Roots…

            はですることができます。 のは benly ですし、パートナー、1961 でまれたし、subsequently…wait、そうso  soddy… だった really, darn it, I gotta remember to speak English, sheesh, I mean, I do this all of the time. I grew up in California, you know, the good ol’ US of A, and you would think that I would forget my Japanese roots but Soichiro Honda made sure I was pretty well educated and knew that he was sending me to Los Angeles and wanted to make sure that I didn’t embarrass him too bad. Mr. Honda had already figured out that “revs are free”and that’s what he put into me ‘cause I can rev to 10,500 rpm without breakin’ a sweat or anything else. I’m just a 125cc twin, a bantamweight, but I’m sporting some huge brakes, a set of low handlebars, and the absolute kewlest red racing seat.

Hi’ my name is Benly.

  Dateline: March 1961. Landed – San Pedro Bay, 20 miles south of Los Angeles.

    Seasick – puked gasoline out of my carb…all over the place, bleh. Been on the water for 6 weeks. They’ve got me crammed in a wooden box so tight that I can’t turn around. Right before they put me in the box, they sprayed some sticky stuff all over me, cosmolit… no, cosmoni???I don’t know for sure but it keeps the salt water from getting to me but it feels horrible. Air gone outa my tires, no juice in the ol battery, if you know what I mean, and, and, did I mention 6 weeks of ocean –up and down-up and down-bbbbblugh, plus, I think I have scurvy.

  I sat in a dark warehouse for a while, but at least I’m not sick anymore. Rumor has it that some dude is waitin’ on me to get unloaded in Los Angeles, and then, I’m outa here. Finally I hear the big overhead doors going up and some people come in looking for me. I can’t understand what they’re saying but soon I’m riding in the back of a truck. I land at a little Honda dealership over on Pico Boulevard , and here we go. They rip the crate apart…  roll me out on my almost flat tires and push me into the shop. Pop me up on my center stand and just stand around looking at me. A white guy named Victor walks over to me and starts grinning. This guy rubs the kneepads of my gas tank and I’m thinking, “dude, back off “but he doesn’t go away. Pretty soon though, I’m sportin’ 32 psi of air in my tires, engine oil topped up, battery charged, and I’m sipping me some High-octane fuel so things are lookin’ up. Sure enough, this guy Victor comes over and starts to push my buttons and I admit, I coughed a few times but then fired right up.

   Vic gets on and we ride out the back door of the dealership, down the alley, onto Pico Boulevard and I’m instantly in some serious traffic. Vic must have ridden a time or two because he has no fear. He rolls the throttle to the stop and as we approach a double row of stopped traffic, HE GOES BETWEEN THE CARS! I MEAN, HE SPLITS THE LANES! I have a foot of clearance on either side of me and ” 喜ばせる, 楽しませる, 満足させる; 〈…の〉気に入る” we make it to the intersection just as the light turns green. He catches the front row of traffic asleep at the wheel, because we blow right past em’, catch a green at the next one then a left onto Figuero.  First in line at the next Red-light and we pull up next to a huge motorcycle, British if I’m guessing. He sits there all arumble and quiver and then he dumps a big puddle of oil out, right on the street, in front of everybody. “BAD DOG!”This bike looks over at me and sneers “hey punk”. Vic anticipates the light change and we quickly run off and hide from this jerk. A few side streets later and we pull into a small, neat garage with a couple of other guys already there. One was a silver Norton Manx, looking all brutish and…hey, what do we have here, a little two stroke Parilla 150 Sport, Red and Black, purebred Italiano. I think I’m gonna like this place. I really do…

next week, “the good, the bad, the ugly” Benly

Left Coast

It was early 1994 when I learned that the World Grand Prix  500cc  motorcycle road race at Laguna Seca may well be the last time that this storied event would be held on American soil. Word on the street was that if you wanted to see the big boys’ race, you had better figure out how to get to Laguna Seca raceway, near Monterey, California. My friend, Lee Wadley, had worked with me at our Kawasaki dealership in the early 80s in Hugo, Oklahoma and had relocated to Sacramento, California and he too wanted to see the event. My wife Tina encouraged me to take a week off from the restaurant business that we ran together in Atoka, Oklahoma and “go see Lee”. So calls were made, prayers uttered, meetings were held, plans started to come together. I was to ride out to Sacramento and stay with Lee and his brother John. Before I took off for Ca l I f o r n I aye, I rode to Tulsa to Atlas Cycle to get my Beemer tuned up. One of the techs, Chuck Moore, overheard that I was goin’ out west and he said that if I ever had a chance, I should ride the road to Stewarts Point. He described this idyllic motorcycle road, one made expressly for the use of riding a motorcycle. He also mentioned that the road may be a little difficult to find but gave me the general location of it.
Monday, September 5th, I took off from “S. Wilks Famous for Samburgers” in Atoka and made my way to Oklahoma City, then onto  I 40 and rail. It’s a straight shot to the Golden State and I rode steadily, through the Texas panhandle and into New Mexico, spending the night in Santa Rosa. The ride was beautiful as was the weather. I had never been further west than Texas and I really enjoyed the ever-changing topography. Made California without a hitch but was running a little later than planned. In my mind, Sacramento was just a few miles north of Bakersfield so I was shocked when I saw the sign that said “Sacramento 280″ .  It was already dark but decided to go for it. I pulled into the driveway at Lee’s house at about 4:30am. Lee was glad to see me and we stayed up until sunrise, catching up old times. Lee had planned some rides for us to go on, one of them being the Napa Valley.

I had heard of the Napa Valley and was anxious to see all of the mansions and manicured vineyards. I remembered to ask Lee about the Stewarts Point road and he said he had ridden quite a bit of California and had never heard of it. I told him that my Oklahoma friend had suggested it and that we were in the area that he said we would find it.  We took off south down 101,  looking intently for any road sign indicating Stewarts Point and just as we were about to give up, Lee spotted a sign, about the size of a street sign. Stewarts Point 55 miles. We pulled over and congratulated each other on our find, then took off, first on Canyon road, eventually turning into Stewarts Point/Skaggs Springs road. This road is simply unbelievable. Having had lived in Oklahoma for so many years, I just didn’t know that they could make asphalt this smooth.  The curves are perfectly banked,  there are no potholes, no gravel strewn corners, even the painted stripes are clean and sharp. Just this winding, undulating ribbon of fantastic, “Motorcycles only road”. There wasn’t even much traffic, or at least until we were closer to Stewarts Point. The road quickly went from a road made in heaven to something I was more used to. The road narrowed way down, covered with pine needles and we started meeting logging trucks. We slowed our pace and took in the scenery, then suddenly, I could smell the ocean. I crested the final hill on our decent to Highway 1 and I saw the Pacific Ocean, stretching as far as you could see, meeting the horizon and I felt my eyes well up. I really can’t explain it but I think that I was overwhelmed with what our Lord had made. Lee and I pulled into a parking lot at Stewarts Point General Merchandise store and got off of our motorcycles, listening to them softly ticking as they cooled off. We didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just soaking in the beauty and finally Lee said “Kewl”.  That pretty well summed it up. We just stood there, on the left coast, looking at the ocean, smiling.

We did indeed make it to the 500cc Grand Prix at Laguna Seca and thoroughly enjoyed the race, but what really stands out in my mind was the “Ride to Stewarts Point” . I know that it made an impression on Lee as well. A few months after I had gone to see Lee, Tina informed me that I had received a package in the mail. In the box was a coffee cup with the Stewarts Point General Merchandise logo on it. The store was closed the day that Lee and I were there, and his note was thanking me for helping him find this road. I know that Lee still rides this road regularly. If you’re ever visiting California, put it on your list of must things to do. You won’t be sorry.

Locked and Loaded, ready to move out>

Still awestruck. Just smiling.

Tourists?

i stay hard on the gas, climbing, climbing, roll off the throttle as i crest the hill, off-camber downhill left, downshift twice, two fingers squeeze the front brake, pressure on the right footpeg, left hand pushing left handlebar. my xx blackbird rails easily around this technical corner and before i can get back into the throttle, a right hander, not as tight but bumpier. man, do i love to ride the talimena drive. the talimena drive is located in eastern oklahoma and western arkansas and is as close to deals gap “tail of the dragon” as we can get. not as intense as the gaps 318 curves in 11 miles but the talimea drive is just as beautiful. it’s about 54 miles long, stretching from just outside of talihena, oklahoma to mena, arkansas.
i really enjoy riding alone most of the time and one glorious morning, i was doing just that. i was in the zone, riding quickly and without error, enjoying the beautiful hardwood trees that line the drive, breathing the clean mountain air, feeling the road beneath my tires. i have ridden the drive many times and know to be on the lookout for any of Gods critters that may wander into my path as well as looking out for traffic that may not adhere to the “stay on your side of the paint ” rule. running about 80, i crest a hill and what i see next does take me by surprise. i just can’t believe it. on the downhill side of this asphalt rollercoaster, in my lane, parked in the middle of the road is a teal colored honda accord with an asian woman standing up in the car, her torso partway through the open moonroof, taking pictures. calmly. aim, shoot. aim, shoot. she with no concern that a xx blackbird may bisect her accord. she is completely oblivious to any dangers. tourists! i on the other hand was trying to figure out what to do. i had a nano-second to make a decision. if i hit the brakes, i could scrub off about 1 mph before impact. i scratch that off the list, though hitting them would give me a little pleasure for what few seconds that remained of my life. actually, the only viable escape route was a quick flick to the left, and it had to be done now, without consideration for any oncoming traffic. i brushed the left rear corner of the accord with the right leg of my aerostich. as quickly as this situation had revealed itself, it was over. there were no oncoming vehicles. i didn’t even look back. my heart rate was slightly quicker than before the tourist sighting, but not heart attack level. i rode along for the next two or three miles, thinking. thinking about what may have happened if i had been riding along, out of the zone. i believe i might have been riding slower, but not paying as much attention, and may well have punched through the back end of the accord. my advice is go for a ride, get in the zone, and watch out for those tourists. boyd young