Day 4, 5/21/06: Fortuna, CA to (I guess) Cupertino, CA
324 miles
Click here for the route map.
or start with Day 1 here.

Breakfast this morning at the Samoa Cookhouse, which is an interesting sort of place. Apaprently it used to serve as the mess hall for the loggers of the region, and it's still set up inside with a bunch of long trestle tables and decorated with various logging tools and memorabilia on the walls. There aren't any menus; you pay a flat fee for each meal, and then you can have as much as you want of whatever they've decided to cook for that meal. Our breakfast was eggs, biscuits and gravy, sausage links, thick slices of toast, and juice, and there was a ton of it.

Some of the bikes at the cookhouse (a bunch had already left):

After breakfast, Carolyn (Bluepoof) was kind enough to invite me to join the southbound crew for the next leg of my trip. I assented, of course; I like riding with others, and expected that there would be plenty of solo time for me in the latter half of the trip. Shortly after breakfast we were off, after farewells to the northbound folks were said.

Our plan was to head south, with as much time as possible spent on beautiful Hwy 1 instead of horrible Hwy 101. With that goal in mind, we set off into the light rain, which would follow us on and off all day. We followed 101 south to the 1 junction, at which point a few of our number who were more interested in just getting home peeled off. The one thing in Hwy 101's favor is the much faster pace one can keep on it, as opposed to the twisting, beautiful, and slow nature of 1.

The first 20 miles of Hwy 1 descend from the higher elevation of the inland roads to the coast, and that descent is along a very twisty, often blind, wooded section. In the fog and the rain. Beautiful, as always, and yet in the rain and with wet pine needles on the road surface, a bit of a sketchy time. There were a few more moments where I felt very uncomfortable in the corners here; one of them was a simple feeling that I worked through, leaned and stayed smooth on the controls, and pulled through with nary a jitter. The other; well. I regret to say that I crossed the centerline in a left turn. I entered too hot, and I guess I didn't give enough credence to the fact that I'd been riding hard for four days, I was beginning to tire, and I wasn't at the top of my game. For whatever reason, though, I went wide. I'm aware that it's simply a matter of luck that nobody happened to be coming the other direction at that time. I'm very grateful for that. This was my first time crossing the line, and it really hit me hard. If I never do it again, it will be too soon.

Anyway. Soon the blind twisty section was at an end, and the highway spit us out along the rocky beaches of the central California coast. The trees come nearly down to the water, here, and so it was quite a surprise to turn a corner just like any other and see the grey Pacific ahead of us, long strings of breakers rolling in from the west and spending themselves on the stony shore. A beautiful sight, but then I'm always taken aback by the sea.

From here all the way down the California coast, Hwy 1 stays right near the coast, sometimes running along sheer cliffs immediately above the water, and sometimes through hills a little ways inland. Either way, though, the gusty shore breeze sweeps across the road, and like most ocean breezes, it's not messing around. The sailor in my gloried at the whitecaps, signifying 16-20 knots off the coast, but the rider in me cringed as the gusts battered my bike around. The only time I regret my rear shock replacement mod is when there's wind around; Zoë bends before the breezes, and it's on my shoulders to muscle her back on line again.

Despite all that, the ride was a great one, through the little seaside towns that are scattered all along Route 1. We stopped for lunch at a diner, where Carolyn was startled to find that her nice, theoretically-healthy "chicken salad" involved deep-frying the chicken first, and then returned to the road. As wonderful as the coast road was, we weren't making the kind of milage we needed in order to reach San Francisco before tomorrow, and so just south of Albion we turned off onto Rte 128 for the return to 101.

128 is another fun motorcycle road, through ranch-land, wineries, and the chaparral that makes up so much of central and southern California. The group began to stretch out a little bit, as people wanted to spend at least a little time at a faster pace, and soon I found myself riding alone, comfortably in the middle of the pack and taking it easy after the unpleasant moments of the morning.

Once we reached the 101, we made a final stop for gas before beginning the last push towards home. Cynthia and Jim were bound for Modesto (I think?), while Carolyn graciously offered me crash-space on her floor for the night. Carolyn, Andrew, and I headed south across the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco.

I hadn't been to SF since high school, when my choir would make a road trip there every year to sing at a Giants' game and in Ghiradelli Square, and I'm sad I didn't get a chance to spend more time in town and explore. I remember loving that city greatly, and it was high in the running for my destination after college. I don't regret heading to Seattle instead, but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the Bay Area. Alas, we tore through the city as quickly as we could, hoping to get in out of the rain, which had begun again in earnest. We parted ways with Andrew just south of the city, and I followed Carolyn as best I could through the night to eventually arrive at her house. Room was made in the garage for Zoë next to the like fifteen other bikes owned by Carolyn and her fiance Peter (well, five other bikes, but who's counting?) and we celebrated the end of the WCRM with a delicious sushi dinner and a few bottles of sake.

I was provided with a room of my very own and a surprisingly-comfortable air mattress, and slept the sleep of the dead that night.

lots of bikes, and an old Galaga machine!