Once was not enough. This time, I had to get MY bike to California.  You can follow along with the pictures and a map of this trip.

After 10 consecutive years of going to Sturgis, our group, as a whole, has decided to take a few years off from Sturgis, and ride to other places. While I was in California, in the Spring, the group met in Tennessee. As a result, I didn’t get to see most of the guys, and didn’t have a big trip planned for Summer.

Without a big trip to look forward to this year, I found myself in the doldrums. In June, my friend Lang called from California to tell me that he, the Great Unsociable One, was going to attend the campout at Badger Flats, over Labor Day weekend. When I did my big six-week trip back in 2000, I was able to attend Badger, and really had a great time. But with Sturgis in early August, and Badger in early September, it requires over a month away from work (not that I’m opposed to that, but there are usually several trips to do each year). Lang recent purchase of a new Harley-bago (the Winnebago motorhome of the Harley lineup, otherwise known as an UltraGlide), and offered use of his old bike, so I could fly out to the west coast and ride down to Badger with him.

I told him I would think about it, and would let him know in a few days. Immediately checking out a map, and the distances, I realized that I could easily do this as a three-week trip, riding my own bike the entire way! YAY! I have a road trip! The bike I have now, the 1996 Heritage, has never been to California (the old ’98 had been there three times before it was stolen), or to Nevada. The two additional states would bring this bike up to 29 states it’s visited, so it was just another reason to ride instead of fly.

I called Lang back to tease him. I made it sound disappointing… told him that I’ve decided not fly out there. I said it was too expensive. I thanked him for the offer to use his bike (all the while making it sound like I wouldn’t be going to Badger). After I couldn’t take his whining any more, I broke the news that I would be riding to Badger on my own bike! WEEEE! ROAD TRIP!!!

As much fun as I have riding with a group of my friends, it’s also great fun traveling solo. I can travel as fast and as long as I feel like, without the need to get group consensus. Since the point of this trip was to spend as much time as possible with my friends in California, the ride would be the direct route, across the country on I-80. Crossing Iowa and Nebraska isn’t very exciting, Wyoming or Nevada aren’t much better. But the riding in California is excellent, and it promises to be a great trip. By myself, I should be able to make great progress.

It was Saturday, a week before Labor Day, when I left Ohio. The sky was partly cloudy, so the temperatures were mild and comfortable. Rain clouds appeared as I left Indianapolis, and there was a cloudburst just after I stopped for lunch. I missed the worst part of the storm. By the time I was done eating, the rain had slowed considerably, and temperatures were still comfortable. It wasn’t unpleasant riding, and I kept up with another biker all the way to Champaign, Illinois. By this time, the sun was out and the skies were clear. The first day, I made it into Iowa, to an area known as the Amana Colonies. I made it just under 600 miles from home in one day.

After a huge meal of excellent home-style cooking, it was approaching sunset. I grabbed the camera and jumped on the bike, trying to get somewhere with a decent shot of the evening sky. The terrain in Iowa is just gentle hills and fields, and after riding for ten miles, racing the setting sun, I have to settle for a sunset photo over a stark field. As I am walking back to the bike, there’s something orange in the road. It’s a box turtle that was hit by a car. Flattened. The colors are very bright and it made for a better picture than the sunset.

The Amana Colonies were settlements by German immigrant farmers. While the architecture is a tourist attraction, I wasn’t able to find any more suitable pictures in the fading light. I return to the motel, after a stop for gas. I want to get an early start in the morning so I can get closer to California.

By 6:30am, I am on the road. This is probably the earliest start I’ve ever had on a road trip (10am is more usual when I am in a group). I make it through Des Moines before the first gas stop. An old Ford Roadster pulls up at the next pump, and an elderly gentleman gets out. He comments on my Ohio tags, as they are from Ohio. He restored the car himself, and they are heading to the Black Hills. I describe a few of the attractions they should see in the Sturgis area, and his wife is in the passenger seat, eagerly writing down all of my pointers. It’s fun to see them excited about these travel hints, and it prompts me to name off a few other attractions they might enjoy.

As I head back onto the highway, the bike feels a bit squirmy. Getting onto the interstate, I realize that my back tire is flat. As soon as I pull off the road, the couple in the Roadster pulls up behind me. They have a can a fix-a-flat, and I use that on my tire, but it doesn’t inflate very far. He has a small air compressor, and as we’re pumping air, I can hear air leaking out as fast as it’s going in. I call Wagz back in Ohio, and he gets me the number for the Harley dealership I passed off the highway in Des Moines. They have a tow truck, and he’s on a run but will come for me as soon as he gets back. It’s 9am. I thank the elderly couple with a calendar, and pass along a few more places to eat when they get to the town of Deadwood. It is really nice to see Karma in action.

Since I will be waiting for awhile, I unload the folding camp chair off my bike. I break out the water and juice I just bought at the gas station, along with a few snacks. I’m sitting on the side of I-80, comfortable and patient. After 10am, I call the Harley dealership again, to see where the tow truck is, and the same guy I spoke to earlier curtly tells me to be patient, and hangs up. Hmph. Oh well. Another hour goes by before I call them again. This time I talk to another person in the service area, and they tell me that he forgot to send the tow truck out to me. They apologize. Twenty minutes later, the truck arrives, and we’re heading back to Des Moines.

A tire change should take less than an hour. It’s almost noon when we get there, so, I should be back on the road by 1pm. Plenty of time to make some good mileage yet today. I fill out the paperwork and leave the bike in the service area. This is a huge, new, huge (did I say ‘huge’) dealership. They have all the clothes, parts, and a number of bikes on the showroom floor. I hate shopping, but wander around for about an hour.

I wander back to the service area, just as the service manager is coming out of his office. We spot my bike at the same time, still where I left it, and still waiting to be serviced. He apologizes, saying that he told his staff to take care of my bike before they left for lunch. They didn’t listen. Speaking of lunch, I ask where I can walk to get some food. He tells me that there is nothing within a mile, and suggests I ask their receptionist. I ask her, and she directs me to ask the girls at the clothing counter, as they order lunch delivered each days. I ask the sales girls and they ask why I don’t want to eat at their dealership’s HOG (Harley Owners Group) fund raiser, out in the parking lot. That sounds like a great idea, and I am really confused that more of the dealership’s staff doesn’t know about it. Oh well.

I meet the HOG folks a spend $5 for a big bratwurst and soda. I’ve got at least another hour to wait, so I get into a fun conversation with the HOG folks. An hour goes by, and I check on the bike. I was fully expecting it to be sitting, waiting for service, but it’s gone. I’m glad to see that some progress is being made. The HOG folks are done with their cookout, and I help them carry the tables and grill back to their storage locations. I’m glad that I had something to do with all the free time while the bike was being serviced. It finally comes out of the service department at 3:30pm, over 6 hours from my initial call for a tow, and over three hours after it arrived in their service department. Ugh. The mechanic describes the problem with the tire and tells me that the fix-a-flat would not have been a good idea to ride on, so it worked out for the best.

I’m eager to get back on the road, and ride until dark. I stop with just over 300 miles under my belt today. Two days, and still not a thousand miles from home, but at least there’s a new back tire on the bike. Next to the motel is family-owned Italian buffet. The food was much better than anticipated, and the pasta meal puts me to sleep just as I hit the bed.

It’s 6am Monday morning, my third day on the road. The weather is great, and it seems that only trucks are on the highway. With a small tank on the bike, I have to stop every hundred miles or so. Trucks can go about 400 miles without stopping. So, I pass trucks, stop for gas, and get back on the road to pass the same trucks again. This repeats across Nebraska and into Wyoming. I recognize the trucks, and they recognize me. By mid-afternoon, many of the truckers wave as I pass them again.

I begin to see many bikes, coming from the west, heading to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Harley is celebrating their 105th anniversary this year, and they throw a great party. For many, this is a great excuse to go to Wisconsin. There are many individuals and small groups, and occasionally, I see a group of more than ten bikes. HOG chapters from around the country are riding to Milwaukee, and meeting up with other groups along the way. I’m heading the other way.

Lang was a truck driver, and he’s given me pointers on places to eat along the way. I stop for lunch at a truck stop in Laramie. Decent cooking. The road climbs in elevation, and there are some small mountains here. There are thunderstorms over the hills, but they seem to be a permanent fixture, attached mysteriously to the granite rocks below. I stay dry, and in fact, the temperature gets quite hot.

Sharing the road with steep hills and slow trucks makes for some intense riding. My bike is small and light compared to the lumbering trucks, and while it’s easy for me to pass them, they are eagerly trying to pass other trucks on the curving roads. It’s important for me to stay where I am visible, and keep distance from them.

Rock Springs, Wyoming, is my home for the night. We passed through here in 2006, with Wagz, Beard and Peanut. The parking lot of the hotel is full of bikes, and there’s a solo rider from California ahead of me in line. We start talking about the ride, get our rooms, and decide to meet up later in the bar. I’m done riding for the night. 700 miles today: My longest day so far.

The hotel bar has about a dozen bikers, and many from California. Most had never been to one of Harley’s parties, so I tell them about my adventures at the 95th and 100th celebrations. Milwaukee has lots of bars, and lots of neighborhoods, so there will be bikes everywhere, bands playing, and excellent ethic food. It will be fun. Everyone heads to bed early. More riding tomorrow. I’m still a few days from the west coast.

Another early start, and it’s cold outside as I head towards Utah. The road is much more mountainous now, and it is a fun ride. I drop into Salt Lake City for gas, then head across The Great Salt Flats. There are about 120 miles to reach Wendover, a small city split across the Utah/Nevada border. The road is incredibly flat and is along the south edge of the Great Salt Lake. There isn’t much to see here. Eventually, the water turns into a field of white salt, stretching for dozens of miles. It is a very boring drive. There are even warning signs along the interstate, telling sleepy drivers to pull over and take a rest. There are many places in the salt with tire tracks. You quickly become an ‘expert’ and guessing how fast they were going when they ran off the road. Some are clearly trucks, many are cars, and a few bikes. It’s easy to get mesmerized by the road. It becomes a game to keep yourself alert. I wonder if that sign down the road is two, or if it’s three, miles away. I find out that it was five.

I stop near the Bonneville Salt Flats, site of the world’s land speed records. It’s famous for being flat. There’s a rest area where you can walk up to the salt. I take several pictures, but they are remarkably unremarkable. It looks like snow.

I stop for a bite to eat on the Nevada side of Wendover, West Wendover, that is. It’s a gambling town, and that is clearly the primary business in town. Entice the good people of Utah to take that boring ride across the salt flats. It’s about one hundred miles to the next town of any size. I head up and out of the low valley of the salt flats and am immediately transported to desert. Many of the exits off the interstate have only a half-dozen homes visible. Very few have gas stations or stores.

The wind picks up. In fact, it becomes the challenge for the remainder of the day. In the plain states, the wind tends to be a constant force, coming from one direction without much interruption. Here, in Nevada, the hills play with the wind, and toss it around the valleys in the most unpredictable ways. It’s a very strong crosswind, and even trucks are getting pushed out of their lane. I spend much of the time using the truck ahead of me as a warning device. When he veers, I know I am gonna get slammed with wind. It’s unsettling, since you feel like your bike tires are going to be swept out from underneath you, and it is easy to overcompensate. Unlike the salt flats, there is worry about staying alert. None at all.

At one stop, I see some other bikes. They are tourists, from Germany. Four of them on three bikes. Two men. Two women. Only one speaks English, and we talk about the wind. They are heading to Milwaukee, as well. They flew to Seattle and worked their way down the Pacific Coast, then to Milwaukee, and on to New York. Sounds like a fun trip!

I call Lang to get his suggestions for a place to stay near Reno. He tells me about a truck stop/motel/casino in Sparks, Nevada. It’s a great place to stop for the day, and it’s a very nice room for the price. Another 700 mile day. Tomorrow I should arrive in San Francisco!

I’m not a big gambler, and the wind really wore me out. I eat and go to sleep quickly after checking the weather forecast.

Reno, just a few miles away, is on the east side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Lake Tahoe is on the California side of the state line. The mountains are beautiful. The climbing and curving roads are a challenge for the trucks, but not for a bike. The twists and turns are exciting, and starting the day with this is better than coffee to wake me up. Small towns are frequent in the mountains. I can only imagine the winters here. After awhile, the highway drops out of the mountains and into California’s Central Valley. This is fertile soil, and flat. Excellent for farming. Many crops in this country originate here. The valley lasts for a few hours, until I get near the Pacific Ocean.

Interstate 80 comes into San Francisco over the Oakland Bay Bridge. This double-decker bridge was an engineering challenge, and it is the very end of I-80. It drops you right into San Francisco. The first stop was predetermined when the trip was first planned. I stop at the Hole in the Wall Saloon, recently moved to a new location. I pull next to another bike, right in front of the door. Clayton is bar tending, as usual for a weekday. He’s heard that I would be coming out to California. He shows his typical level of excitement (none). Joe, one of the owners of the bar, is in the bar. He’s surprised to see me, and he shows me around the new bar. It’s clean (something unusual for The Hole), but I trust that will change soon enough. The atmosphere of the bar is much the same, while without the years of beer-stained wood floors. It gets my full approval. Joe takes me outside to see his chopper, parked next to my mostly-stock Heritage, and he uses my camera to take a picture of me in front of his pride & joy, the Hole.

I call Beast and finalize directions to his house, and in a few minutes, I arrive at his door. I’m very appreciative of his hospitality, and plan to stay only a day or two until we head to Badger. After that, the plan is to get a cheap hotel room, and give Beast, and his roommate Hoodie, their privacy. They will have none of that, and insist that I save money and stay with them. Cool! We let folks know that I am in town, and arrange to meet for dinner at Henry’s Hunan. MMMMM!

After settling in, I head out to see visit friends in the city. I head to some other bars. Even though I live in Ohio, I am recognized, and the bartenders automatically put a Jack and Coke in front of me. California is certainly a second home for this biker. Almost like clockwork, my old pal Gypsy wanders into the bar. He’s a good friend (to the point that I sent him my old leather jacket when his needed to be replaced, and a friend replaced the worn lining), and we go back to playing darts and drinking shots, just as when I last saw him. I invite him to meet us for dinner. He balks at the cost, but I strong-arm him into having fun.

There are handful of restaurants in the Henry’s Hunan, but this is in the only one I’ve visited. It’s excellent food, great servings, and a great price. Clayton is there with Bikerbaer, Beast, Hoodie, Lang, Yogi, and Gypsy. I’m really happy to get to see everyone, and enjoy a great meal. As usual, we’re the last ones in the restaurant, but the manager knows us and doesn’t mind.

Wow. I made it to San Francisco in just four and a half days on my bike. Other than the winds in Nevada, it was a great trip. Even the flat tire in Des Moines seems like weeks ago, now that I am on the west coast.

I have a day to relax before we head to Badger. As usual, after many days on the road, it is just nice to stay in one place for the day. I wash my laundry and stock up on last minute supplies before the camping trip. They take me for bison burgers in the West Portal district, and the diner has excellent burgers and fries. They have several tasty looking cuts of bison steaks in the meat case. I will remember this place. After dinner, we wander around the shops in the area.

We’re up bright and early to pack for Badger. We get a call from Lang and Yogi, warning us that they are on the way (coffee had better be ready). We park the bikes at the bottom of the hill, where it’s flat, and finish loading up our gear. We take a few pictures to document the start of the road trip, and we’re on our way. Lang forgot some items at his new temporary place in San Jose, so we hop on the highway for the 45-minute ride down I-280. I’ve been on US101 out of San Francisco several times, and the traffic is usually heavy. The I-280 is fairly empty and we make excellent time. We get a quick tour of the house where Lang stays during the work week (his cabin is four hours away and too far for a daily commute). We head down US101 for awhile, then onto more local roads over the mountains, before dropping into the valley. It gets very hot in the Central Valley, and we have to look for awhile to find somewhere suitable to eat (quick food, but not fast food or a major chain). We settle on a Mexican restaurant, a rather new restaurant in what was certainly some other fast food restaurant in a prior life. The food is decent, and we cool off from the heat of the day. We continue riding, and eventually start climbing mountains again. We’re happy because the temperatures get more reasonable, and the riding gets much more interesting, with many curves and switchbacks. Just twenty miles from our destination, we stop for gas. Lang complains that his brakes aren’t working very well anymore. We find an auto parts store and get some brake fluid, but when we go to check the levels on the bike, the resevoir is almost full. After a bit of discussion, and a report from Yogi that his bike has similar symptoms, we agree that there may be a small bubble in the brake line, and the elevation is affecting it. We continue the ride up the mountain to our campground for the weekend.

Most of the people will show up on Friday, but we arrive on Thursday. This lets us avoid the Labor Day weekend rush out of the city, and also gives us a chance to start the camping early. Most of the campground is on a slope, and there are granite rocks sprouting up everywhere. We locate a reasonably level area, with good access for the bikes. After we put up our tents, Lang pulls our several strings of small Christmas lights. We drape the decorations around our tents and the trees, and Lang tests the power inverter, and after a few minor adjustments, we unplug the lights until dusk. In the meantime, we break out the liquor and relax. This is Lang’s first time to Badger, so we show him around the various sections of the campground and meet the folks who arrived even before us.

Tony, who hosts the Spring campout that I attend, has his camp set up and is providing meals for the early arrivals. We arrive at the end of the dinner rush, but still find plenty to eat. Tony loves to cook for groups, and we have a delicious meal. While we are eating, many others stop by, and it is a big reunion of friends from Northern and Southern California. I know many of them, and meet a number of new faces.

As it gets dark, we head back to our campsite. We do the grand unveiling of the lights, then settle in for a round of fresh drinks and conversation.

Back when I was here last, in 2000, the temperature stayed below 65F. This time, it is much warmer, and we don’t need a campfire (with the extremely dry summer, we’re only allowed fires in approved areas anyway). I sleep very well, as I usually do when camping.

We return to Tony’s campsite diner for breakfast. We spend the day meeting the new arrivals, admiring the other motorcycles, and helping them settle in for the weekend. Friday night is the first meal that the sponsors provide, and the first time that everyone is in one place. There are about 150 people attending this year, and it’s a very comfortably sized crowd for the space. I have heard rumors of years with over 400 people, and it sounds like it was way too many people for the space and facilities. Everything has to be hauled in and hauled out, including trash. The sponsoring group is from Los Angeles, and even though they have storage an hour away in Fresno, there is much to be hauled. They have a huge amount of kitchen equipment and utensils, plus lights, food, ice, and beverages for their guests. After dinner, many people gather around the bonfire. They have been hosting this event for dozens of years, and they are proficient at hosting a good number of people.

On Saturday, many of the bikers gather for a day-long ride together. I’ve already gone 2,500 miles to get here, so I decide to relax and visit with friends instead. It gets cold at night.

Waking up on Sunday is difficult. The sleeping bag is warm, but the air outside is very cold. A full bladder finally coerces me out of the cocoon and into the day. After lunch, we ride further up the mountains to Mono Hot Springs. It is a narrow road, that grips close to the edge of the mountain. It’s a beautiful view, but much more important to keep an eye on the road. These are ‘civilized’ hot springs, where you rent a room for a period of time, and fill a bath tub with hot spring water from the tap. It is very relaxing.

It temperatures drop significantly at the campsite, and everyone spends much of the evening around the two huge bonfires. The sleeping bag warmed up eventually, and I was able to sleep. Another very cold morning, and since we are leaving, we have to break camp in the cold. We bundle up, and head down the mountain, where the temperatures are much more reasonable. As we head across the Central Valley, it is comfortable riding.

I spend the week visiting friends in the San Francisco area. One day, Beast and Mark take me to the comic strip museum (yes, there really is such a thing). There are framed comic strips and explanations of the various styles and technologies that are used in the design and printing process. It was very informative, although I was not allowed to take photos. Bummer.

On Thursday, I start heading east, towards Ohio. But first, I am going to visit Lang’s cabin near Oroville for a few days. I say goodbye to Beast and Mark, and throw my bed linens in the washer as I leave. As I get over the Bay Bridge, the bike starts to sound a little off. By the time I get to Pittsburg (there is no ‘h’ at the end, as in the Pennsylvania spelling), I am really worried about the bike. Thinking it might be low oil, I stop at an Auto Zone. I ask for motorcycle oil, and the clerk suggests that I ride a few miles to the Harley dealership.

By the time I reach the dealership, the bike is making LOTS of noise. Enough so that three of the mechanics come outside to see what is making all the racket. The first service manager comes over and tells me right then that they are overbooked and won’t have time to look at my bike for at least a week. Great. But, he lets one of the mechanics take a quick look to see if they can figure out the problem. A few minutes later, another service manager comes over to tell me that he found a dealership in Oakland that is not as busy, and they would have time to work on my bike. YAY. But, that’s 40 miles back towards San Francisco, and my bike won’t make it that far. It turns out that the service manager’s car is in the shop, and he’s using the dealership’s truck this week, and he lives near Oakland, so we can load the bike in the truck and he will take me to the dealership! Excellent!

On the way to Oakland, I ask if he knows the address of the dealership, so I can call for a ride back into SF. He tells me that the dealership has rental bikes, so I would probably be able to get one while my bike was in the shop. COOL! Since it is almost 5pm, I call to arrange for a rental, then call my friends. “Beast? Yeah, this is John. You know the sheets I put in the washer? Yeah, can you please put them in the dryer? My bike broke down, and I am heading back to your place.” Just like the house guest that wouldn’t leave. We get to the dealership, I pick up the rental (they stay late, just for me!) and I sign the bike into their service area. I move all my gear to the rental, and head back into San Francisco. While I’m concerned about my bike’s condition, I am still on two wheels, and have my own transportation.

The next afternoon, I get a call from the Oakland Harley service area. The oil pump on my bike siezed up, and they have to order a replacement, which will take at least 5 days to arrive and a few more to install. I give them my approval (there are no other options). I call my boss, in Ohio, and explain the situation, and ask if I can work from home, from San Francisco, rather than burn another week of vacation time. Reluctantly, he approves. It’s Friday, and Lang is going to head up to the cabin after he gets off from work. I head out, on the rental, and make it to the cabin (about four hours from the coast). I visit with his neighbor, Rosemary, who made it big pot of lamb stew, which she gladly shares with me.

Lang calls. He’s on the way to the cabin, but the battery on his bike died. Ironically, he’s not far from Pittsburg, where my bike first broke down, but the dealership is closed for the night. He is able to get a new battery, but is heading back to SF, rather than risk losing power on a dark mountain road later. So, I get a nice quiet night at his cabin, out in the woods. The silence is incredible.

In the morning, I decide to head back to the city. I know that I am welcome to stay, but I’d rather spend the time with friends. I meet up with Lang and others at the bar. I am told that we are going to crash a party. Some friends of theirs are getting married, and we’re riding the bikes up to a town on the Russian River.

Lang charges the battery on his bike, and we head to the town of Gurneville, a popular area for river activities. Three bikes race up 101 on Saturday evening. We stop to buy a bottle of wine, and a bottle of Jack Daniels (of course). We pull in to the party, and park the bikes on the only level space, next to the food. We’ve made an entrance. Lang and Beast have known these guys for a long time, and I get a warm introduction and a tour of their home. It’s a very nice home, high up on the side of a mountain, with redwood trees everywhere. Lang’s bike battery is low, so we get an extension cord and put a charger on his bike. We were planning on riding back to SF before dark, but we’re fast approaching that time, and we just arrived. We talk about staying in town, but there’s a big music festival in the town on this weekend, so there are no motel rooms available. The grooms invite us to stay. In fact, they insist: they had spare air mattresses ready to go, just in case anyone partied too much, so we were not an inconvenience. COOL. We can party now!

We are introduced to many of the guests, and I quickly feel comfortable in the crowd. We gather around the porch for the wedding ceremony. There was a short period of months where gay couples were legally able to marry in California. This was one of those rare occasions. It was a simple wedding, where we heard about how they met and had been close friends for many years. The minister, a friend of theirs, performed the ceremony and everyone cheered. The food was excellent.

After the meal, I pull out the large bottle of JD, and one of the grooms takes a huge gulp. We each take a swig and pass the bottle around the crowd. All of the men and women at the party, take a swig. Everyone is laughing and cheering. The party has officially started.

The next morning, we wake up to fresh coffee. About eight of us are left, plus the grooms. We slowly start picking up, and in no time, everything is cleaned up. We visit for awhile, then ride back to the city. It was a fun weekend, and something that I would not have experienced without two bikes breaking down.

We get back to the city, and Lang finds me a loaner computer, so I can work during the week (while my bike is getting repaired). I am no longer a tourist in California: I’m working here. So, my vacation routine is replaced by 8-hours on the computer doing ‘work things’. Just as it would be if I lived there, we went out to dinner, then get home to sleep. It’s not quite like being on vacation, although I am not in my house. The week goes quickly. My bike is ready the following Monday. I return the rental, and get my bike back to the city. I spend a day taking it for a ride down to Half Moon Bay, stopping for lunch at Alices Restaurant. It’s a popular destination for bikers, and I talk to a few people. I take a leisurely drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, back to the city. The bike is running well.

The next morning, I start my trip back to Ohio. I stop the first night in Winnemucca, Nevada, and enjoy a wonderful traditional meal of Basque cooking, followed by a trip to Walmart.

Salt Lake City is the next night’s stop. An good friend from work moved here with his family, and they have invited me to spend the night. I meet Jim at his new job, and he shows me around. We stop at a local restaurant that has a bar, and sit outside enjoying a cold beverage. A very unusual bike rides through the parking lot, and pulls in at a car wash next door. We pay the tab, then head over to see the bike. The rider works for the US Army, and Orange County Choppers (from the TV show) built this special bike. Although this one was not shown on TV, it is a unique and interesting bike. There are (fake) hand grenades, an ammo belt, and a rifle. He was riding it out at Bonneville Salt Flats that day, and was washing the salt from the bike. His duty, for the past few years, has been riding this bike around the country. I take a few pictures and congratulate him on having a job that pays him to go riding. How sweet!

Jim takes me to their house, high over the city on a mountain. Incredible view. It was a great evening, catching up with old friends.

I wake up early and get on the road. It’s incredibly cold on the mountain, but warms up as I pass through Salt Lake City. Then it gets real cold, through the mountain pass heading towards Wyoming. I make it into Nebraska that night.

I head to Kansas City. One of my dear friends, Lumpy, had been having some serious health problems. As it turns out, he was just told that his condition was terminal. I spent quite a bit of time with Lumpy, when we did our trip to Alaska. It was quite the adventure. We arranged to have lunch the next day, so I could meet his parents. I spend the night visiting friends, Doug and Wayne, in Kansas City.

On Sunday, I meet with Lumpy and his parents. It is nice to finally meet them, after many conversations on the phone. They are visibly shaken by the news of his condition, but they had made the opportunity to discuss it with him in great detail. He had detailed his plans for various aspects of his remaining life, and for after. He was always an upbeat man, and it was his wish that there was to be a party. We parted ways, knowing that we would never meet again. It was a sobering ride home.