The best roads yet: mountains, redwoods, and ocean

I’m looking out over the 101 and Pacific from the kitchen of the Redwood Hostel in Redwoods National Park. Even though we only covered 250 miles, they were the twistiest, most scenic, and least trafficked.

At the Bjork concert on Saturday I parked next to another R1200GS in the small motorcycle parking area. After the show I talked to Jeremiah, the rider. After seeing a Portland sticker on his luggage, I mentioned that I was planning to stop there on my way north. We quickly figured out we were planning to take the same route north on the same day, Monday, we decided to meet up.

Starting in downtown San Francisco, we picked up the 1 as it crosses the Golden Gate bridge. At a gas station we were introduced to a windy mountain pass detour that we gladly followed. The rest of Monday went well as we followed the coast up to Mendocino were we asked for (and got) the “cute guy discount” of half off. (More about that room when I can post pictures)

After a leisurely (included) organic breakfast we set north with a vague idea of what lay ahead. Shelter Cove was starred on my atlas, I believe from 50k Bil so we headed there. The last section of the 1 had an amazing series of turns that I will seek out again. Fortunately, the there were plenty of pull-offs so the traffic could let us by.

Shelter Cove itself wasn’t that great but the roads that followed were amazing. I noticed a regional map on a signboard which showed a dirt road going to direction we were headed. So when the GPS told us to turn from the pavement to a very narrow rocky dirt road, we figured we’d be ok. The Kings Road is part of a network of dirt roads in this part of the Lost Coast. It’s barely more than a lane wide, smooth in places but mostly rocky, and worth the extra time. This road creates a contour line that travels up and down in a densely shaded redwood forest.

The R1200 GS is designed for pavement and the occasional dirt road, so it was great to give it a little workout. Even though it’s a heavy bike, it has enough torque to pull through when it gets bogged down. I almost lost control when I was crossing a small stream when trying to keep going straight nearly took me off the road, but managed to keep it rolling long enough to get it on track. The rocks and mud in the water and branches on the road were no help. I knew that if I went down, picking up would be a pain. So like Charles from Louisiana told me, stay on as long as you can; ride it out. I stopped to catch my breath, rolled backwards so I wouldn’t hit the branch that would have knocked me down, and continued the first-gear challenge.

After more than an hour on the most challenging road I’ve ever ridden, over a series of hills with loose switchbacks and steep declines, Jeremiah and I emerged on a stretch of road that alternated between pavement and gravel. It led to the no stoplight, watering-hole town of Honeydew. With no cell coverage and a 3:1 pick-up to car ratio (surprisingly mostly Toyotas) we knew were in the sticks. The general store which also carried bootleg dvds, a post office, and county maps updated in 1993, was the local watering hole judging by the large crowd of people and dogs. I wanted to pet a cute bulldog that was begging for attention in the back of one of the trucks, but the electrical wire leash and chocker collar warned me to stay away. With two BMWs and full touring suits, we definitely stuck out. Judging by the looks and the distance kept by the locals, not many riders crash this party.

Further on we found a desolate stretch of road where the only vehicle we passed was a FedEx truck. The road was definitely less used than the 1 as it had a dotted center line even though it was as twisty and the blacktop was certainly patchy. We followed a river down to the ocean crossing it several time before the final bridge which took us to a straight stretch along the ocean. On one side cute cows chew their cud and on the other waves continually create more sand from the shore.

We stopped by the funniest house to put on some warm layers as the sun approached the horizon. This house would fit in any suburban neighborhood, but instead sits on a long stretch of ocean with only cows for neighbors. It’s right against the street in a place where it could easily be set back a long way. I guess there’s so little traffic that any sign of life is welcome (as long as it stays on the road, there was a sign that said "no water, no bathroom, no phone").

We turned inland through another agricultural region stopping to stare into a flock of blank eyed sheep who’s pasture the road bisected. Our adventure into the wild untraveled ended when we entered Ferndale, a Victorian remnant of the American Main Street. There we picked up the 101, and although we made much better time, the best miles had already passed.