machine. The ride has many different type of surfaces from paved roads to gravel to paved roads so patched that a dirt path would be smoother, to actual dirt paths, includes four water crossings and so many twists and turns it’s uncountable. From sea-level to over 1800 meters (6,000 ft.) back to sea-level the weather ranges from pleasant 15c (60’s) at the start to a steamy hot 37c (100+ degrees) to the bone chilling of the mid- -1c (30s); the ride tests your abilities to adapt and endure as well as perform.

The ride starts on a calm and comfortable San Francisco morning, I’ll be riding a very able Norton Commando Interstate loaned to me by my good friends, Lorin and Kathryn Guy. We are only in San Francisco for a brief time as the ride heads boldly across the Golden Gate Bridge and north. The sight of 80+ vintage motorcycles crossing the Golden Gate stretching almost from end to end must be amazing. Tourists along the bridges walkways turn from photographing the scenic San Francisco bay to aim their cameras on the column of bikes—the roar is deafening. Coming almost immediately upon the warmer weather, we reach San Rafael and then on to Napa, California’s beautiful wine country. But alas there is no time to partake or savor as the road and the pace presses on. We are exploring the back roads of the lower lake area and the famous and glorious Lake Berryessa. We come upon the lunch stop after 112 km (132 miles) and time for a petrol stop and check of the components. The roads have been diverse from tight twisty turns to some very exhilarating sweeping straights but overall the average speeds are very low, it has taken over 5 hours to cover the distance. The weather is now approaching a high 27c (80’s) and I’m ready for a spot of tea and good relax but as my riding partner has pointed out, it’s only half over for today and the “good parts” are about to come.

Lunch is brief and I hardly had time to have a cuppa, a bite and ready myself for the day’s second half. We mount up and I re-set my clock to 212 km (132.8 miles) as we leave this sleepy little town, heading north we are on Highway 20 for about 77 km (48 miles), this is smooth two lane with little or no vehicle traffic. We quickly come upon the turns that take us deep into the back roads of the county and heading for Stonyford. This is the epitome of the “one horse town.” It is basically one store and gas stop town with twin port-a-potties sitting in the main street parking lot. I’m not complaining really, 112 km (70 miles) after lunch in high 26c (80 degree) heat and I’m really for the stroll through the parking lot.

The road changes names (this seems to happen quite frequently back here) to county road 306, making the proper map corrections almost full time employment. The road surface has deteriorated to graded gravel, not particularly deep but very dusty. We are taking what is commonly referred to on the map  as a “bonus route” it’s questionable as to the bonus or gain here other then it is more difficult extremely rough and, for the most part, down right rugged. It’s rather deceiving that the millage seems reasonable but the pace is absolute drudgery. The average speed through most of these rougher portions is barley 40 km (25mph). Not wanting to beat the dust from this Norton I’ve borrowed, I try to ride smooth, working hard to miss the deeper pot holes and crevasses as I ride; I’m passed several times by other Melee riders thrashing their mounts like a prat on these roads. I flatly refuse to do it, breaking a wheel or a mechanical issue or worse, suffering a get off, back on these lonely roads would be disastrous.

It’s a little over 241 km (150 miles) to the motel and a deserved rest, I see again that a road name changes but I’m getting a grip on it. We find the old highway 99 as we enter Red Bluff riding over the beautiful and quite full Sacramento River and find our Super8 Motel. It’s taken about 12 hours to traverse the 481 km (299 miles) on the first days out, calculating the standard route and one extra or bonus stage. I’m ready for an ale and some sitting about on something soft and not moving. I can see many of the Melee riders are in the swimming pool, this 32c (90+ degree) heat is enough encouragement for me to drop my guard allowing my lily white British legs to enjoy the sun and display my allegiance with a Union Jack t-shirt.

I find I’m a bit knackered after today’s journey and I can only attribute it to the weight of that Norton. I’m much more accustomed to riding a lightweight, single or small bore twin. I don’t mean to whine, but this Commando with its gigantic 23 liters petrol tank (6 gal) is more like wrestling a lorry through these twists and tight roads; I’m certain tonight’s sleep is going to be deep and restful.

Day Two

Day two on the Moto Melee begins earlier than expected. The 32c (90+) degree heat did not let up until well into the morning hours and I could barely sleep. I had to actually wake two times to take a cold shower in the middle of the night, reminiscent of Ethiopia in the way the heat drains your spirit. I’ve prepped the bike and checked all the fluids, set my tyre pressures and bungee strapped my overnight baggage to the bike. The Norton fires to life with just one bright kick. Today’s route is one I’ve looked forward to, Highway 36 called one of the best motorcycle roads in California with its elevations, twists, turns and decreasing radius turns. It’s a challenge for any skill level of rider, to do it spiritedly is said to give one religion.

After all it is Sunday and I have said repeatedly that this is my day to worship…religiously, at the altar of the two wheels. Well it’s off we ride and of course we come upon that famous and most glorious sign at the start of the highway just outside Red Bluff the triangle banner announcing “twisty road next 225 km (140 miles”). If there is a more exuberant announcement of a pending route I do not know of it. If every riding morning could start like this, it would be as if heaven was on earth. Needless to say I’m smiling broadly within my Arai helmet, just the sight of that sign brings joy.

The route map for day two suggests we be on our way on or before 9 am. It’s 7:15 am and we are already 3 km (2.0 miles) on our way, the temp is already 26c (80) degrees—the North Woods/Humboldt Empire await. Highway 36 is everything anyone’s ever said about it. The road is pure joy and this early in the morning not a sole beside a few of us early rising Melee riders are on it. Conditions are perfect, weather and road condition it’s going to be a spirited morning start to a long day.

Advice from the veterans of the ride is to gas up at the Wildwood store before heading on to State Route (SR) 3. It can be almost 209 km (130 miles) before another gas stop. I’m not overly concerned as my “super tanker” Norton is well equipped for instances such as this.

The roads are very acceptable this morning as we head off Highway 36 at Mad River to Ruth Zenia Road and on to Alder Point Bluff. Zenia Bluff and Alder Point Road are all twists and turns up here and some of the elevation and grades are steep. Why does it seem that when a rock slide occurs the rocks falling upon the roadway always hit and break up directly in the turn’s blind apex? I’m sure there has to be some brain boffin ready to offer an explanation to this phenomenon.

We are being cautious and taking our time to traverse these very steep sections. The switch backs can lure you into a false sense of comfort. I’m testing my Norton brakes and so far I’m very impressed. The switch backs empty out on the Redwood Drive. We follow it and at 297 km (185 miles) and, although it has taken the better part of the day to ride it, it’s time for a lunch break. It’s hot out here, somewhere in the high 26c (80’s), and I can feel the need for more water.

We gas up in this very quaint little town of Garberville and have our lunch at the Calico’s Café. I’m attempting to order my meal but the chap behind the deli case talks in a chunter and I cannot for the life of me understand the bloke. I just order my grilled cheese sandwich on Jewish rye, no mayo and, “Oh! crisps please”, he raises an eye brow and I take it as acknowledgement.

Out front I rest my helmet on my chair and wheel my bike to the petrol station next door. Whilst there, a fellow with a southern American accent—he claims to be from Fort Worth, Texas—asks about the Norton. He says “where’s that brand of bike is made; I’ve never heard of it before”, I responded “in England, mate!” Figuring I’d add to his edification with some of the Queen’s jargon. He said he and his wife rented a Harley Davidson in San Francisco and have ridden up the coast for a couple days. He said, “boy that road does a lot of turning.” I agreed and added, “but that’s the best part.” He says that in his native Texas they do a lot of off road riding and mostly straight line stuff. He also mentions that it sure gets cold here in California on the coast. I chuckle and say “well bloke, it’s not Texas”. Having never ridden in Texas I can only assume from the road maps I’ve seen that he has to be correct. I don’t believe there are “twisty mountain roads in Texas?”  Finishing my petrol stop I push the bike back against the curbing.

I can hear that I’m being paged from deep within the bowels of the Café—my lunch is ready for pick up. Jolly good as I’m half starved. Sitting outside with some of the other riders, looking at my sandwich, it looks a bit twee. The crusts have been trimmed from the bread slices but the grilled cheese is brilliant! I understand it’s a homemade cheese, a most awaking taste, truly pleasing to the palate.

It’s back on the road and, although this portion of the trip is only about 160 km (100 miles), it takes a number of hours to complete. As we head out and down to the coastal roads this portion is not only slow going but it is well traveled by tourists. The California coast a destination for almost anyone in the world who comes here—there are few places quite like it. I am taken aback by some of the sights and actually stop to photograph some of the awe inspiring views.

Rumor has it that day two is the day that many of the riders have minor get offs. This “day two” is no different as some of the bikes have encountered mechanical issues as well. The worst being the Aermacchi 250, having slid off the road and down a 9m (30feet) embankment arriving upside down against a Redwood tree. Fortunately, a local passersby witnessed the get off and assisted with ropes and a winch in pulling the lil’ Harley to the roadway. A quarter hours work and it was again running, a little worse for wear, but the rider was unhurt, so it’s onward and back on the route.

Highway 101 south to Branscomb Road—now this is what the Norton is made for. This recently paved and very smoothly manicured road gives the Norton a small bit of breathing room and even though it’s only 16 km (10 miles) long, the feeling of letting her out to run is exhilarating. It is though, the only part of the after lunch ride that’s smooth or sweeping enough to do this. The road also heads up and over a pass that leads to the coastal road. The fog is rolling in and we stop to put on some warmer clothing; having stripped down after lunch we were all but freezing as the fog engulfed us. I’m putting on as much as I have with me and switch to my insulated gloves. I’m told they are used for snow mobiles. The temp is dropping rapidly and the fog brings in moisture, I’m sopping wet after about 6 miles. Reaching the coast the fog has risen over the roadway and is high enough not to be a factor anymore. It’s warming up again but still maybe only in the 10c (50’s).

Late afternoon and still 72 km (45 miles) from Fort Bragg, I come upon another Melee Norton rider. He’s sporting his beautifully restored ES2 and the sound of a single at speed is music to my ears. I rollup behind him but I do not attempt or intend to pass him; I want to savor that tonal excellence for the remainder of the trip.

The miles seem to melt away hearing that Norton, as we enter the coastal town of Fort Bragg. Our overnight accommodations are at the Oceanside Inn and Suites. It’s been a long 450 km (280 mile) day. The day has seen us leaving Red Bluff, in high 26c (80) degree heat, heading into some of the greatest roads on earth, forging on over 183000 Cm (6,000 ft) peaks and into valleys steaming in 32c (90+) degree heat. Driving for the coast and getting affronted by 3c (39) degree cold freezing fog and then relaxing in mid-10 c (50’s) degree comfort at our motel. “Oh yes mate,” it’s been a long 450 kilometers (280 miles); the rooms are clean and well situated. I watch the other riders come in; they meet Harley (ride organizer) at the drive entrance, he asks their rider number and as he hands them their room keys.

There are a number of us sitting in front of the motel now, some having a brew—Red Seal Ale to be exact. They make it in Fort Bragg, and others are reminiscing about the days ride. This is the part of the ride that is thick in camaraderie and, after two days on the road with guys and gals, there is a kinship. We are all waiting on the chase trucks, as many have their clothing bags on the trucks. Others wait for a buddy or friend whose bike had issues and was being transported. I head to my room to shower, dress for dinner.

Tonight’s dinner is to be held at Mendo Bistro a nice little place in the center of Fort Bragg serving mostly Italian cuisine. Dinner is not organized but more of an impromptu drop affair and a relaxed atmosphere.

Returning from dinner I hang out front of the court yard of rooms, bikes sprawled all over the lot. The chase trucks have arrived and are just left where they came to rest. Most are exhausted and need to relax especially after a good meal. It gets dark quickly as the high fog has clouded the sun from view since mid-day. Some are getting a bit tipsy on the ale and stories abound, some of the bikes are worked on and some riders just go to sleep. I have a few small minor repairs to perform and as the light from my room porch is all I have to work with at this point,I try to be quick.

Laying out my tools, another rider stops by to give advice; the twin exhaust pipes on the bike have come loose, he mentions he has the proper tool in his bag and heads out to retrieve it. Together we tighten the exhaust flange bolts and secure the keeper clips. Then on to the rear where it seems the lower shock bolt has a missing washer. Without  a proper one in my spares, another rider says she has a complete lower bolt with her, mentioning that a couple years ago the same thing failed on her machine. Here’s where that camaraderie I mentioned earlier comes in. This is what vintage motorcycling is all about. Everyone on the ride, and at this point there are still 75 riders going strong, wants everyone else to finish the ride doing whatever it takes to help a fellow rider repair, fix, tape or zip tie whatever they need to. This is why I love rides such as this.

Day Three

Day three and its homeward bound for the awards gala in San Francisco. I again awaken early and I want to see who are the first ones up. It’s like little moles coming up from their lair as people poke their heads from their rooms. Some slide open the window drape, the sun is shining, clear and bright it hurts our eyes. The late evening sees some sort of tomfoolery and this night is no different. As we awake to the early mornings light there is a very interesting display of BMW bikes arranged in an almost Stonehenge design with a pathway of motel towels leading you in. There are a number of smaller bikes that have Cheerio’s cereal packed in to their megaphones, absolutely hilarious as one starts his bike and blows those puffed little O’s all over the place. I’m quiet as a door mouse as I prep my Norton for the days ride. I’m concerned that some of the repairs I did last night are not going to be sufficient to complete the ride. Knowing I still have to stop for petrol before leaving town I circumvent the prep time to say “Good Morning” and get a cuppa  free motel coffee.  I can finish my prep at the station a mile out of town.

People start leaving and a couple ride off in a blaze of rev’s and a slight wheelie! Hooligans I think, laughing at the sight of it. Again my trusty Norton comes to life on one kick through—that’s about the best sound in the world—at least it is this morning. We have 382 km (240 miles) home, and I can feel the need to get on the road, I’m the fifth to leave the parking lot, but as I stop about a Km (mile) down for petrol I see three others pass by. Filling the tank, checking the oil, setting tyre pressures and suiting up. I know the route goes inland and that means hot weather. I dress in layers so I can stop and remove clothes with ease. My riding buddy has come upon me and stops. “Ready to hit it” he shouts. I respond, “let’s do it mate!” We ride off down Main Street and off on to highway 128. This very scenic road will be our trail for the next 80 kilometer (50 miles). The road is beautiful and this early on a Monday morning there is no traffic whatsoever. We are moving at a good pace as the road is a highway and fairly well cared for. The 81 km (51 miles) fade away quickly and the road starts to change. The map has us heading over Geysers Road. This road, according to my map, is closed most of the winter months due to flooding and landslides. Its 40 kilometer (25 miles) of pure hell. So washed out, rutted, and narrow that in some places even an averaged sized car would be hard pressed to pass safely. The surface is all gravel and rocks, dirt and deep pockets of sand. It slopes strongly to the right, causing you to look down about 12 meters (40ft) to the river below; Wow! Is this fun stuff or what! Creeping along this road we are maybe doing 12 kilometers (8mph). It’s very slow going and it’s hot out here. I stop just beyond the Geysers Bridge This relic of a bygone era is rusted and creaks as I ride over it. The plaque posted claims it was built in 1909 then moved to its current location in 1937. I strip off my under garment and stow it in my bag, the heat is draining my enthusiasm.

Lunch today is at Divola Pizza in downtown Geyserville. It’s not hard to find as there is only one street to downtown Geyserville, a quaint little village with many boutique style shops. Right on highway 128 and, although if you blink you might miss it, you have to pass through it.

As I dismount, I look to my right and coming down highway 128 is a group of Melee riders who apparently cut the route to avoid the tedious Geyser’s Road. I understand it was tough, but I feel better about my ride having done it, per the route sheet. It’s a quick bite to eat and off we fly heading down 128. Next comes a series of turns, five to be exact, all within a 20 km (13 miles)—this is Norton country. Keeping a keen eye on the road and one on the map we make our way through it all letting the Norton find its sweet spot, we are now coming upon the famous Bohemian Highway. Theoretically, we could follow this route all the way back to San Francisco, but that would be too easy and not the Melee way. We are soon turning onto Coleman Valley Road and twisting and turning the better of 80Km (50 miles) out to highway 1/ 101 south. Now it becomes a run to San Francisco as crazy as Mad Sunday at IOM. We are all excited to be heading back and the banquet planned at its conclusion. The restaurant is Chenery Park on Chenery Street in San Francisco, I believe it’s in the Glen Park district of the city. Fantastic cuisine, but I must say after three days of hard riding, heat, sun wind, fog, cold and damp this meal is amazingly good but it’s only surpassed by the people with whom I am sharing it.

The awards are given; the swag is all handed out, we are all happy to see one another, stories about the last days travel are exchanged, smiles everywhere. The chase trucks are arriving full of bikes but everyone who had issues is safe. Melee XIV is now history and we are all looking forward, first timers with much more educated eyes, to next year’s ride.

It’s very late now and I’m on the Virgin Atlantic out of SFO heading back to the UK. Goodwood is only a  week away. As I put the Melee on my 2012 calendar I smile broadly to recall some of the moments. A subdued chuckle and a feeling of accomplishment I have not known in a year or more. The Melee tested me; my abilities and my stamina were given bloody hell. I survived, I endured and I so hope to be here in the states for it in 2012.

PS: To my good friends Lorin and Kathryn Guy, Thank you so much, the Norton performed brilliantly.