Day 13 - Truckee to Wolf Creek

It rained off and on throughout the night, but I was nice and dry inside my tent, aside from the beer I knocked over.  Unlike most campsites, where you put your money in an envelope and drop it in a box, this one instructed me to pay the host when they came around.  Nobody had come by the tent during the evening, and I sure didn't feel like making a fuss about the oversight, so I got up early.  I wasn't rushing to get out of there, but I wasn't lackadaisical either. I had my coffee and tried to catch rays of sunshine where I could.

Trying to dry out in the morning (I didn't get a chance to take a picture the night before.)

I got everything packed up, and literally as I was just about to cinch down one of my bags, I see a suspiciously brown pickup truck driving slowly through the campground.  Balls.  He stopped by a couple sites along the way, and then stopped by mine.  He was an older white guy (surprise, surprise) and he walked over and said hi.  He asked me about my bike and where I was headed.  Then he asked me how I liked the stay.  I didn't know what to say, so I just tried to be polite.

"Oh, it was all right, you know, I just hung out in my tent and caught up on..."

"Bahhh, it sucked." he said succintly. "How about I don't charge you for last night, and you just do me a favor and stay here if you ever come through way again."  Sounded like a deal.  I told him as much and thanked him.  I wish I could recall the name of the campground, but I can't even definitively find it on Google Maps. It's somewhere between Tahoe and Truckee, is all I know.

Maybe it's sacrilegious to say so, but as I get towards the end of a roadtrip, I start to really pine for home.  I see where others will stretch their trips out to the absolute limits, but I personally get enamored with the thought of my bed and shower at my disposal.  Particularly with a return to work looming in the near future.

I was a bit dismayed at the amount of progress I'd made the day before, with all the relentless twisties.  I opted for Route 89, which turned out to be a great choice.  It wasn't a major interstate, but it was fast moving and had plenty of turns and scenery.  It was cool out, and I felt like I was just in front of rain for most of the time.  I hit a few sprinkles along the way, but nothing to fret over.

High plains drifter...

I was getting great gas mileage at elevation, 51 and change compared to my normal average of about 45 mpg.  Doesn't sound like that much of a difference, but it was definitely noticeable over the range of a tank.

An unplanned bonus of the route was that it led through Lassen Volcanic National Park.  I only knew the park by name, but was certainly game to ride through it.  I didn't realize it would cost me money to take the road through Lassen, but the $5 motorcycle fee was well worth it.  I realized that each of my motorcycle trips in the past had involved national parks, Crater Lake my first trip, and Glacier my second.  The national parks are one thing that our country has done right.  Sure, people will complain that they could be run better, but the fact that they exist in the first place is something to celebrate.  I made a snap decision to involve a national park in each future trip if I could help it.  And also to check out the Ken Burns series when I got a chance.

Lassen was reminiscent of Crater Lake for me, but it seemed like it was older, geologically speaking.  The scenery was beautiful and the park, while not empty, wasn't crowded, nothing like Crater Lake and Glacier. The road had been freshly chip sealed, and there were lots of oily patches.  I tried to snap pictures as I could along the way while still keeping an eye on the road.

I liked these knobby spires left by erosion.

Tried to capture how epic this road would be if traffic and speed limits weren't factors

Lassen Peak

Chaos Crags?

As is the case with all National Parks, I really wish I'd spent more time to hike around and explore, but the ride through was nice nonetheless.  I was pretty hungry by the time I left though, so decided to stop in Burney for lunch.  It was a little bit out of the way, but it looked like it'd be the only opportunity for food for a while.

The road got far less interesting outside of Lassen. And rain hung in the air ominously.

Burney was depressingly depressed.  There weren't many choices for restaurants in the town, a McDonald's being the sole fast food joint, and one of the only businesses that looked prosperous.  I briefly considered stopping there, but decided instead to check out a pizza place.  But, as luck would have it, the pizza place was out of business, so I decided on the neighboring greasy spoon diner.  All of the staff and patrons looked like they had been runner ups for the Jerry Springer Show, but the burger wasn't bad, I'll give them that.

I backtracked to 89, and followed it into Mt. Shasta, and past the eponymous mountain.  Mt. Shasta did indeed look like Mt. Rainier's sibling.  Before I knew it I was connecting with I-5.  This was officially the farthest south I'd been on I-5.  I've heard horror stories, or more accurately, boredom stories of the southern parts of I-5, where the only positive thing people have to say about it is that you can drive fast.  Fortunately, this area and north still proved to be interesting, even for interstate travel.

I somehow managed to miss taking a picture of Mt. Shasta, but got a picture of nearby Black Butte.

I stopped in Weed to get gas, and mainly say that I'd been to Weed.  I wanted to take advantage of California's cheap, free market liquor while I had the chance.  Washington recently shut the doors on the state liquor stores and allowed hard alcohol to be sold in grocery stores, but at an exorbitant tax rate.  Liquor in California can be literally half the price of what you'd find in Washington, so I wanted to pick up a bottle or two of good whiskey while I had the chance.  It turned out I'd taken the wrong exit, and found gas stations and little else.  I considered stopping in Yreka down the road, but saw billboards for Liquor Expo, which proclaimed itself to be "Worth the Stop."  Well, can't argue with that slogan.

I found Liquor Expo easily enough.  In the parking lot I saw an attractive young lady wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, and I was reminded of how lonely and caveman one can get on a motorcycle trip.  The place was indeed worth the stop.  It was like Beverages and More, but without the corporate overtone.  I picked up a bottle of Bulleit Rye for $19--it's apparently considered "cheap" whiskey in these parts, but it's upper-middle shelf in Washington (at least by my standards).  I also picked up a bottle of Eagle Rare, I'd never heard of it, but one of the employees recommended it to me, and it was competitive with Knob Creek.

From there, I pretty much just ticked away miles as I headed into Oregon.  I stopped in Grants Pass to get bearings and realized that I'd already overshot one campground I had considered.  Looking at the map, I wasn't sure what the next opportunity would be, but I saw a couple places that were contenders, and figured that if all else failed, I'd get a motel in Eugene.

The hills of southern Orygun

I saw that there was a park in Wolf Creek on the map, so I decided to give it a look see.  When I pulled off the highway, I saw signs for the historic Wolf Creek Inn, but followed the less prominent signs to Wolf Creek Park.  I pulled into the park and looked at the kiosk, and yes, they had camping.  Score.  Not only that, but they also had a 9 hole disc golf course.  Double score.

The campground turned out to be pretty cool, it was obviously built in the '70s and though had been well maintained, had not been renovated.  Everything had a distinctly retro feel and I dug it.  I would have felt at home in short shorts and tall socks.

I rode around the campground more than I meant to.  I was incredibly indecisive about which site to pick, and in scouting out spaces, I found myself on a dead end path and did some inadvertent dual sporting through the woods to get back on track.  I finally settled on a relatively private site by the creek.  The creek was mostly dry, but there was a bit of water in pools, and I figured it'd do a little something to cool off my beers.  I wasn't sure about the water, so I made sure to prop them up with the necks out of the water.

While I was dropping off the envelope, the camp host came out to chat with me.  He was friendly, and seemed glad to have someone stopping by.  He told me that I'd just missed a big biker rally the weekend before.  They'd set up a stage and everything, and had wet t-shirt and booty shaking contests.  And of course lots of beer.  I wasn't sure if I was glad that I'd missed it or not.

The host told me to enjoy my stay and just asked that I keep an eye on my fire if I decided to have one.  I scrounged some deadfall and chopped up the wood as it got dark out.  My desire for a secluded spot turned out not to matter, as I was the only one in the campground.  I worked on finishing my beer (trying hard not to think about the composition of the creek after a biker rally), and had a pleasant, but somber evening by the fire.  This would be my last night camping.  I was ready to head back to the comforts of home, but I also didn't relish the trip coming to an end.

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.

Day 11 Santa Barbara to San Jose

I got up fairly early the next morning and got packed.  I felt kind of bad leaving so early from Brian's, but I definitely felt like I was cramping his style being in such a small space and all.  Still, even though it was a brief stay, we had some good chats over coffee.  I told him he's welcome to come up to Seattle any time, hopefully he takes me up on it one day.

I got on the road around 8:30, and headed north.  Since everyone had recommended the Big Sur stretch of Hwy. 1 as the must see road, I decided I'd head up and check it out.  I contemplated riding past Gaviota for the sake of taking a different route, but decided I didn't really need to see an oil refinery, so took 154 back over the pass.

Saw some cool cars on 101, presumably headed towards Monterey

By the time I made it to Santa Maria, my butt was pretty sore, so I stopped off at a Starbucks for some coffee and a bagel.  I guy with functional cerebral palsy was impressed by my tablet and bluetooth keyboard setup.  The waitress was not impressed with his advances.  I got the feeling it wasn't his first visit there.

After my coffee and a little journaling, I got back on the road and hit the intersection with 1 at San Luis Obispo.  The morning hadn't been all that warm, but the temperature dropped the closer I got to the coast.  The marine layer was in full effect, and there wasn't much to be had for scenery.  I knew that Hearst Castle was nearby, and considered stopping off there to go on a tour and maybe let the fog burn off a bit.

I don't typically seek out big tourist destinations, but I do enjoy historical architecture, especially where money wasn't a concern.  I'd briefly researched it before heading up there, tickets were $25, and they strongly recommended getting reservations.  I figured I'd play it by ear and check it out if I felt like it while in the area.  I was getting pretty chilled by the time I saw the signs for Hearst Castle, so I decided I'd stop in.

The parking lot turned out to be much bigger than I anticipated, and it was packed.  It was like a mall a few days before Christmas.  I would really have liked to take a tour, but not in crowds and chaos like that.  I circled around and found an empty overflow parking lot to stop and layer up in.

A small glimpse through the trees at fields of metal

There's hints of blue sky out there, c'mon!

 After I put on my layer, I hopped back on Hwy. 1 and hoped for the best.  Unfortunately, the cards weren't in my favor to see Big Sur in all it's majesty.  I had glimpses of what I knew would be scenic in clear skies, but I just couldn't see much of it.  And of course, traffic was slow.  A lot of drivers were considerate about using turnouts to let faster traffic by, but all it takes is one inconsiderate RV to hold up a line of cars for miles.  There was also construction, which helped in taking a few pictures along the way.

I just know it's beautiful out there.

There was some actual clearness here

The sun came out in sections, but it was still cool out.  I wanted to pull over and stretch but only if I could do it in a sunny spot.  As luck would have it, none of the pull offs happened to be in the sun, and before I knew it I hit the turn off for Salinas.

I'd seen lots of exotic and collectible cars coming in the other direction, and I think a lot of them were coming out of Laguna Seca.  The road to Salinas leads right to the track, so I stopped by on my way through.  I'd love to see the track in person and just take in the venue, seemed like a good place to take a break.  Looking at the schedule now in retrospect, I see it was the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Weekend, a race where vintage cars could open it up for the weekend, and it was no joke.  They had guys checking tickets at the entrance, I asked if I could just take a cruise around the parking lot to take it in, but was flatly denied.  So, had to do the u-turn of shame and head back down the hill, behind a smoky old Aston Martin.  I got to follow him most of the way into Salinas, where I stopped off for gas and a stretch.

I looked at the map and saw that Hwy. 130, aka Observatory Rd., was in striking distance.  I'd seen it on the map before, and last time I was in the Bay Area I had seen the observatory up in the hills and thought about how it would be cool to go up there one day.  So, I struck out in that direction.

I hit a bunch of traffic coming into San Jose, and had to sack up and split the lanes.  This time, I was flying solo and was extra paranoid--especially with a significant portion of the traffic returning home from the race.  At one point I let a pack of squids through.  I had been going around 35 mph and they were probably doing about 65.  They gave me courtesy waves as they rolled through, and I followed along in their slipstream until I got to the exit I was looking for.

I inadvertently ended up going right by the disc golf course in San Jose, and got disoriented.  I had to pull over and check for directions, but even after getting oriented, I had difficulty finding the way--I'm not entirely sure Google was accurate about what roads were actually usable.  Eventually though, I found Quimby road, which was a cutoff road leading to Observatory Rd. There were signs warning against taking trailers past a certain point, so I figured it must be the right way.

Quimby was indeed tight and twisty.  The road was in decent condition, but you really had to maintain focus, it was narrow with steep drop offs.  At one point I came to a steep, tight hairpin, a 1st gear turn.  As I was setting up my line, I saw that the pavement was discolored, and it looked like there had been a head on collision there in the recent past.  The entire road was covered in oil, and I had a real clencher of a moment with my bars almost turned to the lock, trying to maintain momentum while keeping my bike upright, and feeling the whole thing sliding to the side.  I made it through OK, but my heart was definitely pumping after the fact.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do for lodging that evening.  I saw a couple parks on Google maps, but couldn't tell if they offered camping.  If I had to, I would just ride until I found an opportunity, but it had been a long day, and I didn't feel like tackling all of Observatory Rd. if I didn't have to.  When I came to Observatory Rd. from Quimby, I passed a county park within a mile.  It was one of the ones I'd spotted on the map.  I pulled in to see if camping was available--it was.  Score!

It wasn't the cheapest, $24 for a site, and $7 for firewood (no gathering allowed), but it was the right place at the right time.  The campground had huge sites and all of them were empty, save for the camp host.  I picked out what I deemed to be the best one and set up camp.

If you squint, you can see the observatory on top of the hill.

Here, I'll squint for you.

I was a short walk from the bathrooms, which included a free shower.  I quickly took advantage of it, and predictably, it felt great.  Unfortunately, in all my meandering to try to find my way to Observatory Rd., I hadn't passed by any grocery stores, and I didn't have anything besides crackers on me.  I'd only had that bagel at Starbucks earlier, but strangely I wasn't all that hungry.  I spent the evening next to my $7 fire, catching up on journaling and finishing off the last couple fingers of Bulleit.

May as well take a selfie.

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.