If there is a God of Adventure bikers, he is probably laughing his a$$ off right now. Must be related to Loki or Pan by the nasty mischievous streak that shows up when you least expect it. This God probably has an incestuous relationship with Lady Luck. It was last Thursday when my DR 650 was all packed up and ready to go south. Four years of previous trips had evolved to this point. This one was to be the furthest longest adventure ride to date. True, it is late in the season, but with loose ends to be tied up there was no getting around that.
Who of us hasn’t been inspired by the exploits of fellow road warriors? I couldn’t imagine how tough it can be, until I found myself totally exhausted trying to simply unload my bike in the dark, in a Troy, Illinois Motel 6 parking lot, 290 miles from home. It was only the first day! I had broken my first cardinal rule of never riding through Chicago on a weekday. Early Sunday mornings has always been departure time. Now I had to wait for traffic to die down. With a winter storm system approaching from the Rockies, it was already pretty late in the season to be leaving from the upper Midwest. My goal for the day was to reach the opposite side of St. Louis. Having ridden Route 66 four years earlier, I was looking forward to the fried chicken in Sullivan, Missouri. My first real meal of the day would be a feast, I kept repeating to myself. Five hours into the ride, I would have been satisfied with just crossing the Mississippi River.
The medium sized North Face duffle was to be the largest bag I have ever packed for a trip. Previously, a smaller old canvas bag has worked well. I was taking along a mosquito net, sleeping bag, collapsible camp chair, more tools and more stuff for the intended extended trip. I tried to keep to my self-imposed rule of carrying the majority of personal luggage into a motel room in one trip. Makes sense from a security stand point when traveling solo. Not so much when most tired at the end of a riding day. I slid the bag off of the rear rack and almost fell over on top of it.
What made six hours of interstate riding so difficult? It was nothing short of the wind. A ride that has taken me just over four hours, ended up taking six. I have ridden in worse winds through “Grant’s Pass in New Mexico and longer across Minnesota but never so bad, for so long as to be passed by trucks with trailers. Wobbling through the motel foyer doors, my mind and body crashed once I got into the room. That was one long corridor. Thank goodness there were not stairs. There is usually some first day relief that goes along with the exhilaration, but this just felt wrong. No rash decisions, I recognized hitting a crisis point and decided to eat my first real meal of the day and to sleep on whether or not to continue.
Across from the motel is an easy walk to the Fire and Smoke restaurant. Locals know what a treat the food served here is. Sitting alone at a table I phoned the day’s ride report to wife, son and friend. They were most supportive to whatever decision I would make. With a belly full of bar-b-que ribs, pecan coated sweet potatoes and coleslaw, I returned to my room with the intention of sleeping on it. Part of me wanted to continue, the other half to return home. Woke up at 3 am to a weather report of slick roads across Texas and a storm system approaching the upper Midwest. I would return home, get an early start and try to beat the coming storm.
On the road before dawn with the wind at my back, all was good. Dressed more appropriately this time, I wore my winter riding suit as opposed to the hoodie worn the previous day. I had been sweating bullets the previous morning. Found myself too lazy, too occupied, and in too much of a hurry to change into something more appropriate even as the wind picked up during the day and the temperatures fell. Now this was sailing. Cannot tell you how many times I would approach an exit and be tempted to just turn around and continue south. For the first time of this trip, I could ride and clear my thoughts. The return trip was uneventful. The plastic collapsible warning triangle required in Panama no longer stuck into the small of my back. The riding suit held up against the rain, even though my duct taped covered boot laces did not. The return took less time, with worse traffic and a full sit down breakfast.
So I’m back. My Sunday riding buds at the Full Moon Restaurant were more than supportive of my decision, some having been in similar situations. Only really got teased once. “He would go for a ride today, but we’re not sure as to whether or not he would finish.”
‘Down but not out,’ they say. There are other ways to ride out this winter available. I could do a Wild Riders rental in Costa Rica as I did three years back. I could just fly into Mexico and backpack. And there is a third option, which involves a different bike ‘gasp!’

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