It had been way too long since my poor Bandit was let out of his garage prison. In addition, my friend Tyler was getting ready to ride to Death Valley with a group from SBR, so I thought it was high time to spring my steed from garage hell, and join the fun!
Gary helped me get him road ready from his winter slumber and I loaded up my bags for a four day adventure south, where the weather was pushing into the 80s. I could hardly wait and I had my swimming suit to prove it.
Now…though my excitement, I had total disregard for the fact it was still winter in NV and much of northern CA. So much so that the day I left, Bridgeport was sporting record lows. I discovered that my electric gear simply dulls the pain that I was feeling in my face, feet and legs. I guess pant liners and socks are next if I am to remain where winter wraps me in icy fingertips. Oh ya, and one of those ugly face thingys.
The sky was absolutely clear and gorgeous, but the air was freezing. I tried staring down the thermostat so it would give up more than 30 degrees, but it was already nearly 11AM. I had to go, if I was indeed going. I felt like a kid in a snow suit with my many layers. I was concerned about actually being able to woman the bike, especially after a ride sabbatical of two months. Once I got out of the garage, I was on my way and feeling like the bike was merely an extension of my own body.
My body radiated COLD, as I traveled down Hwy 395 south. I had a full tank and was certain I could get to Bridgeport before needing gas. I love filling up there as I so enjoy paying the most money that all of CA charges for the supper my bandit like to eat. The problem that unless you have a larger tank, you are relegated to gas up either there or Lee Vining and both are ridiculously priced experiences.
Today the stinging wasn’t nearly as painful as the chilling I received getting to the fleecing. I huddled over my hot coffee, like a cat over a heating vent. There was but one other motorcyclist and he was from Alaska on an older BMW K-bike. Though acclimated to cold climate, he couldn’t get over the chill. It was not even 30 in Bridgeport. It was 27 and miserable. He was coming south to north and told me that there was colder weather ahead, the record lows in Lee Vining. I scoffed, and put on another layer under my already tight riding clothes. Yep, the Michelin man and I looked related.
