Twenty-five hundred miles, eleven days, three states … and only one guy tried to kill me. Not bad.
Since I already posted about the purely motorcycle-related aspects of my trip, this will be more of a photoblog of places and people. Click on any of the thumbnails below to see the full-sized photos on Flickr.
I left Tucson for Las Vegas on Thursday, May 2, along the way stopping to photograph a wildlife overpass on US Highway 93 between Kingman and Hoover Dam. I used to wonder why they built these overpasses in the middle of nowhere, and then one day it dawned on me they’re for the critters. In Vegas I spent the night with my son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. Friday it was on to San Jose … a very long ride indeed, one that took me past the northern edge of Edwards AFB … to spend the night with my goddaughter Natasha, her husband Natale, and their daughter Georgianna.
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I spent Saturday and Sunday with Burt and Donna Marie, hashing friends from way back, at their home in Novato, riding through San Francisco and over a fog-shrouded Golden Gate Bridge to get there.
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Monday was a part of California new to me, riding US Highway 101 north past Santa Rosa and then cutting through mountains to the little town of Lucerne on the east shore of Clear Lake, where I stayed overnight with college friends, Greg and Corinne. Greg, of all things, is a preacher now, but the three of us slipped right back into old times and had a great time catching up. Interestingly, the area where they live is a hotbed of marijuana growers, many (but not all) of whom sell their product legally to California medical marijuana dispensaries.
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I rode on to Sacramento and Placerville the next day, Tuesday, checking into a somewhat run-down Motel 6 right off the highway at a town called Cameron Lake (which did not exist when I last lived in Sacramento, but that was over 40 years ago). I was a little nervous about the kids in the room next door, who looked like Boston bombing fugitives. Another college friend, Robin, met me there, and we talked for hours at a little pizza place nearby. Somehow I managed to not take a single photo that day.
Wednesday I rode US Highway 50 through the Sierra Nevadas to South Lake Tahoe, where I checked into another Motel 6 (this one ten times nicer than the one in Cameron Park, and no fugitives). I puttered around South Shore and Stateline, taking photos and visiting places Donna and I remember from our courtship long ago, including Donna’s Dad’s old club, the Glass Crutch, long out of business but still standing. Thursday I rode around the lake on my way to Reno, something I’ve always wanted to do. Lake Tahoe is smaller than I remember it being; a planned four-hour ride took only two. But everything I saw during those two hours was drop-dead scenic.
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In Reno I stayed with Jim & Lenore. Jim was one of my squadron commanders at Soesterberg AB back in the early 1980s, and we’ve stayed in touch since. Lenore was kind enough to let me wash my dirty clothes, something I knew I’d have to do at some point during the trip if I was to finish it with clean underwear. Since I recently had a knee replaced, and Jim even more recently a hip, we took a walk through the neighborhood to show how tough we were.
Friday it was back to Las Vegas, but I took a longer route, riding down the California side on US Highway 395, then cutting back into Nevada just north of Beatty. And that’s where someone tried to kill me. Riding southbound out of Beatty after stopping for gas, suddenly a car coming from the other direction swerved into my lane to pass a slow RV. It was as if he or she didn’t see me at all … I actually had to move to the shoulder to get out of the way, and even at that the car passed within a couple of feet of my left side. At that point I flipped my brights on and left them on for the rest of the trip. I flipped something else too, for all the good it did.
After getting into Vegas Friday night I decided to stay over Saturday. I wanted more time with the kids, and to unwind from the long Reno-to-Las Vegas leg of my trip. My son Greg borrowed a motorcycle and asked where I wanted to ride Saturday. Anywhere, I said, as long as it’s not far! We rode to Red Rock Canyon, Bonnie Springs, Blue Diamond, and Mountain Springs, about 100 miles in all (some photos from that ride are in my earlier post). Along the way we dropped in on an old hashing friend, Rudy. Back home, Gregory took a port butt off the smoker and we had a great BBQ dinner.
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When I stopped in Cameron Park I felt the initial twinges of something coming on, but it held off until my ride from Reno to Las Vegas, when it got worse: a head cold, with lots of stuff draining down into my throat. I kept it at bay Saturday, borrowing some antihistamine pills from my daughter-in-law Beth, but it settled in for a stay during my ride home from Las Vegas to Tucson on Sunday, and got worse from there. Today is the first day I’ve felt as if I may live after all, which is why it’s taken me a few days to get around to writing a post-trip report. It’s a good thing this blog isn’t a podcast, because I still have no voice.
People ask me why I go on long solo motorcycle trips. They may not understand when I try to explain it, but my fellow motorcyclists do. The planning considerations, which are more exacting than for car trips: packing right, ensuring you have the tools you might need, choosing the best roads and scenic byways. Being one with your machine. The smells (Bakersfield is fertilizer; Pacheco Pass over to San Jose is fresh cut corn; Lake Tahoe is pine). The surprisingly noticeable differences in temperature as your elevation changes, even by only a few feet. The thrill of curvy mountain roads. Even the challenges of riding in the rain (which I experienced twice during this trip). You don’t feel as if you’ve merely moved from Point A to Point B … you feel as if you’ve accomplished something.
And now, having accomplished something, I’ll settle in for the hot summer months. Next big trip will be in late August, when my friend Ed and I will ride to the Four Corners Rally in Durango, Colorado.