Days 9 and 10 - More Santa Barbara

I'm putting days 9 and 10 together, because day 9 really didn't have much of anything noteworthy happen.  Chuck and I hung out at Chris's place for most of the day, and Chuck went crazy on cleaning the kitchen as a show of appreciation for letting us stay there--and I think to also satisfy his compulsion for cleanliness.  I helped a bit, but the majority of the credit goes to Chuck.  At one point, I went out to get some ingredients and made a small breakfast for us, as well as stopped by Play It Again Sports to find a replacement frisbee for the one I lost at Stafford Lake.  The selection sucked, but I got a disc that will at least be a memento, until I lose it.

Chuck's friend Adrian, or A-Dog as he's known in their circle, was coming up from LA to hang out and spend the night.  We expected him to arrive sometime early in the afternoon and planned to go play a round at Evergreen together.  As it turned out, he didn't arrive until it was getting late, so we effectively spent most of the day just hanging around and twiddling our thumbs.  It wasn't bad though.

That evening we decided to BBQ.  It was, after all, a bit of a reunion for Chuck, Adrian, and Chris.  Chris's roommates also had similar notions (it was a Friday night) after all, and it turned into an impromptu party of sorts.  I will say that it was more pleasant than the majority of the parties I attended when I lived in the area years ago.  We were all older, late 20s to early 30s, and we were all a little nerdy in our own ways.  A much better atmosphere than the Natural Lite fueled, Abercrombie fashion contests I remembered.

We stayed up a little late, but called it a night somewhat early, since we were planning on going to play the course at Lake Casitas in the morning, and Chuck and I both had to pack.

When I'd corresponded with Brian, he said that he was planning on being at Casitas around 10 AM.  Somehow I convinced the guys to motivate early enough and we made it out the door a little after 9.  Lake Casitas is up in the hills near Ojai, where it's notably hotter and drier than the coast.

The road leading to Ojai is a nice twisty road through some quintessential Southern California scenery.  It also was extremely popular with cyclists, as it turns out.  The cyclists meant that we had to take it easy on the throttle.  Most did a good job of staying on the side of the road, well in the realm of safety, but you had to be aware of other traffic that might be swerving around them, into your lane.  And also, there was one cyclist who apparently decided to stop for a breather.  In the middle of the road.  Around a blind turn.  I'm all about sharing the road with cyclists, but dammit, we need to work together on this if they want to stay out of harm's way.

Anyway, we made it to Lake Casitas soon enough, a little before 10.  Casitas is a reservoir, with a campground, fishing, hiking trails, even a little waterpark.  Due to all of that, you have to pay to enter.  I'd only been to Casitas a couple times before, and at the time, it had cost $6 per car.  Well, it seems the times, they've been a-changin'.  The cost was now $15 per vehicle.  Per vehicle.  That meant that even though Chuck and I together took up less space than a car, we had to pay twice as much.  Chuck tried to reason with the lady, but she wasn't having any of it, if you were driving something that ran on gas, it cost $15 to enter, period.  Compared to the $2 it cost us at Stafford, we were not impressed.

But oh well, what else were we going to do?  We paid, and grumbled our way to the parking lot.  Once we parked and transitioned into disc golfing mode, I checked my messages and Brian had texted saying that he was going to be a while.  Chris had to be somewhere in the early afternoon, that he couldn't be late for, so we were on a tight schedule.  I texted Brian and let him know that we'd have to meet up later.

I'd played Casitas once before, which was a couple of weeks after it had been put in the ground as it turned out.  When I'd played before, it was rugged--chest high grass with thistles and rattlesnakes hidden in the midst.  It had since been beaten in a lot more, and the fairways were clean and manageable for the most part.  The water level of the lake had dropped significantly though.  The first hole used to play over a water hazard, but now it was just a dry gulch, the floating bridge lying buckled and obsolete.

A-Dog striking a pose

Chris and Chuck thinking about their next shots

Though we'd gotten a good amount of sun in other parts of our trip, the sun and heat at Casitas was at another level.  I had a hat and sunscreen on, but I could still feel my northern-European-Seattle white skin crisping.  And I was gulping water constantly.

I ended up shooting pretty well, at least by my standards, for playing a casual round and playing the course mostly blind.  I think I ended up +4, a couple strokes being added from me trying to use my newly purchased disc with unfortunate results.

The end of the round though, was more significant than just completing the course.  This was the part of the trip I had been looking forward to the least.  This was the part where Chuck and I would part ways.  Chuck would head south to LA to hang out with A-Dog before going east towards Texas, and I would be turning around to head back north.

Our goodbyes to each other were a bit less ceremonious than I'd anticipated.  Our round had taken a bit of time, and Chris was pressed to make his appointment.  After getting all our gear sorted, there wasn't time for much more than a picture and a bro hug.  Soon enough, Chuck was suited up and on his way out of the parking lot.  I'm not ashamed to say that there was a lump in my throat as I watched him leave.

Hopefully not the last time we'll stand next to each other

I texted Brian, and it looked like they'd just gotten started shortly after we'd finished--good thing we didn't wait.  The tees for Holes 1 and 10 are next to each other, so I told him I'd meet him when they were ready to start the back 9.  I figured I'd hang out at the picnic table (in the shade) and catch up on journaling or something, but that wasn't to be.  A lady sat with me, she was just hanging out while her husband played the course.  She normally would walk with him, but it was too hot for her today.

She was nice enough, but I would have rather been alone with my thoughts.  She had at least 3 or 4 beers while we sat there, and she told me all about the local disc golfers as if I knew them.  I had to remind her several times that I was from Seattle, which she kept interpreting as New Jersey (?).  In any case, she told me that there was some sort of bacterial outbreak or something that had hurt the fish in the lake, and had cut down on the amount of visitors, and that was the reason for the hike in the fees.  That was the one bit of useful information gleaned from that conversation, but she also may not have been the most reliable source.

After what felt like an eternity, a group showed up on the tee for 9.  It was a group of 7 and I had the sinking feeling that that was Brian's group.  It was.

Brian and I said hi to each other, and caught up briefly, he looked good, mostly the same as he had when I'd last seen him, though his hair was buzzed now to compensate for his hairline getting thinner.  He introduced me to all the others in the group, but naturally I didn't remember most of their names.  We played the back 9 of the course and though I wasn't really keeping score, I was shooting better than most in the group.  That always feels good, when you're the stranger on strange land.

We finally finished, everyone was hot and exhausted, me even moreso since I'd played a full round beforehand.  I was glad to be done and was ready to head back to Brian's place (I'd arranged to crash on his floor that night).  He then said that they were gearing up for another round, and hoped that wasn't a problem.  Well, it was a problem, but there wasn't much to be done for it.  I was the guest here, so up for whatever he was.  We sat in the shade for a bit, and I mentally prepared myself for another grueling trudge through the sun cooked hills.

As luck would have it though, Brian got a text from one of his friends, and suddenly the plans changed to meeting back in SB for a round at Evergreen.  Though I'd already had my fill of golf for the day, a round at Evergreen was a lot more feasible.  Oh yes, and take note that I haven't mentioned food at all here--I'd had water and a couple mouthfuls of sunflower seeds, and that was it for the day.

We had to scoot to meet up with Brian's friend in time, so I geared up as quickly as possible and made my way back to SB.  I made it to the course, and they were waiting on me.  One of the posse was another Brian, who was a regular back when I was.  Besides the absence of a mustache, he, like most of SB, was exactly the same.  The round went well, I don't remember the score at all, but it was almost dark by the time we finished.  We finally made our way to Brian's, and then a quick trip to the grocery store so we could BBQ.

Brian lives in a tiny studio apartment, so having 4 people there was a cramped affair.  We had grilled some chicken and heated some beans, and somewhere around 10:30, I was finally able to eat something.  It may not have been the most remarkable chicken I'd ever had, but it certainly hit the spot at that point.

We stayed up late watching various disc golf vids on youtube, and I was nodding off--it had been a VERY long day for me.  Finally around 1:30, we called it a night.  I inflated my air mattress on Brian's floor and promptly passed out.

Day 8 - Santa Barbara

After our somewhat long ride the day before, we had a slow and lazy morning in Chris's sun room.  On a last ditch effort, I texted my friend and old roommate Brian.  It had been over a year since I'd last corresponded with him, and though I emailed him a couple times prior to our trip, I hadn't heard anything back from him.  He didn't even live in SB anymore, for all I knew.  But surprisingly, a few minutes after I texted him, I received one in response.  We made plans to rendezvous on the weekend at the very least, if not sooner.

After enough coffee and lounging Chuck and I motivated and went to play a round of disc golf at Evergreen Open Space, the course where we'd both learned the game.  The course looked mostly the same, but there were definitely some differences we noticed--some trees had gotten taller, some had been removed, some tees had moved, etc.

Chuck started off the round super hot, with birdies on 3 of the first 4 holes.  Evergreen is easier than most courses we're used to in the PNW, but still, 3 out of 4 is no small feat on these holes, particularly.  The rest of the round wasn't quite as hot, but we still had a good time--there's just something nice about the challenge of Evergreen.  There are lots of relatively easy holes, but they still have enough challenge and multiple strategies that the course remains fun.

We finished the round and were in agreement that food should be our next destination.  We decided to cruise through downtown and see what there was to be had.  I had fond memories of a deli on lower State St. that would be a great place to revisit.  We started on upper State, so we could soak in all the changes and developments in the last 8 years.  Surprisingly, it was hardly changed at all.  A few places were repurposed--there was a BevMo now, and the Borders is now a Marshall's.  Sadly, as we got to lower State, I saw that the beloved Greek deli was now a Verizon store.  Amazingly, The Trailhead, the laughably mismanaged and profitless outdoor store I'd worked at during college, was still in business.

Oh yes, and one other thing that had not changed was the abundance of attractive people.  It doesn't seem possible that there can be such a high ratio of good looking people, but there they were.  Granted, most of them looked like people I didn't have any desire to hang out with, but they did look good.


We didn't see any food that looked compelling enough to stop for, so we made our way over to Milpas, the second most major thoroughfare in SB.  Whereas State St. is where the glamorous tourists congregate, Milpas is where the working folk of SB live.  There was a taqueria that Oceana and her family had recommended to us, La Super Rica.  It was one of those hole in the wall family run places that had been around for years and had a reputation for serving great authentic Mexican food.  We found it easily enough, and it was indeed unassuming.  Not much more than a screened in porch painted teal and white, there was a small line outside.  This is apparently the norm, and we got to listen to people reading and recommending menu items for a good 15 minutes before we got to set foot inside.

We finally got a chance to order, and I don't recall what all we got--some different varieties of tacos, and I got a bowl of some bean dish I'd overheard a guy saying was a popular favorite.  It wasn't long before our food came out, and when it did it was...good.  Certainly not bad, but not what I'd call remarkable.  Go to any Mexican food truck, and it's a good bet that you'll have something at least as good in about a quarter of the time.  Oh yeah, and the beans tasted like beans.  There really was nothing wrong with the food at all, but it was definitely overhyped.  I get the impression that everyone who has visited SB and has been recommended La Super Rica recommends it to other visitors so they sound like they have insider local knowledge.

We headed back towards Chris's place after lunch, taking a detour through UCSB to see how the old campus was looking.  Unlike the city, the school had gone through significant changes.  A lot of the dorms were remodeled or in the process of getting there, and there were lots of new monolithic buildings where there had formerly only been parking lots.  We also took a tour through Isla Vista, the strange grid of college slums adjacent to campus where 3 or 4 people sharing a 1 br apartment was common.  Most of the apartment buildings looked the same as ever.  The town was mostly empty since it was still summer.  We did see some new buildings in the commercial area of IV though, strangely modern and clean, one could say antiseptically so.  It was kind of like seeing a dirty, yet charming dive bar being replaced by an Applebee's.  Such is the way of opportunity and "progress" though, I suppose.

We went back to Chris's and hung out for a while until he got off of work.  We kicked the hacky sack around for a bit, and then went back to Evergreen for another round when Chris got home.  It was another fun round, no noteworthy scores that I recall.  The course was a lot more crowded though, and it was slow moving.  On the last few holes, the marine layer rolled in, dropping the temperature and dimming the light.  We finished up and went to the store for dinner ingredients. 

We got pork and veggies, and it took a good couple of hours before we could eat.  Chris was less than impressed with the timing, since he was starving, and also had to go to bed early for work the next morning.  We helped pass the time with some cards and beverages though, and eventually the food was done.  It was a little overcooked, but by that time, just about anything would have been delicious.  It was after 11 by then, so we let Chris go to bed, and we were soon to follow.

Day 7 - Woodside to Santa Barbara

Reluctantly, we got our stuff together and packed up the next morning.  It had been a really pleasant stay at Oceana's and neither of us were eager to leave.  But, nonetheless, we got our gear together (slowly) and mounted up.  We said our goodbyes and headed south.  I think it's fair to say that we both were feeling a little bummed out that morning.

We had discussed different options for our route to go down to Santa Barbara.  Santa Barbara was close enough that we felt we should be able to make it there in a day, but it would be a day full of riding.  Chuck had originally scoped out an inland route, that went through Hollister.  Any time we mentioned our trip, people asked if we would be taking Hwy 1 through Big Sur.  Chuck had been on that stretch before, but I never had.  Oceana highly recommended it, saying that although all of Hwy 1 was noteworthy, that was the best part.  We'd wanted to avoid it because it would be slow, but on Oceana's recommendation, we strongly considered taking it after all.

Then Oceana looked at Google Maps and pointed out that from her place to Arroyo Grande (where we planned to stop and say hi to Chuck's uncle) was 235 miles away, via 101.  That put things in perspective a bit, and our plans for taking the scenic route were put on hold.  101 would be the least interesting, but it was really the only option if we wanted to make it into SB at a reasonable hour.

So, after winding through the hills of Woodside, we spit out onto Hwy 280.  This took us past Foothill College, the junior college I attended before transferring to UCSB.  It was close to the highway, so we decided to take a quick spin through the campus.  A lot of it was the same, but there had also been some serious construction going on.  There used to be a cool bamboo grove with a little tatami hut in the middle, but now there shiny new technology buildings.  Such is the way of growth, I suppose.

We stopped in Gilroy for lunch, excited by the prospect of having In-N-Out burger again.  Sure enough, we found one right away, and stopped in.  I had a double double combo, both the burger and fries animal style.  It was not the religious experience we were hoping for.  The burgers weren't bad, they just weren't anything special.  I'd actually never ordered fries animal style before (for the unaware, "animal style" is part of the secret menu, it means adding grilled onions, cheese, and their special sauce), and I was not impressed with that.  It was a fast food version of poutine, basically.  In other words, fried potatoes with a hot gloppy mess on top.  I shoveled some into my mouth because unbeknownst to me, animal style doubled the price of the fries.  We finished most of our food, but it was mostly because we knew we'd need the sustenance.  I won't say that I'll never eat In-N-Out again, but I'll certainly opt for Five Guys if I have the chance.

With food in our bellies, we got on 101 and prepared ourselves for the monotony.  There was a car show/classic car race going on in Monterey, so we got to see some really nice cars along the way.  That was something to keep the mind occupied at least.  Though, there were a couple instances where we had to lane split, and sneaking by Lamborghinis and classic Porsches added a whole new level of stress.

I didn't take many pictures in this part, it mostly looked like this, but less scenic

We tried taking a diversionary route around King City, just to add some sort of interest to the ride.  It started off all right, some elevation change and some curves, but unfortunately we made a wrong turn, missing the interesting looking part of the road, and ending up on a flat, straight farming road.  A very HOT farming road at that.

Hey, that looks like a turn!

Another one!

The farming road put us back on 101 after a while, and we stopped at a rest area shortly thereafter.  We were sweltering in our gear.  We didn't have thermometers, but it felt like it was pushing triple digits, and the sun was relentless.  We found a shady spot and parked the bikes.  We unzipped every vent possible in our gear and hung out in our t-shirts for a bit.  I went to find a water fountain to fill up my water bottle, but there was none to be found.  A rest stop in a place as hot as this, and they don't even have a water fountain!?  There were of course vending machines, but I was nonplussed, and irritated in the heat.  Fortunately Chuck had a good supply of water on him, and we both doused ourselves before putting our gear back on.

Somewhere on the way towards Arroyo Grande

We made it to Arroyo Grande to visit Chuck's Uncle Jerry.  Jerry is a cartoonist, or rather, a writer for comic strips.  He writes the well known comics "Zits" and "Baby Blues."  I'd always imagined that cartoonists for the most part are starving artists, and the successful ones are able to live a comfortable, if modest, lifestyle.  Well, Jerry dashed that preconception.

Jerry lived on a jointly owned ranch, split up between 49 shares, 48 of which were homeowners, and the 49th being actual operating ranch land that they leased out.  I'll put it this way--there was a security gate to make it into the ranch, and each house had its own security gate past that.  Jerry's house sat on top of one of the hills, and was the type of place with a 10 foot high front door, and 20 foot high ceilings.  The living room was large enough that I could have fit some of my former apartments in there.  I would have liked to have gotten some pictures, but would have felt weird doing so.

Jerry, despite obviously doing very well for himself, was quite affable and modest.  We had a beer out in his back yard (complete with outdoor fireplace, fountain, and guest house) and relaxed for a bit.  After a bit, he took us down to bring his daughter's horses into the stable.  He had guests staying with him, and while we were taking care of the horses, they showed up.  They were from NYC, and while I would have enjoyed spending more time hanging out with Jerry, we immediately knew that these people were the antithesis of our vibe.  For instance, when we mentioned the trip we were taking, they naturally asked if we took Hwy 1. When we said that we hadn't for the most part, the wife cut in, with a thick and horrible Jersey accent "Do dey even allow motuhcycahs on dere?  What if you gwo ovuh a cliff owah somethin'!"  Without discussing it, we both knew it was a good cue to leave, and after some more painful and inane conversation, we said our goodbyes and headed back to the highway.

Jerry's ranch was up in similar hills

As soon as we got to the highway, the temperature dropped and we had to stop to zip up a bunch of our vents.  We were definitely closer to the coast now.  Our trip down 101 was unremarkable, and we took Hwy 154 outside of Santa Maria as a cutoff route to lead us to Santa Barbara.  154 is more direct to SB than 101, but takes about the same amount of time to get there. It was far more interesting to ride through SB's wine country than past Gaviota's refinery though, that's for sure.

We were losing light quickly, and we still had out tinted visors on, but we pressed on nonetheless.  We had been riding for a long time, and SB was in striking distance, so we stuck it out.

Out of focus, but I still like it

Coming over the pass, SB is in the distance

We made it into SB at the later part of dusk and the roads became more familiar.  It had been about 8 years since I'd been in SB, and a lot of memories got stirred up as we made our way towards Chuck's friend Chris's place.  We found it and Chris came out to greet us.  He shared a house with roommates, so we had to stay reasonably quiet on their behalf.  The did have a spare room for us though, a sun room with it's own entrance, which was perfect for our needs.  It was also a universal storage room for everyone, so we had to clear out some room to sprawl out in.

Chris had had a long day, and was having dinner when we arrived, so we went to get some food of our own.  There was a Ralph's about half a mile away, so we walked to it and ended up spending a lot of time milling about.  Once again, none of the food looked particularly compelling, and the beer selection left something to be desired.  Beer was overly expensive too, at least $10 for a six pack of anything decent.  We eventually opted for a decent-enough looking bottle of wine on sale, and some cheese and crackers.  And summer sausage.  We walked back to Chris's and dined on our gourmet meal, falling asleep soon thereafter.

Day 6 - Woodside

Today was a day of doing not much of anything.  It was delightful.

We moseyed around the house and had coffee, while Oceana helped her dad make his way off to work.  After he left, Oceana took us for a drive around the sights of the Santa Cruz Mountains.  It was really nice to be able to sightsee as a passenger.  You would think that if you wanted so soak in the scenery, the best way to do it would be on a motorcycle. That's only partially true though.  You have to keep so more focus on the road that you can't really rubberneck, unlike being in a car where you have a lot more leeway to drive slowly and take in the views.  It's even better when you have someone else at the wheel.

Oceana took us down to a little county park that basically a short hiking trail that led through a couple redwood groves.  Unfortunately a bridge along the path had been closed off due to erosion, so it cut our walk short, but it was still cool.

Surprisingly, my only banana slug encounter of the trip.

 We toured around La Honda, the town Oceana grew up in.  It was a hippified little place, and had some notoriety from the 60s and 70s with Ken Kesey and company.  Apparently, the community had really gone downhill in recent years though, due to meth.  I don't know, if meth was a big problem there, it was one of the most pleasant tweaker havens I've seen.  From my naive point of view, it seemed like a laid back, pastoral sort of town, the kind of place I'd strongly consider living in, if the opportunity arose.

We made our way out to the coast and stopped by the Pigeon Point lighthouse, because, why not?  It's tied for the tallest lighthouse on the west coast.  It's condemned now, but Oceana got to spend the night in it when she was a kid.  She was apparently unappreciative

We had lunch in Half Moon Bay at Tres Amigos.  I had a chili verde burrito, and it was what a chili verde burrito should be.  We have decent burritos in Seattle, but for whatever reason, we rarely see chili verde up here.  It was good to have it again...and done properly, that is.

We stopped at a grocery store afterward and got some supplies for dinner and headed back up to Oceana's place.  It was pretty cool, while we were down at the coast, we could see Oceana's property up in the hills.  You couldn't make out many details, it was just one of those clear patches of land at the top of a mountain that you can see in the lowlands and think "man, whoever lives up there must have a great view."  And yup, they do.

There wasn't much else that happened that evening.  We hung out with Oceana's parents, made burgers on the grill, and had a fire in the firepit.   It was the last day of the meteor shower so we stayed out by the fire and waited for the moon to go down.  We ended up moving to the hot tub at some point, and watched for shooting stars from there.  The next day was Oceana's birthday so we made sure to stay up until 12 to wish her a happy birthday.  I think we ended up staying out there until 1:30 or so before calling it a night.  It had been a great day of relaxation and general contentment, not something any of us were eager to have come to an end.

Day 5 - San Francisco to Woodside

We woke up the next morning and Chuck went to pilfer his aunt's kitchen looking for coffee.  He finished off a bag of Peet's coffee to make a load of french press for us.  It was only later that we found out that that it was decaf.

I spent a good amount of time journaling, getting myself caught up with the trip so far.  After at least an hour's worth of typing, I was literally 3 letters away from being done when an error message popped up and informed me that the program was closing.  I was using an app on my tablet, and was painfully reminded that unlike MS Word, this program did not have an autosave function.  Everything that I'd typed was gone.  After a deep breath, I jotted down notes to come back to later so I could elaborate.  I made sure to save often.

We had plans to meet Mary Jane and Chris for lunch and the hour approached quickly.  We showered, did some laundry, and packed up.  Mary Jane's garage had a steep slope that we'd ridden down to enter it, and I wondered what the experience of getting the bikes back out of the garage would be like.

Packed in cozily with all sorts of other stuff...

...including this old beauty.

It turned out that getting the bikes out of the garage wasn't too difficult at all, but it would have been if there weren't two of us.  We loaded up the bikes and headed off to the other side of the city to meet up with Mary Jane and Chris.

As we were leaving, we realized that we were in walking distance of the disc golf course at Golden Gate Park.  Had we realized that earlier, we probably would have motivated earlier to get a morning round in.

We rode through downtown San Francisco to make it over to Cesar Chavez St., the industrial area of the waterfront.  It was a good ride through the city, I'd forgotten just how busy of a city it was, but still SF is beautiful city, lots of personality and vibrancy throughout.  It's definitely one of the best cities in the US, if not the world, in my opinion.

It was slow going through the city due to the traffic, and we theoretically could have lane split at the stoplights, but I don't think either of us wanted to bother, the streets being busy, narrow, and unfamiliar.  And of course, we weren't so narrow ourselves.  Eventually, we made it over to Cesar Chavez and found Veritable Vegetable, Mary Jane's business.

Mary Jane, it turns out, runs something of an organic produce empire.  Veritable Vegetable sources organic fruits and veggies from the west coast and southwest and distributes them to restaurants and markets.  It was a serious operation, comprising of several warehouses and operating something like 23 tractor trailers.  She'd been at the business for almost 40 years, and it was thriving.

We met her at the main warehouse and corporate office, and had us park up on one of the loading docks.  It was pretty cool, navigating a warehouse past boxes of vegetables and jockeying around pallet jacks.  I definitely felt like something of a VIP rolling through there.

We parked the bikes and changed out of our riding gear.  Mary Jane and Chris took us out to a nice restaurant nearby, which sourced all of its food locally.  Lending more support to my digestive tract, I ordered a mixed veggies salad.  It was delicious.

After lunch, Mary Jane and Chris took us around to other warehouses to show us more of the operation.  It was truly an impressive layout, and all due to Mary Jane's hard work over the years.  The company seemed like a great place to work too--one of the buildings we went to had the employee cafeteria (they got free lunch every day, if they desired), the employee gym, and even a nap room.  It makes me reconsider what being "treated well" by an employer really means.

It turned out that Chuck had another aunt working there for Mary Jane, and we said hi to her.  I stood by somewhat awkwardly, as I was the only person that wasn't part of the family.  I did end up getting a
Veritable Vegetable t-shirt though.

Mary Jane and Chris had a meeting they had to get to, so we said our goodbyes and I got in touch with Oceana and got directions to her house.  We took Hwy 280 to 92 to the famous Skyline Blvd.  And then from there, miles of twisty single lane roads that would eventually lead to Oceana's place.  It was a telling sign of affluence that all the roads were actually paved and in good condition.  Most other places in the country, we wouldn't expect to see pavement at all, or if we did, it'd be patchy and rough, like the Mattole Rd.

Nevertheless, we made it to Oceana's easily enough, parked our bikes and proceeded to relax.  I met Oceana ages ago when I lived in the Bay Area, and we've managed to stay in contact, albeit sporadically, over the years.  It was good to see her, as always and it was good to catch up.  Her house (designed by her parents) has always been inspirational to me.  If I were to find myself with significantly more money than I currently have, I would take a few cues from what they've built for themselves.

The great room with a very well equipped kitchen attached

The fire pit, where we would spend most of our time.  That's the ocean in the distance, just south of Half Moon Bay.

We mostly just hung out and had a lazy day.  For dinner, Oceana made soup with veggies from her garden, and it was great.  After dark, we built a fire in the firepit and hung out there for the rest of the evening.  It so happened that there was a meteor shower, so we stayed up late to watch that.  It was great to be able to see the stars, we don't get to see them too much in Seattle.  On the rare occasions that it's not cloudy at night, we have light pollution, not to mention plenty of tall trees that limit the view anyway.  The west coast usually gets socked in with the marine layer on a nightly basis, but Oceana's place was high enough that it wasn't affected, and we spent the night trying to identify constellations while waiting for meteors.  Not a bad way to spend an evening at all.

Day 4 - Willits to San Francisco

We headed back out on Hwy 20 the next morning and went west to the coast.  We got there quickly, and fortunately had bundled up as it was foggy and cold.  I'd somehow left my neck gaiter behind in another bag, so had to make do with a fleece vest I brought along.

3 was Chuck's lucky number today

Heh, Trailer Cove

Though we were on the famous Pacific Coast Highway, we never got a good glimpse of the water, everything was just socked in with fog, and predictably, it was congested.  Not wanting to push our luck like we did yesterday, we pulled into one small town to get some gas.  It was a nice little coastal town, and only had one gas station with 2 pumps.  The actual station was closed, but the pumps were automated, thankfully.  Even more thankfully, Chuck happened to look at the price before we started pumping, and pointed out that it was $6.29 a gallon.  I'm willing to pay a convenience fee for gas, but that was at least $2 more than we'd seen anywhere else.  We both decided to freshen our tanks up with a little splash, and figured we'd be safe until we could find more reasonably priced gas.

We crossed over a couple bridges under construction, and it was an eerie feeling, just riding into a misty void.  It had a very Stephen King aura to it.

We got tired of being stuck in a train of cars and found a side road on the map that would take us inland.  The road was twisty, but not in the greatest condition.  It wasn't as bad as the Mattole Rd. had been, but still nothing to be taking at a high speed.  Still, it was much better than being stuck in the procession.

We connected up with Hwy 128 which led us into Anderson Valley, where it was much warmer and arid.   This was an area of agriculture and vineyards, and also coincidentally, home to one of my favorite breweries, Anderson Valley Brewing Co. in Boonville.  Not only do they make great beer, but they also apparently had a disc golf course on site.  We were pretty hungry by this point, so it seemed like a no brainer to stop by and grab a bite to eat if we could find the place.

Boonville, unsurprisingly was not large, and we found the brewery on the edge of town, and sure enough there were some disc golf baskets outside.  Sadly, we realized that the brewery just had a taproom, not a restaurant.  A beer and a round of disc golf sounded awfully tempting, but the day was young and we had empty stomachs.  So, responsibly, and somewhat regretfully, we pressed on.

We made it to the intersection with 101, and noticed a sign for a town called Cloverdale, so we decided to check it out.  We immediately saw a gas station, selling gas for nearly half of what the other place had, so we stopped in without hesitation.  The town seemed very nice and fresh, like a lot of stores had been recently renovated.  We pulled into the Railroad Station Bar & Grill.

Right as we parked our bikes, a fire truck pulled up to the place and firemen made their way inside.  When we were seated, we were about 10 feet from the incident--an older gent had apparently lost his balance and in an attempt to catch himself, but an older lady down with him.  She was hurt in some manner--enough to be put on the backboard and carried out.  Meanwhile we sat by and ordered a couple beers.  Always a sucker for a catchy name, I ordered a local IPA called Heroin.  Figuring that I owed my body something a little more fibrous, I chose a salad with albacore.  Chuck got some sort of grilled chicken sandwich.

The food was a little on the pricey side, but they definitely used high quality ingredients and it was quite tasty.  I stole a couple of Chuck's fries, and I can attest that they were good as well.

After we finished, I called Oceana, my friend in the Bay Area who we planned to stay with.  I should mention that we had no official plan of when we'd arrive anywhere, just were playing it by ear.  Oceana knew to expect us, but hadn't been expecting us so early.  She was currently in Berkeley and didn't know if she'd be home later that night.  Chuck had an aunt in the area, who also knew we were coming, but we were just planning to have dinner with her.

So we didn't know what we'd do for the evening but we weren't worried about it.  We had plans to go to Stafford Lake in Novato.  We were carrying golf discs (frisbees) with us, and we had yet to play at all.  Stafford Lake was supposed to be one of the better courses in NorCal so we figured we'd stop by play a round and then see what was what.

We headed south on 101, and as we got closer to the Bay, the traffic got heavier.  It soon slowed to a crawl, and I remembered that we were now in California, where it's legal to split the lanes and ride up the middle.  Neither Chuck or I had lane split before, at least for extended periods.  It was instilled in us that doing so was verboten, tantamount to riding on a sidewalk.  At a loss of how to proceed, we were just sticking it out in line like the rest of the traffic, what we were used to.  And as if on cue, a guy came cruising through the lanes on an old BMW, without a care in the world.  We had no choice but to follow suit, and so with me in the lead, we steered our bikes onto the dotted line.

It wasn't so much that I was stressed about going between the vehicles--though it was a bit like climbing up the high dive for the first time--it was that my ass was so wide.  Speaking in terms of my motorcycle, that is.  My bike is already fairly large, and the luggage I have is almost comically bulbous, so much so that it's wider than my handlebars.  So through tight gaps, I was never really sure how much room I had on either side.  Clipping someone's bumper or mirror along the way would be a horrible scenario that I don't care to lend much thought to.  Fortunately, I had Chuck, who was much more svelte, following me and acting as my wingman and letting me know if a gap was looking too narrow for my wide load.  It was an exhilarating experience, if a little on the stressful side, and I'm pleased to report we made it through the traffic snarl without incident.

I didn't snap any photos, but I did get this artistic interpretation

 We made it to Novato and found the course easily enough.  There was a $10 fee to get into the park, I hoped that they would be amenable and let me pay for the two of us as one car.  When we pulled up though, the rate for motorcycles was $2.  Hell yeah.

The park was huge, and we found the vicinity of the course.  We parked in the shade, and changed out of our riding gear.  Not really having a place to stash our gear, we locked up what we could in hard bags, and left the rest of our stuff strapped to the bike, our boots just sitting by our bikes.  We just crossed our fingers and hoped for goodwill towards motorcyclists.

It was good walk to get to the course, I would say 3/4 of a mile or so, and we knew it was going to be a big course.  There was lots of open space, rolling hills of dry grass and stands of oak.  And wind, plenty of it.  We were right in our assumptions, the course was big and rugged, and really easy to lose a disc on if you weren't careful.  I found that out all too well on the second hole, the first of many blind shots where we discovered that spotters were essential for those not familiar with the course.

Chuck in the middle of a fairway drive, the basket is way in the shadows of the trees on the right.

Oh deer...

I don't think either of us kept score, we both had some good holes, some not so good.  It was a fun round, but pretty demanding and we were ready to be done with it by the end.  We made our way back to the parking lot, and were relieved to see our stuff was still there.

We made phone calls as we made the transition from disc golf to motorcycle gear.  The round had taken us longer than expected and we were already running late for our conceptual plans of meeting up with Chuck's aunt.  It turned out that she had a long day and wasn't feeling up to dinner, but would be up for lunch the next day.  I called Oceana and it turned out that she was going to be spending the night in Berkeley.  That was fine, we'd just find a campground and get a site for the night.  It was Sunday after all, we should have our pick of the litter.

There was a campground about half an hour away, China Camp State Park, so we headed in that direction.  We meant to stop at a grocery store along the way, but once we turned off for the park, we didn't see anything more substantial than a shitty convenience store.  When it was apparent we were past the possibility of any more stores, we contemplated turning around, but decided that we'd come far enough that we should at least make sure that we could get a spot.  So we pressed on, and a few miles down the road, our hearts sank when we saw the price (around $30-35 if memory serves), and the amount of cars in the parking lot.  And then as we cruised the parking lot we realized that all the sites were hike in sites.  Besides the nice setting in the north bay, there was less and less appealing about the place.  Then as we rode past the camp host's area, where they had a whiteboard and we realized it was all for naught anyway.  Not only was every site occupied, but they were all reserved for at least a couple days.

So, without anything else to do, we rode back out of there.  We stopped to look at a map to see what our options were, and they weren't promising.  As great as Google is, we've found it to be next to useless when looking for a campground.  Type in "campground" for any city, and you'll get any number of hits for RV parks, sometimes even straight up trailer parks.  But using it to find camping campgrounds is less than reliable.  Chuck spotted something on the map that he said looked like it had potential, so we headed off, hoping for the best.

It didn't take us long to get disoriented and lost in Novato.  We stopped into a gas station to try to get some directions.  Chuck was chatting with the gas station attendant while I chilled outside and watched the sky getting darker.  The gas station guy came outside and while Chuck was busy doing something, he showed me his phone with directions to the campground.  It was then that I realized that Chuck had us headed back to the coast to look for camping.  It was getting late and that was more of an excursion that I felt up to.  But we were quickly running out of options as it was getting dark and there were no other campgrounds or chances for guerrilla camping that we could see.  I mentioned the possibility of looking for a motel, which would surely be more expensive than we wanted, but our options were looking slimmer.

Then Chuck got a text from his aunt saying that she had an apartment downstairs at her house, and the sometimes tenant was out of town and said it'd be OK for us to stay there if we wanted.  Hell yes, we wanted.  Chuck gratefully accepted her offer, and told her we'd stop and get dinner and head down there.

The sun was truly getting low in the sky at this point, so we put on our clear visors and headed out on a quest for food.  We tried to find a Baja Fresh, a California burrito chain that I recalled making above average fast-ish food.  Unfortunately, this was a Sunday evening, and the nearest Baja Fresh ended up being in a mall, which was closed by the time we got there.  There was a Safeway in the mall though, so we figured we'd try to find something there.  We wandered around the Safeway, not finding much that looked appealing.  Chuck called his aunt for directions, and she told us not to worry about dinner, they'd put some pizzas in for us.  It was more than we could hope for.  I got us a 6 pack to relax with once we got to our destination.

Back out onto the highway, we were headed to San Francisco.  It was completely dark by this point, and as we got closer to the Golden Gate Bridge, the temperature dropped off significantly and San Francisco's infamous fog enveloped us.  The fog was so thick that it actually became rain at one point and then became a perpetual mist.  I wanted to get a picture of us crossing the bridge, but there was really no point.  It was so sacked in with fog, I couldn't see more than 30 feet in any direction.  There was a huge span of the bridge above us, and a beautiful city skyline in front of us, but that had to be left all to the imagination.

The mist was an issue.  It wasn't heavy enough to turn into droplets and run off the side of the visor, but it was heavy enough to stick on there.  It was basically like someone had smeared vaseline on my visor, and my visibility was horrible.  Not only was everything blurry, but any source of light created a halo effect, which made things all the more difficult.  Of course, I could open up my visor, but doing so just welcomed a cold blast of misty droplets straight to my eyeballs.  It was an unpleasant situation.

We found Chuck's aunt's place easily enough, she was in the Richmond district, in the northern part of the city, so fortunately we didn't have far to go.  We did manage to hit just about every possible red light we could though (and there were plenty of them.)  The garage doors were standing open in welcome when we arrived, and we pulled straight in.  Chuck's aunt, Mary Jane, and her partner Chris, came and said hi, and showed us to the apartment.  They brought us pizzas, some sort of Whole Foods type that were definitely a few steps above the typical frozen pizza.  It was delicious.  At least I thought so.

We realized that we were keeping Mary Jane and Chris up late past their bedtime--tomorrow was Monday and they got up at 4:00.  We felt a little guilty, but all the more thankful for their generous hospitality.  Chuck let me sleep on the bed since he got the one at the motel, and I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Home for a night, more than we could have hoped for

Day 3 - Willow Creek to Willits

Our preparations for rain turned out to be in vain, we only got wet while riding around on our scenic route the previous evening.  Jostled awake the next morning with a spiteful gurgle from Gonzalez, I was thankful that we were camped close to the pit toilets.

We had our coffee and broke camp at a leisurely pace.  It wasn't until we got back on the road that I grasped just how badly we'd messed up.  Not only had we been spit out back on 299, we were farther in the wrong direction on 299.  We had Arcata slotted as our next waypoint, and that meant we had to go back through Willow Creek.  We did not stop at Gonzalez.

Someone on the forums had stated that 299 wasn't a great motorcycle road.  I suppose that's because it had relatively steady traffic, a lot of it being logging trucks, but by and large it wasn't a bad ride.  There were enough turns to keep it interesting and some nice Northern California scenery along the way.  Much better than being on the interstate.

We made it into Arcata in about an hour and took the exit to the city center.  It was Saturday, and happened to be the day of a farmer's market.  Aracata's town center is set up kind of like a college quad, with a big square of grass in the middle of the downtown businesses.  We parked our bikes and ambled about, looking for something to eat.  The farmer's market was hopping, with all sorts of people milling about.  Most of them were pretty hippiefied, and a lot of them were quite attractive ladies.  That is, if you like hippie chicks (which I do).  We felt a bit greasy and scuzzy, but didn't feel like we were terribly out of place.  A good portion of the folks there looked like they spent a good amount of time living outdoors.  Off the grid.  Under the radar...if you know what I mean. Ahem.

We found a place that looked like it was halfway decent and wasn't overwhelmingly crowded, Luke's Joint.  It was a small cafe and we figured we'd just get some sort of breakfast grub.  The girl who was running the counter was friendly and brought us some menus and coffee.  As I looked over the menu, I couldn't help but notice that they had pulled pork barbecue as one of their specialties.  Not only did they have barbecue, but they also offered it in Carolina style.  Not the mustard based South Carolina style, or the tomato based Western North Carolina, but the vinegar based Eastern North Carolina style.  Now I grew up in North Carolina, and the vinegar style, in my opinion, is the best way to enjoy pulled pork.  Seattle, by and large has really good food, but one area where it's lacking is barbecue, and what there is, is not the style I crave.  So seeing that it was an option here, I really had no choice but to order it.  When I told Chuck that I had to order the barbecue, he confessed that he was thinking the same thing.

Mine was called "The Spicy Redneck"

I think this was the "Average Joe," Memphis style

We ended up being served half a pig each, on top of a piece of toast.  It was pretty damn grubbin'.  If I'm honest, it was no competitor to the real deal, but it was still delicious and it definitely hit the spot.

We left Arcata headed for Ferndale.  We got on Hwy 101 which took us through the middle of Eureka.  Eureka always sounds like a cool and exotic frontier town, but the part we saw didn't live up to it's implication.  It was dirty and industrial, and not altogether pleasant.  It didn't help that the sunshine we'd had in Arcata had disappeared and it got gray and downright chilly.  I actually turned my grip heaters on, and enjoyed it.

We made it into Ferndale in not much time and had been planning to get gas, but we didn't see any gas stations on our cruise through town.  What little we saw of Ferndale looked pretty cool though, lots of old Victorian architecture.  I'd been through the town once before many years ago and thought that it looked like a perfect postcard town, and still think that's an accurate assessment.  We were only passing through though, to connect to Mattole Rd., which would take us out to the coast.

We found the road easily enough, and it was immediately twisty and narrow.  Normally that would be enticing, but the condition of the road was deplorable.  Riding over it was like a Whitman's Sampler of asphalt, most of it past it's expiration date.  The scenery was great, from what we could glimpse, but it was only glimpses, as we had to keep our eyes focused on the road.

Taking a quick break on the ascent up Mattole Rd. 

A glimpse of Ferndale, or at least the valley it's nestled in

The ocean in the distance

Out of the hills and down to the coast

The road spit us out at what is the westernmost point in the contiguous US.  We passed by a few ranches along the way and pondered what it would be like to live on one of them.  Everything is so isolated out in this area, and moves at a slower pace.  Not necessarily a bad way to be.

That big rock outcropping designates the westernmost point

The road would lead us up into the hills again, into through the town of Petrolia.  Petrolia gets its name from having the first oil well in California, though today it's name is more applicable to the fact that it's the only place around for miles that has gas for sale.  There was a general store and a post office in Petrolia, and not much else.  We stopped briefly, wondering if we should get gas, but there was just one pump and people already lined up at it, so we decided to press on.  We had another 50-60 miles in our tanks, surely that would be enough, right?

The road continued to be twisty and in less than ideal condition.  Eventually though, the road flattened out and before we knew it, we were in the redwoods.

A cool bridge along the way

It would have been nice to get off and spend some more time in the grove, but we'd been riding for a while and gas was starting to become a concern.  In fact, it wasn't long in the shade of the redwoods that our gas lights came on.  Still, one of the things I wanted to make a point to see in California was redwoods, and these did not disappoint.  We have some beautiful forests in the Pacific Northwest, but the redwoods are a unique and incomparable beauty.   We at least made sure to ride slow through them.

We made it to the junction for Hwy 101, if we went straight we would have hit the Avenue of Giants.  We were getting concerned about the amount of gas we had though, so made the tough decision to get on the highway and stop at first gas station we could find.  We stopped at the first town along the way, Weott, and they had exactly nothin'.  With no other choice, we got back on the highway and tried to cruise in the most efficient manner possible.  Chuck's bike must be geared higher than mine, because 57 mph seemed to be the sweet spot in terms of efficiency for me.  Before long, Chuck was gone in the distance.  I stopped at the next town along the way, which was another bust for gas, and there was no sign of Chuck.  I figured he would be at the next gas station, wherever that may be, and if not, we'd reconnect somehow.

As luck would have it, the next town advertised gas as one of its services, and I took the exit.  I was glad to see a blue Yamaha parked by the side of the road and Chuck ambling out from underneath a tree.  I kept riding onward, chasing the scent of fumes.  We reached the town of Miranda, which had one gas station with two pumps.  Perfect.  We gassed up and took a break, trying to figure out where to go for the night.

I knew that Willits wasn't too far away, an hour or two, and there was a KOA.  Normally, neither of us would have anything to do with a KOA unless it was a last resort.  This one, however, had a disc golf course, so we figured it was at least worth taking a look at.

We made it into Willits with a short break in Laytonville.  We went to the Safeway and got some supplies for the evening and found out we were only a few miles away from the KOA.  We made our way out there, but started doubting our option as soon as we pulled into the parking lot.  The place was bustling.  Not only did they offer disc golf, but also a swimming pool, hot tub/sauna, mini golf, a waterpark, fishing pond, even a petting zoo.  It was probably a great destination for someone with kids an an RV, but it was not what we were after.  When we saw that they wanted $42 for a tent site, that was the nail in the coffin and we got the hell out of there.

We struck out on Hwy 20, not sure of what we might find, but kept our fingers crossed hoping that something would present itself.  Hwy 20 turned out to be one of the best stretches of road we'd ridden yet.  It was plenty curvy, with minimal traffic and nice smooth asphalt.  Chuck was taking it faster than I was, we were headed westward so the sun was getting into my eyes, and it was also the time when deer would start to come out.

About halfway to the coast, we abruptly saw a sign for a campground and we slammed on the brakes.  It was a small state park campground, only 6 or 7 sites, one of which was occupied.  Each site was huge, and it was in the redwoods next to a stream.  And it was only $15 per night.  Perfect.  We picked a site and set up camp.  Foraging for firewood was allowed here, and after a hunting trek across the road, we came back with a few stout dead redwood branches.

They might block out the stars, but I love being under the redwood canopy

There's a stream back there somewhere

We had hobo burritos for dinner, tri tip and salsa cooked in foil on the coals, mesquite baked beans and roasted peppers wrapped up in tortillas.  It was a little overcooked but grubbin' nonetheless.  We had a 6 pack of some strong Lagunitas ale and eventually went to bed around 11:30 or midnight.