This is
one of the grandest roads in the U.S. You can see the road cut
into the hills about 1/4 of the way up the slope.
Thursday was supposed to be my last day on the road for a few days and my weary bones looked forward to a rest. One day to wander down the coast from Monterey to L.A. is not a bad day's work. The sun was up and shining when I scooted off into Monterey's rush hour traffic, but it was pleasant rather than hot for a change. It didn't take long to leave the traffic behind. Rt.1 south doesn't go anywhere if you're trying to look busy or if you are in a hurry. And, it's a nice ride if you're not. As soon as Rt.1 became a two lane secondary road, I found myself at a stop light behind an older woman in an old tan Volvo. Oh no, I thought, this ride is going to start slow and there aren't many passing places.
Wrong again; she was off and running when the light changed and she maintained a good speed, just right for me to enjoy the road ... and stop at eight stop lights out in the middle of nowhere. California was repairing the bridges along that stretch of road, so there was little point in hurrying too much. I followed the lady and her Volvo all the way past Big Sur and then gave her a toot when she pulled into a local restaurant. I stopped along the way to take a photo of "Bear" with the Pacific shore as a backdrop, but I didn't tarry too long. I wanted to make it through L.A. before rush hour (smart, ain't I).
This is one of the grandest roads in the U.S. You can see the road cut into the hills about 1/4 of the way up the slope.
Nothing exciting happened in LA except the 405. "The 405" is Californian for "I-405," pretty much the same way they refer to roads in the United Kingdom. Geeze, I was sure thankful for my lessons as a taxi driver in Boston. I might not have known how to handle all that aggression. I was supposed to meet my son in Long Beach, but missed the correct interpretation of his directions. I tried to concentrate on his directions while a local derelict bugged me for change. OK, so I had to backpedal a few miles, but what the heck. OK, so I was close to exhausted and this idiot wouldn't quit bugging me for 35 cents. OK ... well, after a good whine and a cold beer with Paul, I was ready to meet his beautiful girlfriend, Melissa, for the first time. That woke me up OK.
Today, Friday, I spent some time with Paul and Melissa. He was graduating tonight from diving school. There's the luck .. after 28 years, he finds the love of his life and now he has to leave her for awhile to start his new job in another state. Oh well, things won't be like they want them, but they'll muddle through like the millions before them. Our daughter, Jennifer, drove up from San Diego and joined us that night for the graduation ... and the party after.
A week on the road was not, shall we say, conducive to late-night partying. I quit early and headed for the sack. This night was the real hard part for my gentle Motor. She wanted to be on the bike trip, but couldn't make it. She really, and I mean REALLY, wanted to attend her son Paul's graduation, but it was not to be.
On the next day, Saturday, Jennifer led me and "Bear"back to the 405 in her Miata. It was pretty obvious that she'd grown accustomed to southern California freeways and she knew how to use them. Bang! Zoom, Alice! Jen was long gone in short order (ahhh, makes a father proud, don't it?)! Paul and Melissa left a little later, carrying my camping gear, and we all met up again at Jen's place in San Diego for some more quality family time. If you enjoy riding SLABS, southern California isn't a bad place to be. The drivers are at least predictable and what the heck, I enjoy a game of dodge ‘em as well as the next guy. (Hint - the left lane is for going like hell and slamming on the binders at unpredictable intervals and the right lane is for cruisin' while you play slalom with three wheeled subcompacts and busted up vans. The middle lanes are every man for him/herself - yes, I saw a few of them too). All that running around caught up with me though, and I decided to lay low to accommodate my plans for the next couple of days.
Hey, who's that squid on "Bear." I never (well almost) wear this gear on a bike except where my daughter lived across the street from the beach and we need to take a photo. This is Ocean Beach in San Diego. Yaa, I know, but we like the place.
Sunday morning again. Geeze, where'd the week go? We had a good time that morning at a sports bar in Ocean Beach .. . Sunshine something or other. The place had about 20 TV's with nearly every early NFL game going. Customers chowed down on some great big (cheap) breakfast burritos, and $2 (great!) bloody marys. 10:00 am and I'm having a bloody mary. Oooh well, as they say. Tastes great and feels good. That is my offspring's idea of quality family time. I was hard pressed to argue their logic.
This is Jen, Paul, and Melissa at Ocean Beach, just before we split up and went back to our "work-a-day" lives - '98.
We took some photos near the beach, including one of me on "Bear," and then Paul and Melissa had to head back to Long Beach. About 4:00 pm, I packed up and left Jen to her life in California. I made a bee-line to the 15, headed for Barstow. I took a shortcut through Riverside on "The 215." While I was uncurling the cuff of my riding pants, my right mirror filled with the black and white of the California Highway Patrol. The speed limit was 65 mph, but I'd get killed if I didn't move along at about 75. This officer apparently just wanted to show me his pretty new beemer bike. He rode right up beside me (in the 2nd lane from the right) and gave me an official stare through his sunglasses. He rode next to me for a second or two, then veered off onto an exit ramp. I have to say that was one beautiful police bike. I think it was a K12, but it might have been an R11. I didn't see it long enough to decide.
Barstow was a mere 180 miles from San Diego. I had plenty of time to get there and find a decent motel and a restaurant for dinner before I went back to lala land. I arrived at the motel with the knowledge that, according to Automap, it was almost exactly 1500 miles from Barstow to Kansas City. My plan was to attempt an Iron Butt "Butt Burner" on the way home.
Now what was I thinking? I was thinking that every time I've made one of these "long-haul" motorcycle trips, I get antsy about ending the trip before I get home. Why not just increase the volume and rock & roll all the way home. What the heck, I could be certified. Uhhh . .... .
"Dad, please think this over," my kids had said. They'd spent more than enough time with me to know that saying "Don't do it" too easily leads to what has been called the redneck's last statement .. .
"Watch this!"
And now for the last leg of my trip 1,505 miles in 23 hrs and 3 minutes! Dang, that hurt. You may also return to the northern California coast.
