Mecca for bikers.
If there are two ‘must visit’ biker spots in America then one is The Rock Store in the Malibu mountains, which I frequented for years at weekends when living in Los Angeles, and Alice’s Restaurant in the hills between Woodside and the Pacific in northern California.
Bikers have been coming here for generations and there are essentially three kinds:
Fast Men: They ride early when it’s cool in the full body leather suits they invariably prefer, and mostly ride 750 and 1,000cc Japanese race machinery, emblazoned with bold graphics. The pucks on their knees are frequently worn and the set is mostly young, slim and trim. They ride fast. The elite of this set rides Ducatis and the occasional MV Agusta, both going for the price of a good new car and simply divine to see.
Bold graphics.
These men, and they are men 99% of the time, have time only for the like minded and regard strangers with suscpicion:
Regarding this stranger with suspicion
Harley riders: These are the poseurs of the biker world. Not only can’t they ride, their chrome encrusted machines are intended to take attention away from their beer bellies and unkempt beards. Sorry, no pictures of this lot as they don’t arrive until late after lunch, when the six pack hangover from the previous night has lifted. Most still rue the passing of the Viet Nam war and hanging out with their buddies in a stoned haze.
Old farts: As I’m a member of this set I naturally have nothing but good things to say about its members. We don’t give a damn what you think, don’t much care how we look and generally have contempt for government. Our bikes are generally old and interesting, and attract all the attention. After all, when you’ve seen one HonYamSuzKawaski, you have seen them all.
Old Fart chats with a Fast Man.
This OF had an amusing NOS sticker on his starter (Nitrous Oxide gas injection meant to boost power) which, he told me, fooled most of the people most of the time. “I put it there because the starter looked kinda bare, you know?”
Old Fart portrait.
Finally, if you want to command the stage at Alice’s, forget about turning up in the latest Ferrari on a weekend, as one twit did today, because sure as heck no one will be impressed and even fewer will pay attention. A Ferrari here says you just don’t get it. We bikers care little for your girlfriend’s silicone or your gold chains.
This Russian Ural with sidecar was parked next to aforesaid Ferrari and was pulling in the crowds. Black Ferrari just visible behind.
The Ural may be a lousy rip off of my old BMW, but it’s a lot more entertaining to look at than most machines I know.
And, finally, yes you do get the occasional woman rider and generally they are not to be messed with.
Not to be messed with
P.S. There is a fourth subset known as Squids. These are 17 year old kids riding brand new Japanese 600cc race machines which go 170mph for $8,000, and are meant to be ridden in tennies and T shirts. However, it’s impossible to show any snaps of members of this set as they are either all dead or in what is known as the Vegetable Patch in the local hospital with terminal brain damage.
All snaps on the Panasonic G1 with the kit lens.
