Anyone who knows will tell you the same: being a dad is hard. It’s hard on many levels. Emotionally, you’re trying to nurture this young mind to reach its full potential and not stray into the badlands; physically, it’s rough as the young buck begins to find his feet and the old stag gradually loses his strength; and socially, it’s never been stranger, as the world doesn’t resemble much at all of what dad went through when he was 9 years old.
Luckily, the Scaysbrooks have always had the glue of motorcycles to keep us together. The two-wheel tradition is now four generations old and spans both dad and mum’s side of the family, and to my great relief, my son, Harvey, has now picked up the riding baton with the kind of fervor I remember having some 35 years ago.
My son is getting to the age where, in a couple of years’ time, he probably won’t want to spend any time at all with his dad. There will be mates to hang with, girls to chase, school to (hopefully) not skip, careers to decide upon, and all the myriad other things that land at a child’s feet when the teenage years come rolling in.
I find that last part hard to admit, as I don’t feel I’ve been the best father I could have been. Like my father before me, I am doing this for the first time, so I’m making it up as I go along, and hindsight is always 20/20.
After some rough times in the first half-decade, Harvey and I have hit a purple patch where we both really enjoy each other’s company. The conversation flows as well as it can for a 34-year age gap, and I am proud of the young man he’s becoming. He’s a good kid with a good heart, most of which comes from the grace bestowed upon him by his mother.
But he’s still only 9 and still small enough to hop on the back of a motorcycle and stare at the back of dad’s helmet for a time, so I’m going to take this opportunity while I still can.
“We need to go for a big ride, dad,” Harvey told me a couple of weeks ago. This was typical of him, as I was thinking the same thing but was already a couple of steps ahead of him. A call the week prior to Jay at BMW reserved me some time with the first touring bike I’ve seen in a long while, the 2026 BMW R 1300 RT.
About as close to a two-wheeled spaceship as I’ve yet ridden, the RT is one of those bikes that has a real “boss” presence to it. BMW absolutely nailed the looks, but delve a little deeper, and the RT shows itself as a touring machine par excellence. A claimed 145 horsepower from the 1300cc boxer-twin is matched to BMW’s semi-auto gearbox that does away with the clutch lever for good, making big miles in luxurious comfort effortless.
This text is not a road test of the 1300 RT. We’ve covered the ins and outs of this beautiful BMW thanks to Chad attending the world launch for us last year (2026 BMW R 1300 RT Review) and Keith taking one for a few months on a long-term test (2026 BMW R 1300 RT Long-Term Review). This is, however, a nod to the BMW’s ability to transport my son and me into a realm of tantalizing touring.
Ideally, we’d planned on a two-night trip up the Californian coast to Big Sur and back, but given the holiday traffic and the fact this was indeed the first time we’d done a decent-sized trip just the two of us, we settled on a single-night ride that took in the famous Highway 33 as the main course.
The enthusiasm of a child when he/she actually wants to do something is fun to watch. I told Harvey the night before we left that I’d be in his room at 5:30 a.m. to get him up and ready to leave at 6 a.m. to beat the LA traffic, and to my great surprise, he was already awake and somewhat ready to pull the Arai on. Getting this kid up for anything can be like waking the dead, but the idea of orbing up the California coast on the BMW land yacht must have ensured he was sleeping with one eye open.
We packed light for this trip, just a single backpack with a change of clothes and some boardshorts each, and as the sun began to rise over the east to signal the start of another day, we were already deep into the mire of Los Angeles traffic.
Truth be told, it wasn’t that bad, as we jetted past the skyscrapers to our left and set course for the 101, cutting across the backside of the Topanga State Park, through the farmlands and eventually to the coast at Ventura, before cutting a right and cruising on the first section of the 33 to Ojai.
By the time we got to Ojai, we’d been in the saddle for nearly three hours, and, understandably, the little guy was getting a bit hungry. We’ve become quite big fans of the traditional American diner over the past few years and found a sweet little spot called Home Kitchen of Ojai. While this gastronomic destination probably won’t feature on Netflix’s fabulous show Chef’s Table any time soon, delightful staff delivering a plate of pancakes and bacon was just what the doctor (or in this case, the 9-year-old) ordered, and an hour later, we were all set for our rendezvous with the twists and turns of the 33.
California State Route 33 is one of those roads whose history is almost as interesting as the riding it offers. Today, the 33 runs north from Ventura through Ojai, across the Transverse Ranges, and into the remote Cuyama Valley, eventually continuing toward Maricopa and California’s Central Valley. But the section Harvey and I were most interested in between Ojai and New Cuyama follows a route that predates the modern highway by more than a century.
The first serious attempt to establish a road over the mountains dates to an 1890 survey for a route between Ventura and the Cuyama Valley. A wagon road followed in 1891, climbing over Pine Mountain and providing an important connection between the coast and the inland communities. By 1911, residents of Maricopa and Taft had organized a “Good Roads Club,” lobbying to turn the rough wagon route into a proper state highway. The road was subsequently incorporated into California’s highway system in 1915.
The modern route began taking shape in the 1920s and ’30s. Engineers dynamited their way through the rugged country north of Ojai, following the valleys and canyons through what is now Los Padres National Forest. Three tunnels through Wheeler Gorge were completed by 1931, while further construction connected Ventura with the Cuyama Valley, an area that looks as sparse these days as it probably did nearly a century ago. The completed Maricopa-Ventura Highway officially opened on October 22, 1933.
For a time, this road carried the designation U.S. 399. The highway was eventually incorporated into California State Route 33 during the state’s wholesale highway renumbering in 1964. The Ojai-to-Maricopa section became known as the Maricopa Highway, although locals and riders generally just call it “the 33.”
With full bellies and a BMW at the ready, Harvey and I headed north, away from the civilization of Ojai, through the orchards and past the homes that gradually disappear as the ruralness of the Matilija Canyon begins to take over.
Here, the road looks like any other deep canyon in Southern California, but as you begin the climb past Wheeler Gorge toward Pine Mountain, the landscape becomes increasingly remote, eventually spilling out onto the broad, stark expanse of the Cuyama Valley.
Harvey and I stop for a few shots, but I’m no photographer, and the junior Scaysbrook is starting to get a bit antsy. More miles and exploration are required, but it’s hard to go from end-to-end on the 33 without slowly taking in the stunning remoteness you’re in.
This is what makes the 33 so special. It’s no more than a couple of hours ride or drive from DTLA, but it feels like you’ve skipped countries, a bit like it does when you’ve actually done so in Europe.
The 33 has been previously described in the Los Angeles Times as California’s least-traveled state highway, noting its winding two-lane pavement, tunnels, mountains and vast Cuyama landscape.
The isolation you feel is intoxicating, and the BMW adores the attention, reveling in its role as the guide for our little father-and-son excursion. For a machine weighing a claimed 584 pounds before you throw in 6.3 gallons of California’s finest fuel and two riders, the RT’s girth feels about a third less when you’re on the move.
I admit I paid little attention to the workings of the motorcycle because this ride was never about whether the RT is a good touring steed. But it’s hard not to be impressed with the ease at which BMW laps up the miles, cruising at 85 mph and feeling like it’s barely at a canter before slicing up the 33’s switchback corners with the kind of enthusiasm of a bike half its size.
However, it’s easy to be dazzled by the RT’s semi-auto gearbox, and not for the reason you think. Sticking it in Drive mode, where all the shifting has been taken care of for you, the RT shifts cogs well but not as smoothly as you’d imagine. On a freeway, Drive is the mode of choice, but for real riding, the traditional Manual is the go, and the smoothness of the shifts must be experienced to be appreciated.
I noted at the beginning of last year that the Kawasaki Versys 1100 had an exceptionally smooth gearshift, but the RT’s is several steps forward. There’s nary a drop in drive or an unsettling of the chassis when you shift gears—it’s so smooth it’s, well, almost automatic—and when matched to that low flat-twin drone from the exhaust, the RT becomes the perfect touring partner with a touch of sportiness in its character.
As we exit the 33, Harvey and I cruise into New Cuyama for a bottle of water and an ice cream, and we’re both a little tired—him from the passive sitting at the back of the RT and me from the active sitting, trying to keep the machine pointed on the gray stuff.
By the time we get to our overnight stop at Pismo Beach, we’re both ready to see the water and forget about the bike for a bit. We are indeed new to touring as a pair, and the 276 miles we covered on this first day was a good stint in the saddle.
More importantly, Harvey and I got to spend some genuinely meaningful time together. I learned small things about him I won’t share here, but things that alerted me to just how smart and especially observant he really is.
He told me some stories that perhaps he was initially uncomfortable with, but the road, the ride and the BMW seemed to have loosened his grip on those feelings, and he would let me in, in a way similar to how he would with his mother, who has always had a closer relationship with him in that regard.
One thing I wasn’t expecting was how much I needed this time with him, too. I travel a lot for work, and I have missed many moments that will never happen again. I have always known, but I have just realized how much work a genuine connection requires.
The next morning, we get up a little later than yesterday and hit the coast road, cruising down the 1 to Santa Maria and another diner, then a final coffee stop at Santa Barbara before busting through the peak-hour traffic heading south on the 405 Freeway.
Day two is not anywhere near as action-packed as the first day, but it doesn’t need to be. As we arrive home after 523 miles in two days, we both admit to a shared sense of togetherness that was probably missing a little from our lives.
I must thank Jay at BMW for the loan of such a fine steed in this rather different story. The RT is an incredible piece of engineering, but I always knew it was. It now holds a place in the family as the bike the boy and I did our first big ride on.
Being a dad is hard, no doubt. But I have learned it is as hard as you make it. I feel Harvey and I have both grown up over the last few years to the point where we understand each other, and after this trip, I am more pleased than ever with the man my son is becoming.CN
Click here to read the A Road Trip With the Lad in the Cycle News Digital Edition Magazine.
