My office’s last three-day weekend was rained out, completely. Three free days, ruined by a soggy sky. I filed my complaint to no one, but someone must have listened. We got another long weekend for Presidents Day, this time without the wet stuff. With an entire Monday to waste, a couple coworkers and I boarded our sport bikes and headed north for the phenomenal roads and sights of Marin and Sonoma counties.

I’ve a bit of a love-hate relationship with sleep; I love to stay in bed, but I hate that sleep is such a waste of time. Leonardo da Vinci devised a torturous sleep pattern to avoid the wastefulness of unconscious nights, whereby he slept in ten minute bursts for a total of just two hours per day. Obviously, that’s insane and ill-conceived, but I’ve always had a lot of respect for people that can sleep less and wake up early and active. Usually it’s old people with such talents.

In October, I started wrangling together a group of coworkers for Sunday morning rides every week. We’ve had some fantastic days, but I get the feeling that, at least until after football season, it’s going to be harder and harder to motivate the pack to wake up at dawn for a casual back road tear to breakfast and coffee.

In the dubious pursuit of progress, I’ve abandoned a flawless summer and hunkered down for the chillier half of the year ahead. It is officially autumn, evidenced by retreating fog and dipping temperatures. There’s no season that spells doom for motorcycling in the Bay Area, but certain months call for more clothing.

Brian, a friend of mine since the age of twelve, picked up his first bike back in April, a 2009 Ninja 250. He’s rolled on about 3,000 freeway and city miles since then, so I figured it’s high time he be acquainted with some real roads. Last night he endured the obnoxious I-80 to reach San Francisco from the Sacramento area. This morning we rode further south, target: Santa Cruz.

It took a new road to remind me of old lessons. Riding the same routes every week, I get sloppy. I don’t need solid form to get ’round 84 anymore, I know what’s around the bend and can admit to frequently concerning myself more with lean angle and less with the stuff taught in MSF and Proficient Motorcycling. But charging headlong into foreign corners this weekend quickly jogged my memory and exposed the over in my confidence that’s done a bit of damage to my riding skill.

I will admit to agreeing to this ride by pure accident. A blunt e-mail from a coworker, with subject “Ride?” and body “Could be fun,” received a prompt positive response from me. It wasn’t until we spoke in person a couple days later that I realized I’d been signed up for an organized group ride; the oddly vague e-mail was intended to link to a Bay Area Riders Forum thread describing the event I unwittingly joined.

At the moment I was unsure which oddity was more absurd, 1) me already awake and a half hour from home for a group moto ride at 8:00 AM on a Sunday morning, or 2) the lot of 50-to-60-somethings on DR-Z and GS behemoths warning me and another newcomer that, in so many words, we were about to get dusted and shouldn’t ride over our heads trying to keep up. Two of the men admitted to recent knee replacements.

The past week’s weather has been just shy of flawless, the only absent trait being some semblance of summer warmth. Last Sunday, I took advantage of the clear skies and celebrated the shifting of the clocks an hour forward–the day that DST sets in is among my favorite of the year–with a quick ride to Alice’s and Skywood Trading Post. Also delighting in the dwindling days of winter were countless other bikers swarming the Santa Cruz Mountains with me.

If you don’t happen to live in the better half of the Left Coast then forgive my boasting, but the weather we’ve had this past week is unbelievably perfect. Unbelievable in that just weeks ago temperatures were verifiably freezing with reports of snow on familiar routes south of me. Unbelievable because the middle of January is not supposed to bring clear skies, high 60s Fahrenheit and dry, faultless tarmac. Today’s ride felt like cheating. I was getting away with something unbelievable, unfair, and intended to make the most of it.

It wasn’t until midway through today’s ride that I realized it’d be my last adventure of 2008. Not that it’s terribly significant, but the ride felt different. The beginning of this year inspired my interest in motorcycling, so sending off 2008 with a farewell ride seemed fitting, even nostalgic.

Winter’s catching up with me. Ever since June’s solstice, I’ve been dreading the shorter days and weather that’ll keep me cooped up and off the bike. The weather reports said there was a good chance of rain last night and an even better chance today. When I woke up to blue skies, I wondered if this morning might be my last chance for a ride, my last chance before the sun goes into hibernation for the year, the sky soaks the landscape and all life’s joy succumbs to the sucking black hole of winter.

Having retrieved my camera from an extended loan, I wanted to make a moto ride with a purpose. I’m casually interested in photography but my skills are pretty unpracticed, so I took a diversion from The Loop, found a nice turn on Highway 84 and started shooting.

I’ve always taken my just for fun rides south of where I live, but last weekend got to wondering what sort of roads run north of the Golden Gate. A quick Google Map survey answered the question: good ones.

With my accrued vacation time about to max out, I took a Friday off for no reason other than to spend paid time off to make room for more paid time off. With the girlfriend at work and the urge to brush aside professional obligations, I fueled up the Ninja and headed south for Santa Cruz. This would be no mere afternoon ride–I had the entire day to myself.