Day 12 - San Jose to Truckee

I woke up early the next morning, eager to put some miles under me.  I didn't really have any destination in mind, just to head generally northward and closer to home.  I'd briefly debated skipping the rest of Observatory Rd., the oil slick incident the day before had shaken me a bit, and through all the switchbacks ahead, I didn't really want to have that experience again.  But having slept under the specter of the white dome all night, I knew I couldn't very well turn away from it now.

I got packed up and went to use the bathroom and brush my teeth, and encountered a hairy, bandy legged tarantula hanging out in the middle of the bathroom floor.  It didn't make any movements, but I didn't try to provoke it either.  I generally like spiders, but I'd never seen an actual tarantula out in the wild before, and I wasn't eager to see it scurry around the bathroom.  I let it be and it replied in kind.  Whew.

That excitement averted, I finished packing up and headed back out on the road towards the observatory.  The road turned out to be not as treacherous as I feared, none of the hairpins were as tight as the one the day before, and all were oil free.  The road was twisty as hell though, I imagine someone on an unladen sportbike with knowledge of the road could have a lot of fun on it.  As it was, being unfamiliar with the road and on my heavy adventure bike, I took it easy for the most part.  It seemed sensible with steep dropoffs along the way, and some hard to see gravel scattered here and there.

I made it to the top of the mountain, to Lick Observatory and was surprised to discover that it wasn't just one telescope, but rather a collection of them--maybe half a dozen or so.  I was slightly dismayed that all of the telescopes were gated off and not accessible to the public, at least not from what I could tell.  Still I managed to get one in frame for a conquest pic.

I think this is looking back towards Silicon Valley

And the other side of the mountain

I tried to capture a cool section of road here, but it didn't really turn out. Trust me, it was a sweet stretch of asphalt.

I made my way down the other side of the mountains through roads just as twisty as the way up.  Surrounded by gorgeous scenery, and hardly any evidence of civilization besides the road and some ranches, it was quite the pastoral ride.  Eventually I came to an intersection that either led east to I-5, or north to Livermore.  I wasn't eager to go on the highway, and I'd at least heard of Livermore, so struck out north eager to find something to eat.

Shortly after making my decision, I passed a sign saying that the road was twisty for 31 miles.  Great.  Normally, that's precisely what a motorcyclist wants to see, but it had taken me an hour, hour and a half to make it to that point so far, and I guess it had been about 25 miles.  Remember that I was running on the one bagel from yesterday morning, so more slow going wasn't exactly my desired route.  As it turned out though, the road was quite pleasant, twisty, but mostly flat, following the contours of a stream.  The road itself was interesting, essentially becoming a one lane highway, but in lieu of a painted center line, it had a ridge down the middle, which made picking your lines that much more technical.  Eventually the road ended at a T intersection, and I believe I had encountered all of 6 cars since I departed the campground--1 of which was sitting in a driveway.

The intersection didn't have much for signage, and I couldn't get a good feeling for which way civilization lay, so I gambled and turned right.  And quickly I was reminded why I'm not a gambler.  After seeing decreasing evidence of civilization, I stopped to consult Google maps, and saw that I had indeed turned the wrong way.  But, if I continued on the road, I would intersect with Tracy, another town I'd heard of.

So, I forged onward, soon seeing a sign indicating twisty roads for another 12 miles.  Great.  Soon enough though, I came into Tracy.  I had obviously come in the back way, as there was definitely civilization, but this was the agricultural and industrial part of town.  I rode around, trying to find a place to eat.  For once, I wasn't in the mood for Mexican food.  I had a hell of a time finding any restaurants--houses and fields, there were plenty of those, and an occasional supermarket and gas station, but no real restaurants.  Then when I did start spotting them, they were all Mexican.  Every. Single. One.

After more searching, I found Tracy's miracle mile, still mostly Mexican food, but a little more variety.  Tracy was HOT, probably pushing triple digits, and I was hungry.  The heat, the hunger, the incessant stoplights, and general environment of Tracy was making me irritable.  There was a place called Freebirds, a burrito place.  Even though I'd been trying to avoid Mexican, I'd had enough of riding around, and decided it was good enough.  Besides, there was a landmark burrito place in Santa Barbara called Freebirds, and I was curious to see if this was a new branch of it.

It was not, upon closer inspection I noticed that it was actually called "Freeb!rds".  Nice tiptoe around copyright infringement.  The place wasn't bad though, it was essentially like a Chipotle or Qdoba, but with a more "America, Fuck Yeah!" vibe to it.  The girl helping me (wearing red and white striped pants) seemed to like me, and walked me through the ordering process.  She asked what kind of bike I had, and I told her it was a Triumph Tiger, an adventure touring bike.  To which she replied "Oh, my friend has basically the exact same thing, but it's a Harley."  Riiiiiiiiiight. The burrito wasn't anything noteworthy, but it hit the spot, even if it was overpriced.  I'm slightly chagrined to admit that I found their BBQ sauce to be quite delicious though.

While having my burrito, I decided that Tahoe seemed like a worthy destination for the day.  I considered getting there through Auburn, Chuck's old hometown, but the only real way to get there was via Hwy. 80, which was a little to major for my tastes.  Hwy. 88 though, looked promising, and there were some smaller roads I could use to connect to it.

Seemed like a plan, and though I'd gulped down plenty of water at Freeb!rds, I felt like all of it sweated out of me as soon as I stepped back outside.  Even with a full stomach, the heat, the slow traffic, and the seemingly endless chain of red lights were making me irritable.  Soon enough though, I was out of Tracy (probably to never return), and on myway.  The secondary roads to lead to 88 started off as being aggravating as well.  Better than the stop and go of Tracy, but it was just as hot, and I inevitably found myself stuck behind slow moving agricultural equipment.

Eventually, I made it past the orchards and vineyards, and was able to up the pace.  Once again, I found myself riding through lots of twisties.  I kept my eye out for any signs for 88, but didn't see any, and just kept forging onward, twisties be damned.

Finally, I came to a crossroads that indicated 88 was nearby.  Feeling hot, tired, sore, and dehydrated, I stopped at a convenience store to guzzle some Gatorade and get my bearings.  Looking at the map, I'd missed a couple opportunities to connect with 88 and had taken "the scenic route."  Oh well, 88 wasn't far away at this point, and it would be pretty straightforward to reach Tahoe from there.

I had to endure more twisties until I spit out on 88.  88 turned out to be plenty curvy, but they were more high speed sweepers.  I could finally open the throttle up and keep it there.  Twisties be damned, curvies were what I needed at this point in my trip.  It helped that most of the traffic I encountered was polite and pulled to the side to let me by.

By the time I reached the turnoff for Tahoe, I was getting pretty sore and tired.  I told myself I could make it to Tahoe though, and would stop when I saw a grocery store.  Most of the stores I passed though were little rinky dink general stores or gas stations.  I finally made it to the more populated area, and found a Raley's--basically a big nice grocery store like a QFC or Kroger.  I picked up a big sandwich from the deli, a couple apples, some beer, and a few souvenirs.

Looking at the map, it seemed like there would be plenty of camping opportunities along the way, so I gassed up and just planned on pushing along until I didn't feel like going any farther.  The main road more or less followed the curves of the lake, and it was slow moving with all the activity in the area.

Emerald Bay

Fannette Island, the only island in Lake Tahoe

When I stopped to take the pictures above, there was an older guy with an old Kawasaki Voyager in the parking lot.  He looked to be having some issues with his bike, so I stopped to see if I could help.  He asked if I knew anything about carbs--I told him I knew a little bit about them, but not much.  He explained that he thought he'd missed an o-ring or something when rebuilding his carbs, and showed me an exploded diagram on his phone.  It was apparent that he knew way more about carbs than I, and I could only nod in agreement.  His bike was steadily dripping gas, but he said it still ran OK, he was more worried about it catching fire.  I wish that I could have been of more assistance to him, but really, there wasn't much I could do other than lend moral support.  We were headed in opposite directions, and he was ready to pull into camp and figure out what to do next.  He thanked me for stopping by, nonetheless, and we wished each other good journeys and I headed out.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, and I was getting tired, so I started looking for campsites in earnest.  Most of the campgrounds were right by the main road, and looked to be pretty crowded, with families, no less.  I saw a sign for a campground that looked off the beaten path, so I turned off looking for it.  I followed an empty road that wound its way up a hill and got progressively narrower.  However, I wasn't seeing any signs for campgrounds, not since the initial turn off from the main road.  Eventually the pavement ended, and I didn't know what lay beyond.  I could have probably hunted down a stealth site, but I didn't know how often the roads were patrolled, or what the fire regulations were like.  So, I turned around and headed back down the hill.  It was a bit of wasted time, but on the plus side, it was a really scenic diversion.

Hard as my cheap camera tried, it couldn't quite capture just how green this corridor was

Once I got back down to the main road, I saw that the campground had been immediately on my right after turning in.  The campground was mostly full, and they were walk-in sites.  Thpppt.  Back on the main road I went.

The sun was getting lower in the sky and I was starting to feel a little more desperate to find a place to camp for the night.  I saw there was a state park outside of Truckee, and I didn't know if they had camping, but I decided to try for that, as it looked like it would be the best bet.  As I was speeding along the road to get there before it got too late, I happened to pass a small campground on the side of the road.  I hit the brakes and pulled in, with nothing to lose.

The campground was mostly empty and the sites looked nice enough.  I scouted them out (almost dumping my bike while trying to turn around in some soft sand) and picked one.  I parked, stretched my legs, and went to find a bush to relieve myself.  Not five minutes after parking, I felt a drop hit me (from the sky, not from below, just to clarify).  The clouds had been rolling in, and they looked ominous, but the forecast hadn't called for rain, so I'd been keeping my fingers crossed.  Being no stranger to rain clouds though, I realized my optimism was misplaced.

I hurried back to my bike and unpacked my essentials post haste.  I'd always put my tent up at an unhurried pace before, but time was of the essence this evening.  I got the tent pitched, feeling the frequency of drops steadily increasing.  I'd just gotten the rain fly situated and my gear situated when the skies really opened up and dumped hard.  I sequestered myself in my tent for the rest of the evening, listening to the rain outside, eating half of my sandwich, sipping a couple beers, and catching up in my journal.  It wasn't as nice as sitting by a fire, but it wasn't such a bad way to spend an evening.