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| Fort Ross was actually established by the Russians in 1812 (surprise!). Back in those days, Napoleon ruled Europe, Britain and its American Colony were on its 2nd war of independence, and nobody could do a damn thing when the Russians invaded California by way of Alaska. Actually, the Russians were roaming around the Pacific Northwest for a couple of decades when they decided to go further south. It was all part of the plan by the Russian Tzar, Ivan The Terrible, to expand Russia�s empire. Fort Ross flourished with the fur trade by hunting Sea Otters, growing wheat, and trading with Spanish California. At the time, the northern most reach by the Spaniards was San Francisco, so they could not challenge the Russian establishment. Eventually, the Sea Otter trade diminished, and most of the Russians went back home, leaving Fort Ross and her cannons pointing at an enemy that never emerged. Today, Fort Ross is a monument to a history few Californians know about. She offers self-guided tours for anyone interested. I was. But in my haste, I completely passed by without even realizing it. Duh!
The procession of cars and SUV�s that got bunched up stayed bunched up even after the motorhomes pulled over. They really couldn�t do anything with each other since the road was twisty and passing for cars was very limited. After a few miles of following all the brake lights, I had enough and decided to break away from the pack with Dave in his ZZR1200 in tow. We didn�t make any new friends that time as we sliced and diced through the pack of lumbering cages but we managed to make it through. That was the first and last time we�d ever get stuck behind a group of cars. From there on, we would encounter only one or two cars at most. We reached Salt Point State Park, which is another beautifully preserved juniper and moss forest that sometimes covered the road with a canopy of lush green foilage. There was just no shortage of awe inspiring views along this highway. Just when I decided to slow a bit to admire the view, a local Sheriff went by the other direction. Woohoo! Got away with our shenanigans again. The group stopped at Stewart�s Point, where we met with several members of Sport-Touring.net from the Bay Area, including Bobby, who is a local paramedic who resides in Healdsburg, CA. Those same riders trying to get our attention way back at Mill Valley were already here and waiting for us. They were Sean and his Concours, Andrew and his ZX11C, Chris and his SV650, and Jim and his FZR1000. The Fast and The Furious By now, everyone had built up an appetite after riding all those darn twisties! The group decided to have lunch in some little town called Gualala, about 12 miles north of Stewart�s Point. Bobby and his R1100RT lead the way. Followed by Dave on his ZZR1200, the rest of the Bay Area people, then me and the rest of my cohorts, Roger and his ZZR1200, Russ and his Sprint ST, and Ken on his Guzzi V11. For a moment I thought I could relax since someone else was leading. Well did I know what was in store for us! Bobby maintained a quick pace along Highway 1. This kept all of us who were new to the road on our toes. At some points along the way, the group would descend upon some hapless car puttering along the road. The occupants of the car would probably look up and see this band of marauding, angry bees behind them and they would immediately pull over. Those who didn�t got a long hard lesson in motorcycle power and exhaust fumes as all 10 of us would pass them. Imagine the movie Mad Max with all those motorcyclists roaming mightily down a country road, seemingly terrorizing the local motorists! Toe Cutter and Bubba Zanetti would have been proud! Hah-hah! I was in the middle of this pack so it wasn�t too difficult to keep up. I could see the riders flicking their bikes into each turn like a row of dominoes at high speed. Damn! What a fine sight, which is possible only if everyone in the group was of similar ability. We arrived at Gualala in no time at all, and we descended upon this sleepy little coastal town like killer bees. Everyone seemed to stop right in their tracks to watch this procession of 10 high performance motorcycles of differing shades of colors, along with the booming sounds of different engine types they created as we rolled into the restaurant parking lot. Kids holding their parent�s hands froze to see what this was all about. Grown men and women checked us out with both an eye of disbelief and curiousity. And the restaurant doors burst open as 10 fully suited up motorcyclists filled their dining room! Sean Our Captain Aaaaargh! After a delicious Mexican lunch at Gualala (those darn Mexicans are just everywhere!), we continued our trek north on Highway 1. This time, Sean and his Kawasaki Concours took the lead. Now, Sean is a hell of a nice guy. And his bike is a weathered machine with lots of miles in it. In fact, I don�t believe he�s EVER cleaned his bike! But remember the saying, �Don�t judge a book by its cover....�? I�m convinced that Sean was a pirate in another life and a cowboy in real life. When the group took off, I could have sworn that Sean let off a loud, �Yahoo!�, which I thought odd and wondered what he meant by it. Well, I soon found out. This guy can ride! I was 7th in the line of 10 bikes and I swear, it was a challenge to stay with this rejuvenated group. Sean was on a mission to get his drink at Fort Bragg, about 20 miles north of Gualala I believe, and we were his fellow pirates following our captain at high speed on Highway 1. The road surrendered to us and all its occupants had no choice but to put up their hands and let us through. On the long straightaways, the group would simply vanish and the tail end riders had to really get their bikes up to 100 to keep the leaders in sight. Corners? What corners? Sean straightened them out as he hung off the sides of his mighty Concours while the rest of us pirates followed along. Unfortunately for me, somewhere along the way I suffered a leg cramp that required immediate attention. The pain was too unbearable and I had to stop and get separated from the group. My only consolation was that I managed to take a few pictures, which I would not have had if I hadn�t gotten the irritating leg cramp. Oh well. I caught up with the group at Fort Bragg just when they were about to go inside an establishment for food and drinks. Fort Bragg by the way is the largest city along this portion of Highway 1, and it�s 45 miles south of Leggett. |
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