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To preface this, I bought my first motorcycle ('09 250) in the middle of October and that was the first time I'd ever ridden. I went to MSF and learned on a Nighthawk that month so I knew the basics, but I only had a month's worth of riding on the street before this trip. I replaced the vitals before riding: the chain, the tires, the sprocket, and the brake pads. It took a little longer to change the oil, but I managed to do that right before I left for California.
Thanksgiving was the impetus. Having $40 was enough of a reason to visit my sister and see California for the first time. I knew a lot of people would advise against it so I had to selectively listen to advice. My roommate told me to call it off. Again, if I listened to every caution given to me I wouldn't be where I am today. I am unscathed and I've been in a variety of conditions so I value the experience and I think I'm much better off for it in many ways. I'm stubborn, but in a realistic capacity.
The overall trip estimation was 367 miles (5 hours/55 minute). In reality -- and because I broke down briefly, more on that later -- I stopped somewhat liberally and still made it there in 6 1/2 hours. I let the bike cool down and relieved my underside every 100 miles or so, and though I was chasing the sun over the mountains and steadily growing colder I made it to my destination just an hour or so after sunset.
Heading out of town was boring, nothing until Blythe to speak about. Even there, the only thing to note was the bugs that were littering my vision and causing me to wipe my visor every 5 minutes. But after that point things got interesting.
I was making good time and had just filled the tank all the way up maybe 45 minutes prior. 15 minutes outside of Indio, California my bike died as I was going full speed. I pulled the clutch in and drifted to a safe stop on the shoulder as there was nobody nearby to avoid. I opened the tank and it was bone dry. There had to be a leak somehow. I couldn't believe it. I thought the whole trip was compromised and I was just over 2 hours into it.
Here's where luck comes in. I accidentally signed up for roadside assistance when I purchased insurance, and I paid in full so I didn't notice until it was too late anyway. I laid down on the road from exhaustion and disbelief as I called the number on the card. I explained the situation and they located me, telling me it would take around an hour before the guy would arrive and that I would have to pay out of pocket for fuel but that he could bring some. 10 minutes after I get off the phone I'm leaning against my bike and I see a vehicle stopping. It's a fire truck. I'm confused but then they tell me someone called 911 and thought I had crashed. :facepalm:
I explained how someone was coming with a flatbed and gasoline and I apologized for any confusion by my laziness, but it felt great to lie down and because they showed up something odd but possibly crucial happened. They had a tiny bit of gas to give me free of charge, and when trying to do so it went straight to the pavement.
We scratched our heads collectively and I told them I was fine and thanks for trying. They left along with an ambulance that stopped by briefly ... fast forward another 10 minutes and a cop stopped. That was fun, because as I approached his car he gave me some serious motions to say "hold it right there."
He turned out to be very cool and informative and told me his suspicion was that the fuel came out of the overflow valve and that (somewhat like a toilet) the carburetor has a float mechanism and that possibly something (dirt or other debris) clogged it. This is the theory to this date. Like the firemen before him, I told him I would be alright and that help was on the way, so he wished me luck and left.
The tow truck guy arrived, gave me $10 of gas, and again I was on my way. It was an anxious period trying to start the bike after everything again, and it simply wouldn't turn over for maybe 20 starts consecutively. I was messing with the choke and holding the throttle open, things I'm not really sure helped but I was willing to try. Finally, with the choke all the way up and the throttle open it turned over.
Coming into Indio was like nothing else I've ever seen. The scale and multitude of windmills is something really special. These pictures can't do it justice, maybe a Hero or Hero 2 could, but they're what I found and give you an idea. I really wrote this report just to talk about this particular valley, which is also known as Coachella Valley.
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After Indio there were sights to see and the mountains never failed to impress, but that valley full of windmills made the biggest impression. I can't find pictures of the San Bernardino mountains that follow, but that was a spot where I found it hard to ignore the views all around me. Also, coming into Moreno Valley, California you see these very picturesque fields -- exactly like being in a plane and looking down at the ground from high above at patchwork land, except you're close.
When I got into California we had Thanksgiving dinner and the next day I got the bike looked at. The mechanic had worked on carburetors for 40+ years and he told me the bike sounded fine and that I should have the carb cleaned out and rejetted whenever possible. He gave me peace of mind and that allowed me to make the return trip yesterday.
While in California I enjoyed the sheer exhilaration of lane-splitting legally through congested traffic and I have to say I could easily see how that could be addictive. It was such an invigorating and liberating experience to be able to do it legally. I only did it when necessary: when traffic came to a standstill and I realized I didn't have to. :thumb:
On the way back, traffic was backed up miles, but on the other side of the road only. I lost an hour because of the time zone and night came earlier than I liked. It was cold riding into Phoenix and I accidentally exited early, so I wasted considerable time in the city thinking I was close (I was not) until I stumbled on the interstate again and zipped home. I thought about not including this part, but for sake of disclosure and honesty, I topped the bike out twice on the trip. Just enough to see triple digits it turns out. The first time I asked the bike because I wanted to know, the second time I was going downhill and it asked me. Like topping other vehicles out, I won't do that again now that I know. :angel:
When I finally made it back the speedo read 402. My butt was calling for a soft mattress, and thankfully it didn't bother me after last night but I have a good estimate for what I can do tops in a day now. Much thanks to Spooph for entertaining my various questions and encouraging me to share my experience. I hope next time I've got my own pics or vid, until then safe riding!
P.S. This random jet-black rider headed East on I-10 Thursday toward Phoenix pointed me out from across the interstate and revived my spirits early on. It was unreal how much of a lift that gave me since he was the first I'd seen all morning so I'd just like to say I hope that tradition continues.
Thanksgiving was the impetus. Having $40 was enough of a reason to visit my sister and see California for the first time. I knew a lot of people would advise against it so I had to selectively listen to advice. My roommate told me to call it off. Again, if I listened to every caution given to me I wouldn't be where I am today. I am unscathed and I've been in a variety of conditions so I value the experience and I think I'm much better off for it in many ways. I'm stubborn, but in a realistic capacity.
The overall trip estimation was 367 miles (5 hours/55 minute). In reality -- and because I broke down briefly, more on that later -- I stopped somewhat liberally and still made it there in 6 1/2 hours. I let the bike cool down and relieved my underside every 100 miles or so, and though I was chasing the sun over the mountains and steadily growing colder I made it to my destination just an hour or so after sunset.
Heading out of town was boring, nothing until Blythe to speak about. Even there, the only thing to note was the bugs that were littering my vision and causing me to wipe my visor every 5 minutes. But after that point things got interesting.
I was making good time and had just filled the tank all the way up maybe 45 minutes prior. 15 minutes outside of Indio, California my bike died as I was going full speed. I pulled the clutch in and drifted to a safe stop on the shoulder as there was nobody nearby to avoid. I opened the tank and it was bone dry. There had to be a leak somehow. I couldn't believe it. I thought the whole trip was compromised and I was just over 2 hours into it.
Here's where luck comes in. I accidentally signed up for roadside assistance when I purchased insurance, and I paid in full so I didn't notice until it was too late anyway. I laid down on the road from exhaustion and disbelief as I called the number on the card. I explained the situation and they located me, telling me it would take around an hour before the guy would arrive and that I would have to pay out of pocket for fuel but that he could bring some. 10 minutes after I get off the phone I'm leaning against my bike and I see a vehicle stopping. It's a fire truck. I'm confused but then they tell me someone called 911 and thought I had crashed. :facepalm:
I explained how someone was coming with a flatbed and gasoline and I apologized for any confusion by my laziness, but it felt great to lie down and because they showed up something odd but possibly crucial happened. They had a tiny bit of gas to give me free of charge, and when trying to do so it went straight to the pavement.
We scratched our heads collectively and I told them I was fine and thanks for trying. They left along with an ambulance that stopped by briefly ... fast forward another 10 minutes and a cop stopped. That was fun, because as I approached his car he gave me some serious motions to say "hold it right there." He turned out to be very cool and informative and told me his suspicion was that the fuel came out of the overflow valve and that (somewhat like a toilet) the carburetor has a float mechanism and that possibly something (dirt or other debris) clogged it. This is the theory to this date. Like the firemen before him, I told him I would be alright and that help was on the way, so he wished me luck and left.
The tow truck guy arrived, gave me $10 of gas, and again I was on my way. It was an anxious period trying to start the bike after everything again, and it simply wouldn't turn over for maybe 20 starts consecutively. I was messing with the choke and holding the throttle open, things I'm not really sure helped but I was willing to try. Finally, with the choke all the way up and the throttle open it turned over.
Coming into Indio was like nothing else I've ever seen. The scale and multitude of windmills is something really special. These pictures can't do it justice, maybe a Hero or Hero 2 could, but they're what I found and give you an idea. I really wrote this report just to talk about this particular valley, which is also known as Coachella Valley.
After Indio there were sights to see and the mountains never failed to impress, but that valley full of windmills made the biggest impression. I can't find pictures of the San Bernardino mountains that follow, but that was a spot where I found it hard to ignore the views all around me. Also, coming into Moreno Valley, California you see these very picturesque fields -- exactly like being in a plane and looking down at the ground from high above at patchwork land, except you're close.
When I got into California we had Thanksgiving dinner and the next day I got the bike looked at. The mechanic had worked on carburetors for 40+ years and he told me the bike sounded fine and that I should have the carb cleaned out and rejetted whenever possible. He gave me peace of mind and that allowed me to make the return trip yesterday.
While in California I enjoyed the sheer exhilaration of lane-splitting legally through congested traffic and I have to say I could easily see how that could be addictive. It was such an invigorating and liberating experience to be able to do it legally. I only did it when necessary: when traffic came to a standstill and I realized I didn't have to. :thumb:
On the way back, traffic was backed up miles, but on the other side of the road only. I lost an hour because of the time zone and night came earlier than I liked. It was cold riding into Phoenix and I accidentally exited early, so I wasted considerable time in the city thinking I was close (I was not) until I stumbled on the interstate again and zipped home. I thought about not including this part, but for sake of disclosure and honesty, I topped the bike out twice on the trip. Just enough to see triple digits it turns out. The first time I asked the bike because I wanted to know, the second time I was going downhill and it asked me. Like topping other vehicles out, I won't do that again now that I know. :angel:
When I finally made it back the speedo read 402. My butt was calling for a soft mattress, and thankfully it didn't bother me after last night but I have a good estimate for what I can do tops in a day now. Much thanks to Spooph for entertaining my various questions and encouraging me to share my experience. I hope next time I've got my own pics or vid, until then safe riding!
P.S. This random jet-black rider headed East on I-10 Thursday toward Phoenix pointed me out from across the interstate and revived my spirits early on. It was unreal how much of a lift that gave me since he was the first I'd seen all morning so I'd just like to say I hope that tradition continues.
