Previous Post: San Diego State Route S2 on S2R
San Diego State Route S2 on S2R Monster
As Warren Miller might say, “San Diego is a special place. Not the San Diego that most travelers know. But the off-the-beaten track San Diego. If you are ever in this town, go east. And you’ll discover scenery and terrain you didn’t know was here. As you travel inland the mountains swell up. Boulder strewn peaks reach 5000 feet in short order – some even hit 11,000 feet.”
“A beach town? I think not. The infamous Palomar Mountain, home of the so-named observatory, is a motorcyclist’s haven. But just a stretch further in and one discovers Lake Henshaw and the Borrego Springs Valley below.”
Me Talking Now...
I continued the process of running in the S2R1000. It is funny how I start my rides with the intent of achieving less mileage. I did so again today, but I ended up having another great outing. It can’t be avoided on this bike. When I’m riding I am inhaling a Gelato and drinking Brunello, and feeling a little giddy from the combination.
I informed my wife that I was heading towards Julian. She asked if I could bring her a pie. I kindly told her that the only thing traveling with me and the Duc today was a full tank of petrol. No room for apples. Or pies.
On my usual escape route I went straight east towards Santa Ysabel. But once there I looked north. Time to get miles a different way.
I rode north through a lush narrow valley towards Lake Henshaw, of Warren Miller fame, at a brisk pace. After ten minutes I, once again, strode right on State Route S2. This time though my intent was wholly different, and the section of S2 was far north of the other evening. After only a few minutes I reached my goal: Montezuma Valley Road (MVR). It is a name that reminds us of how we feel after an aggressive night out. It is apt. MVR is comprised of two sections. The first ten miles or so are flat and deceptively rise. About a mile out from the summit of this dastardly road one looks left and right at rugged peaks and then straight ahead. It appears as if the road just disappears. The road peaks and there is nothing but sky. I’ve been on a lot of roads over the years, and I don’t know of another that sets up this way. I instinctively reduce speed. The precipice must be on the other side.
In fact, it is. On November 7, with Santa Ana conditions still challenging firefighters, at the crest of this road I looked out upon a thousand miles. Many days the Salton Sea is sufficiently far that one can’t see it. Today it is crystal clear. And yet, I know it is very far from here. In order to get to the Sea it is at least a good hour of solid riding once on the desert floor. I’m not going to the Salton Sea, but I am descending straight down this behemoth. Ten miles of downhill and perhaps 5000 feet below is Borrego Springs. A strange sleepy town, with remnants of the sixties, and recent times.
I think about last year’s failed solo off road journey over the Bradshaw Trail east of the Salton Sea. This 70 mile off-road stretch extends from nearly water’s edge to Blythe. After a few hard spills and a broken pannier on the R1200GS I went back to Palm Springs for a nice night with a bottle of 4.00 wine in front of a cheap hotel TV. I rented a movie called Salton Sea and watch Val Kilmer kill a few people. Then, feeling good from the magical elixir, I walked outside and observed my dirty broken motorcycle and just stared at it for a while. I’ll be hitting that trail again very soon. If anyone wants to join me just drop me a note. I’ll be traveling lighter this year. No camping gear except for that 4.00 bottle.
The downhill patch of MVR must be ridden with reasonable care. There is plenty of tar, and temperatures change very quickly as the asphalt descends to near sea level. I look ahead with precision. I anticipate. I use the gears to brake. I’m thrust forward into the handlebars. It is steep. My left hand gets sore from the work. The Duc whines and sputters as I downshift. I love that sound. It then deeply growls as I accelerate. I love that sound too. This cycle occurs innumerable times on this very twisty road. I’ve been on this patch a number of times and it is no exaggeration that death is just a mistake away. It is easy to achieve very fast speeds on early straight sections, only to be stricken with fear by an upcoming 15 mph corner, and just beyond a 500 foot ledge. The driver anticipates it should be straighter. But it only gets exceedingly steep and curvy. I’ve ridden this road down and up on my bicycle. Today the only anaerobic exertion would be in my mind. My brain was building up lactate. On my 400 pound machine I would be exercising my throttle hand. I was careful going down.
In Borrego I expected to see buzzards and a couple of tarantulas. I’ve been here many times, and in the dead heat of summer. I’m amazed at all the new housing. People do live in 120 degree summer days. Lots of them.
I filled the tank at the bottom, and rode back up into stark sun, blind corners, and truly beautiful rugged scenery. The terrain is moonlike. It looks as if home-sized boulders were randomly dropped everywhere. Sage and other desert plants grow tall from the crevices. There were no cars going up. A photographer stole a snap as I booked around an inside corner, going damn near straight up. I vainly wanted a picture of myself buzzing around the corner in a steep lean on my machine. But I didn’t want it enough to stop. Screw the photo, I’m in a groove.
Deserts really are beautiful. Their solitude can be unnerving though. Ask any Death Valley Dual Sport explorer what goes through their mind when they drop their bike in the middle of nowhere.
“What if it doesn’t start?”
“Did I break something?”
“Will my skeleton be found?”
And when they get it started and ride away, “is my paint scratched?”
Montezuma Valley Road has huge peaks abutting, fanatical winds blowing the shit out of you, and petite wildflowers suggesting it isn’t that much of a beast. Montezuma Valley is a great SOCal road. I’ve been thinking about the construction of that thing. There are many great enormous roads in our world. Up mountains, across streams. But this is a very rugged area. I suspect MVR took years to construct.
As I hummed back and past Henshaw, across vast open fields, puffy deep green trees, beneath Palomar, bugs splattered my helmet. My relaxation was stirred by the thought of something mysterious getting inside and biting me. Or worse yet, flying into my mouth and stinging me, nonstop. Fear. Motorcycling contains some of that. What if I hit a patch of sand? What if a car veers into me? What if the engine blows up and I swallow a bird? What if I’m careful, observant, and enjoy my afternoon. What if motorcycles didn’t exist? Oh shit. That would be a problem.
Coming back on State Route 67 towards Ramona there is another good section of twisties. However today it would be dominated by trucks carrying road building earth. A meaningless sign hung from one truck and read “Gravel and Sand, Any Job”. I have no idea what that means. Except to me they should simply pull over and let me continue my journey while fully leveraging the Duc’s capabilities.
Last few miles heading home, I came to a vista and saw Mt. Woodson, backlit standing tall. I’m ten miles out.
530 miles in just a few days. I’ll hit the goal. The bike will get its Termignonis and its first checkup for performing so well in its probation period.
All the Best,
John
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