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Good weather, good food (char-broiled carne asada burritos w/ big shake-bottles of green Huichel [we-chul] sauce..motor..scooter!), great concourse of vintage machines parked on the grassy tiered levels. Saw an intricate Indian bobber (imported from England, and was built from 46 different year Indian parts, with an aluminum teardrop bicycle headlamp, mounted and fed by a minature belt driven generator. An eventual trophy winner) and a one of a kind 1954, 2-5/8 hp (stock, big bore, water pump motor [w/entended crankshaft]) Briggs & Stratton powered, V-belt, sheave driven, bicycle that was built by a rider who works with the Burbank Disney fabricating shop; using discarded bicycle parts and scrap from the Disney dumpster; which he plasma cut, mig-tigged and heli-arced at home. He started the motor for us with the bike on it's rear stand, by tightening the belt idler lever, then grabbing the rear wheel and half spinning it upward. A work of art and ingenuity. We took pictures. You could walk away at anytime from the Vincents, Velocettes, and Miller in the concourse, by taking the escalator up to the covered grandstands; sit in any box seat of your choosing and watch the vintage dirt mile. Guys in age from 22 to 50+ riding full out at 100+ mph and into a left turn...most of 'em never letting off the throttle...just powering into full drift slides...feet on the pegs...even though they were wearing left foot skid shoes. Seemed the older they were, the faster they went. The promoters (K&N Filters, Bator Intl., Formula U.S.A. & the San Diego Antique M/C [originators of this yearly event]), had use of the 20' X 20' video screen set up in the infield in front of the grandstands. So, once the lead riders past your vision, the video picked them up through the left turn and along the backtrack. You didn't miss a moment as they fought it out on the backstretch and west turn. Mostly, there were early Triumph, KH, and Yamahas. A splendid event.
That was Saturday. There was a short track race Sat. nite next door at the corral that was going to be handlebar to handlebar. Couldn't attend. And Sunday was a sanctioned mile race, but we didn't go. We rode. There is a 120 mile round-trip that begins at I-5 and Telegraph Canyon Rd. (one exit ramp before the U.S./ Mexican border). We're located about 50 miles north of Telegraph and since Blake has that 900 XLCH, it would have beat it up too much with freeway miles getting out to the launch site. You hear flack about riders that pull their machines (antiques) by trailer, but if you have the space to store a "flip-up" (like a Kendon) ...then by all means,... get hitched...UP! There is a shopping center (east of I-5) and an Arco (Richfield) station. Behind the station is a bank. So, on Sunday the bank lot is empty. We parked our trucks (with trailers attached) side by side, taking up two parking spaces each. Locked the trailer hitches. You have the bank surveillance cameras probably trained on the lot, and I suppose the lot might be considered technically on federal property...so at least there is that sense of security. We unloaded the machines, topped off the tanks, and were able to be riding side by side, east, out Telegraph, with no close traffic, after traveling only a distance of 5 miles from I-5. And then the road narrows to a two lane as it changes to (O-tie) Otay Mountain Lakes Rd. Structures are fewer as you head east and when you make it over this next rise in the road, then the whole place opens up to scenic grandeur. Empty land ahead of you. Off to your right are the rising peaks of the Tecate mountain range in Mexico. Past the lakes and glider port, the road changes into state route 94. It's all winding banked curves for the next 65 miles. There were once bumper stickers that read, "I Survived the 94!", because this road runs along the Mexican border, and smugglers of every kind are still chased in hot pursuit by the INS. People get killed in head-on's (our biggest surprises were meeting 100 mph knee draggers in blind curves). Slow down through glens where you see concrete stream bottoms. The road bed drops. A rider recently pitch-poled when his front wheel compressed and stuck to the inside of his front fender. On Sundays (on this, a mild Santa Ana morning), there is almost nobody on the asphalt before 9:00 A.M. "Glassy" conditions, if we were surfing. Occasionally you'll see a green uniformed INS agent standing beside the road, in the middle of nowhere, just watching. He waved first. We waved. This is one of the-best riding roads in San Diego county. Takes you to Campo, which is the halfway place. Oaks and sage brush turn to huge boulders, oaks and sage brush as you make a slow ascent towards the mountain town of Barrett Junction. This is old California. No development. "Same as it always was", since this road was first created. Campo is high up. High desert. There's a gas station there. It's overlooks the Tecate border. Same as it's always been since the 1930's. Sleepy little border town. Maybe you hear a dog bark. But it's quiet. Nothing around but old ranches and derlict farm vehicles. Bus station there at the country store. Passengers wait outside under an awning. They stood collected there in the quiet, transfixed by the heat, and watched interested as we kicked our motors over. But we're only half way to where we're headed. Campo is a switching yard for some southbound trains. It's where the San Diego Short Line begins a scenic loop. There is a flagstone building at the bottom of a shady nook, when you cross a single set of tracks going through town. The rail yard is off in the distance. Further in the distance you see a three story tin-hall with a ten story corregated metal tower surrounded by ancient iron trucks of all description. Trucks from the teens of the last century. This is the old Miller (Feldspar) Mine. There's a caretaker that lives there. We were allowed to wander through this outdoor museum alone, with no noise other than the light wind. Industrial cranes, drilling rigs, dump trucks, brick haulers, fire engines, convict wagons (replete with manacle rings), pick-up trucks, cars, and other rolling stock, some with the early solid rubber tires. This place feels like a boneyard. Big forgings and pins. I noticed a triangular beer can opener left hanging on a nail in the cab of a Reo crane truck. Alot of the interior supports in these vehicles are wood. Steering wheel boobie knobs, radiator and hub caps were all present and accounted for. We could really connect with the man hours worked from these relics. All left as they almost looked, close to a hundred years ago. Protected by the dry climate. A piece of the tin siding flapped occasionally in the desert wind. Otherwise, it's quiet all the time. Reminds me of the deserted open-shaft mines in Colorado we visited in the 50's. Throw a small rock in and never hear it hit the bottom.
Past Campo the road winds level and then starts a gradual descent towards El Centro for another 20 miles. You pass an intersection for Buckman Springs Rd. way back before Campo. Buckman Springs goes north and comnnects to Old Hwy 80. Before you get too far towards El Centro, Old 80 will spur into the 94. Go further on the 94, to the town of Boulevard. There's a taco shop on the north side of the road run by a mother and daughter. We ate combination plates there and this is where we turned around and headed back west from whence we came. Take that split for Old Hwy 80. A nostaglic treat that features a two lane concrete road. This was the only southern route into California since the beginning of automotive time. Thin pressed (2" thick), ten foot wide McAdam (macadam) shoulders line each side of the concrete roadway. The ground is 100 % decomposed granite (D.G.), a whitish/grey color material, that is roughly sand size granules to large pea gravel. The state just steam rollered the graded D.G. and poured asphalt directly into the roadbed. The asphalt adhered to the D.G. and provided a solid shoulder, until the heat and vehicular traffic tore it up a little. Over the years as the macadam broke apart, road crews just deposited it back along the roadside ditches. There's so much D.G adhered to the black slabs that it looks like natural material. But, break a piece apart and smell the coal tar in it. It's asphalt. No doubt. We had stopped along the road to check things out and had only two cars go by us in the thirty minutes were stood there, with clear views east and west. This Old 80 stays deserted. I had to find a bush. I started walking across the road, and Blake says..."hey...you want some paper?" He pulls out about four napkins from his pocket from that taco shop we were at! Now that's a thinking-riding bro for youse. While down in the ditch, I started looking around me. There were tin cans that had been there since the road was first opened. Preserved in the desert heat (cause it's dry heat ya know?). I reached over and pulled a 20W can from under a sage stump. The exposed top side was evenly rusted, but the bottom of the can (with nary even a speck of dirt on it) still had designs of blue paint on it; enough that you could read some of the virtues the oil manufacturer extolled. I took it back and showed it to Blake. We read the can and envisioned someone broken down on the side of the road, mad as heck under the broiling sun; puts his can of transmission fluid in the Hoilday Rambler and throws the can in the ditch... 50 years ago.
Ride west until you get to Buckman Springs Rd., make a left and you have another lonesome drive over to the 94. But then, don't pass up the Otay Mountain Lakes split, left off the 94, (or you'll end up somewhere else). Otay Mountain Lakes Rd. turns back into Telegraph Canyon Rd. Congratulations you've just completed a one hundred-twenty mile. Before next year, I'm going to look at a map and see where the Sunrise Hwy. connects to I-8 or Old 80, somewhere back in the middle of all that.
That was Saturday. There was a short track race Sat. nite next door at the corral that was going to be handlebar to handlebar. Couldn't attend. And Sunday was a sanctioned mile race, but we didn't go. We rode. There is a 120 mile round-trip that begins at I-5 and Telegraph Canyon Rd. (one exit ramp before the U.S./ Mexican border). We're located about 50 miles north of Telegraph and since Blake has that 900 XLCH, it would have beat it up too much with freeway miles getting out to the launch site. You hear flack about riders that pull their machines (antiques) by trailer, but if you have the space to store a "flip-up" (like a Kendon) ...then by all means,... get hitched...UP! There is a shopping center (east of I-5) and an Arco (Richfield) station. Behind the station is a bank. So, on Sunday the bank lot is empty. We parked our trucks (with trailers attached) side by side, taking up two parking spaces each. Locked the trailer hitches. You have the bank surveillance cameras probably trained on the lot, and I suppose the lot might be considered technically on federal property...so at least there is that sense of security. We unloaded the machines, topped off the tanks, and were able to be riding side by side, east, out Telegraph, with no close traffic, after traveling only a distance of 5 miles from I-5. And then the road narrows to a two lane as it changes to (O-tie) Otay Mountain Lakes Rd. Structures are fewer as you head east and when you make it over this next rise in the road, then the whole place opens up to scenic grandeur. Empty land ahead of you. Off to your right are the rising peaks of the Tecate mountain range in Mexico. Past the lakes and glider port, the road changes into state route 94. It's all winding banked curves for the next 65 miles. There were once bumper stickers that read, "I Survived the 94!", because this road runs along the Mexican border, and smugglers of every kind are still chased in hot pursuit by the INS. People get killed in head-on's (our biggest surprises were meeting 100 mph knee draggers in blind curves). Slow down through glens where you see concrete stream bottoms. The road bed drops. A rider recently pitch-poled when his front wheel compressed and stuck to the inside of his front fender. On Sundays (on this, a mild Santa Ana morning), there is almost nobody on the asphalt before 9:00 A.M. "Glassy" conditions, if we were surfing. Occasionally you'll see a green uniformed INS agent standing beside the road, in the middle of nowhere, just watching. He waved first. We waved. This is one of the-best riding roads in San Diego county. Takes you to Campo, which is the halfway place. Oaks and sage brush turn to huge boulders, oaks and sage brush as you make a slow ascent towards the mountain town of Barrett Junction. This is old California. No development. "Same as it always was", since this road was first created. Campo is high up. High desert. There's a gas station there. It's overlooks the Tecate border. Same as it's always been since the 1930's. Sleepy little border town. Maybe you hear a dog bark. But it's quiet. Nothing around but old ranches and derlict farm vehicles. Bus station there at the country store. Passengers wait outside under an awning. They stood collected there in the quiet, transfixed by the heat, and watched interested as we kicked our motors over. But we're only half way to where we're headed. Campo is a switching yard for some southbound trains. It's where the San Diego Short Line begins a scenic loop. There is a flagstone building at the bottom of a shady nook, when you cross a single set of tracks going through town. The rail yard is off in the distance. Further in the distance you see a three story tin-hall with a ten story corregated metal tower surrounded by ancient iron trucks of all description. Trucks from the teens of the last century. This is the old Miller (Feldspar) Mine. There's a caretaker that lives there. We were allowed to wander through this outdoor museum alone, with no noise other than the light wind. Industrial cranes, drilling rigs, dump trucks, brick haulers, fire engines, convict wagons (replete with manacle rings), pick-up trucks, cars, and other rolling stock, some with the early solid rubber tires. This place feels like a boneyard. Big forgings and pins. I noticed a triangular beer can opener left hanging on a nail in the cab of a Reo crane truck. Alot of the interior supports in these vehicles are wood. Steering wheel boobie knobs, radiator and hub caps were all present and accounted for. We could really connect with the man hours worked from these relics. All left as they almost looked, close to a hundred years ago. Protected by the dry climate. A piece of the tin siding flapped occasionally in the desert wind. Otherwise, it's quiet all the time. Reminds me of the deserted open-shaft mines in Colorado we visited in the 50's. Throw a small rock in and never hear it hit the bottom.
Past Campo the road winds level and then starts a gradual descent towards El Centro for another 20 miles. You pass an intersection for Buckman Springs Rd. way back before Campo. Buckman Springs goes north and comnnects to Old Hwy 80. Before you get too far towards El Centro, Old 80 will spur into the 94. Go further on the 94, to the town of Boulevard. There's a taco shop on the north side of the road run by a mother and daughter. We ate combination plates there and this is where we turned around and headed back west from whence we came. Take that split for Old Hwy 80. A nostaglic treat that features a two lane concrete road. This was the only southern route into California since the beginning of automotive time. Thin pressed (2" thick), ten foot wide McAdam (macadam) shoulders line each side of the concrete roadway. The ground is 100 % decomposed granite (D.G.), a whitish/grey color material, that is roughly sand size granules to large pea gravel. The state just steam rollered the graded D.G. and poured asphalt directly into the roadbed. The asphalt adhered to the D.G. and provided a solid shoulder, until the heat and vehicular traffic tore it up a little. Over the years as the macadam broke apart, road crews just deposited it back along the roadside ditches. There's so much D.G adhered to the black slabs that it looks like natural material. But, break a piece apart and smell the coal tar in it. It's asphalt. No doubt. We had stopped along the road to check things out and had only two cars go by us in the thirty minutes were stood there, with clear views east and west. This Old 80 stays deserted. I had to find a bush. I started walking across the road, and Blake says..."hey...you want some paper?" He pulls out about four napkins from his pocket from that taco shop we were at! Now that's a thinking-riding bro for youse. While down in the ditch, I started looking around me. There were tin cans that had been there since the road was first opened. Preserved in the desert heat (cause it's dry heat ya know?). I reached over and pulled a 20W can from under a sage stump. The exposed top side was evenly rusted, but the bottom of the can (with nary even a speck of dirt on it) still had designs of blue paint on it; enough that you could read some of the virtues the oil manufacturer extolled. I took it back and showed it to Blake. We read the can and envisioned someone broken down on the side of the road, mad as heck under the broiling sun; puts his can of transmission fluid in the Hoilday Rambler and throws the can in the ditch... 50 years ago.
Ride west until you get to Buckman Springs Rd., make a left and you have another lonesome drive over to the 94. But then, don't pass up the Otay Mountain Lakes split, left off the 94, (or you'll end up somewhere else). Otay Mountain Lakes Rd. turns back into Telegraph Canyon Rd. Congratulations you've just completed a one hundred-twenty mile. Before next year, I'm going to look at a map and see where the Sunrise Hwy. connects to I-8 or Old 80, somewhere back in the middle of all that.
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