Some years ago a friend of mine made a living out of buying older Honda motorcycles, restoring them to good cosmetic and running condition, and selling them to millennials who had lots of cash but little mechanical ability.
I was visiting and had time on my hands so I jumped at his offer to borrow a bike and go for a ride. The ride would last a week and cover over a thousand miles but he knew it would something like that going in. Chance of a lifetime.
Even further back in time I worked for Honda of Boston as a mechanic. A bike came in that had been wrecked by the new owner with less than 500 miles on it. “Fix it and sell it!” was the description on the work order. I called the owner and suggested that the parts and labor would not be repaid in the selling price. Would he be interested in an as-is sale? “Send me a check for whatever you think is fair. I never want to see that bike again!”
It was a Honda CB450 and I rode that bike everywhere. Rather than fix the cosmetic damage I just painted everything black. New cams and high compression pistons and I was ready to fly. I used to go looking for Triumphs to race so I could show them my taillights. The Bonnevilles had better handling but I had the power and was willing to push the bike harder than most of the guys on the Triumphs.
Now, years later, I was being offered another CB450 to ride.
There are two reasons to ride an old bike: you want to relive a moment in the past or you appreciate the essence of the moment in history. The first is kind of sad, it suggests that the person has not moved on with their life. The second is a person who can savor the past but understands why the windshield is a lot bigger than the rear view mirror.
I got on that bike and rode off without plans but knew where I was going in the back of my mind. From San Francisco I rode down Rt 1, the Coast Highway, not trying to set a new speed record but savoring the day, the scenery, and the ride as one would a fine wine.
After a night's stop in Big Sur I rode up and over the coast range and turned towards the Sierras. On Rt 140, riding through Merced, Mariposa, and into Yosemite was like visiting an old friend. The bike hummed a steady beat and the curves came and went with a confident ease. No rush, no dilly-dallying, no hurry. Smooth and relaxed but rather a bit over the speed limit I must admit.
The thing about Yosemite is that most people go into the valley, take pictures of themselves in front of the falls, and go home thinking they have seen it all. In truth they have barely scratched the surface. There is Toulumne Meadows, Tanya Lake and the groves of giant Sequoia.
I've hiked to the top of Half Dome a couple of times and camped on top of El Capitan but this was a road trip so I rode out to Olmsted Point to gaze across at Clouds Rest and then turned back to ride down The Big Oak Flat road making sure to took the long way around down the old Priest Grade.
At Chinese Camp the highway straightened out and picked up speed. A few hours later and I was back in San Francisco, happy to return the bike to my friend. It was a great ride on a great bike. A moment to look back and look forward at the same time.
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