Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Last Friday, three Duc’s were spotted flying North!

My daughter on her Ducati Monster, my son-in-law on his Ducati Supersport, and I on my Ducati ST3 took off for our annual road trip. Here’s at least part of the story.

Click any photo to enlarge ...

Every adventure deserves to be started with a proper breakfast, in our case croissants and café au lait from a local French bakery. This steeled us for the first part of our ride in pouring rain. Within 30 minutes we rode out of the rain and dried out by the time we reached the border with Canada.

We crossed the border without incident. My daughter, who went first, drew about 10 minutes of scrutiny; my son-in-law about 5; and I skated by with a cursory nod. Consistent answers to the standard questions were growing tiresome for the guards.

You need to understand that while one Ducati might turn heads, three are quite unusual. When we reached the Ferry Landing at Tsawwassen, we met some other riders. These riders had one question top of mind … do you guys work for Ducati. Sadly, no! But we got to know them a little and they us. I find when I am wearing motorcycle gear; I seem to be more outgoing.

After the two hour crossing, we ran on up to Parksville for the night. We stayed in a low-budget place; on the beach, but otherwise nothing to write home about. As we were removing our gear, my daughter asked, “What do you do while you ride?” I responded that I sang to myself. It turns out all three of us did and, among other things, the song we all sang was the old Monkeys song “Last Train to Clarksville.” And interestingly, we all substituted Parksville for Clarksville. The beach did have a killer sunset. And it was the venue for the first international rock skipping invitational wherein the treachery of age proudly defeated the energy and enthusiasm of youth! Go age!!

Our next destination was Campbell River. For years friends have been going to Campbell River to fish for salmon and have spoken of it with a reverence only a fisherman can understand. For that reason, our destination was larger than life for me. But fishing was not our mission. The road was fine but once we got there, it was merely a gas stop. The main event was yet to come; the subsequent leg to Gold River.

Gold River is the platonic purity of the notion, “It’s not the destination, but the journey.” When you ride motorcycles, the road is everything. A perfect road is: 1) Good pavement; 2) Good engineering; 3) Plenty of twisty turns; 4) Good scenery; and 5) A great place to eat at the end. We developed a protocol for riding turns … if a turn was caution posted at 60 km, we’d take it at 60 mph. Do the math and you find it’s almost 2x the caution speed. Perfect for 3 Duc’s flying north. We scuffed up the sides of our tires. We ran into a couple of riders at a park side pullout, one on a big BMW bike and one on a Honda trike (2 wheels forward, one to the rear) and they were impressed at our speeds. Hmm, felt normal to us.

Next day we made a great run out to Tofino. MPH was the new KPH again. But on this road the pavement wasn’t as good. My son-in-law observed that he saw a Volkswagen and a Vespa at the bottom of one of the holes he crossed. On the way back we saw the Island’s largest tree. Not quite in the same league as the world’s largest ball of twine, but pretty cool all the same!

On our way back from Tofino we stopped in Port Alberni for gas and to stretch our legs. We wandered down to the local pier where Nick and Carolyn goofed off with a local statue. While we were goofing off, a 10 year old dressed in jeans and a T-Shirt came up to me and asked why were wearing these funny suits. I told him we were riding motorcycles and these cloths kept us from getting killed. Then I asked him why he was wearing his funny suit. Big grin on his part he responded, “So I can play!” I think I like his answer better than mine!

Our next destination was Port Renfrew. To get there we rode through Chemainus. What a great little town with many many cool murals.

Look closely ...

Two years ago my daughter and I rode from Victoria to Jordan River, part way to Port Renfrew. This trip we rode from Victoria, through Jordan River, and on to Port Renfrew. The first half seemed easier, like they had straightened the road. Maybe we’re just better on our bikes! The second half was an agony of busted pavement. Nice destination, but not worth the bucking bronco ride, in my opinion. If you go … turn back at the burger shack at Jordan River! Or repent your decision later.

Time to head home; we took the ferry from Sydney to Anacortes, and then main roads and freeways back home. Turns out the Border Guard in Sydney was a biker and owned a Ducati S2R (the S2R is a high-powered version of my daughter’s Monster). We got more questions about our bikes than about purchases, fruits and vegetables, nationality, or the validity of our passports.

After the 1,000 mile trip I am reminded of one of the reasons I ride:  Riding motorcycles is a great social leveler. In my gear and on my bike, I feel comfortable talking to folks I’d be afraid of if I met them on the street. Rich and poor, tough and meek, young and old, scruffy or geared up … we can relate to each other because of the context of our interest. We can check our rank, social status, and net worth at the door and simply relate to each other.

Not a bad outcome, wouldn’t you say?

Posted by Digital Quixote in • Motorcycles
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