The Bay Area Rider’s Forum, affectionately known as BARF, hosts a few rallies each year.  I missed Midsummer Magic up in Weaverville because I needed to attend the Slipstream rally with the Diabetes Youth Foundation for a much-needed diabetes tune-up. What surprised me was that Budman, BARF’s moderator, reached out and said, “I was really looking forward to meeting you.” With that sort of statement, I would move heaven and earth to ensure I was there for Rydther – the last BARF rally of the season out in Hawthorne, Nevada.

BARF (and South Bay Riders (SBR) for those south of Highway 92, lol) have had a huge impact on me evolving as a motorcyclist in the Bay Area. Both forums started in the very early 2000s and connected many of the riders across the Bay Area to a single place. I remember regularly scrolling through the Group Rides section of the forum and seeing all the different places people were going. It was easy to drop in, meet friends, and go on a ride out in this amazing place.

I love social networking for some things – community building isn’t one of them. As Facebook rose to power, I believe we lost the centrality of BARF and SBR. Now, various small forums are scattered all over Facebook and other cloud platforms that do not have the central staying power of a place like BARF. Mehran tried to fill the gap with an aggregator called http://grouprides.net/, but alas, it seems to not be connected to #allTheFeeds anymore. As I started doubling down on the motorcycle community in my area, I’m making a renewed commitment to being involved in BARF. Budman’s outreach sealed the deal. I was headed to Hawthorne, Nevada, this mid-September weekend.

The rally started on Friday and ran all weekend. However, I couldn’t get out early on Friday so that meant leaving with the rest of the Bay Area all the way up 680 to 80 into Sacramento. The heat, the traffic, and the stress of manuvering a large, heavy bike through all of it were starting to wear on me east of Sac. Leaving at 3 o’clock on a Friday is always a challenging ride. This was an exceptionally tough exit due to a stalled vehicle in the left-hand lane on a transnational interstate. Ugh.

September always surprises me with its warm summer days but deceptively early sunsets – invoking that wintertime feeling of “what happened to the sun.” I learned many years ago I am good at intuiting feelings and perceptions as a way of coloring my world. It’s not that I can’t work with facts, but the context in which those facts sit is vital to me. I had seen Hawthorne on the map many times and many roadsigns throughout the Eastern Sierra pointing to its existence, but I had not been there. When I stopped in South Lake Tahoe, saw the sun slip behind the mountains, and glanced down at my phone, the facts became very clear, and the evoked emotion around them; I still had 2.5 hours to ride to get to my destination – in the dark.

The temperature was starting to drop. The familiarity I had with the area was dropping as well. By the time I reached Yerington, Nevada – a part of me broke. The difficulty of this adventure was starting to wear on me. Why?

• I left the Bay Area too late
• Traffic was brutal – made worse by disabled car on a coast-to-coast interstate
• It was dark made worse by the fact I didn’t know the terrain
• Temperatures would swing from 55 to 75 and back again for no apparent reason (apparently this is common in the desert)
• The anxiety round not knowing if I was going to have to cross an 8000 foot summit where temperatures would dip into the 30s
• I thought I knew were Hawthorne was – it was further than I thought and exceptionally further than I thought due to the Highway 395 closure. 
• My insulin pump started to incessantly complain of the low battery in the middle of a long, lonely, and somewhat cold desert.

This was no three-hour jaunt to the Sierras. I was prepped and in no real danger, but the weight of the journey was beginning to pile up. Needing a break, I stopped for gas I didn’t need to break the stress of the ride. I asked the cashier where the batteries were, and she laughed, “They are at the end of this aisle, we don’t lock them up as California does.”. I replied, “Ouch!” She then offered, “You do know I’m from Marin County.” That was the smile, familiarity, and comfort I needed. We probably talked for about 10 minutes about everything and nothing at the same moment.

I thanked her for the kindness in my journey. She wished me well and made me promise that I would ride safely. I had 60 miles to go and would set my boots down just shy of 10:30. As I approached Hawthorne, the road wound around Walker Lake. The sky was brilliantly clear, and the moon was almost full. It was amazing to see the wide open space so full of light. I can see the twinkle of Hawthorne off in the distance, making the finish line clear and in focus.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, I saw N sitting by the pool who greeted me with a hello and a wave. I was here. I had Rydther.

Friday Route:

I woke up the next morning and got a good look at the hotel, some of the town, and the surrounding landscape. Hawthorne was an interesting place. It was a mishmash of a small town and US Army presence, and so why am I here thrown in the Travelodge Hotel in a detached casino that had a midcentury look – less so on the modern.

When I asked Budman, “Why Hawthorne?” He replied, “It’s cheap, people don’t bug us, there’s plenty of space to spread out, and less paternalistic in California.” With a simple head nod, that made sense to me.

N and I chatted about riding together today. He made it clear he was in an early riser – neither was I so we matched up well in that regard. N and Randy spent quite a bit of time in Vancouver during N’s trip to Alaska. I hadn’t met N before so it was great to spend some time with him before we hopped on the bikes. We both agreed that 10 AM was a reasonable gathering time and were on the road before 11.

The route today wasn’t overly complicated. Pavement rides in Nevada generally are much simpler than in California with its Gestalt presence. Roads are straighter with less traffic and better pavement. We continued south on US 95 towards to Tonopah and caught Nevada 360 back towards Benton, CA. Seeing so many dirt roads out on the high desert, I always wonder if the tertiary highways in Nevada are paved. I have this suspicion that one day I’m going to get way out there in the pavement is just going to disappear into the dirt.

But alas, my anxieties quickly melted away, seeing glass-smooth pavement as Nevada 360 snaked across the desert.
Nevada 360 was short-lived, folding into US-6. Right around the corner from the Nevada 360/US-6 junction was a pullout to view Boundary Peak. Even in the late summer, the mountain had a beautiful presence dominating the valley around it. I’d imagine in the late spring the snow-covered peak would be even better!

CA-120 is always a roller coaster ride – and this year was no exception. Due to the massive water flows in the desert during the rainy season, the road has steep climbs and drops that would make any stomach thrill or hurl at speed. When the road suddenly drops my stomach always jumps a bit. I’ve been riding this road for 10 years in that uncomfortable sensation of dropping quickly still gets me.

With relatively low humidity, I’m surprised how quickly things decay. At my buddy’s house in Palm Springs, I was surprised at how much home maintenance he had to do. Apparently, water isn’t the only enemy of homes. Sun and massive quantities of it can do an equally bad number on any structure. Even the film on top of the road signs started peeling off.

June Lake was always an elusive one. It’s no secret that I love swimming in clear, high alpine lakes. I’d always get to June Lake too late in the afternoon from the Bay Area or have to leave early to get back home.

The big perk stemming from leaving Friday night is that all the cool places in the eastern Sierras are easily accessible – including June Lake. We strolled into town just after 1 o’clock.  We found our way to La Parilla, a Mexican food truck right next to June Lake Brewing. While I can’t comment on the beer, the food was fantastic! The portions were generous, and the price was affordable – especially being so far out into the Sierras. 

I talked N into stopping at the lake. He wasn’t up for the swim but was certainly willing to hang out on the shore. As we got to the beach, the wind picked up, turning the somewhat may be on a good day, moderately warm swim into what felt like a polar adventure. I only lasted 2 to 3 minutes in the water but fully submerged to fully commit the 2024 cold water swim into the record books.

Once the wind got me out of the water, it was time to jet north and east back to Hawthorne. Dinner was one of the main attractions of the weekend – a chance to hang with the riders I only knew online and behind handles and avatars. Gestalt Nevada showed her head again with wide open spaces across the barren landscape.

Saturday Route:

N and I left somewhat early — gasp, 9:30 a.m. It was fantastic to ride the same road as Friday night; I got to see the mountains, the water, and the open expanse of the desert.

During the day, I got to see why I didn’t have to cross an 8,000 foot pass when coming into Hawthorne: Wilson Canyon.

The West Walker River snaked through these mountains, cutting a beautiful ride through these red giants. I didn’t see any of it on the way here other than some turn signs following the glass smooth pavement. I can imagine traveling west through the canyon at sunset would be beautiful mixing the red and orange tones of the sky in with the same color palette of the mountains. I’m glad we stopped here to soak in the natural beauty of the desert.

N was set on riding Highway 4 back. Since I had the telephoto lens with me, I wanted to capture him climbing Monitor Pass. I came to Monitor Pass about ten years ago with a similar camera setup and was pleasantly surprised by how the photos came out with the writer and focused on the valley below as the backdrop. I sent N a few minutes down the road, asking him to come through the area for a quick photograph.

He was a bit quicker on the throttle and the autofocus system was completely different on the new camera versus the old camera. This time I maxed out the zoom on the camera, rather than leaving a 15% border to capture more of the valley below. Note to self: practice, practice, practice. I guess that means more riding and photographing, LOL!

Highway 4 is probably my least favorite pass, with its narrow Sierra crossing, pitting motorcycle against country boy pickup or soccer dad SUV flying around the corner. The lack of a defined double yellow line always gives me pause. However, N was really excited to ride over Ebbetts’s, so I’ll take one for the skill builder.

We were both getting hungry as it was getting late in the afternoon (remember, Hawthorne is way out there). Bear Valley was the only option for food, and even then, it was only a food truck. Surprisingly, that food truck delivered. The tater tots were excellent, and the beef and the burger were quite good, too. I’m sure there is a bit of a hard motorcycle ride, making the food taste better, but I wasn’t going to complain. It was a damn good $25 burger and tots!

As we went further down the mountain, I was surprised how much I enjoyed Highway 4. I’ve already fallen in love with leaving the East Bay on Highway 4 rather than taking the 680 and 580 freeways grinding with the rest of the Bay Area. Maybe there is a lunch run up to Bear Valley and back during the fall!

By the time I got home, I was beat. I know, cry me a river, but three thousand-mile weekends were starting to make me feel old. I had Rydther, and I was proud of myself for going on the adventure, seeing new lands, meeting new people, and building some new friendships.

My bones were tired, though and I got no shame spinning up a warm bath, adding some Epsom salts, turning on the candle mood lighting, and putting on whatever New Age spa music that Spotify wanted to play that evening. Cheers to a good ride! Now, where’s the next one?

Sunday Route: