101: Post-party and post-trip thoughts (Nick)

Good night's sleep and brekky, then following Saurus  (that's Roger by the way) into Santa Monica to returnhu Big Soph and Manfred to Eagle Riders. All ok apart from the Eagle office in Santa Monica being closed. Note on door saying "Sorry, we're closed for Memorial Day. Return bikes to LAX (airport)." We just made it back to Woogs' and Saurus' place in time for a party thrown in.

My impression of Malibu is a beachfront with substantial properties here and there, below a large group of dessicated hills, wth the occasional palace perched on the top or round the sides, to grab views of the boundless Pacific. Woogs' and Saurus' place is on the side of a hill high up, and beautiful inside and out, with a wide balcony overlooking the ocean through palms. It is open plan and a wander from one distinct area to another, but without doors.Before the guests started to arrive Saurus had time to describe his neighbours in their distant habitats.

"Over there's the house of Nicole Scherzinge (a famous singer I hadn't heard of).That's Laird Hamilton's place (No.1 Surfer in the world). That place on the far corner of the mountain is where Glen Campbell lives. Unfortunately he now has Alzheimer's, so he doesn't go out much. Over there (Roger pointed to a large spread on the left about 3/4 mile away) is Axel Rose." Axel Rose, I asked, isn't he the Rock Musician who performs on stage in his underpants? Roger wasn't sure but told me that when Axel practises, the house shakes and he has to raise his voice in the kitchen. On another occasion Saurus pointed out other near neighbours on the Pacific Coast Highway (the PCH, aka our old friend H101): the pads of Cher, Mel Gibson, bruce Willis, Barbara  Streissand.... the list is endless.

So, the party. Enormous fun with wine flowing like the Yosemite Falls. Again. I met some neighbours, well one or two. It turns out that with the exception of Woogs and Saurus, they don't know anyone else in the neighbourhood - except by repute - either. Was this an obsession with privacy, a fear of strangers or some kind of weird bi-product of affluence - an indifference to local people and issues? 

I suggested to Bruce Ochmanek, a film producer who lived down the road, that Axel Rose might be lonely: why didn't we drop in on him that evening and talk about good old England? Bruce was certain that it was a bad idea. Axel, if he was at home, and he probably wasn't, would send a flunky to the door instructed to "Tell them NO". It would be a wasted effort.

After the party my mind was looking back at the days spent on the road. I had my note book with me and these are some of the things I jotted down that managed to get through the Censor

Roads

Fast dual carriageway freeways, or huge interstates, or in contrast slender, windy ribbons with the carriageway divided by double yellow lines. There are variable speed limits around towns and in cities, as well as some country roads, that are generally observed by Californians.We saw why this may be as a CHIP patrolman was doling out speed tickets to a man who could have been exceeding the speed limit by as little as 3mph, and required to cough up hundreds of dollars.

Americans do not like roundabouts. Instead they have four-way junctions with traffic lights at which all cars NSE or W have to stop. We worked out that it was basicallly first come, first served, but in practice it was a courtesy examination. After you. No, after you. 

We drove many mountain areas where the roads were narrow and sometimes curved round tightly, this way and that continuously. It was not unusual to come across a sqiggly bend sign with the legend beneath, 'for 40 miles'. Over my intercom, I would predictably hear J make some sort of rejoicing noise, whereas for Big Soph and I, the words, 'interesting times ahead' were more apt. On such stretches, the roads requiring any maximum speed info were marked with a numerical warning. Every now and then I misjudged the curve and Big Soph would end up on the wrong side of the road, fortunately with no evil consequences. 

The Yanks

Whether it was WA, OR or Calif, our cousins across the pond were without exception counteous, welcoming and as helpful as they could be. This was particularly important to a couple of travellers in a strange land often short of needed information on routes, addresses or accommodation. The other day I was standing by the roadside at a gas station looking at a map. A hispanic Californian middle-aged lady mistook my frowning concentration for bemusment, approached me and told me where I was, the name of the road and how far it was to San Francisco. We had just driven from SF but never mind. There is a wonderful sense of hospitality in the air. The ancient Greek God Xenia is alive  and well and living on the west coast of the USA. 

The Bikes

J's BMW was, I think, everything he hoped it would be in terms of performance and reliability. He didn't complain about discomfort over long distances, although I suspect that the bike is not designed for the distances we were doing every day. Whereas Big Soph, with a capacity of  about 1700cc (or an exact 103 cubic inches) was a heavy, well sprung touring bike built for long hauls and predominantly main roads. Her six gears were well differentiated and very useful for controlling speeds on steep descents, reducing the need for braking. She couldn't lean too far over on steep bends without scraping some of her undercarriage ( elicting much praise from J). A solid, reliable touring bike with good torque at low revs and as thirsty as a car. 

Sent from Samsung Mobile

101: misc LA pics

Rocks extend artfully through the edge of a (temporarily dry) water feature at the Getty Museum in LA

Pretty flowers. California is super fertile and boasts many glorious flowers of which, to our shame, we knew hardly any names. 

Flying angels in a Santa Monica tourist shop 

Bigging up the shopping

Living the Dream, revisited (Jony)

A lifetime ago, in a momentary gap in negotiations with Seattle about Nick's wobbling bottom, I apparently exhorted him to press for a replacement on the grounds that '...this is the trip of a lifetime: you can't have a bike that's less than perfect.'

Well, now it's just about over, how did the TOAL shape up? On the face of it, driving down some safely tarmaced roads in a country that more or less speaks your langage with a reassuring wodge of credit cards in one's back pocket doesn't obviously contain all the elements of deprivation and life-threatening challenge that make up yer typical odyssey. However, against that must be set the undeniable fact that travelling with Nick involves a large element of uncertainty and, like Don Quixote before him, one never knows when adventure will strike.

On our first day out of Seattle, you will remember that the Don and Big Sophie assumed a horizontal position together, It was the work of a moment's inattention and, afterwards, I was keen to find out what happened. 'Well, I was struggling to see the satnav through these sunglasses and didn't spot the gravel' said he by way of explanation. Our helmets both have an inbuilt (and very effective) sun visor, so I asked why he was wearing shades rather than use this. 'Oh I can't see through that visor properly,' came the rather puzzling reply. Some hours later I heard a rather sheepish voice through the intercom admitting that vision was much improved since he had just removed the protective film that had been stuck on the visor since he had bought it...about nine months before!

Roger has been gently quizzing us to come clean on 'the best bits' and we're both agreed that Yosemite was the most dramatic, memorable bit of scenery of our trip. That will certainly stay with me but so will the whole experience of travelling with Nick: seeing how he effortlessly breezes through the most awkward and difficult scrapes, armed with nothing more than a wodge of cash and bags of natural charm has been a continual source of amazement and amusement.

Of course, travelling with Nick has also been a pain in the arse: particularly his annoying habit of getting into awkward scrapes in the first place, not to mention his super-cautious riding, his selective hearing and his constant quest to meet up with his fellow human beings of whatever background, rev them up a bit, and generally shoot the breeze - all these have ensured that the past two weeks have not contained a dull moment.

A second example. Somewhere in northern California, we encountered a giant Sequoia one could drive through. Hundreds of tourists do it every day. We did too. But having taken the picture, Nick prepared to depart and, in the nanosecond while my attention was elsewhere, he managed to lose his glove. Five times a day I am faced with this highly paid, successful professional anxiously tearing apart his luggage to find his phone, his glasses, his satnav. Had it a second ago; now it's completely disappeared etc. On this memorable occasion, I saw a slightly absurd figure wandered towards me across the car park, helmet and one glove on, angrily complaining that his other bloody glove had gone missing. There had been a pack of Japanese tourists who were photographing everything in sight and I assumed he had been hamming it up for them. But no. He genuinely did not realise that the missing glove was sitting on top of his head, neatly balanced on his helmet! I wish I'd had my camera to hand!

In a couple of days we will be heading back to the UK, putting some lovely people, the Big Sur, the PCH, Highways 101 & 1 and the mighty Half Dome of Yosemite behind us. Together they've been awesome, challenging, occasionally uncomfortable and often fun. But, however good the american scenery and however friendly the natives, the good news is that more fun lies ahead.

End of the road pic

Arrival at Malibu (Nick & Jony)

Sunday 25th May

We set off early from Atascadero, trusting the position of the sun
and a good old map, rather than the SATNAV. The Pacific coast on our
right was beautiful and, perhaps because it was a Sunday, the beaches
were popular, with cars parked along the side of the road and surfers
paddling out. Big Soph was chortling along contentedly singing her
potato song. The Beach Boys were singing Surfin' Safari in my crash
helmet. At Santa Monica we checked our position on what was now known
as the Pacific Coast Highway, and phoned Woogs. We were an hour from
Malibu. Time to give the SATNAV one last chance.

The SATNAV found Latigo Canyon Road, a small turning off the highway
on the coast into the hills. The road twists and turns in on itself as
it gains height rapidly. We sailed past Woogs' gates and hurtled on.
After two phone calls, a double back and Woogs waving her arms
standing in the middle of the road we finally found the place. Over
the gates was the notice "Neek and Jony WELCOME". And welcomed we
were, with Woogs, Roger-saurus, Lois and Sammy all grinning like
Cheshirecats outside. So, more than 2,000 miles later, we had at last
made it.

We had a joyful lunch of Pizza and wine, and carried on nattering into
the evening. At about 5 we were shown to our beds and with the
warning ringing in our ears that supper would be in two hours, fell
into a deep sleep, waking up 5 hours later. Read some Trollope, and
slept a further five hours


LA = Lots of Alcohol (Jony)
Roger and Natasha - Nick's sister in law -aka Saurus and Woogs, live in a biker's Valhalla, up a wonderfully winding road off Malibu Beach. Pics of their sad little pad will follow when my hand is steady enough to take them for our arrival was the occasion for the opening of many bottles and much celebration. I do not recall how or when I retired from the fray but woke briefly with the proverbial parrot's cage mouth at 10.00pm to find that everyone had either gone to bed or gone out to continue the party with the neighbours who apparently include Cher and that Axel from Guns 'n Roses. No I can't remember anything he did either but, to judge from his pad, it must have sold a few.

In which Dr N disappears (Assorted scribes)

Awoke at 6.00 betimes. Dr N's temper as foul as his breath: he claims this is due to having had a poor night's sleep and having eaten of garlick. But which of us lay all night on the floor, after a confusion about our lodging, and which lay in a grand bed? Dear Reader, you know the answer to that question.

Our steeds - Santa Sophia and my sprightly Hermann - were soon laden with our bags and, once again, we pointed their noses towards the sea and began our travels. As usual, Sophia proceeded with reluctance, laden as she was with Dr N's portable wine cellar, while Hermann was keener to explore and had to be restrained. I have litel of import to relate other than that he is now LOST! Again! I turned my head but a moment to regard some passing doxy but it was sufficient for the good Dr N to vanish, as if by magick! By all the saints, for a man of undoubted learning and wisdom, he has a mighty slight grasp on his place in the world.

Yet is it not often so? Only a week past, we met with two other travellers on life's path. Hispanic of origin. The one was a aged knight, with a grand bearing and his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon - or perchance even beyond it. He was of stoic mien, much loving of ancient histories and their interminable telling - in which, it seemed to me, had common blood with my own Dr N. His companion, by contrast with my good self, was a sorry figure, carrying a satchel of maps, scraps of paper, ink - the wherewithall of a scribe's daily life. For it was his fate in life - as mine - to record the musings, the adventures, the fantastikal events into which the Don (for so he was called) transmogrified the daily dross of their lives.

Ye Gods, Senor Panza and myself are perhaps two of a kinde after all! For did not Dr N, only yesterday, ascend a local waterfall of this region. Twas barely worth the name of a stream, such as we have oft crossed on our travels in bonny Scotland. Yet mi Lord bade me set down in my diary that we had climbed as if into the heavens. 'It was a mountain, man' says he, 'Write that the waterfall that gushed from its top, was the like of which was never yet seen in auld Englande.' Or some such tosh - for he is capable of transports of delight when the mood is on him, as my aching fingers will confirm.

But since he is still lost, it may be that my fingers will find some rest tonight...and perhaps some other occupation. Methinks what pleasure may be had with the doxys of this region? I shall seek a glass or two of porter and a beef pie before setting out to seek what may be found. Until then I remain your humble servant and eternal scribe, James Boswell.



Chaos (Nick's version)

We were away from Yosemiteby 0815. Our aim was to cover as many miles
as we could through boring country back to the Pacific coast, so that
we could be within easy reach of Malibu the following day. I had an
additional objective, to check into a motel with civilised amenities
like a bathroom, where you didn't need to hide your toothbrush in a
bearbox.

We were heading South down Route 41, fasdt and boring stretching over
flat and scorched farmland, stopping for coffee and fuel. J overtook a
line of traffic and pressed on ahead. He knew that I was on the look
out for a place to stop for lunch. We had an important turn ahead at a
place called Shandon, to head for a place called Atascadero. J was
well ahead when he spotted a good place to stop. But he signaled to me
after I had zoomed past and I was unable to turn back. J said over the
intercom no worries, catch you up.

I was following the SATNAV, which ignored the turning L that we had
agreed to take. It took me a further 15 miles before I became
concerned about J not coming up behind me. It didn't help that my
mobile phone was flat (unable to charge it properly in Yosemite). I
also noticed that the R turn indicated on the SATNAV was an
alternative route, a later turn, to our agreed plan. So why had J not
appeared? I stopped and waited 15 mins. Nothing. He could have taken
the earlier turn, but there were other possibilities that would
require some sort of input from me that I had to consider, which were
in order of likelihood:
(1) J's bike had failed. He was at the side of the road getting his
hands dirty
(2) J had been arrested and was cooli8ng his heels in some
Sherriff's office, wondering where his criminal lawyer was, or
(3) J had had an accident.

I decided I had to go back to the place that J had found, if only to
discount the more worrying possibilities. No news. No sign. There was
nothing else for it but to get to Atascadero and our default meeting
place "the gas station in Atascadero". I followed the SATNAV which
again ignored the turn off onto H101, but which at least turned South
to Atascadero the longer route. Unfortunately the place randomly
selected in Atascaderoturned out to be on the North bound lane of
H101! I was wasting time. I found Atascadero eventually and made my
way to the default rendez -vous.

Two problems with this, none easy to foresee. The first was my flat
mobile phone. I was incommunicado until I could get it recharged. The
second was that, as I was to find out, Atascaderowas a three horse
town, boasting at least 5 gas stations, none of which had seen an
English biker wearing a yellow crash helmet.

After combing the streets of Atascaderochecking out the forecourts, I
found a good Motel. The manageress was an Asian lady who had emigrated
with her family from Luton5 years before. She is the only person I
have ever met with fond memories of Luton. She allowed me use of her
phone. I got through to Woogs at Malibu. She had received an email
from J. Thank God he was safe, and in no need of mechanics,
osteo-surgeons or criminal lawyers. He was looking for a motel. Woogs
would email him and tell him to stop looking and scoot over. I then
booked a twin double that was the last vacancy of the place, which was
most luxurious and spacious. Of course it didn't have a bearbox but
you can't have everything. After an hour or so my phone was
sufficiently charged to receive texts. J was booked into a motel down
the road, and so I invited him round to mine for supper.

Next door on the other side of the swimming pool was a Mexican
restaurant and bar called "Que Passa?", which was perfect for our
reunion, and, I couldn't help thinking, I highly relevant question
for one of us to ask the other. We downed several lagers at the bar
and then had delicious Mexican food, always full of surprises (usually
good ones). We parted to our Motels after that, to rest before the
final stage of our adventures.

My last thought before falling asleep in my enormous palatial bed was
that I would never ever trust that SATNAV again with anything but the
simplest routes.

Yosemite rocks! (Nick)

We set off early for Yosemite. As we neared its elevations we could slowly make out the misty bumps in the far distance that grew and grew. We began to climb, and the road narrowed and became twistier, which of course made my companion happier. After paying $10 each admission, we were inside, a world of cascading steams, rivers, waterfalls that is the yosemite valley, which is surrounded by the most staggering mountains, almost sheer, for the most part clothed in trees, and above the tree line smooth granite caps, the highest more thn 5,000 feet above sea level.

We had arrived earl, about midday. We had booked a sort of canvass room/ framed tent to sleep in, but we couldn't book into it until 5 pm. Our plan was to find a place to leave our kit (a bear box: perfect!), surreptitiously change from biking clothes into suitable shorts, and then head off into the mountains equipped with Budweiser and sun cream.

J had chosen the walk, the Yosemite Falls. We could actually see them from the car park, a powerful gush of white water emerging from near the top of one of the highest peeks. I assumed that we would walk a quarter of the way up, say hello, take a snap or two and then nip down again in time for registration and refreshment.

We climbed all the way to the top. It was two hours up and two hours down. It was steep, very steep, the trail was an untidy, rocky mish-mash of large granite stones, sometimes covered with a thin film of light grit, which made the descent slippery. There will I hope be pics to go with this that can better describe the falls: a noisy, thunderous, powerful gush of water that had run its course to the edge of the summit and had nowhere else to go but down, hurtling in a cascading jumble of white foam. At the top we were able to get close to the start, along a precarious ledge, truly spectacular.

Coming down was slippy and hard because we were tired but needed to concentrate on our footing.. To keep our minds alert we revisited our Peterhead oil-rigging days and played 'When I went Shopping'. As the shopping list got longer, so the items purchased, as usual, became more unreal. American hikers passing us looked puzzled when they heard offerings such as '...a grizzly bear with all but one of its teeth extracted' or '...a 28 mm Vivitar lens'.

For once the American idiom has it right: awesome!

We made good use of mountain streams on the way up as well as down, but towards the bottom I was badly dehydrated. I fell in with a young man who came from SF, who gave me a spare bottle of water he had, as we exchanged habitats. He told me two pieces of news that I was not expecting:

(A) he was an Arsenal fan, and

(B) Arsenal won the FA Cup Final in a thrilling match against Hull by the skin of their teeth. I am neither an Arsenal fan nor a follower of football, but, as he nattered on, I forgave my companion. And so May 2014 was the year I got the result of the Cup Final coming down Yosemite Falls. 

Bus back to Cam Curry, registration and locating our canvas cabin, parking the bikes under the trees all followed. It  was rudimentary and only had one bed - a double. We showered and felt a bit better. Our limbs were creaking but over a beer and pizza, J told me that our steep ascent was a climb of over 2800ft. He also asked how I felt about being taken out of my comfort zone. Some things are best enjoyed in retrospect but I must say that, although it was tough, arriving at that summit and seeing the views on a clear sunny day made it one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip for me. 

Which is more than can be said for the ceiling. I slept badly because, by contrast with the days, the nights are really cold. I also was missing the part of my comfort zone that includes a bathroom within easy reach!. J slept on the floor (on his camping lilo) and apparently a bit better than I did.