Southern California New Year's Adventure Ride
Letting Adventure Happen
I am not what anyone would describe as “well-traveled.” Outside of my little corner of the Inland Northwest, the furthest I've ever traveled was Philmont, New Mexico, with the Boy Scouts 27 years ago. And while I grew up riding dirt bikes on the Palouse, I only recently discovered adventure riding, with a handful of long weekends and one BDR (Backcountry Discovery Route) under my belt to date. So when my girlfriend Jenny casually suggested we spend a week exploring Southern California on a 2025 Aprilia Tuareg 660 Rally and 2025 Yamaha Ténéré 700 between Christmas and New Year’s, a fly-and-ride trip the likes of which I never even imagined possible, what was I supposed to say? No thanks, I think I’ll stay home, but you have fun?
With winter closing in, riding in sunny SoCal was a no-brainer compared to sitting in my shop staring at my bike, reliving past rides and contemplating finally doing that valve check that was due a couple thousand miles ago. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit nervous. I’m a planner–some might say an over-planner–and literally everything about this adventure would be new to me, with the important exception of the Ténéré (which I’ll get to shortly), but excitement eclipsed the trepidation.
Jenny, having lived and worked in the area, formulated an ADV-friendly route that included scenic pavement, dirt, gravel and a bit of sand (it is Southern California, after all), camping along the way at carefully chosen sites. The weather however, had other plans. Weeks before our departure, atmospheric rivers began to pound much of the West Coast, causing extreme flooding. We boarded our Christmas Day flight to Long Beach with no firm itinerary, but we made sure to pack the most important thing: a sense of adventure.
Day One: Pivot… PIVOT!
After spending our first night on the Queen Mary, a circa-1930s transatlantic cruise ship turned floating hotel, we faced the first test of the trip: packing up the bikes. In true ADV fashion and with no camera crew or support vehicles, we had to carry everything we needed. MO Editor-in-Chief Ryan Adams supplied us with waterproof Kriega and Mosko Moto luggage; the challenge was fitting all our clothes, camping gear, tools and electronics in it. Sacrifices were made. This made me a bit uneasy. (Did I mention I'm used to being rather over-prepared?)
My comfort zone now fully abandoned, we set off on the 405, bound for a campground at Casitas Lake, northwest of Los Angeles. As we picked our way through city traffic, both of us were getting a feel for our bikes. Being on the T7 gave me an advantage as I own a 2024 version, but it was also an opportunity to compare and contrast new vs. old. The new ride-by-wire throttle produced a completely different response than what I’m used to, and there was some surging just off idle that I found off-putting. I also found myself struggling with the odd turn signal switch, and more than once Jenny grinned into her mirror when I accidentally honked the horn. But once we were on the open road it was business as usual, and the buffeting from the windscreen and the marvelous hum of the CP2 Parallel-Twin made me feel right at home.
As we turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway, it became apparent that the “light rain” that was supposed to clear up early in the afternoon was, in fact, not. By the time we hit the burn scar from the Palisades fire we were in a legitimate downpour. The husks of burned down houses a reminder of how vibrant the area once was and the bare hillsides exacerbating the flood damage, we found ourselves surrounded by a wounded landscape and more yellow “flooded” signs than you could shake a stick at.
Dodging debris, half-cleared mudslides and massive puddles made it difficult to appreciate the stunning coast line, and conditions weren’t improving. Barely halfway to our intended destination, Jenny guided us to a sheltered parking area where we determined that our campsite was most likely under an inch or two of water, and we reluctantly made the decision to get a hotel room for the night and regroup. Feeling a bit defeated, we spent the early evening draping various pieces of gear over the heater, even using a blow dryer to help speed things along. Over a dinner of fish tacos and cold 805 beer we checked weather forecasts and decided to make a game day decision on next steps in the morning.
Day Two: Blue Sky
We woke to the sun pouring through our hotel room window. Finally, a taste of sunny Southern California! North of Ventura, I got another taste of California: lane splitting. With the cagers on the 101 at a standstill, we cut through like a hot knife through butter. It’s a rad feeling to slink your way between miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic, most drivers being super respectful of our passing; it beggars belief that lane splitting isn't legal everywhere.
As traffic opened up I was finally able to look around a bit. It had been decades since I'd seen the ocean, and my thoughts wandered to childhood memories of family vacations on the Oregon coast. My focus was split between my trip down memory lane, watching the breakers crash along the beach, and the looming mountains I knew we were about to climb.
Just north of Santa Barbara lies a road the likes of which are hard to come by. It twists its way up a mountainside and drops you onto a ridge with breathtaking views. Rocks and boulders littered the road on the way up, evidence of the heavy rains, which made for slow going. That also meant there was plenty of time to take in the unbelievable scenery. As we crested the ridgetop, to our left spread the ocean and the Channel Islands, to our right a massive valley and green mountains as far as you could see. Mind blowing stuff for a small town boy like myself. Pretty sure I just about gave myself whiplash from rubbernecking the views.
Lunch was had at the Cold Springs Tavern, an old stagecoach stop that's been preserved and turned into a very unique spot to grab one of their famous tri-tip sandwiches, which I highly recommend. Jenny’s revised route had us touching dirt for the first time at this point, but after seeing the condition of the paved roads we decided to pivot again to a more predictable gravel road … but a closed gate, most likely due to storm damage, stopped us.
In an Albertsons parking lot in Santa Maria, and with dwindling daylight, we huddled over our phones, all pretense of locating fun unpaved roads laid aside. We just needed to determine if we’d be able to find a place to safely camp for the night. “Blue Sky Center, in New Cuyama” Jenny suddenly said, a statement with some finality behind it. “Says they have a campground. That’s where we go.” No one answered the phone when we called, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and we headed for New Cuyama.
It turned out to be the right move (maybe the only move). The Blue Sky campground had raised tent platforms, fire rings and picnic tables … and was located just blocks from a gas station, restaurant and general store. Also it was right next to a small airstrip, which somehow added to the charm. Regardless, it was a safe place to sleep, and that’s what mattered.
Days Three & Four: The Alabama Hills
We once again awoke to sunshine; were the weather gods smiling upon us? Had the fates decided we would get to have another beautiful day? No. They had not.
After a fantastic breakfast at the Cuyama Buckhorn we quickly discovered the sun was just a tease. It didn't take long until we hit some of the most dense and wet fog I've ever experienced. Visibility dropped to four or five car lengths and, once we could see, it was gray skies and, you guessed it, rain. Jenny warned me this would be a slog, punctuated by a couple of high points, and that was correct. We pushed on into the Central Valley and past oil fields I had no idea even existed, the pumpjacks bobbing up and down through the mist like the dinosaurs they mined.
My morale was flagging when out of the low clouds and fog emerged the shadow of a mountain range, the Sierra Nevada. Eventually we turned onto Caliente Bodfish Road, which I think would make a great name for a fish taco truck, and we found the sun again, climbing up the asphalt spaghetti that had been draped on the hills and breaking free from the doom and gloom to glorious sunshine and a spectacular view. Angels sing. As I marveled at the mountainous view, Jenny remarked that the best was yet to come.
She was right, but first we had a lot of not terribly exciting pavement miles to lay down, and I was relieved when we turned onto a short dirt road leading to a “fossilised waterfall” and an opportunity to stretch our legs and necks. Neither bike had great wind protection and the T7 had no cruise control. A tragedy. I am truly baffled why Yamaha would add traction control to such a user-friendly motor and not also add cruise control. I might even excuse the abrupt on/off throttle response if only I had cruise. After a short hike to the dry falls we headed out and, shortly after, entered Lone Pine. The gateway to the Alabama Hills.
I could hardly believe what I was seeing as we pulled into town and I knew immediately that I wanted to spend our one layover day there. The weather was even on our side. With sunshine and blue skies, we spent the next day riding in the Hills, taking in the vastness and unique nature of the area. This was also our first real taste of dirt and, finally, my discovery of what Yamaha had truly accomplished with the new Ténéré 700.
The suspension is a vast improvement compared to the older versions. The new valving and progressive rear shock offered a more compliant ride that was plush when needed (at slow speed), but also felt well-damped as I picked up the pace and hit every bump and rut I could find. The ergonomics were also damn near spot-on. The standing position is excellent and full-lock turns when seated are easy, which was not the case on my own bike when I first brought her home, prompting me to add risers that brought the bars back. I even found use for the “Sport” riding mode, which is quite aggressive for most situations but a blast for hooning around in the dirt.
I was quite enjoying myself, and what a place to ride. Dirt and barely paved roads bow at the feet of the massive snowcapped Sierra Nevada and Mt. Whitney, the tallest peak in the lower 48, winding among the clusters of hoodoos, criss-crossing the vast Owens Valley. It is truly a sight to behold.
After running into more closed roads, exploring blown-out trails and having pretty much tapped everything we could hit in the Hills we had some time on our hands. So we decided to take a look around the Museum of Western Film History to really soak up the area’s heritage. Turns out the Hills get their name from Confederate sympathizers who named the area after the prominent Confederate warship the CSS Alabama.
With such unique geology, it's no wonder the Hills have been Hollywood's favorite location for over a century. More than 400 TV shows and movies have been filmed there, everything from The Lone Ranger to Star Trek to Django Unchained. If you're a history or film buff the museum will not disappoint.
As we planned our next move, we once again found ourselves obsessing over the weather forecast. Another atmospheric river was on its way….
Day Five: We’re Gonna Need a Bigger … Wait, Is That a Boat??
Morning brought with it sub-40 degree temps and a hazy sky. It seemed more like home than California. We set out in the cold with our sights on Death Valley and the Mojave National Preserve.
I was not prepared for just how vast and unique Death Valley truly is. The desert landscape was breathtaking, a colorful rock mosaic. We only were able to dip our toes into the area as most of the roads were still closed; we were lucky to be able to ride through what we did as much of the park had been closed a couple days prior. After quick stops at Furnace Creek and Zabriskie Point, we carried on through the sparsely populated desert. The moody grey skies only served to highlight rugged terrain.
Just outside Tecopa Hot Springs, Jenny turned us onto what she described as a “gravel” road. “It’ll turn into easy gravel and eventually turn back into pavement…I think.” Famous last words. Crumbling pavement led straight into nothing, nowhere desert. Pavement turned to patches dotted amongst dirt and gravel.
The further we went, the more deteriorated the road became; traveling at speed it was hard to determine where pavement ended and gravel–and potential rim-bending potholes–appeared. As we climbed our way into the mountains we came across a rather odd sight, a boat in the middle of the desert. Long abandoned, the “Shady Lady” was a truly bizarre find.
As the miles wore on, the road devolved into deep gravel, rocks and ruts. The landscape seemed alien to me. Strange looking desert flora covered the mountainsides. At this point I started to realize I've never seen so many mountains without a single pine tree to be found. Once again I found it hard to focus on the road with so many unfamiliar things to gawk at.
We came around the other side of Kingston Peak to more desert as far as I could see, but the landscape was evolving. Shifting ever so slightly, the dark, rocky terrain and broken pavement gave way to lighter colors and a sandy washboard road as we entered the Mojave National Preserve. The sun even decided to make an appearance, creating even more of a stark contrast from where we had been.
As we gobbled rehydrated backpacker meals and toasted ourselves in front of a campfire in the Mojave that evening, we discussed — what else? — the weather.
Day Six: Joshua Tree National Park
We started our day with an amazing breakfast at the Crossroads Cafe in Joshua Tree before heading into the park. I didn't know much about it, and don't recall having seen any pictures of the area so I had no idea what to expect. Jenny’s initial itinerary had us hitting Joshua Tree National Park early in the ride, but I’m actually glad the plan changed. Joshua Tree was like a culmination of the areas and landscape we had ridden through the previous days: beautiful hoodoo rock formations, distant mountains, crazy desert flora and, of course, Joshua trees.
By now it was New Year's Eve and the park was packed, which slowed us down and allowed for much “ooo-ing” and “ahh-ing” inside my helmet as I pushed the limits of my neck's range of motion trying to take in as much as I could. With more rain on the way and what I'm fairly certain was my hometown's population of people in the park, we didn't dally much and rode on to our destination for the night, Indian Wells.
That place didn't seem real. The sidewalks and green spaces along the main strip looked like a movie set. Perfectly manicured, they looked more like gardens than anything you'd expect to see alongside a roadway. After five days of riding and camping in the desert, it was a surreal juxtaposition. By then the rain had really started to come down and I felt a bit odd standing in the lobby of a very nice hotel in absolutely soaked gear. Pretty sure we left a puddle on their floor.
After a fantastic dinner at a local restaurant, we grabbed some champagne and headed back to the hotel. We brought in the new year with a soak in the hot tub, our plastic cups filled with bubbly while the light drizzle foreshadowed what we would be in for the next day.
No need to check the weather. The atmospheric river was upon us. As I wound down for the night I found myself yearning, aching to have more time. I wanted to go back and spend days in Death Valley, the Mojave and Joshua Tree. Setting up base camps and riding loops until each area had been fully explored. As I drifted to sleep a SoCal shaped hole started to form in my heart.
Day Seven: The Return
Morning brought with it a downpour. We were drenched just loading the bikes up. We set off on the Palms to Pines Highway and what could have been a beautiful, scenic ride turned into a rather harrowing experience. Heavy rain and fog made visibility tough and the continued saturation of the hillsides meant rocks and debris were actively falling onto the road.
We climbed our way through twists and turns and several times I thought to myself, “Insert beautiful view here.” I could tell that under normal circumstances that piece of road would be a dream to ride. But yet again we found ourselves riding through another burn scar, something we had seen a lot of. There was a certain irony in the contrast of the burned landscape and the deluge we were riding in. The fire damage went on for miles and I couldn't help but laugh a bit as it seemed like a perfect bookend to how the trip started: riding through a burn scar in the pouring rain.
As we dropped down the other side it was clear we weren't out of danger yet, as we had to stop while fellow motorists removed a few rather large rocks that had just fallen on the road. After what felt like hours, out of the mist we could finally see pine trees. Seems “Palms to Pines” was quite literal. The rain continued and we braced ourselves for it to carry on the rest of the day but, like a cruel joke, the closer we got to Long Beach the warmer it got, and soon we were in the sunshine again. By the time we reached our full circle photo op at the Queen Mary it was a beautiful day. Sunny and 70°, the weather we hoped for and never really got.
With that, our journey was done. Seven days and 1,300 miles on bone stock bikes. Amazing food, amazing roads, pouring rain, flood damage, historic areas and epic views. While it wasn't what we hoped for, it was still a life changing trip for me. Sure, things weren't perfect. But to me that's what makes the best stories, the best memories. You can't book a trip to an experience like that. True adventure isn't a destination, it's something that happens when you set your mind to travel on a motorcycle and send it despite your fears or the challenges you may face.
The moral of the story? Get out of your comfort zone. Don't let less than perfect conditions stop you. Be prepared to change your plans again and again and sometimes just let the bad things happen. As I write this I'm thinking about going back to Southern California to ride all the things we couldn't. We barely scratched the surface of the area, let alone the state. I'm dreaming of the next adventure, where we'll go, what challenges we'll have to face and what stories we'll have to tell when we let adventure happen.
Jenny and Aaron's Southern California New Year's Adventure Gallery
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Aaron, great story. If I may offer some advice, or rather reinforcement of something you should already know, hang onto Jenny with both hands. Any woman who can ride that well and plan a route that cool is a keeper!
It was great to hear your comments contrasting the new and old tenere's but I would have also liked to hear about how well the Toureg faired.