It’s January in the high desert of Nevada. I look at the forecast in disbelief finding early spring conditions, not the doldrums typical for the dead of winter. The weather offers a travel window. Five days between mild fronts. Yes, that’s enough time for a short trip.

But what to do?

Decision Point

Keep in mind the weather was much less cold than usual but not what I would call warm. High mountain passes would still be chilly but they would be mostly dry. They are normally covered in snow and ice. Even cleared roads present hazards to riders: icy patches in shadowy corners, road salt and gravel across the pavement.

After whittling down the options to the best scenario for the conditions and timing, I decided to head for the California coast. Getting over the Sierra Nevada would be manageable if I stuck to I-80. Typically in January, the mountains would be an impenetrable wall to a motorcyclist, denying us access to warmer riding weather to the west. While interstate riding isn’t ideal, it would serve my purposes for this trip.

What comes after that? Truthfully I made the deliberate decision not to have a plan. Armed with a Butler motorcycling map of northern California (Amazon affiliate link) and a seed planted by a Facebook meme, my goal for this trip was simple. A coddiwomple, by motorcycle.

A Minor Complication

As I mentioned, the weather was warm for the season but not actually, measureably, warm. And my four-season motorcycling pants were off on their own month-long adventure for a warranty repair. That left me with only my mesh summer pants. Even with the insulating liner in, they weren’t going to cut it for this trip.

Then the good news came! My repaired pants were scheduled to return to me on the eve of my trip. Yes! I did a happy dance.

Then the dreaded delivery update came. Weather delays on the route meant the pants wouldn’t arrive until after I had to leave. Argh!

That presented another problem though. My not-inexpensive motorcycle pants would be sitting on my front porch for five days in my absence. In a world where stealing packages off of front porches appears to be the crime du jour, that wasn’t an appealing scenario.

It became clear I would not have the pants before I absolutely had to be on the road. I had to do damage control before I left. Hours of phone calls and internet inquiries consumed my time as I tried to get the delivery delayed until after my return.

The powers that be were having none of that, though. It came down to leaving a note for the delivery man who I hoped would graciously hide the package in an obscure place for me. He did. I haven’t seen him since but I hope he doesn’t mind a big thank-you hug when I do.

Gear alternatives

So what came of the pants dilemma? My summer pants just wouldn’t do the trick as much as I tried to hack my situation. In the end I wore my dear man’s old motorcycle pants. I’m all for choosing men’s gear when it’s a better choice (boots, gloves, and the like) but pants are a different story.

In the end, they did the trick but I spent the entire trip hiking the pants up and repositioning the armor every time I got on and off the bike. The too-large and too-long pants were not a pretty sight — so no, I’m not going to share a picture of that hot mess. 😉

Coddiwompling

Getting over the Sierra

My delayed exit on the first morning meant only making it to Vacaville, California. We peeled off of I-80 at Davis, to relieve the pressure of interstate riding. It can be efficient, and in some cases, safer for riders but it’s usually not fun riding. And other than needing to get over the Sierra, riding the interstate is decidedly un-coddiwomply. We wiggled through the backroads to enter Vacaville from the north. Along the way we were treated to delightful rolling hillsides dotted with cows grazing peacefully.

Motorcycling our coddiwomple groove

On the following day we began the coddiwomple in earnest. We rolled out of Vacaville the way we had come in to meet back with Highway 128 and ride the twisties westward to the coast. Much of that route hugs lakes and creeks with cozy little wayside parks to stretch your legs. A lunch stop in charming Calistoga allowed us to contemplate some of the sights we’d taken in along the way—stunning beauty juxtaposed against the scars of the recent and devastating wildfires there.

Post-lunch wanderings led us southward to merge with Highway 12 for a bit before peeling off north again along Bohemian Highway—a surreal, rainforest-like tunnel of dampness in some stretches that took us through Occidental, a little tourist town. The fairly slow but scenic route often involved navigating shitty pavement but it dumped us out onto Highway 116 to ride westward along the Russian River.

A slight detour

A slight navigational error with me as the lead rider—or what I like to call a happy accident—led us to riding north along the coast through Jenner on Highway 1, mouths agape at the view. The Russian River dumps out into the ocean and you cruise along the coast, Highway 1 perched on a cliff, the ocean pounding the shoreline below. For a Florida native, it’s otherworldly to see the ocean this way. Fatigue was beginning to get the better of me so my adventure partner took the lead after an overlook break to enjoy the scenery near Palisades Point.

We continued south on Highway 1 to Bodega Bay, basking in the glory of the coastal ride until we needed to turn back inland towards Sebastopol for an affordable room for the night. That resulted in another happy accident, discovering the joy of Martha’s Old Mexico, a fabulous dinner spot. I’m a sucker for chili verde and theirs is practically orgasmic. I ate way more than I should have before waddling my overstuffed body back to the hotel to soak my stiff, aching Frankenleg in the hotel hot tub and enjoy a nightcap, having replenished my evening whiskey stash on the walk back to the room.

Managing fog

Day 3 began with thick fog which delayed our exit. We had late starts on most mornings to manage the reduced visibility created by the fog but this was by far our latest. But catching up on work and life was in order so it fit just fine in the big scheme of the coddiwomple. Once it was clear enough, Highway 12 back to the coast was calling our name. It put us back on Highway 1 south through the rolling countryside to the cliff-gripping highway that would take us to Point Reyes National Seashore.

After a stop at the visitor center to orient ourselves to the park, we rode to Schooner Bay. The road was closed to general traffic beyond this point. If we wanted to see the lighthouse we would need to wait in line and ride a bus. It was a busy holiday weekend and the crowds were daunting. Our late start that morning meant we were also in jeopardy of not being able to get back inland for a reasonably priced room for the night if we took the time to fully experience the park. We decided against the bus-and-lighthouse-tour. No worries, though. I got a taste and I’ll be sure to allow more time to explore it next time around. It really is stunning.

Managing fuel

Leaving the park, we needed to manage our fuel supply so we backtracked just a bit to Point Reyes Station to avoid finding ourselves stranded on the coast which has surprisingly few gas stations. With that sorted, we continued south on Highway 1. That section proved to be as stunning as its northern counterpart. However, it had the added challenges of substantial construction zones and, shall we say, eyebrow-raising wind gusts blasting around the curves of the crenulated coastal road.

Once the highway turned back eastward through the Muir Woods area. We were relieved of the surprise gusts but hampered by the heavy traffic of the holiday weekend in a sublimely beautiful place. We landed near Sausalito for the night, having intended to be further north by the time we called it quits for the day. But that set us up for another fabulous turn of events. We were very close to one of my dear Hell Hike and Raft sister’s stomping grounds. We got to spend the evening with Annie of Outdoorsy Mama fame. There may have been some overindulging in adult beverages that evening as we caught up.

Hanging with locals

That late-but-welcome celebration meant a slow start the next morning. Our not-very-bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed selves moved slowly up to the Windsor area along the unexciting Highway 101. The next weather front was beginning to approach more quickly than the forecast indicated before we left so we found ourselves in overcast, damp, chilly weather. A short day was certainly in order as we were working our way to meet up with more friends to explore a bit of the micro-distillery action going on in Sonoma County. We had the privilege of tasting great spirits made by young enthusiasts who are turning their hobby and love of the craft into small businesses. Their energy is inspiring.

Spending time with people who love where they live is one of my favorite experiences. As our supremely gracious hosts gave us a personal tour of their stomping grounds their love of Sonoma County co-mingled with sadness for the devastation brought by the wildfires last year. Listening to first-hand accounts of what it’s like to prepare to evacuate—the frenzy of what’s happening around you and uncertainty about what to do next—is sobering. The evening was not grim, mind you. But in the midst of celebrating friendship, the poignancy of sharing a difficult experience with us was not lost on me.

The closing weather window

The final night of our coddiwomple we needed to prepare and plan just a bit for the return over the Sierra. The weather was beginning to catch us and we had to strategize about our route and timing. We were able to maintain some level of coddiwompling as we worked our way back east. We meandered through back roads to meet up with I-80 which again proved to be our best choice to blast back over the hill.

Maximizing the final day

A slightly different path east than we came west on Day 2 took us through the Napa area and north on Highway 121, a short-but-fabulous ribbon of twisties that rides like an elegant waltz. It was a soothing respite before the business-like ride that lay ahead on the interstate.

We rolled into home as the sun set and the chill of the weather began to sink into our fatigued bodies. After a quick round of drive chain maintenance to combat the winter road muck we tucked our bikes away into the garage, not knowing when we might be able to ride again. After shedding motorcycle gear, I went to check on my errant delivery. Sure enough, the box was waiting for me in the designated spot. I silently thanked our delivery man for being so agreeable and went inside to assess the repair to my pants. Seeing they were as good as new, I hugged them, having missed them so. My pants in one hand, I not-at-all-sadly relinquished my loaner pants to their owner with the other. Next time I coddiwomple, it will be in motorcycle pants that fit. 😉

What does a motorcycle coddiwomple look like?

Apparently this! In the end the trip was about 900 miles over the five days—a very leisurely pace. The bulk of the mileage was obviously on the first and last days but you can use the interactive map below to zoom in on the wigglier bits to get a sense of the meandering nature of the trip. I will say for my non-riding friends out there, you don’t need to be on two wheels to enjoy this area—it’s a fabulous trip no matter what transportation you choose.

Cheers, friends. Adventure on!