Quick Tire Change Before Ride
Some adventures start with a bang. This one started with a waiver.
I swung by Friday evening to sign the waiver, pick up my rider packet, and try to get a feel for what I was in for. Packet included a pretty slick scenic photo printed on canvas, a sticker, and a label with my rider number. Real nice touch—professional, yet personal. Since parking at the start was tight and I was already staying up the hill at the mountain house, I figured I’d skip hauling the 501 and just ride the 12 miles in. Spoiler alert: that decision came with consequences.
Morning check-in was around 7:30am, with the rider’s meeting at 9. Rolled in and recognized a few familiar mugs—Pete from P&D Promotions, and a handful of folks from Los Gatos Motorcycle Club. Pete and I go back a bit—I’ve flagged races for him at the San Jose Indoor Short Track and shot photos at the Hollister Nationals and a few other marketing gigs. I didn’t know the rest personally, but I’d definitely seen some of them at other events. Always cool to spot a few grizzled veterans and a couple fresh faces.
It was mostly an older crowd, but there was a younger couple riding the dirt route—each on their own bike. There was at least one other woman riding the street route solo, and an older couple riding two-up on the street route as well.
Dustin, our fearless guide from Rad Moto Adventures, made it crystal clear: this wasn’t a race, it was a ride. Take in the views, stop for photos, keep the stoke high. After the safety rundown and route overview, bikes fired up and folks rolled out. Most stopped for gas right out of the gate, but I was topped off and knew I’d be one of the slower riders anyway—figured I’d get a head start.
Didn’t even make it out of town before things went sideways.
The 501 started feeling weird. Sluggish. Then the rear tire locked up. A group from the street route pulled over to help me troubleshoot. One guy touched the rear rotor—it instantly melted his glove. Rear brake had completely seized. We bled the brakes using an 8mm wrench and, believe it or not, a crusty old hamburger wrapper. First turn of the bleeder valve puffed out steam and loosened things up. A few pumps and we were back in business. Working theory? The master cylinder was probably overfilled from the factory, and this was the first time I really got into the rear brake hard under load. Lesson learned.
Now riding with the street crew, I missed the dirt route cutoff. Stuck with them until the first gas stop, where I topped off on snacks and linked back up with the dirt team. From there, we finally got off pavement and onto the good stuff. Dustin deserves major credit—he adjusted the route on the fly for those of us who were a little rusty. Some riders tackled the tougher terrain, while the rest of us hit the “lite” version. Still plenty of hill climbs to earn your sweat equity.
First big hill? I didn’t leave enough space, someone went down ahead of me, and I followed suit. Couldn’t lift the bike solo—ego hit #1. Dustin kindly offered to ride it up for me. I took the help. Ego hit #2. On another hill, I stalled in a rut, stuck in third instead of second. After a few failed attempts to get going, Dustin stepped in again—ego hit #3. Let’s just say I was starting to feel like I should’ve brought training wheels.
Then came a handful of creek crossings and mud puddles. No drops, no stalls—ego started to rebound. Most of the dirt route was fun two-track with some nice single-track thrown in. It was the first time I had the 501 on single track, and it’s still a bit to get used to. But nothing too difficult and overall a lot of fun. Across the entire day, we tallied a total of 21 climbs and 32 descents, with a cumulative 17,556 feet of elevation gain and 15,441 feet of loss. I’m thinking that’s not a trail ride—that’s an alpine expedition with throttle control.
There were a couple of us dragging the average pace, but Dustin was patient and encouraging. That said, we were two hours behind schedule for lunch. Another round of route tweaks and we made it to the Happy Burger Diner in Mariposa. Fuel for both body and bike.
The return trip was more dirt, more backroads. And more fear. I’m not great with heights, and we hit a few sketchy mountain roads—no guardrails, sheer drop-offs. My Sena headset died, which meant no tunes, no mental distractions. Just me and my anxiety. Progress slowed. Cold weather rolled in. Then rain.
Cue the pain parade.
I’d skipped balancing the wheels on the 501, which already has a reputation for vibrating like a jackhammer. My body let me know it was not okay with a 170-mile ride. What wasn’t numb was in pain. What was numb probably hurt too—I just couldn’t tell. My left leg stopped functioning. Couldn’t downshift. Could barely upshift. My foot kept getting stuck under the shifter, and I had to yank it free mid-ride like a lunatic. My hands were frozen, wrists screaming, shoulders toast. Couldn’t even stand for rough patches. Just got battered the whole way back.
I made it to the end, but I skipped dinner and all the post-ride social stuff. I knew if I got off the bike, I was done. Still had 12 miles of cold, wet misery to get back to the house. I shook Dustin’s hand, thanked him for an incredible ride, and limped home.
And that was the end of Day 2 for me.
I slept through all three alarms that I set, and my wife giving me three wake-up calls. Crashed in my recliner at 6:30pm, woke up at 2am, crawled into bed, and didn’t open my eyes again until 8:30. My navigation phone was dead, the Sena was dead, and so was I. Couldn’t turn my head. Could barely walk. My ego had officially thrown in the towel.
Looking back, it’s clear I overestimated myself. Recovery’s been going well, but I had no business thinking I could go 170 miles. My longest ride in years was maybe 90 minutes. And oh yeah, I was breaking in new Alpinestar Tech 5 boots—comfy but stiff as a 2×4. Didn’t help the shifting situation at all.
Also worth noting—it was my first real ride with the Tusk Excursion Rackless Luggage System. I like it a lot, but my limited hip mobility made getting on and off the bike an awkward gymnastics routine. StretchLab has been helping, but I’ve got a long road ahead.
Bottom line? Dustin and Rad Moto Adventures crushed it. The route was epic, the support was spot-on, and the flexibility for all skill levels made it a truly inclusive ride. I’m looking forward to redemption on a future ride—once my body’s caught up with my ambitions.
Next time, I’ll stop and take more photos. And maybe balance the damn wheels.
