How things (actually) go

So, in my idealized vision of this trip, there'd be lots of time during our days of riding for researching arcane topics of interest, chatting on the phone with friends, developing acuity with a portable musical instrument (say, a pan flute or harmonica, neither of which I own), while firing off frequent missives to the blog, rich with penetrating insights and witty turn of phrase, then back to preparing a seven-course dinner for our hosts, taking in the very best exhibits and plotting tomorrow's newest extreme sport.

The reality, though rich, is filled with lots of more prosaic stuff. Like laundry. ("Not often enough!" Julie cries across the room.) Tearing down the tent. Loading up the bikes. Fretting over oil leaks. Assembling small-town-grocery-store, just-passing-through, what's-on-sale? lunches. And miles and miles and miles of jaw-droppingly beautiful coastline.

Years ago, mi amigo Primo made the astute, and in our experience, accurate, observation that unstructured time, particularly after a long stint in a relatively stable routine, passes incredibly quickly. Julie and I are both amazed that we're now six weeks into our trip, and two months into my unemployment. The time is chock full of content, and passes in a blur.

My last substantial update was from just north of the San Francisco Bay. We've now reached Seattle, and there is too much between the two to explain -- or even sum up -- adequately, so here's an inadequate attempt:


We left the comfort of our friends in the Bay, heading north along the Pacific Coast Highway. Carol and Bill (echoed by Marty and Eileen) recommended making a stop for oysters, and boy, are we glad we did! (If you're north of the Bay, don't miss it!)

We planned to ride several hours further north, but ended up drawn into the charm of Point Arena (featuring a Zen and the Art... inspired motorcycle shop which, as we passed, appeared to be the staging ground the local Ducatistis off to terrorize the countryside with V-twin roars). We were welcomed, in particular, by the amazing hospitality of Tim and Joan, who spontaneously offered us -- total strangers -- a bedroom in their beach home, perched atop sandy cliffs above the surf, tasty meals, endless, wide-ranging conversation, and their wheels so we could drive back to town for a screening of the latest Harry Potter debacle at the über-cute local cinema.



The next day, after a walk on said beach, and another meal, and more hospitality, we continued further north. Our destination: the Lost Coast, the only part of the Pacific from Mexico to Canada without a coastal roadway. And the Lost Coast delivered! I wish I had a helmet-cam to share images of the road winding through the giant redwoods -- truly, the pavement touches tree bark on both sides of the road -- but the riding was too demanding and there was simply nowhere to pull over safely for a photograph. When we reached the Mattole Beach campground, it was after only a couple of dozen miles, but hours of effort, a roadside repair to Julie's windscreen, and countless steep switchbacks up and down the undulating hills. And what a reward for our effort!



Leaving the Lost Coast was as challenging, exhilarating and attention-getting as it was to arrive, with our departure from the shore requiring an ascent up a hill that I would hesitate to go down on skis, and miles and miles of highland vistas, pastures quilting the rolling hills, the Pacific in the distance, shrouded by the encroaching fog.

We continued northward, crossing into Oregon, where the coastal fog grew thicker (as apparently is not uncommon this time of year). The glimpses of the Oregon shore, though fleeting, were stunning: sea stacks rising from the water, conjuring images of Neptune's hand or a pissed-off underwater leviathan sick of the crowds of Tokyo. After making camp at a KAO in Port Orford, we set our sights on Portland.

We were hosted by an amazing new friend, Erika, who we met through her amazing mother, and who was host, interlocutor, tour guide and bon vivant extraordinaire during our five nights in Portland. Packed, they were!

In addition to some fabulous catch-up time over a backyard meal with Carel and Angie, and an opportunity to meet Carel's parents, visiting from their remote ranch in rural South Africa, we took in lots of Portland's singular experiences: the Rose Garden, walks along the river, the aptly named Voodoo Doughnut, and Oregon's Brewers Festival, where everyone is a beer lover. (News flash, folks: that now even includes Julie!)

We also had more how-fortuitous! experiences in Portland: seeing the Lebowski Fest with Erika, featuring Minnesota's own Har Mar Superstar as a rather... burlesque opener; catching a show with one of my favorite bands in all the world, The Weakerthans; crossing paths with our old neighbor Darren, in town to get his Portland fix; and discovering that fellow-foodie Erika's well-stocked kitchen was a perfect venue for Julie to make ricotta gnocchi and apricot ice cream from scratch.



It's no surprise, then, that leaving Portland was difficult. But, with record highs forecast for the city, we finally set out for the coast and bid farewell to friends old and new in P-town. From the top of Astoria Column, we looked north to Washington.



We arrived in Aberdeen for the night, drawn in by a cheap motel a short walk from a theater screening Brüno, an experience that combined to give us a sense that Aberdeen is as depressed and depressing a spot as we've encountered on this trip. The motel room smelled like the breeding kennel of a dozen wet Siberian huskies, separated from the adjacent room by a paper thin interior door, with a neighbor who alternated between snoring and smoking. There were dogs barking, residents yelling from one unit to the next, ample evidence of "good times" after hours, and a motel policy "not to move people" who complain about such things. We were resigned to sleeping with ear- and nose-plugs, and set out for the movie.

Okay, so at this point, what American movie-going audience can really be surprised and appalled by Sacha Baron Cohen? For most of the movie, Julie and I were the only ones laughing. By the end of the movie, we comprised 40% of the audience remaining! I think this guy is brilliant, and while I understand if his humor is not your thing, I don't understand laying down the ticket price without knowing that you're signing up for a ride. It was a rare moment of feeling alienated from the people around us -- and the feeling was probably mutual.

Suffice it to say, we left Aberdeen early the next morning. Thankfully, the Olympic Peninsula was simply amazing, and was for me one of the best days of our entire trip so far. We walked on Ruby Beach as the tide rolled in (wondering if our boots would be carried out to sea when we returned to them), steam rising from the sand and the surf breaking against the sea stacks. We rode inland to the Hoh Rain Forest, moss so abundant it hangs like lacy curtains from every branch, the place teeming with life as fallen trees become the foundation, or nurse logs, for the next generation. We ended the day at Sol Duc Hot Springs (thanks for the tip, Carol!), the heat and the miles washed away by geothermal mineral waters that have been drawing people for millennia.



Our next day's ride featured two very memorable legs, after a restful stop in Port Townsend. Our motorcycles crossed the Sound on their first ferry rides!

We've been enjoying Donald's fabulous home in Seattle since Tuesday, amid an historic heat wave for the city, fleeing to the beach and to air conditioning periodically, as Julie makes her first acquaintance with this great town, and we prepare ourselves for the next leg of our voyage.

More to come!

Our route, day 42, Sol Duc Campground to Donald's in Seattle, WA

Day 42: Sol Duc Campground and Hot Springs, Olympic National Park to Donald's in Seattle, via the Port Townsend-Keystone and Clinton-Mukilteo ferries (139 miles)


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Our route, day 41, Aberdeen, WA to Sol Duc Campground, Olympic National Park

Day 41: Nordic Inn (ugh!) in Aberdeen, Washington to Sol Duc Campground and Hot Springs, Olympic National Park, with stops at Ruby Beach and the Hoh Rainforest (~195 miles)


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Our route, day 40, Portland, OR to Aberdeen, WA

Day : Erika & Tommy's, Portland, OR to the hell-hole Nordic Inn, Aberdeen, WA (194 miles)


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Greetings from Ruby Beach, the Olympic Peninsula, Washington

Our route, day 35, Port Orford, OR to Erika & Tommy's, Portland, OR

Day 35: Bandon/Port Orford KOA Kampground to Erika & Tommy's, Portland, OR, with a stop in Eugene (285 miles)


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Our route, day 34, Mattole Beach on the Lost Coast to Port Orford, OR

Day 34: Mattole Beach Campground on the Lost Coast to KOA Kampground, Port Orford/Bandon, OR, with a stop and oil change in Eureka, CA (229 miles)


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Our route, day 33, Point Arena, CA to Mattole Beach on the Lost Coast

Day 33: Tim and Joan's, Point Arena, CA to Mattole Beach Campground on the Lost Coast (179 miles)


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Our route, day 32, Stinson Beach, CA to Point Arena, CA

Day 32: Marty & Eileen's, Stinson Beach, CA to Tim and Joan's, Point Arena, CA (~113 miles of gorgeous PCH!)


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Leaving the Lost Coast

Living well on the West Coast

Wow, wow, wow.

I am just stunned by the incredible outpouring of hospitality at every turn on this trip. After Kim and Jack's royal treatment in San Diego, and Tony and Tara's spectacular tour of Los Angeles, we've continued to be greeted by the warmest welcomes a guy could hope to receive.



Leaving LA, we headed north along the Pacific Coast Highway, enjoying the absolutely perfect riding weather and coastal vistas that just beg to be appreciated: winding roads clinging to the hillside, foliage growing greener as we worked our way north, the sun glinting off the endless ocean to our left and always, always the crashing surf below us. These are the roads that road trips are made of, legendary roads and justly so.



Thankfully, each day's journey has also been rewarded with amazing company. First, we arrived on Monday to Tim and Camille's lovely home in Carmel. They met us, literally, with open arms in the driveway, helped us whisk our... expansive luggage into their lovely home, and served up a delicious meal and the kind of conversation that assure you that you're among kindred spirits. Tim and Julie served on moto crew together for the Red Ribbon Ride last summer (while I was nursing my busted wrist), where I met him briefly. It was great fun to spend more time getting to know him and his fiance Camille. They're both in Carmel working the Bach Festival, which opened last night, and yet were game to provide us a place to land and a feast to enjoy amid the flurry of their last week before opening. Even better, they invited us to attend a rehearsal of the orchestra the following morning, something I've never experienced by really enjoyed silently observing.



After spending the morning and early afternoon in Carmel, we made our way around Monterey Bay to Santa Cruz, visiting the charming, retro Santa Cruz boardwalk (which still features a wooden roller coaster, which Julie informs me is known by insiders as a "woody") and up to the picturesque University of California campus, nestled within a forest, where I'd contemplated making a run at grad school in the not-so-humbly named History of Consciousness program (known by insiders as "HistCon" for short).



Our next run was over the hills to Berkeley, where we had our first opportunity to lane-split! As traffic grew thicker, Julie, who was leading, looked back to say, "Wanna?" And off we went, thanks in no small part to courteous drivers who are acclimated to having motorcycles appear on the white line between lanes, and graciously made extra room. Traffic was backed up only momentarily, so our lane-splitting experience was brief, but great fun, actually. (The prospect of splitting lanes in LA traffic was terrifying, and not something I attempted. This seemed pretty tame by comparison.)



Shortly thereafter, we arrived at amazing home of my old friend Carol and her husband Bill. Carol and I know one another through our work together to end homelessness, and so it was delightful to see another aspect of her life, as we spent the bulk of the week with her and her family, enjoying the rhythms of their family life, relaxing, sharing meals and having great conversation.



Carol described her house as a farm house, and indeed it is: the greenspace surrounding it reveals producing fruit trees and ample garden, flowers, bamboo, palm and many nooks to sit and pass the time, listening to the children play at the playground of the neighborhood elementary school. Oh, and did I mention the outdoor hot tub?




We also had a chance to visit Chez Panisse -- me for the first time -- with Bill and Carol. It was a homecoming of sorts for Julie, who cooked there when she lived in the Bay Area, and so it was a great treat to lay eyes (and taste buds!) on the place. I know Chez Panisse was a hard place for Julie to leave behind, and visiting it, I see why.



We also had a chance to meet up with one of her best friends from culinary school, Paul, at the other restaurant where she worked in the Bay Area, Oliveto, where we also found occasion for laughter.



Finally, yesterday, we had to bid farewell to the Bay, rode our bikes into the city to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, shrouded in fog, destined for another oasis: Marty and Eileen's place in Marin County, up the coast. Marty and I met many years ago, again, through the work to end homelessness, and crossed paths again at Carol and Bill's, and when he offered to host us on our way northward, it was a easy decision to say yes. After a walk on the beach, a delicious meal together and more great conversation with their friend Larry, we can't help but feel like some of the luckiest people in the world.

Life on the road continues to be so, so kind to us.

Our route, day 31, Berkeley to Stinson Beach, over Mt. Tam

Day 31: Carol & Bill's in Berkeley, CA to Marty & Eileen's in Stinson Beach, CA via Mt. Tam (47 miles)


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Our route, day 28, Carmel-by-the-Sea to Berkeley

Day 28: From Tim & Camille's in Carmel-by-the-Sea to Carol & Bill's in Berkeley, via Santa Cruz (~130 miles)


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My LA stories

I'm writing this having arrived at the cozy abode of Tim and Camille in Carmel-by-the-Sea, after a postcard-picturesque trip up the Pacific Coast Highway. But more on that shortly.

I arrived in LA last Wednesday, happily reunited with old friends, and had the kind of quickly-deep, meaning-laden catch-up talks that make old friends such a joy. First, with my college buddy, Jennifer, which also gave me an opportunity to be happily acquainted with her joyful, quick-witted (like her mom) daughter, Claudia.


Soon after, Tony, one of my oldest friends in the world, and I met up, and began a series of "only in LA" experiences that rival any other visit I've paid to this complex metropolis full of creativity and contradictions. (I know many people aren't fond of LA, and while I could do without the insane traffic and car culture of the place, I've found so many pockets of vitality and met so many fascinating folks here, that I'm squarely on the other side, and happy to visit anytime I can.)

Consider my itinerary on my first full day in LA:

1. Relaxing breakfast at Chez Tony;
2. A stroll amid the street performers, beach combers, hawkers and tourists on the Venice Beach boardwalk.
3. A stroll through the sand and surf at Venice Beach.
4. Seeing Tortoise, one of my favorite bands, play an intimate free show in Hollywood at Amoeba Music, one of the largest, and coolest, independent record stores in the country.

5. Dinner al fresco in Burbank.

6. Seeing Pixar's latest masterpiece, Up, in stunning, transporting 3D (the new kind, which uses the polarity of light, not its color, to create the effect, which means you don't need red and blue lenses).

An amazing day (if one that left me a little sunburnt). That day in a week's stay by itself could make my visit special, but these kind of experiences just kept coming!

On Friday, I spent some time in Garfield Park with Jennifer and Claudia, followed by a personal tour of the University of Southern California's School of Cinematic Arts (part of Tony's continued pitch to get me to apply for the Animation program, after our experience making Friction together).

And then, Tony's birthday party in his backyard with friends, lots of laughter and a very talented balloon artist who "just happened" to have her gear in her trunk. My personal favorite moment from the party was our solemn commitment to one another to adapt the line, "Your ego is writing checks your body can't cash" from Top Gun into everyday conversation over the coming week. (Apologies to all who have been on the receiving end of this commitment.)

Saturday, Tony, his girlfriend Tara and I caught a special screening of the Policeman's Secret Ball at the Paley Center for Media. This particular instance, Pleasure at Her Majesty's, was the documentary of a late-70s benefit performance for Amnesty International, featuring the Monty Python gang, Dame Edna and a number of other cutting-edge British comics. It gave me a strong appreciation for how documentary film has evolved (few audiences would enjoy the 45 minutes of disjointed rehearsal footage that comprised its "set up") and the staying power of great comedy. Next up, a visit to the Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena especially for their small, if exuberant, Ganesha exhibit. Ganesha, a Hindu god with a memorable elephant head, is known as a remover of obstacles, which I think makes him beloved by many, and travelers in particular. The evening ended in a way that really could only happen in LA: an outdoor screening of The Night of the Iguana, shown against the side of a building in the Hollywood Forever cemetery, with viewers sprawled out on picnic blankets spread over the "lawn" of the cemetery. Totally unforgettable!


Sunday, my birthday, featured a visit to Alcove for a fantastic al fresco brunch in Los Feliz, a stop in a cool indie bookstore, Skylight Books, and some frisbee in Griffith Park. We returned to Tony's met up with Julie who rode up from San Diego, and then headed off for dinner, flamenco music and dancing at El Cid. (El Cid has been on my "one of these visits to LA" list for years, and it was fun to finally check it out.) After a quick stop for gelato, we made the last stop for the evening: The Pirate Burlesque show at the (pirate-themed) Redwoods Bar and Grill in downtown LA. An absolutely indelible experience, shared with some new friends we met at the show who were in town on some very sad, very important business and who helped make my birthday one of those "wow, people are really, really amazing" kind of experiences. The burlesque, bawdy talk and beer didn't hurt, either.


So, it's little wonder that I was sad to say goodbye to Tony and Tara and to leave LA. As Tony said when we left, there are lots of adventures that await us. Right he was! In my next post, more about the amazing ride up the Pacific Coast Highway and meeting up with Tim and Camille in Carmel-by-the-Sea, fast friends if ever there were.

Our route, day 27, up the PCH to Carmel

Day 27: From Tony's in LA to Tim & Camille's in Carmel-by-the-Sea (~340 miles)


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Happily the hare

Lucky me! Tortoise, one of my favorite bands (thanks, Nate!), is playing a free show in Hollywood today, as part of their tour for their new record, Beacons of Ancestorship.

LA!

Julie is spending a few more days in San Diego with Kim, while I zipped up to LA to hang out with Tony and Jennifer. I ended up taking the Interstate, and the traffic lived up to my expectations (even if it was modest by local standards).

In retrospect, the slower, more scenic, possibly more congested route along Highway 1 through Huntington Beach might have been the better path. (There's just something about seeing the Pacific off to your left...) Anyway, I've thankfully got lots of time ahead riding along the coast, and I've happily arrived in LA!

My route, day 22, from San Diego to LA

Day 22: From San Diego to LA (126 miles)


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Catching up: We've reached the Pacific!

This'll be a long one, folks. So much to update!



As I mentioned previously, R2 was lucky to be taken in and taken care of by Greg at High Velocity Cycles in Albuquerque. He equipped R2 with a new stator, new alternator brushes and a new regulator/rectifier (basically the whole charging system). Better still, he told us that the bike would be ready to roll around noon on Thursday, and at 11:30 Thursday morning, he called to say that the bike was in fact ready!



While the unplanned repair wasn't exactly good news, I am glad to have spent some time in Albuquerque and get to know it.



I visited the main library with fellow traveler and hostel-stayer Bob, then took an epic walk from Old Town, along Route 66 through the University of New Mexico campus (where the ducks, too, are wondering "this is New Mexico?!")...



...and popped into various swilleries, music venues and restaurants.



I ended the evening of our down-day in ABQ by hanging out at the Launchpad with some folks from the local film and video scene and a death metal band called Relentless. As you might expect, they played a very loud, very aggressive set, while another Eric -- a friend of Relentless' lead guitar player, Will (a.k.a. Thrasher, pictured in front) -- circled the crowd, begging people to mosh. He paced the floor like a tiger, and pounced like one, too, whenever someone was sufficiently tempted. But he was built like a bull, and as I didn't feel like having my shoulder dislocated, I just watched and enjoyed the spectacle.

So, after getting the call that R2 was mended on Thursday, we loaded up the bikes, leaving the southeast corner of our motorcycle trip, and headed west. I was curious whether what Paul called the New Mexico bungy cord effect would happen again -- some new breakdown forcing us to retrace our path. (As Stone, staff at the Route 66 Hostel put it, we were experiencing the Land of Entrapment.) But our wheels kept turning, R2 ran like a champ, and we started getting some miles under us, finally crossing the Arizona border. We stopped for a visit through the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest National Park, seeing petroglyphs and lots of preserved indications of the passage of time, and the dramatic geological and biological changes this part of the world (well, every part of the world) has experienced.

 

We weren't sure how far we wanted to push it, but did hope to get as close to northern Arizona's other big attractions on our list: Meteor Crater and the Grand Canyon. We decided to land at a cheap hotel in Winslow ($39 per night while they remodel), easy striking distance from Meteor Crater.



Friday morning, we came face to face with this enormous hole, the cause of which was subject to much scientific debate in its history. Was it the caldera of a volcano? There was little belief that it could be an impact crater, and little remaining evidence of the object that created the crater. Seeing it face-to-face -- none of our photographs, or even really the human eye, can appreciate how wide and deep it is until you have walked it -- was a deeply satisfying culmination of a curiosity that began with a reference to this feature in Carl Sagan's Cosmos, one of the best, most impactful gifts I've every received. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!) Having had my cataclysmic catharsis, we headed off to the chasm! The Grand Canyon!

On the way, however, we encountered a couple of set-backs. First, torrential rains! (It's amazing how much rain we had in New Mexico and Arizona!) Second, we took a road that ostensibly led to a diner to escape the rain, devolved into a primitive road and then into a sandy dirt track... where we both managed to drop our bikes. Together. At the same moment. Thankfully, neither bike sustained damage, save some zipper scratches on Julie's tank. (R2's hardening accessories -- hand guards and an engine guard -- have really paid off, as has the enormous pack strapped across the passenger seat that prevents its sides from touching ground.) And, more importantly, we survived the experience with only a few bruises and sore wrists.

We took a rest and had some lunch at a grocery store in Flagstaff, assessing our options, considering the forecast and our lodging options. The forecast made rain seem likely, potentially heavy rains, so we decided to bee-line for a motel in Williams, Arizona, unload the bikes, and both hop on R2, then zip up to the Grand Canyon. We reached Mather Point just as the rain was ending, and were treated to rainbows arcing through the canyon. We spent an hour or so appreciating the majesty of this place, then headed back to our home base in Williams.



Saturday morning, we set off for what was the most arduous day of riding yet: over 500 miles to Kim's in San Diego, through the Mohave Desert, forecast to reach 111°F! I had lots of concerns about our bikes' abilities to handle that heat, the sparseness of service should it be needed, and, for Julie's bike in particular, the large spans of the desert without fuel available. After a day of riding and getting stuck in traffic with temps in the nineties in Nebraska, R2 started idling hot and spitting oil. Another twenty degrees certainly wouldn't help, I thought. And, we ended up beginning our crossing at high noon, hottest part of the day. A gas station attendant told us that often people wouldn't even stop to provide help, since it was so hot. It was the proverbial 100° in the shade.



So, my thoughts were full of trepidation as we began our crossing, looking at the desolate landscape and ominous, barren mountains to the left and right of the road, the scorching wind as though someone left the door to the blast furnace open. But both bikes made the trip admirably, and thankfully without incident. We still had hundreds of miles in the saddle ahead of us to reach San Diego, and the relief from the heat wasn't immediate, but we made it through the toughest bit.

And thankfully, relief did come, and we reached Kim's in time for a delicious spread she laid on for us, and had our own cozy celebration of Independence Day, the sounds of fireworks ricocheting off the adjacent buildings, as we sat on Kim's candle-light patio with a glass of wine and fine, fine company.

Friends, after riding nearly 3,000 miles, through the green plains and fierce storms of the Midwest, over the Rocky Mountains and through deserts, we've reached the Pacific Ocean!

Our route, day 18, to the Pacific Ocean!

Day 18: From America's Best Value Motel, Williams, Arizona to Kim's in San Diego, via the 110° Mohave Desert! (~513 miles!)


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Our route, day 17, to the Grand Canyon!

Day 17: Comfort Inn, Winslow, Arizona to America's Best Value Motel, Williams, Arizona via Meteor Crater; an ill-advised trip down a primitive road in Winona, Arizona; a stop in Flagstaff; and Mather Point at the Grand Canyon! (233 miles)

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Our route, day 16, to a corner in Winslow, Arizona

Day 16: Route 66 Hostel in Albuquerque, NM to Comfort Inn, Winslow, Arizona via the Petrified Forest National Park (~305 miles)


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The nostalgia is thick...

...for a late afternoon, $3 lunch at the Frontier in Albuquerque.
Happily, the chiles are hot, too!

Our route, day 14, from Santa Fe to... Albuquerque!

Day 14: From the Santa Fe Hostel to Lagunas, NM, back to Albuquerque for repairs (131 miles)

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