Thanks for sharing.

It ain’t over till it’s over. More of the pieces are lined up so it’s time to give adventure travel another shot. True, it is late in the year. The plan, fly to San Jose, California where a 2003 Honda Nighthawk has been stored for the last four months. Get her out of moth balls. Try to recall what maintenance was done since and continue on from there. Tires were last changed on this newly acquired bike last spring. Since then, we’ve been on alternate morning rides around home, a day ride to Springfield, Ill., a ‘see what she can do’ to Gettysburg and a ‘stretch her legs’ cross country to California. We’ll need new tires.
Could find a shop somewhere along the way. Get goin’. Fix it, when it needs fixing. That would be time consuming and those odd sized Honda tires (had the same problem with the Shadow) are hard to come by. 17 and 18s might be found in stock Dunlops. That would mean some layover time and I would much rather go with longer lasting road tires like Bridgestone Battleaxes. That means ordering online pronto with two day delivery promised. Not thrilled with the prospect of carrying tires if not absolutely necessary. There is the option of ordering tires through a dealership and paying a premium. Arrive Friday, get the bike running and have tires mounted Saturday, piece of cake. Just find a place that can be ridden to, without having to deal with too much obscene traffic.
Riding a bike through big city expressways scares the bejeezus out of me. A town like Chicago is best attempted during early Sunday morning hours. The loonies, druggies and boozers are mostly tucked away, off the highway and out of my lane. At first light, you can best run the gauntlet with some semblance of safety. Approaching any downtown, I hug the express lane, do my best to match speed, find a ‘lead car’ which can be seen through to get a heads up and hope for traffic to eventually die down. You can get some tricky cities like Chi-town, where cars will merge from the left. Fortunately, you will not find that very often.
I pick the express lane for the obvious reasons that lane changers can only come at you from one side. In a quick stop situation, there is a left emergency lane to duck into. On the slow side, you have to contend with cagers who are approaching from the on ramp or other vehicles that just so happened to remember, at the last minute, this was their exit.
We have all had our moments. I recall being pushed out of my lane in Cusco because I just happened to be only a bike while he had ‘might is right of way’ in a car. There was the surreal experience in Minneapolis, St. Paul remembering to move over into the left lane, missing the lost rolling tire that happened to fall out of a pickup truck bed. My worst nightmare was traveling east through Kansas City where seven lanes merge into three choices. Pick one, pick it fast and whatever you do, don’t hesitate. What the hell!
The check in bag weighed in at 20kg. Felt more like 40. Upon arrival in San Jose, the bag was examined by security. Perhaps motorcycle chains are suspect?

Right on cue; it’s almost an hour before sun up. Here in Fremont the roosters are cockle doodle dooing. With their ultra-red sensitive capability, these urban birds get a head start on the new day. Kind of a rural feel to it for metropolitan Fremont, California, but who am I to say? Charming, but then again I'm an early riser two hours ahead. Sunday morning and true to form, it's time to take another stab at this trip. This abbreviated week-end has put the 'really gonna do it' into it.

It has been great catching up with son and his wife over the last couple of days. We did not have that much to do, but it seems there was always something that needed to be done. I am grateful for this occasion for the face to face time with them.

Traffic towards San Jose from here is what one might expect on a week day. True to form, this is Sunday morning. What better time than today to head out?
Google Maps states that it takes 3 hrs. & 48 minutes to get to my arbitrary day's destination of Bakersfield. Why Bakersfield? It's off the coast with more economical plentiful lodging along the coast. For those who follow economical motel lodging, I’ve found a 30% discount in pricing since having visited last summer. Off season discount? My direction is south, but cannot imagine being in this area without experiencing the scenic beauty of Route 1. It has been many years since I last drove this national treasure. Now it's time to ride it with the ocean on my right, albeit into the sun. That’s why they created sunglasses.

The course describes my mind set for this trip. I could ride directly to Bakersfield and beyond. See how far I could make it in a fresh first day. But then there would be all of the sights and twisty roads missed along the way.

The moment is perfect. A morning’s worth of motorcycle road miles south has left the bike and myself at a secluded vista off of Route 1. This is the break we need from a morning’s worth of flushing out our intakes with ocean air. Don’t know what time it is, but it’s ideal for breakfast/lunch in somebody’s time zone. My first meal of the day consists of Fremont Chinese leftovers. The reusable plastic container is filled with a combination of Chicken chow mein, mushu pork, and broccoli beef. There must have been a sale on the broccoli ‘cause there isn’t much beef. Plastic water canteen off to the side is my beverage of choice. This is pretty cool. I get to stand overlooking a tremendous view. The crashing surf, the salt air, a waft of eucalyptus, and the savoring of yesterday’s meal, all without the sit down wait time. The chain gets lubed and I get to shed the cold weather riding suit.

Good thing, I prepared for the cold with morning frost on the rear view mirrors. That First Gear riding suit will take me through the morning cold, act as a rain suit and in an emergency be my sleeping bag. Hondas are cold blooded and take forever to warm up. That worked out well as that 20 kg of checked luggage required a bag bigger than the one used last trip. The North Face could not only be tied down, there was enough room for me to squeeze in, and to act as a back rest.


The ride south was uneventful but fun, riding sandwiched between the San Lucia Mountain Range and the Pacific Ocean. The easy going twisty curves in very light traffic were just what was needed to break in new tires. We’d get the occasional passing biker wave or heads up from someone in a car. Illinois plates have to be rare in California this time of year.


Any stop is an occasion for someone to notice the bike and start a conversation. At one vista view point I met up with Aaron from Hawaii. Stranded temporarily on the mainland, he lamented the fact that he cannot ride his 2002 Yamaha V-twin Warrior. At a stop for gas there was the Shell attendant, David. He offered me a newer V-Strom for $10. Smiling, he jokingly mentioned that the bike belonged to the guy ahead. He introduced me to his female Staff. and her two pups. What a nice dog. Riding, bikers, bikes and dogs, life is good.

Traveling on just past the elephant seals basking in the sun like so many washed up torpedoes, there are signs for the Hearst Castle. Check the sun, there’s at least four plus daylight hours left in the day. Go for it. The state park tour was moderately priced, included a movie, and started in 25minutes. Hell yes. The bus trip up to the castle helped build the anticipation. One could imagine how past celebrities drove up the hills passing by herds of cattle interspersed with buffalo, goats, deer and zebras. The place is magnificent. Think of yourself on the movie set of Citizen Kane. Walk through the grand halls and grounds. Now press the palm of your hand up to keep your jaw from dropping.

There is a Motel 6 nearby and I have a reservation. Attend to the bike, shower, laundry in the sink and a well-deserved meal concludes the day.

David's Puppy


Eating an egg salad croissant in an empty Albertson’s grocery store parking lot, helps put things into perspective. The sandwich slides down a little fast, my stomach does not complain. The sheep skin seat of my bike is littered with plastic. There is the venerable lunch box, an assortment of fruits for later and a gallon jug of water to be transferred. I do not know what goes where with California’s recycling regulations. The litter is placed in a shopping cart. I eat in peace. Having just crossed the mist covered Lucia mountain range, this is a well-deserved break from riding.
You pay a small price for the beauty of the Pacific Ocean coastline. Wireless, internet and texting are poor. Few service workers can afford to live in this expensive area, others must commute. There aren’t any grocery stores. A small bottle of water runs between $2.50 and 3.79. With the exception of the Hearst Ranch, water is polluted with fertilizer run off. Have decided to put on faster miles between me and my origin. Reminder to self, not to cross mountain ranges in the early morning hours. Schedule for midday when the fog lifts and it’s a lot warmer. Traffic is minimal, cars oncoming, people off to work.
The day’s route takes me from winding coast road 1 to the straight shot east on Hwy. 46. The tradeoffs are fertilizer smells for salt air - oil derricks & grape vines for coastline. The derricks are packed so close together, it appears as if they are competing with one another. The road has its claim to fame. I slow down at the marker of James Dean’s memorial. The last place he stopped before a crash ended his life. I drive on.
Los Angeles would not be the same without at least one expressway wrong turn off. I am taken towards Santa Monica but quickly adjust and get turned around. I grew up in this area as a kid. What happened to the place? Too many cars, too many people. Thank goodness it is off peak hours. My foot goes down for a quick stretch only a few times during the ordeal. The carpool lanes help when available. I do not attempt lane splitting when they are not.
With the memory of the egg salad long past, I can avoid Mc Donald’s and opt instead for the rest of the fruit and some carried along nuts. Gas up, check in at home, head out. Later, at another stop, a Del Taco calls to me. I am pleasantly surprised at the pollo asado bowl: seasoned grilled chicken, an avocado slice, salsa, on top of rice and beans. Not bad for this first visit attempt at fast food healthy.
Have managed to keep mistakes to a minimum. Cannot believe that with all of the packing and unpacking, I managed to bring the wrong camera battery charger. A short ride from the Motel 6, comes Walmart to the rescue. Not only do they have a similar model of camera, but it is on its last discounted price. Do I want it for $25.00? Oh Yeah! An SD card, sandwich, blueberries and a Caesar Salad accompany me to check out.
The bike is holding up well. She burns a little oil when pushed over 5,000 rpm. Better than I am. The tradeoff for the purring straight four cylinders is its ergonomic nightmare. With the DR, I can ride all day in comfort. That bike vibrates, feels like an egg beater but I can stand straight at the end of the day. The Nighthawk purrs as the engine revs, but having the seat professionally reworked, adding a gel seat pag, floor tile pad, sponges and a sheep skin cover do little to help the discomfort. My lower back cramps up as the day progresses. Mindful of posture, back straight, chest out makes no difference. I made it here. I’ll make it back. Will remove the gel pad to lower the seat. See what happens.

Hearst Castle View

Interstate miles are tough. You drive, this is not riding. Sure you make time. Your travel map icon moves along further & faster. The truth is that I’m too engaged with the vehicles around me. The meditative monotone of the ‘open road’ is clouded by car and trucks that pass you by or you’re maneuvering around those that can’t. I’ve had enough. With a full tank, we veer off of Interstate 10 and take route 113. There is a stop sign at the top of the overpass, but little else. This is more of a ranching access road than a proper exit. Two lanes of asphalt take me south. Both sides are fenced with the occasional ranch entrance. The occasional hawk flies overhead or sits on a fence post. There is no road shoulder. Next gas is about 150 miles. I have the road to myself; I’m riding again.
It’s kind of cold to the extent that shedding the winter riding suit is out of the question. Continuing eastward, the sky is filled with clouds. The sun gets in an occasional wink. The wind makes it challenging at times. I pass Patagonia, Arizona and stop for roadside walnuts.
113 stops at route 9 which also happens to parallel Mexico. The town of Hachita, N.M. with a population of 49 marks this intersection. There are homes in the distance. The food mart/gas station is boarded up. A trailer behind displays a for sale sign, a harbinger? I get off, stretch and break out yesterday’s ABC leftovers. Most of the vehicles that stop at the intersection are Border Patrol. Further heading west, I pass stationed border patrol SUVs interspersed every few miles. Sometimes they are situated on top of a rise, parked near a tower sensor or pulling a trailer for horses or ATVs. Oncoming 3 wheel ATVs return my biker wave. The road has the occasional curve to keep things interesting and even dips to remind me why I got off of I 10.
El Paso is a big town with at least seven, Motel 6s. A quick exit takes me right to a motorcycle repair shop. The manager, in short shorts quickly appears. She is helpful. I end up with an extra can of chain lube and have the clutch handle readjusted. The mechanic does not charge me for the two bolt loosening, realignment and retightening. I am advised against this Motel 6 and continue on for a few more exits. Yes, there is a single non-smoking room available. No, due to construction there is no Wi-Fi. They can’t all be winners.

It was colder today, though thankfully not as cold as the storms brewing up north. During a fuel stop break to warm up, I saw ice on my seat. Water had leaked from my canteen. Could not remove the ice from the sheep skin. Late in the day, I did cross paths with another solo biker coming the opposite way. In the brief moment, he appeared to be on a Harley. Dressed to the max in leathers, he looked like a buffalo on two wheels with all of the layers he was wearing. I probably appeared as a synthetic version of the same. Biker waves not to be missed.

It was windy too. Dapple has responded to most everything I’ve asked of her. Today at full throttle, riding into the wind, she could barely reach 60 at some points. Gas mileage has been cut by more than half to 23 mpg. More stops are an excuse to go inside and warm up. Sometimes you just had to, because the credit card slot was frozen. The riding suit with a down under sweater has worked well. In restrooms, I’d open up my suit, and head for the hand blower. Shove the suit panel underneath and flush out the cold air. Did the same for gloves, shoes and socks. I’m glad to have opted out of electric hand grips. Don’t need them for this bike. With a squat, low to the ground little burro like Dapple, you can easily warm your fingers. Lean down a little, the engine top end provides warmth. Your right hand will require the aid of cruise control. Valve covers are right there. How’s that for Honda engineering?

We pass Hancock, Texas. That's where Andy Dufresne and later Red crossed into Mexico. Sorry, no postcard. Today’s destination is the border town of Del Rio. Then it’s a straight shot to Saltillo, Mexico. Dapple will get her first taste of roja gasoline.

Every cashier at each stop wishes me a safe journey. Warming up at a fuel stop, I am pleasantly introduced to Texas politeness. A man calls out, ‘how ya doin’ brutha?” A man my age, wearing a cowboy hat passes saying, “you’re a lot braver than I am!” Midwest translation: Boy, are you ever crazy.