Riding a motorcycle around the Monterey Peninsula on Pebble Beach week is like having a VIP pass at all times. You can blow through the gate at 17 Mile Drive with nothing more than a hand wave. You can roll up to LouLou's Griddle in the Middle and stash your bike right on the dock—"Unless the boats have to go out," explained the owner, who came out to check out the Moto Guzzi, "Then you gotta move away from the crane." Traffic will no longer be a problem: I lane-split across Carmel Valley Road for 15 minutes straight, past grumbling 911s and frustrated Aston Martins, following a t-shirted sportbike rider with whom we traded understanding nods. Parking no longer becomes an expense that requires a flurry of banknotes. Never again will you have to pay, or wait, for a valet to fumble with your keys while you sweat about how much to tip. "You can park that anywhere," said the valets at the BMW Villa when I arrived just in time for dinner—bloodshot, delirious, smelling like a Boy Scout camping backpack—"and that thing's sweet, man!"
He was right: you can park anywhere. I rode to Legends of the Autobahn and parked on the lawn. On Concours day, I passed the shuttle buses and parked it across from the Lodge, right next to the media tent. At 1833 Restaurant I parked next to a 1964 Ferrari 250 GT Lusso that the valets didn't dare touch, then saw Seinfeld climbing out of his 918 Spyder at the curb. He had parked askew. I went to the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion and rode straight to the Corkscrew. A security guard came over: was he going to yell at me? Did I need Official Vehicle Status, bright orange placards, forms signed in triplicate, blood and DNA samples? Instead, he walked over, pointed, and said, "You should put that thing here…the ground's much harder, and we've had problems with bikes falling over."
Later that afternoon, I rode it through the gates and parked across from the paddock.
Autoweek Magazine — Conquering Pebble Beach on Two Wheels