Peaks and Falls - Another Anti Ride Report.

I apologize for the non-motorcycle content as of late. I would have liked to figure out a way for these non-motorcycle related posts to appear else-where, rather than the main motorcycle ride archives, which still remains the main driving force for creating this blog, but I confess, I haven't spent much time at all trying to make it happen, so please bear with me.

Motorcycling and photography continue to be my two true loves and passions, but how do you motorcycle when your trusty steed has been rendered not so trusty anymore? There is no point and no sense in not being outdoors enjoying all the sights that traveling has to offer, while you await a remedy to all that ails your two-wheeled companion. That means falling back to my backup transportation, which is no slug by comparison, even if it has 4 wheels, it still has bigger Brembo ABS brakes, traction control, and a 6 speed transmission as a conduit to a snarling motor which (through some modifications) churns out 300+ HP at the wheels. Not bad, not bad at all.. :)

What follows is another collection of photographs from a spontaneous and unplanned excursion into Northern California, to see some sights, enjoy some hikes and visit with some of my favorite people in this world. Unlike my motorcycling posts, this blog post, will be far less effusive. Writing about non-motorcycle trips doesn't quite inspire prose which bubbles from my heart and tingles my fingertips to dance on the keyboard. So like the blog post preceding this one, I will keep banter to a minimum and let the beauty of Northern California speak in it's stead. I hope you enjoy the view! :)

My favorite mountain hide-away. Mt. Shasta in a veil of silk.

A Weekend To Celebrate.

A story told in reverse chronological order. The pictures were taken on my return journey. I had come home safely from a celebration weekend under the gaze of an imposing mountain. Getting home safe from a motorcycle adventure is always worth a toast. We don't like surprise endings in motorcycle stories, the cliche and boring "Home safe and sound" ending never gets old in our world. 

It had been a great ride, astride my fire breathing monster of a steed. Fire breathing both literally as in it was a 100+ degrees outside and the heat from this 1298 cc engine between my knees was roasting my ... ahem ... nuts, and figuratively as in some scorching performance on the winding roads of the Sierra mountains.

It's not unlike the well muscled and sculpted steed of this Pony Express rider, whose statue stands (gallops?) in Old Sacramento, where I stopped for a few minutes on my way home, but the monster of an FJR doesn't need a whip to goad it to go where I point it to, and go there fast, it just needs a gentle roll of the right wrist..