Queer Bikers Face Death (Valley)!
by Michael Psycle Bettinger
Three words describe the 4th annual Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley, intensity, extremes and camaraderie. Riding an intense 1,200 hundred miles in three days, an experience that left most of the participants a physical wreck by the end of the journey, through the extremes of frigid mountains, hot deserts, high mountains, low valleys, twisty, straight, steep and flat roads, all resulted in the strangers, who coming together for a weekend ride, had a mutual experience of overcoming adversity and wound up with a feeling of comradeship. This was not a ride for the timid, lazy or those prone to staying in a foul mood.
Queer as an adjective to biker seems redundant to many. There are few bikers who aren't queer. By virtue of riding a motorcycle, one is usually considered to be odd, eccentric, unusual or different. Few bikers are part of the charmed circle of those considered to be "normal". But most of the bikers on this ride were queer to the hilt by virtue of identifying themselves as either lesbian or gay. And those who didn't so identify, (and there is an increasing number of "those" people along each year), found their sexual orientation was not held against them. No prejudice was evident.
The Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley takes place in mid October each year for several reasons. In the winter and spring, when the weather in Death Valley is pleasant, the mountain passes through the central Sierra are closed due to snow. In summer, when the passes are open, the heat of Death Valley gives this place it's name. So, it is only in the fall, after the valley has begun to cool, and the snows have not come to the Sierra, that the trip is possible. And there is one other reason for choosing mid October. It is the way the disorganizer of this adventure celebrates his birthday every year.
It has turned out though, that while mid October for this trip looks great in theory, in practice it seems to be a fifty/fifty proposition. The first year this trip occurred, 1994, saw the weather deteriorate while crossing the Sierra until snow was falling as the bikers rode through the Yosemite high country and Tioga Pass. The next two years, 1995 and 1996, saw theory and practice coincide. With perfect weather, the Sierra was warm and Death Valley had cooled. So it was with great anticipation that the 1997 version of this quest took place.
In late September and early October, California was bathed in Indian summer. A high pressure system left northern California basking in warm temperatures. While the temperatures in Death Valley still hovered above 100 degrees, the overall forecast for the Invasion looked positive.
On the Sunday before the adventure was to begin, the weather forecasters began to say there was a small possibility of a change in the weather in mid week, but the weekend would be warm once again. On Monday, they began to predict some rain for Wednesday from a storm forming in the Gulf of Alaska, but they assured us that it would be clearing Thursday and the weekend would see a return of Indian Summer.
Wednesday morning saw a few sprinkles in Northern California, with the promise of additional rain that night. And it did rain, but with one little change. The fast moving storm decided to slow down. What should have been gone by Thursday stuck around. Mobile television news crews showed reporters standing on the side of Interstate 80 in the Sierra with snow coming down around them, and in the background the viewers saw people putting tire chains on cars and trucks. Highway 88 over Carson Pass was closed due to snow. The disorganizer of this adventure started to become concerned.
The storm was now moving south through the Sierra. Route 120 through Yosemite over Tioga Pass had remained open while the northern passes closed on Wednesday and Thursday. By Friday, when the northern passes opened, Tioga Pass closed due to snow and ice on the road. Panic time. Any route other than 120 would cause problems.
The disorganizer spent Friday checking the weather and road reports and poring over maps, while fielding phone calls from concerned riders. An alternative had to be found, though none looked good. The National Park Service ranger at Tuolomne Meadows, near Tioga Pass in Yosemite gave the disorganizer an opinion that it was a fifty/fifty possibility that the road would be opened by Saturday, depending upon how much snow there was that night. More snow was predicted.
So, at 8 a.m. on Saturday morning, October 11, 1997, thirty queer bikers assembled on Castro Street in San Francisco, and Tioga Pass was still closed. Would it open later that day? Another call to the ranger station let us know it was still up in the air. The group left San Francisco and headed for the first gas stop in Manteca, where more riders joined the group. We continued to push on and had lunch at PJ's Care in Groveland, where still more riders joined the group. It was there we found out the bad news. It had snowed a total of eighteen inches at Tioga Pass. The road would not be open until Sunday. An alternative had to be found. The situation looked grim.
The next road north of Route 120 that crossed the Sierra was Route 108 over Sonora Pass, and that too was closed. Route 4, the next northern route, over Ebbetts Pass, was open, but snow chains were required on tires. All agreed that was not a viable choice for bikers. Route 88 over Carson Pass, which was closed on Thursday and Friday was now open. That would add an additional 170 miles to the day's ride, but would enable the group to traverse an area of the Sierra that was clear of snow, but still gripped in the intense cold that accompanied the early season storm. The only other alternative was to head far to the south, to Routes 156 and 178 in the Southern Sierra, over Walker Pass. The goal of the first day of this journey was to get to Big Pine, California, where the riders had motel reservations, and more riders from Southern California were due to join the group. The southern route would be warmer, but would add even more miles. The disorganizer, after consulting with many of the other riders made a command decision. He would head north on Route 49, turn east on Route 88 over Carson Pass, head south on Route 89 over Monitor Pass and the head south on Route 395 to Big Pine California. Whoever wished to follow him was welcome to do so.
Finding that there was neither a mutiny, nor any deserters, the now almost forty bikes headed north. Along Route 49, through the foothills of the Sierra, the moving mass traversed territory. At a gas stop in Jackson, California, where Route 49 and 88 meet, it was clear the group was now quite spread out. A number of riders who were at lunch did not show up at the has stop, but were presumed to be riding slower. They had been left with maps and route instructions, so the main body of the group proceeded east on Route 88.
As the elevation became higher, the air became colder. Soon, snow appeared on the sides of the road. The road surface was clear and mostly dry, but the cold air and snow seemed ominous. Before long, the temperature plummeted. As the bikers rode through the high country, we began passing hoards of riders on dual purpose bikes. These bikers appeared to be part of some sort of organized ride on both trails and Route 88 and serendipity brought us together for about twenty miles. By the time the queer bikers stopped for gas and warmth at a gas station close to the Kirkwood Ski Resort, it was clear this was going to be one of those rides no one would ever forget. Heavy riding suits, electric vests and gloves and heated handgrips on BMW's were no match for the cold. Everyone had frozen toes, and many had a lot more than their toes frozen. Many of the riders were not prepared for any cold weather, and could not stop shivering. But the group pressed on. Over Carson Pass, over Monitor Pass, with elevations close to 9,000 feet, the riders continued. And it was clear that we had lost the tail of the group, with more then a half dozen bikers not accounted for. Had they given up? We didn't know. One of them, a woman riding a Honda Pacific Coast was accompanied by a thirteen year old boy. They were no where to be found.
By the time the main section of the group stopped for gas in Walker, California, along Route 395 on the eastern ride of the Sierra, the riders had now been traveling for three hours in temperatures hovering around freezing. And the sun was getting lower in the sky. The group was determined to make a mad dash to Big Pine, 130 miles to the south. Approximately two hours later, about 8 p.m. at night, the bulk of the riders arrived in Big Pine, and found their motel rooms awaiting them. Their handwriting on the check in forms was generally illegible, as none could grip a pen. It took approximately one hour under hot showers for everyone to stop shaking.
During this period of time, Tom, on another Honda Pacific Coast arrived in Big Pine with news of the rest of the group. They were all well and had decided to stop in Bridgeport, California, about 100 miles to the north of Big Pine, as none could proceed any further. They would, Tom told us, attempt to leave Bridgeport early in the morning and join up with us.
In Big Pine, the southern California contingent joined with the northern group. Five Harley riders from San Diego, along with a Beemer with a new boyfriend, and several Los Angeleans met up with the now thawing riders from the north. The Beemer rider told us that Route 395 across the Mojave had also been closed to bikers on Saturday, as the storm produced high winds in the desert. Though a group dinner at the local greasy spoon had been planned, the lateness of the hour meant everyone ate whatever and where ever they could, and the next morning the group assembled early for the ride to Death Valley and Zabriskie Point.
One of the beauties of this trip every year is that anyone can take part as much or as little as they wish. There is no registration, no fees, no requirements, other than you take part to whatever degree one desires. As a result, independent bikers find a way of coming together, understanding they are losing none of their independence. For the next two days, riders would join and leave the group at their own will. Different people were lead riders, other rode solo. Every year, more women are taking part. This year found a dozen women riding their bikes in this event. By the time the group assembled at Zabriskie Point, some of the Bridgeport contingent showed up with further reports. Most were on their way, but two of the bikes would not start in the cold morning air. One of those bikes was a newer Beemer, so BMW roadside assistance was called.
No more than an hour was spent at Zabriskie Point, the ostensible goal of the trip. There, the annual ritual of the picture taking took place. Forty cameras were placed on the ground, and a tourist who looked like he knew how to take photographs was corralled. This year it was a fellow from London. At the throng bunched tightly together, he picked up each camera and took a photo of the group. It took him nearly twenty minutes to go through all the cameras, making this, he said, the highlight of his Death Valley experience.
After a lunch at the Furnace Creek Ranch, the group started to ride out of the valley, and notice several of the Bridgeport riders heading into the valley, waving at us. Across the southern Sierra the group rode, over Walker Pass, with a stop at Lake Isabella, and, as the sun was low in the sky, on through the Kern Canyon, which was carved by the Kern River and the road was carved into the sheer rock of the canyon walls.
Night two was spend in Bakersfield, where the two bikers who could not get their bikes started that morning in Bridgeport met up with the rest group. And by late that night, all bikers had reassembled for a dinner at a local Carrows restaurant. Forty odd (and some quite odd) bikers ate dinner together in a private room. The disorganizer of the group was honored to have "Happy Birthday" sung to him in perfect key. Amazing.
Day three found the main body of the group heading back to the Bay Area. After one last meal together at Perko's Koffee Kup in Coalinga, and a ride north on Route 25 through the coastal mountain range, final good bye's were said in Hollister, California, before every one headed back to wherever they were planning to spend the night.
A good time was had by all! Despite all the adversity of the weather of the first day, the rest of the trip was made in perfect California sunshine. Despite five riders getting speeding tickets (with three riders getting them at one time), despite the tremendous expenditure of energy, tired queer bikers headed home, determined to rest and ride again.
For those of you who would like to join us next time, mark down the following dates. There will be a week long Queer Biker Spring Kickoff Ride April 11-18, 1998. The destination will be southern Arizona with the exact route still to be determined. And, October 10-12, 1998 will see the 5th Annual Queer Biker Invasion of Death Valley. So get ready riders. Be there and be queer!