I woke up nice and rested at Oh Ridge campground in the Inyo National Forest. (Oddly, for a forest I saw rather few trees there… go figure)
My laundry was dry and I made up a quick cup of coffee. I’m getting better at judging how much of the instant coffee I need to make an acceptable cup of joe. Two sporks for 400ml of hot water does the job. Having water that doesn’t taste like crap helps as well.
I left and headed north on the 395 for an uneventful and pleasant blast to Bridgeport where I had a tasty burrito at Burger Barn. I suppose it was some sort of brunch. It was already getting a bit hot so some time in the shade with a pop was a welcome break from the heat.
Hopping back on the 395 I teamed up with a couple on a Ducati Multistrada in passing the mobile chicanes, er, traffic until I nearly got up to Topaz Lake where I would get off to head northwest again to get to Tahoe.
The next hour or so on the southern portion of the 89 was a resplendent road that lacked traffic and had a tempo to the curves that couldn’t be beat. Winding up and down the mountain was a thing of beauty and a joy forever. It’s hard to beat a road like that. You go at the pace that you find comfortable and just admire the scenery and scrub in the tires as far as you dare.
That was the first ride.
Then I neared Tahoe.
Fuck that shit.
It started with a traffic jam from people trying to park on an already full beach. Then followed by a procession behind an RV that decided to regularly slow down to 15-20 miles per hour even though the limit was 55. When the douchbag in the RV finally turned off he was replaced by an EVEN STUPIDER old lady that couldn’t drive.
Example: When passing bicyclists, the key is to find a gap in traffic and pass as quickly as possible to give the cyclists as much space as possible and minimize the time next to them. What you DON’T do is get next to them and pace them. This isn’t the Tour De France and you’re not a videographer on motorcycle. You fucking pass the cyclists and give them space.
Then you don’t brake randomly on a straight.
Then you don’t signal and don’t turn.
Then you don’t weave about in your lane.
If you can’t drive: don’t.
This was capped off by a thunderstorm when I was following yet another line of cars going 20% slower than the speed limit. (note: not slippery — I would be able to tell. The 20% slow was typically of the retards (note: the non-offensive definition: “a holding back or slowing down”) on the road.
I eventually found a Hampton Inn just to get off the road, dry off, and calm my nerves.
Next up: Lassen National Forest. Middle of nowhere. No big towns. Finally!