Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1960's

c ... By Geor ge Martin llIustration by Chuck LaGreca It Three Christmases was Chri stmas Eve. The attic was warm with the risen heat from the rambling old Mill Valley house as my wife and I undressed and climbed into the cold bed . The afternoon bad been spent with my family; a roast chick en stuffed with Barbara's special herb dressing, enough glasses of a white wine to soften things a little, and then the ritual opening of presents. T i r ed by satisfied, we'd stacked the dishes in the sink of our small apartment, loaded the ol d red Volkswagen with bags of gift-wrapPed packages and dr i ven across the odd, hump-backed Richmond-San Rafael bri dge for Christmas day with Barbara's sister, her husband and three children. It was dark when we r eached the large redwood shi ngl ed home clinging to a steep hillside on a slope of Mt. Tamalpais , The children were in bed and we added our presents to the j umbl ed heap beneath the tree. The n as Barbara climbed the stairs to the " guest r oom" in the cluttered attic, I slipped outsi de, grabbed a can of gas from under the VW' s hood and ...ealked around behind the house to where my motorcyc l e was parked. The blue and silver Bultaco l ooked none the worse f or i ts three days in the open, away f r om its cozy garage across the bay. I l oosened the gas cap, poured in enough gas-oil m i x to top the tank, and carefully wiped a small dr i bble of gas that ran down the si de of the tank and dropped onto the polished alumunum engine cases. Then I r etraced my steps to the car and the house and cllmbed the worn attic sta irs to bed. Snuggled next to Barbara's warmth, sleep came Instantly, But the tiny alarm cl ock in my brain was alert, and dawn had not yet broken when my eyes popped open and began adjusting them selves to the dimness of th e room. The house heat of the past evening was gone, in its place a nose-tingling chill that made the warmth of the bed nearl y i r r esi s tabl e. But I slipped out of bed and padded across the icy fioor to my clothes . QuIetly, for Barbara still slept, I slipped into long johns, jeans and two sweaters, then carried my boots , jacket, helmet, gl oves and goggl es down the stairs to the silent living room. Christmas morning. Far across the valley street lights twinkled through the clear winter air, and the colored gl ow of Christmas trees could be seen in a fe w win dows. T o the east, across the bay , a slight " " pre-dawn light was just beginning to show, and in the chilly llvtng room the only sound was the qulet lacing of boots . " Now th e or igin of Christ was In thi s wise. When Mary his moth er had been betrothed to Joseph, befo r e they cam e together, she was fo und to be with child by the Holy Spirit. " But Joseph her husband, being a j ust man and not w ishing to expose her to r eproach, was minded to put her away privately. But while he thought on these things behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream sayi ng, ' Do not be afraid, Joseph, son of Davi d, to take to th ee Mary thy wife, fo r that which Is begotten in her is of the Holy Sptrt. And she shall bring for th a son and thou shalt call hi s name Jesus; for he shall save hi s people from their si ns'." Outside a sudden wind swept a scattering of l eaves acr oss the yard, rustling the r edwood and bay trees on the hill and the tangl ed blackberry vines beneath them . The Bultacowas cover ed wlth afaintlyluminous layer of dew, but a couple of kicks was enough to get the little two-stroke burbling happily . The cold aluminum cylinder f inning turned warm and then hot beneath my glove, and I clicked the gearbox into low and sta rted up the bum py dirt driveway to the road. Mount T amalpais stands as a redwood and scrub covered sentinel just north of the Golden Gate . It i s a ma jestic green mountain, often shrouded in fog. F r om the south and east it r esembles a reclining woman, and Is known to thousands of bay area chil dr en as the " Sleeping Maiden. " The mountain has several arms which form ridges between a number of valley towri s along the eastern slope. To the west it plunges down rocky windswept cutfs to the turbulent Pacific . Following i ts dancing yellow headlight beam, the Bultaco sped up the road leading to the mountain's main north-south ridge. The road r uns to i t, then along it, then wI.nds along the mountainside and down to the coast at Stinson Beach. I was heading for the summit road, whi ch turns off about half way to the coast and then winds to the mountaintop. On such a road spe ed com es naturally to the little Bultaco, and I gav e the machine i ts head, sweep in g i nto the uphill bends as the bike'S bb-shotexhaustspllt the morning silence. Cold wi nd chiiled my fac e and sought out gaps in my cl othing as th e little Mercurio and 1 picked up th e r hythm of speed; brake, downshift, l ean, accelerate, upshift, following the dotted line' s path over the mountain. At the r i dgeline, wi th San F r ancisco Bay spread out for mil es on the east and the salt air fr eshness of an ocean breeze com ing f r om th e west, I dropped the gearbox Into neutral and coasted to a stop, Now the eas ter n sky was drained of I ts slate gray hue; near the hori zon was a pale or ange color which faded into dark blue as I raised my eyes to seek out the few remaining stars . It would be a close race to the summit; th e Bultaco versus th e cold win ter sun . A long the rldgeline the road fiattens outa little i nto more gentle curves. A few quick throttle bursts had the machine in third gear, Its engine pitch rising eagerly as i t swept i nto curve after curve, chasing the endless asphalt ever higher up the gr eat mountain. " Now it cam e to pass in th ose days, that a decree went f or th f rom Caesar Augustus that a census of the whole world should be taken . This first census took place while Cyrinus was gover nor of Syria. A nd all were going, each to his own town, to regis ter . " And Joseph also sent from Galilee out of the town of Nazareth in to Judea to the town of Davi d, which Is called Bethlehem - because he was of the house and family of David - to register together with Mary, his espoused Wife, who was wi th child." Early morni ng sm ells of damp pine needies and mo i st r ed ear th poured in to my l ungs as the speedi ng Bultaco crested a hill and shot pas t th e little German r estaurant, Mo untain Hom e, in fou r th, then slowed to set up fo r the t wi st y sec tion ahead. Th e scrub oak ends here and the redwoods begin; this Is the shady si de of the mountain, col der than ever and slashed wi th small canyons that mus t have been cursed soundly by the road builder s of l ong ago. Each little canyon is another tight hairpin and my boot tip feels the pebble-grained r oughness of the pavement as th e macnine darts around curve after curve. In the crisp mc rning ai r the sensa tion is dizzying. " A nd it cam e to pass whi le they were th er e that the days for her to be delivered were fulfilled. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swadd1lng clothe s, and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them in the Inn. " And there were shepherds in the same district Ii v i n g in th e fields and watchi ng their fiocks by night . And behol d, an angel of the Lord stood by them and the glory of God shone around them, and they feared exceedingly." The summit turnoff looms up suddenly, and the little Spanish two -stroke blasts ov er the tricky cam ber and hurls up the mountain. Steeper now, the road begins its final climb to the summit. T he fam1llar scrub and manzanita return as the road winds back to the east side of the moun tain and nears the peal. A blur of white buildings, fenc ing and a lone guard shivering in his hut mark the pas sing of the Air Force' s radar station. One m or e rise and the Bultaco coasts to a stop at the top of th e mountain. The parking lot should be empty at dawn on Christm as morning, but a young man in a yellow Porsche and his girl friend are here, too. I pull the bike back onto its center stand and walk to the black pipe railing. The orange eastern sky pales to near white, and as I watch expectan tly the shimm er i ng r im of the win ter sun peeks over the eastbay hills, throwing stark shadows across "th e waters of the bay . The lights of the San Rafael bridge twinkle like a diamond necklace stretched across the wate r, and far to the south the massive orange towers of the Golden Gate bridge jut majestically into the sky. The sun cllmbs higher until it bangs blindingly over the eastern horizon and the magic of dawn becomes the brilltant r eality of day. I mount the Bultaco, and not bothering to start the engine, push off down the mountain, reveling in the silence and cold. "And the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you news of great joy which shall be to all the people; for today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you , who i s Christ the Lord. And this shallbe a s i g n unto you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling cl othe s and layi ng in an manger.' A nd suddenly there was with the angel a mul titude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in th e highest and on earth peace to m en of good will.' " Now it is gr avi ty's pull that carries the little cycle through the curves, wi th onl y the sound of the tires and the hum of the chaln.1t i s a peac eful feeling, leaning i nto bend after bend with the empty road beckoning ahead and only the silent trees to witness the Bultaco's gracef ul progress. The crunch of tires on the gr av el dr iveway 11ft me f rom my r everie and I park th e bike and enter the house . Blinded by the sudden steam on my goggl es, I sense, rather than see, th e delighted children as they rip open their gally-wrapped pr esents . F r om the kitchen came the smells of steaming sausage, baking rolls, eggs, bacon and coffee. Barbara, I could tell, was upset. " Hurry." she Said, "you've almost miss ed Chr i stm as ." •

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