Lake Elsinore

I took this whole week off for no particular reason, and wanted to squeeze in a couple rides between napping and snacking. Today I rode the Hornet from Long Beach to the small town of Lake Elsinore. I chose this place because I rewatched On Any Sunday recently, and there's an entire segment that takes place in Lake Elsinore - as Bruce Brown covers the Grand Prix they hold here. The scenes are amazing, as Malcolm Smith and Steve McQueen tear down streets and trails around this little town, back in 1970 (or there about).

The bottom photo shows an abandoned building that I recognized from an aerial shot of Lake Elsinore in the film. This street (Main St.), is where hundreds of riders lined up at the start of the race.

The ride today was amazing. Well, it eventually became so. The route takes me down the crowded 405, to the crowded I-5, down to San Juan Capistrano, before I take off on the Ortega Hwy up into the mountains. Once you reach that point, the fun begins. The views are great, and the twisty, lazy curves of the road were intensely inviting. I've never seen the CB360 perform so well. She just ate up every windy ribbon of road through those mountains.

Of course I was passed every so often by a spaceship-like probe of a race motorcycle, or a glittery, massive harley-davidson, but these things don't bother me. You see, I wasn't there to win a drag race, or a bike show ribbon. I was there in search of ghosts. Smith and McQueen are out there somewhere.

There is something understated and mystical about riding such an old motorcycle. The engine vibrates madly, felt from your hands on the bars, to your feet on the pegs. Every rusty bolt, frayed wire, scratch in the tank has a story to tell. It swells you with nostalgia for a time you've only read about, or seen in grainy films. But it's more than a fading feeling - it's real. It's tangible - metal, rubber and wire - and I'm sitting on it, roaring down the highway at 75 mph! I'm riding a ghost.

Small trips like this remind me, that although substance and quality seem to be dropping out of everything around us, there are reasons to be optimistic. I still have the freedom to roll my motorcycle out of the garage and ride it wherever I want to. There are still hauntingly beautiful, brutally weathered small towns - and they're not that far away. That even at my age (31 now...sigh) when I feel like damn near all surprise and excitement are dead, barreling down the road on a small Honda twin can bring an unapologetically goofy smile to my face.