Prone to flooding: Cross at your own risk
These trees were absolutely stunning
Once I hit 33 I thought I might find a place to pull over, snack on some jerky, drink some water and take a break. However, I really didn't want to stop in the sun so I just kept riding. As I went by a rest area, I waved at a gaggle of sportbikers who apparently had the same idea, but more initiative. I felt a little self-conscious riding in my jeans with my armor, but I had planned to take it easy and I didn't want to have to sleep in my leathers should I decide to find a campground.
I moved along at a decent pace, the bike was running extremely well but the suspension in the front felt a little stiff. It wasn't a big deal though since most of this road is nice and smooth. I hardly noticed with the exception of a few times where the bike protested some unexpected speed bumps. At one point the handlebars started to wobble but nothing remotely close to what I had experienced in the past on this bike and I brushed it off with a little more throttle. Because a little more throttle never hurts, right?
As I wove my way through the mountains and foothills along Highway 33 I lamented that I hadn't ridden it more often. It's quite a stretch for me to get to and it usually means some degree of long, straight line riding. The R6 glided along smoothly with almost no effort. Opening up the throttle and leaning into corners was substantially less frightening than doing so with the throttle pinned on the DRZ (which I had done recently) and coming around every corner with the handlebars shimmying feverishly. It certainly added character but that was by no means a graceful ride.
A few miles up the road I pulled off in a paved turnout. There were a couple of people on mini-bikes preparing to blast up a nearby trail that was clearly marked: No Trespassing. I smiled as one of the riders blasted off and up the side of the mountain, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him. As I dismounted the bike, my hips and knees cracked and I carefully stretched them with a faint groan. The other rider was still trying to kick start the bike while looking at me with an embarrassed smile. I nodded politely and after a couple more exhausted kicks, the bike sputtered to life and he blasted off up the same trail where his partner had disappeared minutes before.
I pulled out my jerky and drank some water as a group of adventure bikes went by. At the end of the pack, trailing behind by a few seconds was a rider on what looked like a KLR 650. It sputtered by as I gave a polite wave and he responded with a long awkward stare as he rode by.
I wandered around for a few minutes, stretching my legs before I got tired of standing around and pressed on. I had actually anticipated that at any given moment the sportbikes would come buzzing up behind me but I never saw them. I was alone for almost the entire leg of the journey, and I found myself getting lost in the zone more and more as I realized how alone I really was. The R6 hummed a healthy tune as I worked the throttle in and out of the corners in a dance that carried us further out of the valley and further up into the mountains.
If you've never ridden Highway 33, I suggest doing it at least once in your life. Of all of the majestic roads to experience in California, it truly holds its own. Once in the mountains, there are views abound and a little wind to keep things interesting in certain spots, which was particularly fun on the DRZ, but not so much noticeable on the mighty Red Raven as she sliced her way along the asphalt ribbon and carried us out to the CA coast.
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