Issue 135 : June - July 2004
SV to DL
Triumph Speedmaster
Into the Valley
Retro Rule
Where Eagles Ride
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SV to DL
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Where Eagles Ride
Let's get one thing straight, Steppenwolf's 'Magic Carpet Ride' was much better than 'Born to be Wild', which is so clichéd-out that I've immediately regretted mentioning it. I just wanted to make the point that although I've been a motorcyclist since before 'Easy Rider', I'm English and I ride a Harley Davidson, it doesn't mean I get all misty-eyed when some travel programme does a motorcycle feature and uses the obligatory, 'Born to be bloody Wild' as an intro, OK? Now, where were we? Oh yes, Los Angeles. It's E-Day. 'E' is for an 'Eaglerider' 2,800 mile guided motorcycle ride around the cowboy trails of the American Wild West. Who were we? My wife, Ali, and me. Who are we now? The same, but different. Starting and finishing at Eaglerider's main base in LA, you'll go through temperatures from -2 to +45C and elevations of 282 below, to 10,000 nose-bleeding feet above sea level, the latter in one day. As well as entering 4 States, 2 cities and 2 deserts (The Nevada and Mojave) you'll cross a time-zone, enter Death Valley alive, and come out again more so. The Joshua Tree National Park will touch your heart, Arizona's Route 66 will take you back to a forgotten era, The Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon and Yosemite will ... sorry, still can't describe them. You'll follow the tyre tracks of Mssrs.Hopper and Fonda into Monument Valley, cruise the Las Vegas strip, cross The Golden Gate Bridge and end your travels down The Pacific Coast Highway, with a quick coffee in Clint Eastwood's hometown of Carmel. (He was out, so we couldn't make his day). Some of the worlds finest and most dramatic scenery is thrown in for free and all this on a motorcycle that was made to ride this amazing country. You can ride the first or second half or go the whole hog, and if you hire one of their bikes (they're happy for you to bring your own) a Hog is what you'll get. The latest Harley-Davidson range is on offer and they're all pretty damn smooth. Sportsters and Dyna's are not too kind to long haul pillions and don't all come with a screen or big-arse pillion seat as standard, so an Electra Glide, Road King or Heritage Softail is highly recommended if you plan to carry a passenger. An Eaglerider guided ride means you shouldn't need a map (although on 2 occasions riders were lost, but thankfully reunited). Your biker guide knows diners, bars and proper tourist spots. The air-conned support vehicle takes your luggage (yes, real suitcases) and trailers a spare bike! Accommodation is American 3 Star hotels, all the way. I can hear the BMW clubbers puffing on their pipes, muttering 'wimps', but after a blat across The Nevada Desert, this cowboy and his wife appreciated a bit of comfort. This was a real motorcycle ride where on some days we were covering 340 miles through some pretty tough territory, not a pussyfoot bimble down the old A30. To quote an old Harley Davidson truism, 'It's the journey, not the destination'. The journey starts with an early buffet breakfast at their recommended hotel, courtesy of 'Eaglerider'. Meeting and greeting fellow travellers over a cooked breakfast on the patio is such a nice way to start the day. For the first half there would be 23 of us on 16 bikes - only 2 lady riders, one an Australian Harley owner, so at least there were 3 of us who were devotees. To our disappointment there was only 1 American biker present. Will, a 72 year old from Tallahassee, Florida was a game guy who was 'doing what he should've done 20 years ago'. All power to him though. Life savings must be spent whilst one is still alive! Our guide, Ritchie, and the support van lady, Manou, were Dutch but they had both lived here for years and were experienced tour guides. Manou often leads trekking expeditions into the Grand Canyon, so she certainly knew her stuff. We were cheered to find that 4 more Americans were joining us on the 2nd half from Las Vegas. A husband, wife, daughter and son-in-law from Des Moines, Iowa, all keen bikers and, as it turned out, real good sports and great company. Another bonus of this type of trip is meeting one's fellow travellers and swapping life's experiences. A welcome speech from the guides and staff was followed by a very basic riding briefing and a 10-minute van ride to complete the admin, sign our lives away and do what we'd come to do, collect the bikes. After what seemed an age, we get our motors running and head out on the highway - Doh, (Note: Don't mention 'Born to be bloody Wild' again). It must be quite a challenge for a guide to take on a crowd of foreign bikers, on foreign roads and on bikes they've probably never ridden before. Our guide was a good guy and a most competent rider, but I got the distinct feeling, as you do, that we were among mixed experience here. That proved to be the case but, as people who like to focus on the positive, one makes adjustments and tries to be helpful.
The full itinery can be found on Eaglerider's excellent website, so in the space I have left, here are a few of our special moments as they tumble out of my memory: Cruising through the magnificence of Joshua Tree National Park on dirt roads and seeing... Joshua Trees! The edge of the Mojave in the town of Twenty Nine Palms, feeling the heat of its desert heart (thank you Robert Plant, now I understand). Crossing The Mojave. Indian shacks with yards full of trucks and old V8 engines, spiralling dust devils. Rugged, wild, sweeping vistas, moonscapes and mountains on the horizon with the occasional tumbleweed bowling across the road that makes your fingers instinctively snap around the brake lever until your mind processes what your eyes have just registered. Vast dried up salt lakes. Rumbling dehydrated, into the hamlet of Amboy, an oasis on Route 66, the big V-twin like a furnace between our legs. Drinks and fuel are expensive out here, but in the land of the parched and fuel-less, the convenience store owner is King. We paid up for the drinks with no complaints, drank, and then saw the town's sign that made us realise our arrival had just doubled Amboy's population. There were 23 of us. These roads allow you to sit back and feel the force of the Milwaukee V-twin that powers these motorcycles that I've loved since I was a teenager and which were made to cross this land. There's precious little in that big, under-stressed engine that's thinner than your wrist and with the distances between civilisation out here, there just ain't no substitute for cubic capacity and big twin Harley's are very predictable and very forgiving beasties. There are no roads in the UK to compare with Route 66, "The Mother Road". The vast space and naked beauty of this part of Uncle Sam's garden has a mystical, rugged quality that beggars description - well from this writer at least. Mile long trains shadowing us, calling out with their klaxons. Clanging bells at rail crossings. The 50's roadside diners, selling their heritage and milkshakes. The Grand Canyon is over 200 miles long and a mile deep, with weather systems all of its own. Put another way, when standing at one of the viewpoints, you are over 2,000 feet higher than the highest point in the UK. Huge thunderclouds, frightening lightning and blinding squalls greeted us as we rode into Grand Canyon resort. So this is where Americans get the word 'awesome'. Actually, 'awesome' isn't a big enough word for this place. Utah, beautiful Utah and for us, the most outstanding place in the whole journey, Monument Valley, homeland of the wonderful Navajo Indians and John Ford epic Western movies. We were the only 'cavalry' there that day but the Indians were friendly and drove us round in 4x4's, playing their flutes for us. . Yes, they make their living from us tourists but they were the most warm and friendly Americans you could wish to meet. This place has 360 degrees of awesome vistas that just cannot be properly captured on camera. We did our best. The place was a truly moving and spiritual experience and I don't usually do 'moving and spiritual'. The 340 mile, day's ride across Utah to Bryce Canyon rates as the best day I have ever spent on a motorcycle and, frustratingly for Ali, the day when her cold was so bad she had to take to the support vehicle which wasn't quite the same, but does mean she will have to do it again! Empty mountain roads, massive rocky canyons. Vast blue skies with those clouds from 'The Simpsons'. Sweeping high-speed curves that led us across the Colorado River at Lake Powell. The deep joy of a rumbling Harley formation swinging through those big fast bends. Blimey, was it really this good? Yes. The group chose to split up for a while, with the blessing of the guide. This was the only road leading to lunch in Hanksville, so no one was getting lost. I left a five-minute gap and set off, riding alone at 60mph for 25 miles without seeing another human being. Eagles soared, tumbleweed tumbled, mountains graced the horizon all around me and with that engine rumbling as only a Harley V-twin can, I sang my heart out for a while and then settled back, taking in the realisation that I was alone on an arrow-straight road stretching to vanishing point. Just me. No 'knees-down', no 'wheelies', no 0-100 in ten seconds, just a remarkable, solitary and personal motorcycling experience that I simply have to live through again, because nothing else has come close. Oh, and Bryce Canyon? Bloody jaw dropping.
Zabriskie Point, Death Valley. The lowest, hottest place on the planet. What a place for your starter motor to pack up. Thanks for the push, guys. Two days later and Eaglerider, San Francisco, sorted me out with a brand new Road King. First port of call on leaving the 'Valley', was a roadside diner for food and fuel and herein lies another traveller's tale. An Aussie couple on their way back (to Australia, of course) saw the line of bikes and stopped their Electra Glide to join us. They'd come diagonally across the entire Country from the Harley 100th celebrations in Milwaukee. Having a soft spot for Aussies, I leave this little extract from the animated conversation we had with them, as a sort of tribute to the Australian male of the species: "Too right mate, Elton bloody John appears on stage as the surprise guest and I swear that 5000 people turned and walked away. Well we joined 'em. We hadn't ridden 12,000 miles to listen to a Pommie Pooftah". Riding up Tioga Pass into the Sierra Nevada's, home of Yosemite National Park, saw us cruising at just under 10,000 feet above sea level. The bike wasn't the only one gasping for breath in the thin air. The granite magnificence of Glacier Point and the views, like Grand Canyon, have to be seen to be fully absorbed. A road that had the Softails scraping their boards, led to the point through thousands of huge scented pines, with the occasional silver fox appearing at the roadside before retreating in the wake of a dozen thumping Hogs. The road home was out of San Francisco, our second 2-night stopover. Through those streets where Bullitt chased that Dodge Charger. Onto The Pacific Coast Highway and South into California's beach and surf territory. For us, this was a bit tame after the natural magnificence we had ridden through, but an experience all the same. A final ride through LA and our guide gave us a bonus tour of the Hollywood Hills, Sunset Strip, Rodeo Drive, and he even included the toilets where a geezer called George Michael got nicked. Well that's what he told us, but I don't know the bloke he was talking about or why he was nicked. Would we go again? Yes, no hesitation, in fact we must. Were there any glitches? One or two. Call me if you need to hear them, but Eaglerider's management was 'hands on' and asked for feedback. I intend to go again to see if they listened to mine. Was it worth every hard earned penny? Oh yes. Geoff Cadman
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MAG members Geoff and Ali Cadman tried an "Eaglerider" 2,800 mile guided motorcycle ride around the cowboy trails of the American Wild West
LA freeways are 8 lane vehicular nuthouses but 90% of this trip is on roads that are, by UK standards, deserted. Full leathers cook you very quickly out here, but I don't do T-shirts so we bought ourselves Joe Rocket and Belstaff airmesh jackets. Both proved to be superb garments for the conditions, had decent armour and actually kept us cooler and less burnt than the 'T' shirted. Utah is for the bareheaded brigade so there's plenty of chances to get out the bandana and think of MAG, but American bugs are big and don't half hurt! Goggles are essential either way, as the helmets provided are half-dome, which I actually quite liked. As the terrain and roads get more rugged, so can the newcomers to Hog-riding. Harley's, despite their size, are easy rides and with that low down weight, handle really well, especially the big tourers.
Two days 'rest' in Las Vegas, with a large night out along 'The Strip' with the bikes. Handsome! Big eats at The Harley-Davidson Café and then a cruise through the neon, past the 'Little Chapels of Lurv' ('Roll up, roll up, Minister performs service dressed as Elvis for an extra $30') to the original Downtown Vegas, you know, where the big neon cowboy is? He's now under cover and part of a massive light and sound show every night. The Who never sounded so good. Las Vegas is outrageous, ostentatious, magnificent and tacky and it does all of the aforementioned so very well. We loved it, but then I am from Essex!