When the road is your religion the racetrack is your temple and Mazda Laguna Seca Raceway is one of the most challenging and pictorial internal combustion cathedrals in the country. My first visit was last year and I was hooked before I rode through the gate.
Superbike weekend in Laguna has become the annual ritual for west coast sportbike culture. It’s really the only true sportbike event in the country. If you can imagine Daytona Bike Week crossed with Laconia Race and Rally Week in weather, topography and racing, then squeezed out 98% of the cruisers and dropped the entire wad in northern California, you might get an idea of what Laguna Seca is.
Much like the beginnings of Daytona, which started with races down the beach and around town, Laguna Seca’s roots follow a similar pattern albeit almost two decades later.
The books of the Sports Car Racing Association of the Monterey Peninsula (SCRAMP) opened on November 1, 1956 as a non-profit group who’s mission is to “benefit local charitable and non-profit organizations and to promote the economic vitality of Monterey through motorsports events.” The group leased Fort Ord land from the Army, built the track and staged its first race on November 9, 1957, a little over a year since its inception.
According to the Laguna website, events at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca have generated more than $1 billion in revenue for area businesses, while providing over $10 million for more than 100 charitable and civic groups.
Currently SCRAMP is trying to build a walkway and terrace outside the famous “Corkscrew”, a spot popular with the fans because of the views, most of the bikes get some air. Rich Oliver was famous for tossing his equipment to the fans on the corkscrew after he won a race. A tradition maintained by the younger racers, such as Jamie Hacking and others who tossed knee sliders to the fans throughout the weekend.
The 2.38-mile track with eleven turns is nestled in the hills of the outside of Monterey. This is the land that was the inspiration for John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden” and “Cannery Row.” You can still visit many of the places and buildings he mentions in his books, like the bordello in East of Eden or Doc’s Laboratory in Cannery Row.
Because he wrote about real towns-people (and not always in pleasant situations) Steinbeck was treated about as well as visiting scooter-trash of that era. He found that he couldn’t rent an office and was harassed by the wartime rations board over buying fuel and firewood, so he moved to New York.
The historic canneries, once occupied by Steinbeck’s characters, have been replaced by expensive spas and hotels, the details of where they stand now merely footnotes, their memory preserved in old photographs.
Things had changed by 1956, when the track was under construction; his hometown of Salinas contemplated naming the North Salinas High School after him. Steinbeck wrote a now-famous letter opposing the idea, “If the city of my birth should wish to perpetuate my name clearly but harmlessly, let it name a bowling alley after me or a dog track or even a medium price, low-church brothel; but a school!”
The man could have been a biker.
During Honda Superbike Weekend in Laguna you won’t find rows of posers on Chromo-cruisers but at night on Cannery Row, where sportbike burn-outs are de-rigueur, you’ll find crowds of enthusiasts milling about the restaurants and shops, “kicking tires and tellin’ lies”. This year however, there was a noticeable crackdown by the officials.
Unlike Daytona and Laconia, in Laguna all the real action is at the track. Along with the racing there are a couple miles of ten-by-ten tents with vendors offering everything from helmet deodorant to frozen Waborittas (an alcohol and lime concoction that will freeze your brain from the inside). All the major OEM’s demo trucks with bikes on display are in the infield and Ducati takes over the island, which is aptly dubbed “Ducati Island” for the event.
Unique to California Motorsports, there are the girls, what are you looking for? Just pick a bra size and there’s at least one pair within fifty feet and she’s guaranteed to be wearing tiny clothes, have a flat stomach with a bejeweled navel, an umbrella, and definitely be too young for any of us old codgers.
Which brings me to the great dichotomy of motorcycle racing; as a journalist, official or team member, you’re not allowed in the hot pits or on the track unless you have the correct credentials, you’re wearing a minimum of a t-shirt that covers part of your arms, long pants, and closed shoes. That is, unless you’re a female with an umbrella, at which point you must wear high heels, expose as much skin as possible and smile endlessly for photos with testosterone charged fans (93,000 of them according to the track’s release). So now you know why Laguna was MUST-ATTEND event for us.
City Cycle’s plans for this years pilgrimage began with a seed planted by our Senior Editor, Fred Nemiroff. Fred hadn’t been to Laguna for five years and I was already booked, so we decided to make the ’04 pilgrimage a staff event. Of course anywhere I go becomes a staff event as I’m the only full-time staff member. Later it was decided that we’d turn the ride up into a story by conducting a dual-sport shootout/comparo.
We placed Lee Parks in charge of deciding on, and collecting the motorcycles since his ranch in Victorville would be our embarkation point. At Lee’s relentless insistence BMW provided us with a new R 1200 GS, KTM lent us a very abused 950cc Adventurer and Robert Pandya at Aprilia amazed all by pulling a Caponord out of thin air, at the last minute. Triumph had promised us a Tiger but the unit designated for us wasn’t returned to the press fleet by the major glossy rag (who shall go nameless) that had borrowed it.
Monika Boutwell of Triumph remedied the situation by borrowing another Tiger from a Southern California dealer. The only problem was that it wouldn’t be ready until we were already rolling. However the last member of the tour, Ray Englehardt, was slated to arrive a day later, so we arranged for Ray to pick up the Tiger and meet us at the Blue Sky Lodge in Carmel Valley. (And Ray almost didn’t make it; read CC Staff Member Assaulted on page 31.)
Lee also arranged for us to borrow an Electra-Glide Ultra Classic from the Motor Company’s press fleet. When I asked why, since it didn’t exactly fit the dual-sport category, Lee replied that it was so our two two-up passengers could get a “butt break”. Of course it became my job to pick-up the Harley immediately after my flight landed.
Dawn rose over the desert illuminating a cloudless sky and signaling the time to pack bags, empty bladders and hit the road. Many hours, and a few home-made cappuccinos later our motley caravan snaked out of Victorville, the magnificent seven of us; Lee and Jennifer on the Harley, our attorney, Andy McKinney and his wife Kit on the KTM, then Fred on the Caponord, Stu on his personal Ducati Multi-Strada and myself on the BMW.
We rode through daylight and into the darkness. We swapped bikes then compared information and opinions on them all, even the Harley. We even stopped to shoot some video and pose for still photos. One of the last things we did on the road was vote not to let Lee pick any more restaurants. (Its not that Lee hasn’t got good taste, he just picks lousy places to eat.)
After fourteen hours of twisty canyon roads, twisty hot desert roads, a twisty road that was temporarily closed by fire and one really (glad I packed a sweater) cold highway, no Cop cars, and a couple of terrible meals we arrived at the Blue Sky Lodge, pumped and in love with motorcycling. (Although all us East Coasters were still looking for a good meal.)
For those of you who find yourselves wandering California on two wheels, you’ve got to ride 33 from Ojai to Taft and 58 to 229 to Paso Robles, and if you’re of the Alpine riding ilk, try to set a speed record going up the Laureles Grade into Carmel Valley.
At some time in the wee hours before daylight we finally found the Blue Sky Lodge, checked in and managed some much needed sleep.
The next morning we began, what would become a tradition; terrorizing the new waitress at Margy’s Diner, which is really to only place to have breakfast in the village of Monterey.
The next few days at the track are really a blur, the racing was phenomenal, Jake Zempke on the Erion Honda earned my respect as he had the crowd standing on the seats when he went from the back of the pack (due to an oil leak) to finish on the podium. Short story is that we enjoyed some best racing of the season but before we could exhale it was time to travel home.
The team again met at Margy’s diner in Monterey on Monday morning at 9AM where breakfast mutated into a one-act play entertaining Margy’s staff, her patrons and fellow riders. It was 10:30 by the time we filled our tanks, side-stands were up and we were pointed at Route One. Which is where I decided to see how crash worthy the Ultra Glide was. (Details in my column on page 6, if you haven’t read it yet.)
Having met with the Monterey Sheriff more than once on this trip (thanks to Ray’s incident little fracas), I’d seen enough uniforms by the time they showed up for us, and the Sheriff was followed by the California Highway Patrol, the Fire Department, and the Paramedics, all of them relieved at how minor our injuries were.
We got a ride back to the Big Sur Garage, it was a $100 cab ride to Monterey Airport where I rented a car. The guy at the Hertz counter was a sympathetic biker so I was able to rent a sub-compact and he upgraded me to a Mustang Convertible. When Kit and I loaded all the stuff emptied from the Harley’s luggage I realized that we were overloaded. It all barely fit into the trunk of the Mustang!
We arrived in Victorville at 4am the next day where I had to shower, pack, take Andy and Kit to the Ontario Airport then make a Vespa event in Santa Barbara (more about that next month).
I dreaded making the telephone call to Harley but 9am came around and while I was stuck in stopped traffic on “the 10” I made the call.
“Oh!” exclaimed Gene, Harley’s fleet keeper, trying to make light of the situation, “remove gas cap, install motorcycle and replace gas cap.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we couldn’t find the gas cap.
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