Alice and the Big Sur

As I’ve got older, I’ve become increasingly less comfortable flying. I know, I know …. I’ll be senile and in a nursing home shortly.  Despite the fact that everything you read says it’s just about the safest form of transport, there’s something about a lump of metal sailing through the air 10,000 m above the ground that just doesn’t sit right with me. So, on my flight from New York to San Francisco, when we’d boarded and were waiting in the queue on the runway for take off, the sound of a hydraulic pump in the left wing shrieking as it continually turned itself on and off didn’t make me a whole lot more comfortable. And no, it wasn’t a German Shephard in the cargo hold making the racket as someone suggested. We deplaned (how’s that for a fancy word) after being told there would be a 4 hour delay while they fixed it, unless they could get another plane sorted in a shorter time frame. Having settled into the lounge at Gate 46, about 2 hours later (9.00 pm) we were told we’d be boarding in 5 minutes. An hour later, the American Airlines announcement explained that the replacement plane had also ‘broken’ and we’d have to wait for a third one. Are you serious!?!? We boarded plane no 3 at 11.00 pm only 4 hours late. As we were strapping ourselves in, the pilot said that we were not to take our seatbelt’s off at any point during the flight as they were expecting quite serious turbulence for at least the first 2 hours of the trip. I was glad I’d put my dollar in the karma jar to pay for my coffee at the Moto Guild the previous week. Not doing those sort of things can get you killed! So, there we were, shaking and rocking, dropping and vibrating for the first half of the flight, arriving safely in San Francisco at about 2.00 am having saved  a couple of hours due to San Fran’s earlier time zone. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep at all.

I booked into my hotel and was up at 8.00 am for a ‘complementary’ breakfast and an Uber over to Scotts to pick up the bike. She was waiting patiently – it would be good to get back on the road. At least I’d be responsible for any turbulence from this point forwards. Scott took a day off work and was going to get me on the way south. I needed fuel, so we got that out of the way just down the road. As always, the pump wouldn’t accept my debit card and I needed to leave it with the attendant who then allowed me to fill up. They don’t often use pins in the US (in California at least) and I had to sign, ‘like an animal’ as Scott put it. We had minimal freeway time and were soon on the Cabrillo Hwy and 101 following the coastline away from the city. It was a lot nicer than my run up the 280 a week or so earlier. As always in the US, it was a beautiful day and the smell of the sea was intoxicating. We both had Sena’s for comms and it was nice to ride along, have a chat and get bit of info about what I was seeing. As I’d thought, we were going to stop at Alice’s Restaurant for a late breakfast or an early lunch – whichever way you want to view it. Skyline drive ran north / south and we zig zagged our way down, crossing it several times. The roads were spectacular, twisty and windy, only marred on one section by the chip resealing that had recently taken place. It made things very skatey and slowed us down considerably.

Alice’s proved to be a fantastic stop off. As with most biker joints, it had character and charm – a bit like us! We settled in for shared Buffalo Wings and a brisket sandwich with slaw and fries. Now, I’m a bit fussy and I’ve always considered brisket to be only a whisker away from offal. However, it’s a BBQ favourite in the States and I had to try it sometime. It was spectacular as were the wings. They can be hit and miss I’m told, but Alice’s nailed it. We continued on and arrived at possibly the best bit of bitumen that I’ve ever ridden on. Winding down through the mountains, with sunlight and blue sky showing through the trees, it was perfectly formed with a line of sight that went for ever. With Scott as the canary, I had a ball, only limited by my skill and the bikes rapidly wearing tyres. Awesome fun. Scott works for Apple and commuted into the area 3 or 4 days a week as it is home to their head office – Cupertino (I think). He doesn’t own a car – what a way to get to work. This was the tone for the rest of the afternoon – awesome roads just begging to be ridden. We pulled up in a small town and had a farewell beer at a pub called Joe’s. A little route planning to get me to Monterey and we said our goodbyes. It was great getting to know you Scott and thanks for all your assistance. Enjoy your time in New Zealand later in the year and if you make it to Oz, you know where to find me.

I had some nice scenic riding over the afternoon and, after a bit of freeway, was in Monterey just as it got dark. I was meeting Arrin and Cindy south of Big Sur the next day from where we’d be heading into the hills for a couple of days camping, plenty of dirt and great views of the coastline. So, a bit of shopping for supplies, a dinner of beef skewers with potato salad and I was in bed and ready for an early start the next morning.

Monterey was close to the beginning of the real Highway 1, a very, very famous road that hugs the west coast for well over 100 miles down past Cambria. Scott suggested that the weather was absolutely perfect. It was a beautiful day, with blue skies and brilliant sunshine. We are a spoiled in Australia because it was pretty hazy and the horizon was a bit of a blur by comparison. Not that I’m complaining though – the coastline was beautiful and guess what ‘I’m riding the Big Sur!’. I gave myself 2 hours to get to the meeting point with Arrin (who I’d met in Idaho on the BDR) and realised I’d made a pretty silly mistake. While the traffic was slow, the temptation to stop every few miles and take in the views was also strong. I did a bit of both and ended up at the Dollar Sands Picnic Grounds at 10.00 am as agreed. Arrin was there – he hadn’t changed a bit. Why would he, other than he did have the second half of the BDR to finish off after I last saw him. He’d done this comfortably with the exception of a tough time on the stony hills around the Blue Cottage. I can definitely relate to that bit of the route.

It was great reunion, but Arrin did have a bit of bad news. It turned out that the Forestry Services had, in their due wisdom, decided to close the whole of the Los Padres National Forest. Our aim had been to get up into the hills above the Big Sur and ride dirt roads parallel to the Coast Highway camping along the way. Every road and walking track was closed off and the signs suggested that the $5,000 fine and 6 months in prison would be rigorously enforced.

Common sense prevailed and we continued south, enjoying the Coast Highway, the views, sea lions and the winding roads. Lunch was at the Taco Temple in Morrow Bay. This is a bit of an institution and, based on the massive number of people lined up, it was well deserved. Decisions, decisions – a fish or pulled pork (and deep fried) taco?  In true American tradition, I had both. To be honest, we had 3 between us, but it was still a huge feed.

We spent the afternoon zigzagging about the place, a combination of dirt and bitumen, before arriving in Arrins home town of Atascadero about4.00 pm. ‘We might just duck out to Pozo for a look around’ Arrin suggested. After a quick stop at the saloon, he said we’ll just poke up to the radar installation. Said very nonchalantly, no big deal,  I wasn’t expecting much but, as we rose higher and higher I realised that he’d been toying with me.

The road was in pretty poor repair – gravel and sand in the corners, a bit of bitumen amongst the patches, whoo boys, cracks and big drop offs. And twisty – seriously, we have nothing back home by comparison! The road had an interesting little eroded end to it as we rose to just under 4,000 ft (1,200 m) and, as so often on this trip, before I knew it, we were on top of the world. The views went for 360 degrees, showing the desolate wasteland to the east and the road running along the ridge that got us to the summit. You could also clearly see fault lines from past earthquakes. Arrin pulled out a beer and we contemplated the world. A nice end to a great days riding.

Instead of camping, I ended up bunking at Arrins place where I met his wife Cindy. They made me very welcome and Cindy even got a load of washing on for me. At least these guys understood that smelly, sweaty riding gear is part of the deal! We had a great meal at a modern mexican restaurant in Pasco Robles called Fishgaucho. After ordering short rib enchiladas that were absolutely out of this world, everyone, the server included, was horrified when I said that I’d never had a margarita. What have you been doing with your life? I had a taste of Arrin’s jalapeño infused cocktail and, after I could feel my lips again, settled for a Paloma margarita. Based on cane sugar, citrus and, of course, tequila, it was delicious. As Cindy said, you can really suck them down. She wasn’t wrong.

Despite her bad back, Cindy came for a ride with us the next day. We slabbed it down the 101 to Cachuma Lake with the intention of riding some off-road trails in the National Forest to the east. Once again, we were thwarted as all dirt roads were sealed off a tight as a drum.

We walked a little way up one of them and could see the effect of the fires. Amazing how such steep and sparsely vegetated country could burn at all.

We decided to have lunch at the Cold Spring Tavern, only a short distance away. Tucked up on a narrow mountain road, we came around a corner to see piles of cars and even more bikes jammed into any available space around a couple of old, low, moss covered buildings. There were people everywhere, and we were nearly overwhelmed by the roar of Harley’s and sports bikes being revved as loudly as humanly possible.

Surrounded by noise, laughter, music and smoke from BBQ’s, we bought beers and Tri Tip sandwiches, letting the atmosphere simply wash around us. Our lunch was made from a cut of beef that is slow cooked and then sliced up like a roast, heaped into toasted rolls and smothered in BBQ and mustard / cheese sauce. Awwwwwwwsomeeeeeee.

We’d spoken to locals and determined that we weren’t going to get any of the riding in we were hoping for, so that was going to be it for the afternoon. The band was Tom Ball and Kenny Sultan – harmonica, guitar and a crazy set of whisks on a cardboard box! They’d been playing at Cold Spring for 25 years and had lots of great stories to tell. It was relaxing and a whole heap of fun – not a bad trade off at all.

We went back to the lake and I set up my camp while being watched and entertained by Arrin and Cindy. They certainly are a lively couple – Arrin in particular. He never sits still and is so enthusiastic about everything, especially his riding. Their hospitality and generosity was tremendous. Thanks so much guys – hopefully I’ll be able to repay it one day.

I had a quiet meal, partially wrote up my very overdue second last blog post and watched a movie after it got dark. My last night on the road – off to LA and the big wrap up tomorrow. I’m looking forward to getting home in many ways, however it was a bitter sweet moment. But then, so is life.