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PL

Peer Landa

Thu, Apr 23, 2020 12:58 AM

[Just out of boredom and perhaps some nostalgia, I'll repost a D-bike incident while this Batshit-19 makes its rounds. -peer]

I initially intended to write a ride report about Feather River Canyon, but somehow it turned into an accident report instead:

First some background bits; every Wednesday night my Irish buddy Jack (from Cork) and I are trying to come up with something different to do (involving alcohol of course). But since it was my birthday last Wednesday, Jack said he'd accommodate any wishes I had for the entire day, (I'm hoping there won't be any kinky payback involved for his birthday next week..). Anyhow, I decided that my birthday present would be to truck our Ducatis up to Feather River Canyon and ride the snot out of the tires, (yep, since the qualifier race-rubber on my bike cost at least fivefold the fuel consumption, I insisted to transport the bikes up there).

For the mortals who slept through their history & geography classes; Feather River Canyon is one of California's true gold nuggets, (actually back in the gold-rush era it was literally a nugget). This canyon is located up in the Sierra mountains (approx. 250 miles northeast of San Francisco) and contains the most amazing scenery, spectacular bridges, a historic railroad (completed in 1909), a friendly hippie town (Quincy), but above all; it has the most amazing race-road in the world, (I'll challenge anyone who'd dispute this fact). This canyon road was first built as a one-laner alongside the rail-track & river, but has then been widened into two lanes and partially relocated -- it now resembles an endless racetrack through a spectacular scenery. (I was first introduced to this area a few years ago by my longtime Ducati friend Jim who's a native Northern Californian for generations). In fact, this canyon looks like a slice out of western Norway -- yep, it's that nice! (very similar to the nature between Sauda and Hellandsbygd). Hence, this trip cured my homesickness. The only difference is that Feather River Canyon has all those unique long open 100 mph sweepers -- it's like Monza going through the most beautiful nature -- hundreds of miles of race-track material (if you include the Bucks Lake loop). Btw, there are several books and videos about Feather River Canyon.

Initially we had an optimistic estimate that seven of us 'ill motociclisti italiani' would do this ride, but most of my friends were either too tied up at work to take off midweek or were abroad (the latter goes for Tom and Martin). So we ended up being only three; Jack (who works at an Apple orchard or something..?) and Jonathan (a fellow Stanford guy who can do whatever whenever), and myself.

Using a trailer hitch tote, we managed to stack all three bikes on Jack's truck (Ford F150), and set off at 5 am, (after just two hours of sleep). We stopped at Pleasanton for a long breakfast, and from there headed up 580, 208, I-5 to Sacramento, and then 99 & 70 up to Oroville, (Feather River Canyon runs along HWY-70). We staged at the bottom end of the canyon, about ten miles north of Oroville.

While we were loading off the bikes it felt like it's gonna be hot hot hot, but as soon as we were on the go, the temperature luckily turned out to be quite pleasant -- and so it was the entire day.

On our first leg up the canyon we run into quite a few logging-trucks and more cars than expected. Later we were told that the traffic was due to the upcoming High Sierra Music Festival which started the following day in Quincy -- they expected 10k people! Although the road has almost no straights, it was fairly easy to pass the traffic (on double yellow). During our lunch break in Quincy a chef from a nearby restaurant came out and spoke with us. Being a local VFR rider, he highly recommended us to go down to Oroville on Bucks Lake Rd & HWY-162 and then do this loop backwards again, ending with a run down Feather River Canyon. And so we did.

The Bucks Lake Rd & HWY-162 was a pleasant surprise. It wasn't on scale with the canyon, and certainly not as scenic, but the road was very nice -- a lot of smooth newly paved black tarmac. It reminded me of Skaggs Springs and HWY-9... but with no cops and no traffic. When getting to Oroville we turned around and headed in the reverse direction back up to Quincy again, (well, it took some effort to convince the party poopers to come with me -- but since it was my birthday, they had to comply).

On our last leg from Quincy down the canyon, I squirted ahead from the boys -- I wanted to squeeze out the last 70 miles at a faster pace. However, only a few miles into it, while heading over a blind crest, who d'ya think sits there at the side of the road, pointing a radar gun at me? Realizing that I've just bought myself a birthday ticket, I nose-dive-braked right in front of him and then waved in an attempt to show my guilt. Surprisingly, the CHP officer just returned the wave with a finger-gesture out the window "you better slow down buddy boy." Very nice of him -- he could easily have popped me a 90 mph citation.

After this little snafu reminder, it wasn't long until I got back into the swing, now really feeling the sweet mojo -- if there's a paradise, I'm smack in the middle of it right now, and better yet; this paradise has no traffic whatsoever! I made the Termignonis howl ferociously through this beautiful canyon at early twilight -- sweeper after sweeper, the bike felt like planted through every turn. Although it's kind of hairy to take your eyes off the road at this pace, I snuck a peek at the speedo while exiting a long sweeper... and it read 110 mph, (it was my birthday, okay?!) With a permanent grin on my face I was thinking that I don't need anything else in life than this -- I'm happy as a clam.

But everything has to come to an end, and sure an end it was...

Since I've been curious to know what top speed my gearing has (15T front, 45T rear), I decided to completely open it up on the very last straightaway in the vicinity of our parked truck -- this was literally the last 45 seconds of the ride, (which started 8 hours earlier). While watching the speedo creeping up to 130 mph (210 km/h), I can see something lying in the opposite lane 200 yards ahead. This "something" suddenly takes off flying across into my lane of travel... right in front of me!

At speeds like this, certainly the tunnel vision plays a big part of making anything look enormous -- but that bird was among the biggest flying objects I've seen, (an adult Turkey Vulture's wingspan is 6 feet). It was like being attacked by a flapping monster -- just before impact it felt like someone had turned off the switch -- it all got dark.

Immediately before smashing into it, my survival reflex kicked in -- I got into a fetal position and delivered a desperate "Aw please God... don't do this to me." I barely had time to tuck my head down behind the windshield before the vulture violently hit the bike head on. KABOOM. Of course, anything involving feathers make things look more dramatic, but it surely was like an explosion had gone off in my face.

While coasting to a stop at the side of the road, I could feel some pain in my shoulder -- "Hum, therefore I must be alive...?" Obviously, I was in a state of shock. Some parts or debris from the windshield must have hit me, but I soon realized I was okay, (I wear motocross gear underneath my leathers, including hard-shell arm, chest, and shoulder protection).

Recently I had an email exchange with a local racer who told me when faced with an imminent disaster, times often goes into slow-motion while the brain processes the options that lie ahead. To me, however, everything was in fast-motion. When stepping off the bike it was more like, "What the fuck just happened?!"

As I was coming down from my adrenaline high, I gauged the damage to the bike, cleaned off some bird parts that were wedged between the smashed windscreen/fairing and the mangled head-light brackets, and wiped some yucky molasses off my leathers. A few minutes later Jack and Jonathan showed up. Noticing the feathers on the ground, Jack commented that he saw a large bird of-sort lying just up the road. I replied, "Take a look at my bike and you'll know why."

Seeing how badly the bike was banged up by a bird -- even the steel sub-frame had to be welded back together -- one can only imagine what a deer would do to it... Later Jack measured that the vulture had ricochet 60 yards (the distance from the dead squirrel it was eating, to where it was lying after the impact). But I guess most everything at 130 mph will be fierce. It was truly the Battle of the Birds -- Duck vs Vulture.

As we were checking out the mangled bird, Jack commented, "I told you Peer, you certainly have no clue how to treat chicks." Yep, fuckin' hate Irish "humor".

-- peer (cabin fevered)

.

[Just out of boredom and perhaps some nostalgia, I'll repost a D-bike incident while this Batshit-19 makes its rounds. -peer] I initially intended to write a ride report about Feather River Canyon, but somehow it turned into an accident report instead: First some background bits; every Wednesday night my Irish buddy Jack (from Cork) and I are trying to come up with something different to do (involving alcohol of course). But since it was my birthday last Wednesday, Jack said he'd accommodate any wishes I had for the entire day, (I'm hoping there won't be any kinky payback involved for his birthday next week..). Anyhow, I decided that my birthday present would be to truck our Ducatis up to Feather River Canyon and ride the snot out of the tires, (yep, since the qualifier race-rubber on my bike cost at least fivefold the fuel consumption, I insisted to transport the bikes up there). For the mortals who slept through their history & geography classes; Feather River Canyon is one of California's true gold nuggets, (actually back in the gold-rush era it was literally a nugget). This canyon is located up in the Sierra mountains (approx. 250 miles northeast of San Francisco) and contains the most amazing scenery, spectacular bridges, a historic railroad (completed in 1909), a friendly hippie town (Quincy), but above all; it has the most amazing race-road in the world, (I'll challenge anyone who'd dispute this fact). This canyon road was first built as a one-laner alongside the rail-track & river, but has then been widened into two lanes and partially relocated -- it now resembles an endless racetrack through a spectacular scenery. (I was first introduced to this area a few years ago by my longtime Ducati friend Jim who's a native Northern Californian for generations). In fact, this canyon looks like a slice out of western Norway -- yep, it's that nice! (very similar to the nature between Sauda and Hellandsbygd). Hence, this trip cured my homesickness. The only difference is that Feather River Canyon has all those unique long open 100 mph sweepers -- it's like Monza going through the most beautiful nature -- hundreds of miles of race-track material (if you include the Bucks Lake loop). Btw, there are several books and videos about Feather River Canyon. Initially we had an optimistic estimate that seven of us 'ill motociclisti italiani' would do this ride, but most of my friends were either too tied up at work to take off midweek or were abroad (the latter goes for Tom and Martin). So we ended up being only three; Jack (who works at an Apple orchard or something..?) and Jonathan (a fellow Stanford guy who can do whatever whenever), and myself. Using a trailer hitch tote, we managed to stack all three bikes on Jack's truck (Ford F150), and set off at 5 am, (after just two hours of sleep). We stopped at Pleasanton for a long breakfast, and from there headed up 580, 208, I-5 to Sacramento, and then 99 & 70 up to Oroville, (Feather River Canyon runs along HWY-70). We staged at the bottom end of the canyon, about ten miles north of Oroville. While we were loading off the bikes it felt like it's gonna be hot hot hot, but as soon as we were on the go, the temperature luckily turned out to be quite pleasant -- and so it was the entire day. On our first leg up the canyon we run into quite a few logging-trucks and more cars than expected. Later we were told that the traffic was due to the upcoming High Sierra Music Festival which started the following day in Quincy -- they expected 10k people! Although the road has almost no straights, it was fairly easy to pass the traffic (on double yellow). During our lunch break in Quincy a chef from a nearby restaurant came out and spoke with us. Being a local VFR rider, he highly recommended us to go down to Oroville on Bucks Lake Rd & HWY-162 and then do this loop backwards again, ending with a run down Feather River Canyon. And so we did. The Bucks Lake Rd & HWY-162 was a pleasant surprise. It wasn't on scale with the canyon, and certainly not as scenic, but the road was very nice -- a lot of smooth newly paved black tarmac. It reminded me of Skaggs Springs and HWY-9... but with no cops and no traffic. When getting to Oroville we turned around and headed in the reverse direction back up to Quincy again, (well, it took some effort to convince the party poopers to come with me -- but since it was my birthday, they had to comply). On our last leg from Quincy down the canyon, I squirted ahead from the boys -- I wanted to squeeze out the last 70 miles at a faster pace. However, only a few miles into it, while heading over a blind crest, who d'ya think sits there at the side of the road, pointing a radar gun at me? Realizing that I've just bought myself a birthday ticket, I nose-dive-braked right in front of him and then waved in an attempt to show my guilt. Surprisingly, the CHP officer just returned the wave with a finger-gesture out the window "you better slow down buddy boy." Very nice of him -- he could easily have popped me a 90 mph citation. After this little snafu reminder, it wasn't long until I got back into the swing, now really feeling the sweet mojo -- if there's a paradise, I'm smack in the middle of it right now, and better yet; this paradise has no traffic whatsoever! I made the Termignonis howl ferociously through this beautiful canyon at early twilight -- sweeper after sweeper, the bike felt like planted through every turn. Although it's kind of hairy to take your eyes off the road at this pace, I snuck a peek at the speedo while exiting a long sweeper... and it read 110 mph, (it was my birthday, okay?!) With a permanent grin on my face I was thinking that I don't need anything else in life than this -- I'm happy as a clam. But everything has to come to an end, and sure an end it was... Since I've been curious to know what top speed my gearing has (15T front, 45T rear), I decided to completely open it up on the very last straightaway in the vicinity of our parked truck -- this was literally the last 45 seconds of the ride, (which started 8 hours earlier). While watching the speedo creeping up to 130 mph (210 km/h), I can see something lying in the opposite lane 200 yards ahead. This "something" suddenly takes off flying across into my lane of travel... right in front of me! At speeds like this, certainly the tunnel vision plays a big part of making anything look enormous -- but that bird was among the biggest flying objects I've seen, (an adult Turkey Vulture's wingspan is 6 feet). It was like being attacked by a flapping monster -- just before impact it felt like someone had turned off the switch -- it all got dark. Immediately before smashing into it, my survival reflex kicked in -- I got into a fetal position and delivered a desperate "Aw please God... don't do this to me." I barely had time to tuck my head down behind the windshield before the vulture violently hit the bike head on. KABOOM. Of course, anything involving feathers make things look more dramatic, but it surely was like an explosion had gone off in my face. While coasting to a stop at the side of the road, I could feel some pain in my shoulder -- "Hum, therefore I must be alive...?" Obviously, I was in a state of shock. Some parts or debris from the windshield must have hit me, but I soon realized I was okay, (I wear motocross gear underneath my leathers, including hard-shell arm, chest, and shoulder protection). Recently I had an email exchange with a local racer who told me when faced with an imminent disaster, times often goes into slow-motion while the brain processes the options that lie ahead. To me, however, everything was in fast-motion. When stepping off the bike it was more like, "What the fuck just happened?!" As I was coming down from my adrenaline high, I gauged the damage to the bike, cleaned off some bird parts that were wedged between the smashed windscreen/fairing and the mangled head-light brackets, and wiped some yucky molasses off my leathers. A few minutes later Jack and Jonathan showed up. Noticing the feathers on the ground, Jack commented that he saw a large bird of-sort lying just up the road. I replied, "Take a look at my bike and you'll know why." Seeing how badly the bike was banged up by a bird -- even the steel sub-frame had to be welded back together -- one can only imagine what a deer would do to it... Later Jack measured that the vulture had ricochet 60 yards (the distance from the dead squirrel it was eating, to where it was lying after the impact). But I guess most everything at 130 mph will be fierce. It was truly the Battle of the Birds -- Duck vs Vulture. As we were checking out the mangled bird, Jack commented, "I told you Peer, you certainly have no clue how to treat chicks." Yep, fuckin' hate Irish "humor". -- peer (cabin fevered) .

MB

Mario Baroz

Thu, Apr 23, 2020 11:54 AM

Thanks the story Peer!! As I came to the vital moment, I thought I was going to read that you had crashed and gotten hurt. So glad you were ok.

My bird story isn't quite as dramatic as that but it was still a moment to remember. Many years ago me and a couple of buddies were out riding in the middle of nowhere outside of Lubbock, Texas. We were switching bikes between ourselves and I was on my buddy's 1997 GSXR-750. I was third in line after my two friends and we were going pretty quickly, around 90mph. I was semi-tucked in and noticed this very big, black bird coming into sight on the right. It flew across my friend's nose and the turbulence upset it and it tumbled back towards me. Before I could even react, it smashed into my left shoulder forcing my torso up and tearing my hand off the clip-on. It hurt like a mother.

I pulled onto the shoulder to gather myself, catch my breath, and assess the situation. My shoulder hurt like hell and there was a feather stuck in the seam where the jacket sleeve meets the main body. I walked back several yards but couldn't find the bird. I'm sure it was dead. I was just glad it didn't hit me in the head.

V/R, Mario

From: Ducati ducati-bounces@list.ducati.net on behalf of Peer Landa peer@ccrma.stanford.edu
Sent: Wednesday, April 22, 2020 7:58 PM
To: Peer Landa peer@ccrma.stanford.edu
Subject: [Ducati] Feather River Canyon crash...