So would we really be squandering our sacred ritual by riding these shiftless, small-wheeled mongrels to a place where Ducatis outnumber Harleys? I also questioned the intelligence of bringing my girlfriend/sales goddess Christie along for the ride. It's a 500-mile ride each way when you take the fun route. Her butt had never been subjected to a scooter seat for that kind of distance. Would she enjoy the scenery and roads or revile me for days on yet another thing she doesn't like me doing to her posterior? The answers to these and many more questions would be answered on the trip.

Our planned route up included some of the best roads in California, including the 33, 58 and G16. To help with photo-modeling duties, AZ Ear Protection owner Ron Arieli came with for the fun on his BMW R1200GS. After helping Steve load up the truck and Weekend Warrior trailer with the booth supplies in Apple Valley, CA, we had lunch and were soon Laguna bound.

My bad karma was hot on my tail as we headed back through Santa Paula. While I was looking for a shortcut through the twisty California back roads, my dinner was looking for a shortcut through my twisty intestinal tract. A stop at the next gas station had me quickly handing Christie my credit card to pay for gas while I rushed to the bathroom to make another deposit.

At this point my body switched to Defcon 1 and I knew I was almost out of time before my Under Armor would have to be labeled as a bio-hazard receptacle. At this point I did the same thing any other reasonable man would have done in the same or similar circumstances and crouched down next to the locked building, did my civic "doodee" and fertilized the bushes free of charge. Although I didn't have a permit to do so, I justified this act of eco-endowment to myself by figuring that the city didn't have to pay me for this one-of-a-kind piece of performance art. I even utilized completely natural fallen leaves to wipe away any bad memories of this incident. "Is the tire supposed to be missing those big hunks of rubber like that?" she asked.

As night befell us we made our way back to the I-5 and ended up stopping in Gorman for some gas/Red Bull to get us through to our evening's destination of Taft where we were planning on spending the night at Christie's place. Fortunately a little caffeine was enough to help perk up my previously falling asleep, helmet-bonking passenger to the point that her 24-year-old eyes noticed something amiss on the rear tire of the Morphous.

"Is the tire supposed to be missing those big hunks of rubber like that?" she asked.

"Yikes!" I exclaimed. "Definitely not. You may have just saved both our lives." Much to my horror, the Morphous tire was chunking like a turbo-charged GSX-R1000 at Daytona with John Goodman on board. With us maintaining a constant cruising speed of 70 mph, I don't think the Morphous was at fault, but this meant yet another delay.

Fortunately, there was an Econolodge within pushing distance that had a vacancy. Unfortunately, it was the only hotel at that exit. That meant that it had a monopoly on accommodations and could charge us whatever it wanted. Let's just say that "Econo" was only in relation to the prices charged at the Ritz Carlton in L.A.

With a fresh bike and an Iron Butt shower in the hotel restaurant's sink, we were back on the road. The highlight of the ride up was taking the 58 from McKittrick to Atascadero. If you've never had the privilege of riding this road, it's like a tight, twisty racetrack combined with a high-speed racetrack complete with beautiful scenery, perfect pavement and virtually no cops. Even Deals Gap ain't got nothin' on this place.

After a good night's sleep and a nice breakfast at Mother's we headed to the track and set up the booth for the coming race. Our luck finally seemed to be changing.

The next two days of races were more or less business as usual for Laguna with the exception of an incredible heat wave that had riders, spectators and vendors all feeling drained and a little nauseous. Ducati MotoGP factory racer Loris Capirossi was even reported to have thrown up during practice due to the oppressive conditions. Given the sweaty temps, not as many people were as interested in trying on leather gloves so business definitely suffered compared to last year. Still, a good time was had by most. The highlight of the weekend, of course, was Nicky Hayden winning the race for the second consecutive year. Any time a kid from Kentucky can beat the best in the world in a major motorsports championship is a day I'm proud to be an American. Well done Nicky.

Riding down PCH in July is usually a pleasure with nice temperatures and gorgeous scenery. On the Aprilia, Christie found a passenger seat she could really love. To paraphrase Taoist philosopher Chung Tze, "When the seat fits, the butt is forgotten." With significantly more ground clearance than the Yamaha, we could concentrate more on enjoying the ride and less on trying not to drag hard parts.