Grief

When you bruise your knee, strain an ankle, break a leg, or are suffering from a serious disease, in most of the cases the pain will stop eventually. So, while you're suffering from sometimes almost unbearable pain, you can find some consolation in the fact that time will make it better. Everyone who's suffering from a mean toothache or a migraine right now might think otherwise. But it really does.

The same is true for break ups. The first few days, you just want to die right there. You don't want to get up, not even wake up for that matter. Because every night you dream about being together again and then you wake up and when you realize that it's over, you're going through the same pain again. And again. Every morning. It really doesn't feel like it will ever get any better. Or stop altogether. But everyone who's gone through a few breakups knows, that it does get better. There comes the day when you wake up and you realize:"I'm not in love with that person anymore." It does not hurt to think about him anymore. It does not hurt to meet him. Or even to see him with his new partner. Thanks to time, good friends, and, also helpful, a not insignificant amount of alcoholic beverages. And, the best way to get over him: the new guy you fell in love with who is even more awesome that the old one.

But death of a beloved person is a whole different story. There are some things in life that cannot be replaced. Ever. We only have one father, one mother, two grannies, and two grandpas. One spouse that we want to spend the rest of our lives with (debatable, I know), a limited number of siblings and best friends. Pets, favorite movie stars, teachers, and other people who are an important part of our lives. At least for a certain amount of time. And when they die, it's final. You can't replace your father with a new father. Your first dog with your second. You can't replace your first love who you knew since first grade, married after high school, raised your children with, counted each penny to be able to buy food and then, a house with. You can't replace someone with whom you shared that many memories. That special person who made you feel like no one else did. Who knew you like no one else. It's like trying to substitute a 3,000 year old redwood tree with a seedling. Tearing down St. Peter and put Grace Cathedral in its place. It's just not the same.

And then you're stuck in this dilemma that is slowly tearing your heart out. You don't want to forget this person. You want to keep the memory alive. But that prevents time from doing what it does best: making it better. Letting you heal. By constantly refreshing your memories of the person, you reopen the new tissue that had just started to grow over your wound. Grief sucks. Big time.

A car is not a toy

Have you ever wondered why there are relatively few car accidents considering the lack of skills, attention, consideration, focus on driving, or just plain common sense of so many car drivers? Having walked, driven a car, a motorcycle, and a bicycle in a few countries, in German cities, country roads, the Autobahn, and a lot of roads, high and freeways in the US I'm more and more stunned by the fact that I haven't seen that many accidents yet. I know, there are plenty of them but still, based on what I've experienced and seen there should be a lot more!

People don't notice what's going on around them, use their phones and all kinds of other devices, read newspapers and maps, take a nap, eat, drink hot beverages, smoke and light cigarettes, or try to pick them up after they dropped them, apply make up, everything's possible.

When I was 20 I lived in a city about 30 kilometers away from my home town. One day my mother and I were driving back to my home town after I had a small surgery on my foot. Somewhere on the Autobahn we were driving in the middle lane, about to pass a huge truck. Suddenly, without warning, the truck's turn signal showed up and, at the same time, the truck moved into our lane. And hit our car. We got pushed to the left lane where another car hit us at full speed. My mother managed the impossible and kept driving because, apparently, the truck driver hadn't noticed anything and kept driving. My mother honked and yelled, despite my efforts to get her to pull over and stop the car until the truck finally noticed her and pulled over to the shoulder. All this while the poor guy in the car that hat hit our rear sat in his car wreck on the left lane, watching us driving away. 

While the police changed our tire so that my mother could drive us home (she's cooler than James Bond my Mom!), I watched a number of trucks passing us and understood why this accident had happened. The drivers read newspapers, had their feet up on the dashboard, talked on the phone, seemed to watch TV, ate, or seemed to be asleep (!). A few times I saw them moving the steering wheel to the left to pass a slower truck. They move the wheel and hit the turn signal at the same time and all of this without a prior look over their shoulder or at least into the side mirror. I am not saying that all truck drivers are like this and their work conditions do suck big time. But this complete disregard combined with not owning the car and not being in any danger of physical damage by getting hit by a car, at least not by our little VW was just shocking and incredibly scary.

Riding a bicycle through Hamburg provided a lot of eye openers as well. Granted, many bicyclists are not much better than most car drivers but a lot of them try to make it easy for car drivers but do have to fear for their lives. When it comes to bad experiences with car drivers, I remember one very vividly. I was riding back home from work on the bicycle path, on the right side. When, suddenly, a taxi pulled over from the other side of the road, across a continuous middle line (as in DON'T CROSS THIS LINE EVER!) and directly onto the bicycle path, a few meters in front of me. I barely managed to stop my bike without hitting the car. And I got angry! I looked up and started yelling at the driver. No four letter words but words that seem appropriate when someone almost kills you in a place that should be considered half way safe for a bicyclist. And what did he do? He got out of his car and started yelling at me. Lots of words I'd rather not repeat here. In retrospect, I should have, at least fake hit his car. I had a witness who was almost as speechless as I faced with this guy's 

reaction to the incident. But I didn't. Because I prefer myself and others to be safe and uninjured to teaching someone a lesson. However, sometimes I just can't resist. Too many times I saw people who let their children walk on the street side of the sidewalk without paying any attention to them or, who pushed their strollers on a bicycle path while talking to a friend, in person or on the phone, or just looking into the sky. So one time I stopped my bicycle a few inches in front of a stroller, pushed on a bicycle path by a blonde posh woman who was busy exchanging the latest gossip with her friend. To her credit, she immediately began yelling at me for endangering her child (or maybe just the expensive McLaren stroller, who knows). I just looked at her and said that if I had been a car or a less attentive bicyclist her child would have been dead or severely injured now. She didn't seem to get it. And honestly, I don't know what will make her get it. Maybe a car that hits her little girl at 35 miles an hour and sends her flying through the air would do the trick...

Now that I live in California, with a daily commute on one of the busiest freeways in the state (fortunately, I don't have to drive myself), riding my motorcycle on busy and not so busy streets and roads, I have plenty of more opportunities to see the scariness of car driving in California! In order to get a drivers license you need to pass a written exam and a behind the wheel driving test. No minimum classroom and behind the wheel lessons with a certified (and more often than not seriously crazy) driving instructor. Just a few hours with mom or dad or friends with licenses who are old and bold enough to let you drive why dying a slow death in the passenger's seat. This explains a lot. There's not a lot of common sense, no skills that come with driving experience, and being taught what to do in unexpected situations by an expert. Such as how to drive backwards uphill on a steep icy street. I've seen more than enough helpless, stunned faces and behavior upon the sight or the occurrence of something unexpected. Such as a jogger on a sidewalk that someone almost ran over because the driver did not look left or right before driving on the Safeway parking lot. Yelling at them didn't help either. Well, in situations like these I usually revert back to German. Because it's just more satisfying to use four letter words in your native language. However, those two old Asian ladies couldn't have looked more terrified, being yelled at by this sweaty, tall, red faced, angry German. Though I don't think they understood why I was so angry. And, worst of all, they didn't even stop the car. They just looked at me and kept driving. It's the LEFT pedal! It's not so difficult, there are only TWO in almost all US cars!

I really try to be more Zen about this. After all, being angry and yelling at people never helps and is bad for my health and well being. But I have to say that this is the one thing that still makes me angry. People drive cars as if they're operating a toy. Not one of the toys that could actually kill you when operated negligently. A car is a damn killing machine! How can people be so afraid of becoming a victim of a terrorist attack or a plane crash and still get in their car every day and drive on a Freeway? Or, worse, walk through the city, cross streets, ride their bicycles or motorcycles? I'm grateful for every day that I do not get killed or severely injured by a vehicle whose driver just checked his texts or lighted a cigarette. Just a little more common sense, attention, and the realization that it takes practice to become a good driver. Until then, the brake pedal, rearview mirrors, frequent head turns, and undivided attention while driving are you best friends. And all other road users will be, too.

Drive safely :-)

Towing home

Last Tuesday I had my first experience with AAA. My motorcycle got towed. I still hadn't gotten around to bring my bike to the shop for a check up after the long ride. She ran just fine without any issues so I didn't feel an urgency to pay a few hundred dollars to get the confirmation that everything is just fine. Well, guess I should have.

Anyway, I decided to ride to work because I had physiotherapy in the morning and a social event at work in the afternoon, somewhere in Mountain View. Everything worked out well. I rode down 101 and thanks to my neon yellow jacket all the cars made space for me to pass and ignore the bad traffic. I know, lane splitting is incredibly dangerous and it scares the hell out of me. Just the thought that at any moment a car could just change the lane and pull out right in front of you, causing you to fly across cars and break whatever bone is available in you body. I could not commute on a motorcycle. Having to go through this stress every day would cause my hair to be grey within months. That said, while the driving skills in this country could be improved a lot of car drivers are very courteous towards motorcycle riders and let enough space for us to lane split. Also, while bad traffic in a car is annoying and tiring on a motorcycle it's extremely exhausting and, if it's hot outside, you're getting cooked in your gear.

While I was riding I noticed that my gear shift wasn't very compliant. I had trouble with it before. Often, when I was riding faster on the Freeway and had to switch into a lower gear it would go into a fake neutral and I had to kick the lever really hard to get into the desired or just any gear. That morning, however, it actually got stuck and stopped moving altogether. Not something you want to happen while riding on the left lane on 101 in heavy traffic. I managed to roll over to the shoulder without causing any delay in traffic. And again I was incredibly grateful to be wearing this lovely bright and shiny jacket!

I tried to fix it somehow and, indeed, I was able to move the lever and thought I could continue. But as soon as I turned the engine back on and tried to switch into first gear it got stuck again. So I took out my phone and called AAA. It was a little scary to find my way through their phone system and finally talk to a person about my situation, while standing only a few meters away from cars passing. And they asked for an awful lot of information. Later I learned that they often have issues locating vehicles so I guess it was a good thing to spend a few more minutes providing information. It certainly helped that I was standing right across from the SFO International Airport.

Right after I ended the call I saw a truck pulling up behind me and thought: "Wow, that was quick!". But it was a California Highway Patrol Service truck. Those guys provide free, well, tax paid, road side assistance on Californian Highways. Makes sense. Car issues are the most frequent cause for traffic jams, I suppose. He asked if I was okay and if there was anything he could do for me. Even just stay with me until the AAA car arrived. I declined but told him that this was an awesome idea and I really appreciated his offer.

I had barely sat down and sent an email to my colleagues that I would be working from home that day, if I ever got there, when the AAA truck showed up. Less than 10 minutes after the call. My bike got fastened on the truck within the next 5 minutes and Don, the driver and I were on our way to the Ducati shop. It turned out, that Don was from Malta and really happy that I had been there once. So we talked about the European Union and the quality of life in the US vs. Europe until we pulled up in front of the motorcycle shop. Those guys must think that I'm too lazy to drive to the shop as this was the second time in a row that I got towed there.

Meanwhile, the bike is fixed, I'm happy with AAA's roadside assistance and assistants. Someone else was happy, too. My roommate's and our neighbors' cats. They always enjoy having someone at home during the day who can open doors for them and refill their half full bowl to prevent them from starving.

Done!

15 days

3,510 miles (5,648.8 km)

7 states

13 destinations

12 hotels

65 gallons of gas

1,526 dead bugs

2,5kg of dust (equally distributed between my bike an my boots)

~180 hours of sleep (not nearly enough)

Countless pizzas, burgers, fries, and French toast variations

300 "fuck's" at the sight of something stunning, beautiful, awe inspiring piece of nature (not sure, when I developed that mouth)

~10,000 calories burned (yes, riding a motorcycle is kind of a sport)

Countless lovely people. From scary looking gentleman bikers to family like innkeepers, and interested to concerned fellow travelers.

Two matchmaking attempts

One bachelorette party

One Aleeve and various ice packs a day

An average of 50 blog views a day (half of them might have been me, spell-checking)

Day 11 - Almost done and short break

South Lake Tahoe is my last official stop before I'm heading home. Tomorrow and Saturday I will be wake boarding and, the best part of wake boarding: No cell phone coverage and no wifi!

So, this is the end of the road trip coverage. It's been fun. Amazing. Wonderful. I feel blessed to be able to live in a country with such an abundance of beautiful nature. I don't think I'll ever have to leave the country again because there's enough to see for multiple lifetimes. The Tetons. Majestic, power and peaceful at the same time. Calling them "Big Tits" just doesn't seem to be right. The Rocky Mountains, the desert, beautiful lakes, rivers, forests, blue skies, starry skies, redwoods, the Pacific Ocean, nature that makes St. Peter and the Colosseum look like recently built. I'll never say that the US doesn't have much history, anymore. It's just not written down in words that men can read. But it's all there. For everyone to see and understand. 

And people. I've met the sweetest people during my trip. They made me feel as if was a friend, not a guest. The most fiercely looking bikers turned out to be the nicest and caring gentlemen, colleagues who turned out to be the awesome private person I always expected them to be. Parents of friends who made me feel loved and part of a family even though my family is thousands of miles away (and I do love and miss them more than anything!), strangers who made me feel like a friend for a short time. I must say that, as a German, I've never felt as welcomed and appreciated, loved and unconditionally accepted in any other foreign country. It might be different for other nationalities but, the people I've met wouldn't have cared. They were just perfectly sweet and welcoming. 

And, speaking of perfectly sweet. My bike has been one of the most awesome travel companions I've ever had! No trouble, just fun, patience, and unlimited awesomeness! I can't wait to take her on the next trip!

Thank you all for making this trip such a treasured and sweet memory! 

And thanks to everyone who followed me. I hope it wasn't too boring. No drama, sex, action, sports. Just a few days of seeing the world through my eyes. I promise, there will be more trips. I haven't seen enough of this country yet! And neither has "Fury".

Eva and "Fury", the most awesome bike ever.

Day 11 - From Dust to Dawn

Another early morning. Woken up by the sunrise once again. I just love this country's sunny states. The weather wasn't going to be too hot so I didn't have to leave too early. After a quarter of a musli bar and one weak coffee I hit the road at 8am. I thought I'd stop in the next bigger city, like an hour later to have a proper breakfast. Well, it would take a little longer.

The night before I found a more scenic road than I80, 49 (Nevada) or Jungo Road. If I had looked a little more closely I would have seen that this road ended after about 100 miles at a "town" called Gerlach. Gerlach is a short drive away from another, seasonally bigger "town", called "Black Rock City", the hometown of Burning Man. But I hadn't.

So I drove on that road and after 8 miles the pavement became a little rough. But still easy to ride. So I continued for 32 more miles. Some trucks and pickups passed me and maps reassured me that I was still on 49. And I still had cell phone coverage. Still no reason to be concerned. Shortly before Maps said "turn left", the road became a lot worse. Gravel and dirt, potholes filled with sand, the ones that every cyclist hates. And stones, potholes without sand, the whole collection. 

I didn't really take any pictures of the worst part as I focused on not dropping the bike...

At this point it looked as if continuing would be shorter than driving back. So, I continued. Talk about rocky road. A couple times I ended up in one of those sandy potholes and had fun trying to keep my bike from falling. It kind of seemed easier than with a bicycle but the prospect of having to pick up the bike in the middle of nowhere (My friend Mira called it "home" because it was so close to Burning Man) didn't appeal to me. Neither did the thought of having to walk or hitch hike in case it broke down. The truck or pick up drivers wouldn't have minded it, I suppose. Anyway, I kept going, and the bike did, too. The scenery was amazing, I was almost on my own. Well, I did not see any car on the last 30 miles. That last part of the road reminded me a lot of the trails I run on, back home at my parents'. 

My own little pre-compression :-). 

At one point, turning left looked a lot more appealing than going straight but Maps insisted that straight was a yellow "road" while left was just a grey "path" so I continued straight. I could see the highway 1-2 miles to my left but my road kept going straight for miles. Also, I was a little concerned that I might end up in front of a gate, field, fence, river, or just a gap in the road. At this point I couldn't have gone back as I didn't have enough gas anymore. And then, after almost 3 hours and 70 miles of dust I made it back to the properly paved highway! That felt like sleeping on a mattress after weeks of camping in the ground! Even the headwind didn't bother me anymore. And at 11.30am I finally got my breakfast! And I took a first look at my bike and boots:

The last part of the trip was easy. Down 95 which was perfect without the heat.

And then west on highway 50 to South Lake Tahoe. I hadn't been there in 10 years but I remembered the highway, the curves, and the stunning views because we went on a motorcycle ride around the lake then. And when I entered my hotel room I got compensated for all the dirt with a beautiful lake view.

The first thing I did was to get a pedicure.  Bright neon sparkly pink. After all this bike, adventurer, desert thing I needed something girly. It'll also fit perfectly with my sparkly white-pink wakeboard (I know why I got open-toed boots). 

Oh yeah, I tend to forget to close on my title. I talked about the dust enough. Now, where's the Dawn? Well, I am sitting in this restaurant on the pier with a perfect view of the lake and sunset-to-be, trying to come up with a smart headline for today's post. And then, my waitress appears and asks me if I wanted a drink. Her name is "Dawn"... And she looks exactly like Sonja Kirchberger, a German actress.

Day 10 - Gamble with the Wind

I quickly learned why today was so much cooler than I had expected. Wind. And what a wind that was. I added layer after layer but only when I finally left the cloudy area I stopped shivering. The wind, however, continue blowing heavily. And there was this mean looking dark front at the horizon. Right where I had to go. And I could see the rain pouring out of it.

And I did end up in it. But luckily, only for a few minutes. Thanks to the wind.. Which kept pushing the bike so that it was constantly bent to one side. As if I was driving through curves. Just less fun and less active pushing on my side. I just hung on and held against the wind. This is how it must feel to break in a mustang. Well, luckily without the up and down jumping. Just left and right. 

After the third huge truck had passed me (two of them got pulled over a few miles later) I thought it might make things easier for me if I just hid behind one of them. Well, the headwind was less strong. But there were all kinds of weird turbulences going on which made it even harder to keep the bike in a straight line. So I stopped doing that and just hung in there. For all 290 miles to Winnemucca.

Now I'm done with my nap, or better woke up after passing out and am having dinner in my hotel, the Winnemucca Inn and Casino. Funny crowd. I wonder if some of them actually do stay for longer than a night. It's kind of like a geriatric ward of Las Vegas. And anyone else, who is traveling through. Like me. I think I could write a whole post about gambling. Why people do it and why I don't. Well, the latter I because I inherited the love for gambling from my mother but, unfortunately, not the luck.

It started with card games I played with my parents and my brother. Mainly "Doppelkopf", four players, 40 cards, ten of hearts is the highest trump and whoever holds the queens of clubs (second highest trump), plays together. There's all kinds of rules and funny outcomes. But the main outcome for me was to lose 2-3 D-Marks to, mostly my mother. But at least she taught me the only way to deal with gambling. If you absolutely want or have to. Get chips once. For a limited amount of money. And then gamble. Win, lose, but don't get any more chips. Maybe I'll try that again tomorrow night in South Lake Tahoe.

I also noticed that I prefer to meet other bikers while I'm on the bike or at least close enough to it that I can be associated with it. It's not that much fun when you walk down the street in Winnemucca in shorts and boots and get whistled at by dudes on Harleys. And you can't just yell back:"I'm one of you guys, dude (enter stronger word here), so stop that whistling!"

Day 9 - Mad Max and Falls

After a not too quiet night in the Hatchet Resort in Grand Teton, thanks to a toilet pipe that made the wooden wall squeak every time someone used the bathroom, I got back on the road towards Twin Falls, Idaho. The Tetons were extra nice to me and appeared majestic in front of a perfect blue sky.

Surprisingly, they didn't look all that impressive from the other side. I was back in Idaho. This time a totally different Idaho. A huge plain with mountains on the horizon. I took the scenic route and drove by and almost around the Craters of the Moon national park. The ground covered with dark lava rocks and craters and small bushes. Going on for miles and miles and miles. 

I had become really hot so I opened every available zipper with the result that a few bugs crashed into my wrists. I'm used to them hitting my helmet and jacket and spreading their intestines all over the place when they explode. The big ones really hurt as if you got slingshot. But having them all over my skin made me wonder how those Harley riders can ride in t-shirts and some even without helmets. But I guess, once your skin has turned into leather thanks to years of tanning, you might not notice the yellow jackets anymore that are hitting your arms, chest, and forehead. Or maybe they just catch them with their teeth :-).

It went on like on the pictures above for a couple more hours until I reached Twin Falls. By then I was almost roasted and really tired. Nothing a cold shower and a nap couldn't fix. After that I got to see the name givers, the Twin Falls. 

Tomorrow's destination is Winnemucca, Nevada. According to the weather forecast no more roasting is to be expected. Yeah!

Day 8 - Through Montana to Wyoming

Wyoming. The fifth state so far. Without counting California. And again a totally different scenery. I left Butte in the morning and my route would take me through parts of Montana, Wyoming with Yellowstone and Grand Teton.  

I had the best time at the Toad Hall Manor B&B in Butte. It didn't feel like a hotel at all. More like staying with a friend's parents. I got cocktails and dinner and we talked for hours until I could hardly keep my eyes open and went to sleep. After another rich breakfast I left towards southeast. Montana is probably the most "Western" state I've seen so far. Well, Houston Airport doesn't count. And I mean real, authentic Western. It made me want to swap my bike for a horse for a few times. It's so incredibly wide. There seems to be so much space. It's not the "in your face" beauty of California or Idaho. It's more humble and quiet, a little rough around the edges and completely unpretentious and authentic. 

I liked the speed limit and all traffic sings. There weren't that many and the speed limit was usually 70 to 75 mph. Not a different limit for every type o road or curve. It was like "Don't go faster than this. However, you might want to go slower if the conditions require it." Common sense driving. Though that's easy in a state with only a few cars and roads that go either straight on for hours or have a few nice and easy turns. And most of the time you can see miles ahead. 

Eventually I reached Wyoming and, Yellowstone. It's huge and pretty and reminded me a lot of the Lüneburger Heide in Germany. Apart from the mountains in the background. Riverbeds, canyons, lots of small trees, dead trees, too, but they fit in well with the whole scenery. And hot springs. White ground with turquoise colored pools, copper stains and the steam coming out of the earth everywhere. And then the "big one", "Old Faithful". We waited an hour until it showed. A few splashes at first, until they became bigger and then we got the whole show. Lasted 3 minutes. I'm not going to write down any of the analogies that came to mind while I was watching this. Together with hundreds of other tourists. Too easy. 

And off we all went. I drove towards south and finally reached the Grand Teton National Park. I had seen pictures of the lake and the mountains. But I was not prepared for what I was about to see. I turned around a corner and there they were. I stopped to take a picture but couldn't. I just stood there. Stunned. Silent. Overwhelmed by the sight. I had seen similar mountains in the Alpes, Mt. Cook in New Zealand, Sierra Nevada in Spain. But here were four Mt. Cooks in a row. Partly covered with snow. Teased by a group of perky clouds and all of them reflecting perfectly on the otherwise deep blue surface of the lake.

Again, it's not that the sight was unfamiliar. It's just the sheer size and accumulation of those sights that takes your breath away. I don't think that there are enough or good enough words to describe what I felt when I looked at those mountains. Well, I had tears running down my cheeks. Something that usually happens during Puccini operas :-). 

Now I'm about to sleep after a dinner with a lovely Texan couple (god, I love hanging out with people who are so much taller than me). They had been all through the US with their motorcycle and now they'd tow their Harley behind their RV and take her for shorter tours. I was going to take a picture of the sunset but this is as far I got before I had to escape in order not to be eaten alive by Mosquitos. Even they are really mellow here. I killed three of them while they were taking their time settling in on my legs before biting me.

The other brother

I met this guy. He looked like a surfer, tanned but in a sportive, natural way. He went to all the right schools, Ivy League college, spent some time in Europe before that. Holds the door for you and smells like A&F perfume but not overwhelmingly so. Knows how to dress casually and formally. But his hair will still always have the surfer touch to it. He drives a cool sports car, rides a bicycle, and is into yoga. He's always relaxed, happy and open and sweet to everyone. Loves to go out have fun and date a few women at the same time. Because life is too short to not try another beer, wine, extreme sport, drug, or beautiful woman. I thought he was a great guy to hang out and have a lot of fun with. Until I met his brother.

He is older. Darker. Less educated, well, class room educated. He reads the news. He fixes things. From cars to pipes  and furniture. He navigates rapids, and knows how to survive in the wilderness, but he'd never boast about any of these skills. He doesn't use perfume. He smells like a day outside in fresh air that doesn't know smog. Or carbon dioxide for that matter. He drives a 30 year old pickup that he keeps fixing but can't part from. He's never seen a gym from the inside and doesn't need yoga because he spends so much time by himself outside or working with his hands that he doesn't know how it feels to be stressed. He will fall in love once. And spend the rest of his life with that person. Because he doesn't need something new and exciting every other week. 

Day 7 - "Day off"

Today was a relative slow day. I only had 120 miles to go so I took the opportunity and slept in. The thing that helped me with that was the time difference of one hour. So I woke up an hour later than usual :-).

The part of Montana I drove through was different from Idaho. A lot of green hills with more or less trees and snow capped mountains on the horizon that do not seem to come closer no matter how long you drive.

Very pretty and appropriate for my "day off". However, the thing that does not really help with "taking it easy" in Montana is that the speed limit is 70 miles or 75 on interstates. Which means that you usually go at least 10 miles faster. I suppose less people on a square mile make it less dangerous to drive fast. And you get faster to places, such as your neighbor's house. This state seems even bigger than Idaho. So wide. Open. Free. Lots of cows and green. And very nice people. Such as my inn keepers. After three mojitos and a dinner (at a B&B ) I'm ready to sleep. I also learned that they used to be neighbors with Evel Knievel, who lived two houses away. I guess I will be dreaming of jumping across cars with my Ducati tonight. And I might do it tomorrow if traffic at Yellowstone is too bad :-).

Day 6 - I love Idaho

I'll probably write the same about Montana tomorrow but right now I'm so in love with this state. Today was the best ride so far. Gorgeous, breathtaking, stunning, short, fucking awesome!! I had originally planned to drive up north to Sandpoint and the down southeast on Highway 200. But during breakfast (another rich, almost scary French toast experiment)

the host told the other guests, a couple on a Goldwing, about the beautiful road down south they were going to take. His face was all lit up and he was very enthusiastic. When I asked him about my  planned route he just said:"Yeah, that's a nice road, too." with a very bland face. I knew that the route south would be a lot longer than my planned one so I kept asking him about it until I was sure which way I wanted to take. South, another pass, lots o curvy roads, 350 miles of stunned awe. 

And off I went. Down 95 towards Lewiston and then across some smaller highways to highway 12. At one point the high plain opened into another huge canyon. Even before that I was able to see hundreds of miles in every direction. Snow or tree capped mountains, plains, fields, more trees, canyons. But then the road went down into the canyon, curves and views that made me want to cry. Well, the road work related gravel made me want to cry, too. But then, the slower I went the more I was able to enjoy the view. 

Unfortunately, the canyon pics are on my real camera and I'll have to post them later. 

I reached the bottom of the canyon and had lunch before I started the 187 mile ride along the 12.

Every time I talk to people here they eventually learn that I'm German and, I swear, everyone has either relatives in or from Germany or has spent some time there at one point. No wonder, everything in the Northern States reminds me of some part of Germany. There's alps, fields, meadows, rivers, lots of pine trees, lakes. Well, everything is the XXXL version, though. Like highway 12. It's like driving along a small mountain river. Trees and mountains on both sides, long curves parallel the river. Only that in Germany you can't drive 125 miles (~200km) without driving through a city or even just a small village! And, the river would be much smaller.

You just turn and turn and accelerate and turn again and look around and can't believe how blessed you are to be in this very place in this very moment with this awesome bike that seems to enjoy this ride even more than I do. I know it sounds weird but I swear that she looks at me every morning as if she wanted to say:"Dude, hurry up, get dressed, and get your f***ing ass on top off me so that we can get on the road!". Btw., I finally gave her a name. Figured, that being on the road with someone/thing for such a long time requires a different way to address her/it than "you" or "bike". I named her "Fury". Black, dirty, fast, temperamental, and particularly nice to only one person. Don't know about the last part, but the first four are true.

When I took the last chance to get gas before the summit I met a few bikers from Montana who looked like they had been on the bike for some time longer than me. Weathered, wild hair, bags and camping gear. And of course, I got my picture taken with two of them. Unfortunately not the wildest looking ones. But, the dude on the left has an eye pad :-).

Should have worn a weapon, though. They usually make my ass and thighs look less fat in pictures :-). 

When driving what was supposed to be "up" the mountain to the pass it didn't really feel like going uphill. And I guess this makes sense in a country with an abundance of space. In France, Switzerland, or, worst, Madeira, there's just less room for the road to cross the mountain. So there are tons of curves, one tighter than the other, it's steep and the roads are narrow. So you do feel that you're climbing up or driving down a high mountain. But here you don't. The road begins to ascend that far away from the mountain, that you don't even notice you're going uphill. I mentioned Madeira because there's a 7,000 ft elevation and the island is only a few kilometers broad. That's what I call steep. At one point I had to start the car uphill and it took me several attempts to get it to actually drive and not die. While gaining elevation within short distance, gaining distance was much harder. The whole island is about 50 kilometers long but the drive a long the coast is almost three times as long, thanks to an incredible amount of curves.

Now I'm in Missoula, Montana, eating dinner and fighting to keep my eyes open. My hotel is about a quarter of a mile away but I think I might not make it.

Day 5 - The looong road to Idaho

This is where I am right now about to have dinner. Today was my longest leg so far. 325 miles across Washington state from Seattle to Coeur D'Alene in Idaho. It started with a freezing ride across Stevens Pass to cross an alpine mountain ridge that still had snowy caps down a beautiful river valley with scary rapids that ended in a very creepy town called Leavenworth. It had this Bavarian theme that made me feel like I just crossed the Alps on my way back from Italy. I thought about stopping for a second to take a picture but I was too stunned and creeped out by the whole setting and I really just wanted to get away from there. 

It went further along through the valley and it got really warm. From the deep green pine forrest that scared me a little when I stopped to take a picture (helmet and motorcycle gear don't protect as well against bears and whatever else might live in those areas as a car) 

to yellow hills, big canyons, and flat that goes on for ever.

Literally. You see the horizon and once you've reached it, there's another one, even farther away. Fortunately, whoever it was who designed that road managed to build in some canyons and lakes to keep the bored rider from falling asleep. It starts with a curve out of nowhere that catches your attention. And another one. And you notice that the road starts descending. And before you know, a valley opens and this canyon appears. And you're just amazed and stunned by thousands of years of seismic activity that was necessary to produce something so beautiful. 

At one point the canyon was nicely arranged around a lake that was so clear an still that I felt like putting on my wakeboard and jumping across every available wake.

Although the ride was really tiring and I had trouble keeping my eyes open during the last 50 miles I really enjoyed the absence of traffic after two nights in larger cities. And it made me really look forward to Montana, Wyoming, and Nevada.

When I finally arrived at my bed and breakfast I found it to be a very cute place with beach access to a little bay on the side of Spokane River. So, after my host finished the long and thorough walk through and instructions I took a quick bath. First in the river and then in the hot tub. With a view over the bay. Yeah, if I could have seen myself in that moment I would have hated me, too. But, hey, You ride 325 miles on that road and then we can talk again :-). 

I took a quick look at the car show in Coeur D'Alene, The Thing this weekend. Well, hundreds of people lining the street looking at hundreds of old cars driving by. Granted, pretty old cars. But after five minutes I almost fainted because of the exhaust smoke and had to leave. They should park the cars and let people stroll along. But that would involve actual physical activity beyond moving your right hand and right foot :-).

Day 3 & 4 - Rainy Portland and "Hello Space Needle"

I am still alive! And I'm already in Seattle.

Yesterday morning I left Coos Bay after a rich (raspberry French toast creme brûlée!) and interesting (matchmaker alert!) breakfast. It wasn't really raining but it was chilly and the day started with a slight drizzle. I went up north on 101 along the Oregon Dunes and again, a beautiful road lined by trees or along the Pacific. What can I say. Having seen the Big Sur, Tomales and Bodega Bay I hadn't thought that this coast could get even more beautiful. But it did. Rough, chilly, sandy, steep cliffs and soft dunes. Eventually, I made a right turn and said good bye to the ocean for the next two weeks.

Driving on Highway 34 towards I5 proved to be less demanding than I had thought it would be but nevertheless a lot of fun. It looked a lot like the area south of Hamburg where my grandpa used to live. Except that at my grandpa's there's a village every 5 miles and not nearly as many curves and hills. Here it was 30 miles without more than a couple houses in one place and curves that make every riders heart jump.

After 150 miles of curves I decided to take the I5 straight to Portland. What proved to be a good idea. A few minutes after I arrived at the hotel, the heavy rain started. That's something you really don't need when traveling on two wheels. 

I had plenty of time to check out the city. And somehow, everything felt weirdly familiar. Until I realized that Portland was a funny mix of my hometown Kassel in Germany and Sidney. Two cities that could not be any more different, nicely combined in northern Oregon. 

              "Welcome to Portland!"

Later I met my friend's parents for dinner. I do love my parents, I really do, but why is it that your friends' parents are always easier to hang out with? Granted, those two are most certainly amongst the sweetest and loveliest people I've ever met in my life but I guess it's easier to have a fun and relaxed evening without 38 years of common history. Probably similar to the relaxed relationship between grandparents and grand kids or aunts and nephews and nieces.

I ordered a wine flight to check out some local wines and this is what I got: 6 glasses for 10 bucks! Yay to wine tasting in Oregon!

It turned out that our waiter spoke some German and so I asked him what one should do if one had one evening to spend in Portland. The surprising answer: "Strip Club". ?!? Really? I hope that was just because it was Wednesday and nothing else was going on. And, no, I did not go. 

On my way back to my hotel I ran into a group of tall, blonde, slightly drunk women in cocktail dresses. So I asked them where to go out in Portland on a Wednesday night. Turned out, they were mom and two daughters and on their son's bachelorette party. Yeah, I must have looked equally confused like you do now but it was actually his fiancées bachelorette party (sad face ;-)). So I joined them for an hour, fixed one of the girls' hiccup (no, Jon and Felipe, I did not do what you're thinking right now), had one slightly spicy and one f***ing spicy drink before I walked back to the hotel and fell asleep to warm up for the trip up to Seattle through rain and wind. Again, investing in rain gear was an excellent idea!

****

Ich lebe noch! Und ich befinde mich bereits in Seattle.

Gestern früh habe ich nach einem interessanten und reichhaltigem Frühstück Coos Bay verlassen, und bin in Richtung Norden weitergefahren. Interessant war es, da die anderen Gäste, ein Ehepaar aus Oakland, mich mit einem ihrer Bekannten verkuppeln wollten und reichhaltig, nun ja, French Toast - Creme Brulee, Himbeermarmelade und alles mit Schlagsahne überzogen. Es hat nicht wirklich geregnet, aber es war kühl und es nieselte leicht. Der übliche Morgen am Pazifik. Ich fuhr entlang der 101 vorbei an den Oregon Dünen auf einer weiteren wunderschönen Straße, die rechts und links von Bäumen gesäumt. Was soll ich sagen, nachdem ich Big Sur sowie Tomales und Bodega Bay gesehen habe, dachte ich nicht, daß diese Küste noch schöner werden könnte. Aber genau das wurde sie. Rau, kühl, steile Kliffs, und sanfte, sandige Dünen. Schließlich bog ich rechts ab und verabschiedete mich für die nächsten zwei Wochen vom Pazifik. 

Die Fahrt auf dem Highway 34 in Richtung Interstate 5, die mich direkt nach Portland bringen sollte, war weniger kurvenreich und technisch als ich gehofft hatte, machte aber dennoch viel Spaß. Es erinnerte mich sehr an die Hamburger Heide, wo mein Opa früher gewohnt hat. Nur, daß es dort alle 5km eine Ortschaft und weitaus weniger Kurven gibt. Hier fuhr ich 50km ohne mehr als eine Handvoll Häuser auf einmal zu sehen. Und die Kurven, auch wenn es nicht so viele waren wie gehofft, waren perfekt!

Nach knapp 230km kurviger Strecke, entschied ich mich dann dafür, die Interstate 5 direkt in Richtung Portland zu nehmen und nicht noch durch Oregons Wine Country zu fahren. Es zeigte sich, daß das die richtige Entscheidung war, denn kurz nachdem ich in mein Hotel eingecheckt hatte, begann es in Strömen zu regnen. Das hätte ich wirklich nicht auf dem Highway erleben wollen.

Somit hatte ich genug Zeit, mich in der Stadt ein wenig umzusehen. Je weiter ich durch die Innenstadt lief, desto bekannter kam mir alles vor. Bis ich feststellte, daß Portland eine lustige Mischung aus Kassel und Sidney ist. Zwei Städte, die unterschiedlicher nicht sein können, nett gemixt in Nordoregon.

Später traf ich mich mit den Eltern eines Freundes zum Abendessen. Hm, meine Eltern sind toll aber irgendwie scheint es einfacher zu sein, mit den Eltern von Freunden zusammen zu sein. Gut, diese beiden gehören sicherlich zu den liebsten und nettesten Menschen auf der Welt aber ohne 38 Jahre gemeinsame Vergangenheit läßt es sich wohl besser miteinander auskommen. Wohl ähnlich den entspannteren Beziehungen zwischen Großeltern und Enkelkindern oder Tanten und Neffen und Nichten.

Ich bestellte eine Auswahl von Weinen aus Oregon zum Testen und das bekam ich dafür: 6 volle Gläser für 10 Dollar! Weinproben in Oregon sind zu empfehlen!

Es stellte sich heraus, daß unser Kellner ein wenig Deutsch sprach und somit fragte ich ihn, was man den tun sollte, wenn man einen Abend in Portland zu verbringen hätte. Die überraschende Antwort: "Stripclub"?!? Ernsthaft? Ich hoffe, daß das damit zu tun hatte, daß es Mittwoch war und nichts anderes los war. Und nein, ich haben den Abend nicht im Stripclub verbracht.

Auf meinem Weg zurück ins Hotel bin ich einer Gruppe großer, blonder, leicht angetrunkener Frauen in kurzen schwarzen Kleidern über den Weg gelaufen. Da die so aussahen, als ob sie Teil einer Party waren, fragte ich sie, wo man den in Portland an einem Mittwochabend ausgehen könnte. Es stellte sich heraus, daß sie auf dem Jungesellinnenabschied ihres Sohnes waren. Ja, ich muß ähnlich verdutzt geschaut haben, wie Ihr jetzt aber es war der Jungesellinnenabschied der Braut ihres Sohnes (:-(). So gesellte ich mich für eine Stunde dazu, kurierte einen Schluckauf, hatte einen scharfen und einen richtig scharfen Drink, bevor ich mich wieder auf den Weg in mein Hotel machte, um mich schlafend aufzuwärmen für eine kalte und regnerische Etappe nach Seattle. Regenzeug zu kaufen war eine verdammt gute Idee!

Day 2 - Welcome to Oregon

Another dinner is waiting for me. Well, actually I'm waiting for it. Today was a little shorter than yesterday but with more stops it took about the same time. After twelve hours of undisturbed sleep in Ferndale (if you ever get to go there for hiking or exploring Humboldt County, stay at "Ye Olde Danish Inn") I got on the bike again and headed towards Eureka for breakfast and then up the coast to Coos Bay.

It was pretty cold so I put on a lot of layers. I counted 7 for my butt and 6 for my upper body. Plus, my neon yellow lightning bolt rain cover. I'm so going to wear this every day now! 

And I really did not get cold even though there was a rough head wind blowing all 250 miles. Pine trees, blue ocean and sky. Again, a perfect, curvy road with little enough traffic and easy enough curves so that I was able to turn my head as often as possible to take in the stunning views. The blue of the ocean, that seemed to get wilder the farther north I got. Rocks of every size, shaped by hundreds if not thousands of years of rough treatment by the elements. I was having a hard time driving in a straight line because of the wind. I can only imaging how hard these guys tried to stay attached to the land. But eventually they lost, got separated from their family on the shore who is now watching them getting devoured by wind and sea every day. And there's nothing they can do to help. No matter how many siblings they send after him.

Besides the wind and the usual hazards of driving a motorcycle I saw myself getting buried under a truckload of redwood logs more than once. Plenty of trucks carrying logs passed me on the other lane. Driving at breakneck speed. I hoped that they were more compliant to the law when attaching those massive logs than while racing along 101.

But once again, my guardian angel remained close by my side and made sure that those logs remained on theirs. 

I have ridden almost 600 miles and barely left California. And there's 5 more states I will drive through on my trip. And I love the vastness of this country. I love driving for hours and seeing only a few small villages along the road, a lot of ocean and trees, and just enough cars to not have to wait too long for help in case something happens. Can't wait to get back on the road again tomorrow.

Oh, and whoever wandered what happened to "Herbie". He's alive and apparently well in Coos Bay.

****

Ein weiteres Abendessen wartet auf mich. Oder besser, ich warte auf das Abendessen. Die heutige Etappe war ein wenig kurzer als die gestrige aber mit mehr Stops hat es etwa genauso lang gedauert. Nach 12 Stunden tiefem, ungestörtem Schlaf in Ferndale (solltet Ihr jemals nach Ferndale kommen, um in Humboldt County wandern zu gehen, oder Motorrad zu fahren, "Ye Olde Danish Inn" ist ein guter Tip) bin ich wieder aufs Motorrad gestiegen und Richtung Eureka gefahren, um einen Laden zum Frühstücken zu finden. Danach ging es weiter hoch die Küste nach Coos Bay.

Es war ziemlich kühl und anfangs bewölkt, somit zog ich ein paar Lagen mehr an. 7 für unten und 6 für meinen Oberkörper. Und, meine neongelbe, Blitz-Regenkombi. Die werde ich ab jetzt jeden Tag tragen!

Und wieder blieb ich warm, obwohl ich über die gesamten 400km starken Gegenwind hatte. Nadelbäume, blauer Ozean und Himmel. Und wieder eine perfekte, kurvige Straße. Wenig Verkehr und mittelschwere Kurven ließen es zu, daß ich so oft wie möglich meinen Kopf hin und her drehen konnte, um den fantastischen Blick zu genießen. Das Blau des Ozeans schien immer wilder zu werden, je weiter nördlich ich kam. Felsen jeglicher Form und Größe, geformt von hunderten oder gar tausenden von Jahren schutzlos den Elementen ausgeliefert zu sein. Ich kann in dem Wind kaum geradeaus fahren. Ich kann mir kaum vorstellen, wie hart diese Jungs versucht haben, mit dem Land verbunden zu bleiben. Aber schließlich haben sie den Kampf verloren und wurden von ihrer Familie an Land getrennt. Die sehen jetzt hilflos zu, wie ihre Kinder langsam von Wind und Wellen verzehrt werden. Und sie können nichts dagegen tun, auch wenn sie noch so viele Geschwister hinterherschicken.

Neben Wind und den üblichen Gefahren des Motorradfahrens sah ich mich mehr als ein Mal begraben unter einer Truckladung von Mammutbaumstämmen. Mir sind jede Menge solcher Trucks entgegengekommen. Angesichts ihrer tonnenschweren Ladung hoffte ich, daß die Fahrer den Ladungsbefestigungsvorschriften mehr Beachtung schenkten als der Geschwindigkeitsbeschränkung auf dem Highway.

Aber wieder einmal wich mein Schutzengel mit nicht von der Seite und die riesigen Stämme blieben brave verschnürt auf ihrer Seite der Straße.

Ich bin nun schon fast 1.000km gefahren und bin kaum aus Kalifornien raus. Und ich habe noch fünf weitere Staaten vor mir. Es ist großartig, wie weit dieses Land ist. Ich liebe es, stundenlang durch die Natur zu fahren. Nur ab und zu ein paar Häuser oder mal eine Ortschaft, jede Menge Ozean, Bäume und gerade genug Autos, um im Notfall Hilfe zu bekommen. Ich kann es kaum abwarten, morgen wieder aufzusteigen und weiterzufahren!

Ach, und falls jemand von Euch sich gefragt hat, was "Herbie" denn so macht. Er lebt, es scheint ihm gut zu gehen und er lebt, oder befindet sich gerade in Coos Bay.

Day 1 - On the road

I'm sitting in the Victorian Inn in Ferndale, waiting for my dinner and listening to live country music. Their second song was, very appropriately, "On the road again". 290 miles done. First leg is over. I only left the city at 1pm as I had to get my cell phone fixed and it took them forever. With all those clothes and bags and helmet it was quite an act to park, dismount, walk to the shop, pick up the phone, walk back to the bike, fasten the bags, and mount the bike again. I was sweating heavily by then. But just 10 minutes later I was freezing while riding across the Golden Gate Bridge.

It was cloudy and relatively chilly and it started to drizzle shortly after Santa Rosa. So I got to wear my bright neon yellow rain wear for the first time! Pants and jacket. I have never felt so visible and, consequently, so secure on the freeway. People must have been able to see me from miles away. A little neon lightning bolt! I also added a few more layers and felt quite warm for the next hundred miles. Getting gas and using the restroom with about ten layers of clothes turned out to be a very good warm up exercise. And then the sun came back. And I enjoyed the perfect ride up 101 through Humboldt State Park. Blue sky, redwood covered hills, and a perfect road with long and deep curves and almost no traffic. Until then I had had a few doubts if the tour was such a good idea. Thousands of miles on a bike that's not really made for a tour. My toolkit, consisting of nothing but my Triple A membership card and a Verizon phone I borrowed from a friend. Well, and my irresistible smile and some cleavage when asking: "Excuse me, would you be able to help me fix my motorcycle?" But as I leaned into curve after curve and enjoyed my comfortable air cushion under my lovely behind I knew that this trip would be one of the best experiences of my live!

Second best was the hot shower I took when I finally reached my hotel room, shivering from driving the last 50 miles in the cool evening mist. I'm staying in "Ye Olde Danish Inn", owned by an, old Dane  who was very excited to have someone he could talk about motorcycles to. So I looked at pictures of Nimbus and Zündapps in his motorcycle book while stepping from one food to the other, hungry like a wolf, smiled and nodded. Once I've wolfed down the salmon I'll enjoy a very quiet night in my cottage room and dream of leg #2.

****

Ich sitze im Victorian Inn in Ferndale, warte auf mein Abendessen und höre der Zweimannband zu, die Countrymusik spielt. Deren zweiter Song war, sehr passend, "On the road again". 290 Meilen (467km) geschafft. Die erste Etappe. Ich bin erst um kurz nach 13 Uhr in San Francisco losgefahren, da ich noch ein Telefon reparieren lassen mußte und das ewig gedauert hatte. Mit all den Lagen an Klamotten, die ich trug, den Taschen und dem Helm war es ein ziemlicher Akt zu parken, abzusteigen, zum Reparaturladen zu laufen, um das Telefon abzuholen, zurück zum Motorrad zu laufen, die Taschen zu befestigen und aufzusteigen. Ich schwitzte bereits ganz übel bevor ich überhaupt losgefahren bin. Allerdings hab ich zehn Minuten später, auf der Golden Gate Brücke, schon wieder gefroren.

Es war bewölkt, und ziemlich kühl und als es kurz nach Santa Rosa anfing, zu nieseln, konnte ich zum ersten Mal eine neongelbe Regenkombi auspacken und anziehen! Ich hab mich nie so sichtbar und, folglich, so sicher auf dem Freeway gefühlt. Ich muß kilometerweit zu sehen gewesen sein. Wie ein kleiner, neongelber Blitz! Ich hab auch noch ein paar mehr Lagen angezogen und somit war mir ziemlich warm auf den nächsten 100 Meilen. Tanken und die Toilette benutzen, wenn man so viele Lagen anhat, wärmt ganz gut wieder auf. Und dann kam die Sonne zurück. Und ich genoß eine perfekte Fahrt auf der 101 durch Humboldt State Park. Blauer Himmel, bewaldete Hügel und eine perfekte Straße mit langen, tiefen Kurven und fast keinem Verkehr. Bis dahin hatte ich noch ein paar Zweifel, ob das mit dem Trip eine so gute Idee war. Tausende von Kilometern auf einem Motorrad, das nicht wirklich für längere Trips gemacht ist. Mein Werkzeugkit, das aus nichts anderem besteht als meiner AAA Mitgliedskarte und einem alten Handy mit größerer Netzabdeckung, das ich mir von meiner Freundin ausgeliehen habe. Und natürlich mein unwiderstehliches Lächeln und ein wenig Ausschnitt wenn ich jemanden um Hilfe bitte. Aber als ich mich in Kurve um Kurve legte und mein bequemes Sitzkissen unter meinem netten Po genoß, wußte ich, daß dieser Trip eine der besten Erfahrungen meines Lebens werden würde.

Die zweitbeste war die heiße Dusche, die ich nahm, als ich endlich in meinem Hotelzimmer angekommen war, zitternd nach den letzten 80km im abendlichen Küstennebel. Ich bin im "Ye Olde Danish Inn" einquartiert, daß einem alten Dänen gehört, der sehr begeistert war, sich mich jemandem über Motorräder unterhalten zu können. Ich wollte ihn nicht mit meiner üblichen Antwort enttäuschen, daß ich zwar sehr gern Motorrad fahre aber nicht wirklich verstehe, wie man so viel über sie reden kann. Somit schaute ich mir lächelnd und nickend Fotos von Nimbus und Zündapps an, die er mir in seinem Motorradbuch zeigte, während ich hungrig von einem Fuß auf den anderen trat. Nachdem ich mein Abendessen heruntergeschlungen habe, werde ich eine sehr ruhige Nacht im meinem kleinen Häuschen verbringen und von der zweiten Etappe träumen.

Day 0 - Almost gone

We just returned from a weekend on the lake. Wake boarding, wake skating and wake surfing. It was hot, exhausting, and a lot of fun. Now I'm almost done packing and testing typing on my iPad so that I can blog daily about my trip. It's not a laptop. I kind of feel like using a typewriter. Granted, it has an "INST DEL" key, which is, in my opinion, the most important key on any keyboard, but it still feels a little like the "Adler-Such-System" typing style. Germans know what I am talking about.

In 12 hours I'll be on the road. The first part of my ~ 3k mile/5.000 km ride through North California, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, and Nevada. "That's a lot of road." is what one of my friends said, when he saw the route: Ferndale, Coos Bay, Portland, Seattle, Coeur d'Alene, Missoula, Butte, Grand Teton National Park, Twin Falls, Winnemucca, South Lake Tahoe. Or a totally different turnout depending on weather, mood, company, and tons of other circumstances.

I can't wait. I must be the happiest person in the world right now. This morning on a boat, wake boarding like there's no tomorrow, tonight surrounded by friends I love and who love me. Tomorrow on my bike, heading north, bound towards the most beautiful nature in the world. Not to mention the most beautiful roads to ride your bike on.

I AM the happiest person in the world right now.

*****

Wir sind gerade von einem Wochenende am See zurückgekommen. Wakeboarding, Wakeskating, Wakesurfing. Es war heiß, anstrengend und hat jede Menge Spaß gemacht! Jetzt bin ich fast fertig mit Packen und übe Tippen auf meinem iPad, so daß ich täglich über meinen Trip schreiben kann. Es ist kein Laptop. Ist ein wenig so, als ob ich einen Schreibmaschine benutzen würde. Zwar hat es eine "INST DEL" Taste, die meiner Meinung nach die wichtigste Taste auf jeder Tastatur ist, aber es fühlt sich dennoch sehr nach Adlersuchsystem an.

In 12 Stunde befinde ich mic h auf meiner Maschine in Richtung Norden. Auf der ersten Etappe meines  Trips über knapp 3.000 km durch Nordkalifornien, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming und Nevada. "Das ist ne Menge Straße!"hat ein Freund von mir gesagt, nachdem ich ihm die Route gezeigt habe: Ferndale, Coos Bay, Portland, Seattle, Coeur d'Alene, Missoula, Butte, Grand Teton National Park, Twin Falls, Winnemucca, South Lake Tahoe. Oder ein völlig anderer Ablauf, je nach Wetter, Stimmung, Gesellschaft und zig anderer Umstände.

Ich kanns kaum abwarten. Ich muß zur Zeit der glücklichste Mensch auf der ganzen Welt sein. Heute Morgen noch auf dem Boot, wakeboarden als gäbs keinen Morgen, heute Abend umgeben von guten Freunden. Morgen auf meiner Maschine, unterwegs Richtung Norden und der schönsten Natur der Welt. Und den besten Straßen zum Motorradfahren.

Ich BIN der glücklichste Mensch auf der Welt!

Warm Up

I just returned from one of the most beautiful motorcycle trips I've ever done. And also one of the most painful ones. Yesterday morning, my friend and I got on our bikes and hit the road, heading North. The first part was relatively boring. Relative for someone who lives in California and has seen the couple of hundred 101 miles north of San Franciso plenty of times. After 90 miles we left the Freeway and got some gas. By that time, our butts were hurting really bad already. After a short stop to get gas, stretch, and open any zipper available to let in some cooling air (by then it was over 30 degrees celsius already), we continued on the 128 towards the Pacific Coast Highway. The 128 is one of the most beautiful streets in Central California as well as a fun though easy ride. It starts curvy, up and down, continues through vinyards, and then, the last few miles before the coast, through a breathtakingly beautiful redwood forest. I am sitting on my motorcyle, driving along this street, lined by majestic redwood trees, the sky is perfectly blue, and I'm about to see the Pacific Ocean. What else do I need? Well, apart from a seat cushion...

And then there it was, the Pacific. Blue, wild, endless, beautiful, stunning, and chilly. Shortly after I had to stop to put on a few more layers. That's driving a motorcycle in California. Layers. You start with a shirt and a jacket in the city. Then it gets chilly when you approach the Golden Gate Bridge and really cold when you drive across. Then, a few miles after, it gets warm again. And then warmer and warmer. You remove layer by layer and open all zippers. Until you get closer to the coast again. And you have to stope immediately to put on all the layers again. It's kind of hard to dress for a day trip but as were going to stay overnight I brought a few layers more.

Despite the changing temperatures and the pain in my bottoms, it was stunning. And it didn't stop. The wild ocean on the right hand side. A blue that was almost unreal, white caps indicating the strong wind and the fact that this ocean could just swallow and kill you like humans kill flies. Most of the time not even on purpose. The sun reflecting on the surface, creating this almost unreal, shiny, dark blue color that is impossible to replicate anywhere else. The country on the left hand side kept changing. Yellow hills, that used to be green a few weeks ago, redwoods, curvy roads that make every passionate motorcyclist cry (even more so when there's a slow car in front of you whose driver has never heard of the concept of a "turnout"). Views, so unbelievably beautiful that you really want to stop at every turn to take a thousand pictures. But really, you don't want to stop. You want to ignore the pain and keep riding forever. But then, your butt...

Eventually we made it to the turn towards Occidental, our final destination. The last 8 miles were really beautiful. Apart from the fact that the street was full of potholes. Something you really don't want to experience after having ridden 250 miles already.

Occidental is very picturesque and beautiful. And tiny. Six blocks of hotels, restaurants, shops, old buildings that made me think of Karl May and Sunday afternoon Western movies. The hotel I had booked was cosy, pretty, and really sweet. We hung out in the garden, had wine (we made it in time for the complimentary wine and cheese receptions), cooled our feet in the fountain and after a really nice dinner we just fell asleep at 10pm.

The next day was much more relaxed. Only 80 miles to go back to San Francisco and before that we enjoyed a long massage at the Osmosis Spa in a village nearby. The Spa had a Japanese meditation garden with "Please be quiet" signs everywhere. So we tried to be as quiet as possible until we heard the chainsaw, working on the trees in the adjacent garden. So much for meditation.

Our return route took us along the Tomales Bay, Point Reyes, and Stinson Beach. The road from Stinson Beach to the 101 Highway is a road every motorcyclist dreams of. Unless, again, the car driver in front of you is scared of hair pin curves and can't read English (at least not the signs that say: Slower traffic use turnouts to allow passing). Anyway, as I had spotted a highway patrol car a few hundred meters behind us and had enjoyed the first half of the road without anyone stopping me, it was not as bad as it could have been.

Umziehen

Es ist offiziell. Ich werde in diesem Monat umziehen. Raus aus dem teuren Apartment mit Pool, Gym, Hot Tub, die ich so gut wie nie benutze, dem unschlagbaren Sonnenaufgang, den ich von meinem Wohnzimmer und Balkon aus sehen kann. Groß ist es auch. Relativ. Nicht relativ zu meiner alten Wohnung in Hamburg aber relativ zu der durchschnittlichen Wohnung in San Francisco. Die Wohnung, die nicht von einem Internetmillionär bewohnt wird. Ob man es glaubt oder nicht, es gibt auch Menschen in San Francisco und Umgebung, die nicht mit 18 Jahren ihr Start Up für ein paar Millionen Dollar verkauft haben.

Ich hatte schon eine Weile überlegt, auszuziehen. Die Miete war zu Beginn schon ziemlich hoch und da  hier nur alte Wohnungen mietpreisgebunden sind, habe ich jedes Jahr mit einer Erhöhung zu rechnen. Ein Blick auf den Mietspiegel zeigte mir, dass ich derzeit unterm Durchschnitt meines Stadtteils liege und somit wieder eine Erhöhung zu erwarten habe. Aber wie immer in meinem Leben vertraute ich darauf, dass etwas geschehen würde, was zur Lösung dieser Situation beitragen würde. Und das war auch der Fall. Zunächst einmal wurde bei der Arbeit mal wieder mein Team umstrukturiert. Zum dritten Mal innerhalb eines Dreiviertel Jahres. Was mich darüber nachdenken liess, mir einen anderen Job zu suchen. Gegebenenfalls sogar einen neuen Arbeitgeber. Praktischerweise habe ich vor kurzem meine Green Card bekommen, was bedeutete, daß ich nicht mehr an meinen Arbeitgeber gebunden war. Mein bisheriges Visum war an meine Firma gebunden. Somit hätte ich ab Verlassen derselben zwei Wochen Zeit gehabt, mir eine neue Firma zu suchen, die mir ein Visum sponsert. Aber nun muß ich nicht einmal mehr arbeiten. Theoretisch.

Der ganze Tumult und die Frustration bei der Arbeit führte dazu, dass ich spasseshalber einen Freund von mir, der in einer Obdachlosenküche arbeitet fragte, ob ich bei ihm als Küchenhilfe anfangen könnte. Gleichzeitig müßte ich dann aber auch bei ihm einziehen, da mich dieser Job zwar glücklicher machen würde als mein derzeitiger, aber mich definitiv nicht mit ausreichend Geld ausstatten würde, um in meiner Wohnung bleiben zu können. Es stellte sich heraus, daß zwar ein Zimmer in seinem Haus frei war, für etwa ein Viertel von dem was ich zur Zeit bezahle, daß dieses Zimmer aber sehr klein und sehr dunkel war. Dennoch hatte ich den richtigen gefragt. Sein Freund, der auch ein Freund und Kollege von mir ist, riet mir von eben dieser Dunkelkammer ab. Am Tag darauf leitete er mir ganz aufgeregt eine E-Mail eines seiner Freunde weiter, der einen Mitbewohner für seine Wohnung suchte. Ein günstiges Zimmer in einer recht großen, wunderschönen Wohnung mit Garten, Freisitz und Katze.

Ich schrieb ihm sogleich eine E-Mail und wir vereinbarten für den darauffolgenden Sonntag einen Besichtigungstermin. Pünktlich um elf Uhr stand ich vor der Tür. Die öffnete sich und im Türrahmen stand: mein Exfreund! Nun ja, nicht derselbe aber eine fast exakte Kopie. Gesicht, Augen, Statue, Größe, wie ein Zwilling. Nur jünger und schwul. Nachdem ich mich vom ersten Schock erholt hatte, schaute ich mich in der Wohnung um. Abgesehen von oder auch gerade wegen seines Aussehens, Barry war mir sofort sympathisch. Unaufdringlich, ruhig, und vor allem von Anfang an gleich sehr offen und gastfreundlich. Nun, die Wohnung insgesamt ist größer als meine derzeitige, die Küche der Hammer, es gibt einen großen Garten und Freisitz. In der Garage ist ausreichend Platz, um einen Teil meiner Möbel, mein Wakeboard, Fahrrad und sogar mein Motorrad unterzubringen. Mein Zimmer ist auch recht groß. Allerdings wurde mir ein wenig mulmig als ich den Kleiderschrank sah. Der erinnerte mich stark an den ersten Kleiderschrank, den ich als Kind hatte. Heißt: sehr klein. Von meiner Hamburger Wohnung zu der in San Francisco hatte sich mein Schrank bereits halbiert. Meine Mutter und Schwägerin haben sich sehr darüber gefreut, da ich mit ein paar Säcken aussortierter Klamotten auftauchte. Aber auch ich finde es doch immer sehr schön, hin und wieder mal eine bekannte Hose, Bluse oder auch ein T-Shirt wiederzutreffen.

Ich beschloß, den kleinen Schrank eher als kreative Herausforderung zu betrachten und konzentrierte mich auf die schönen Seiten der Wohnung. Ich könnte zum Beispiel ein Schuhmobile basteln, lediglich Unterwäsche in meinem Zimmer verwahren und zum vollständigen Anziehen in den Flur oder Keller gehen. Dazu sei zu sagen, daß im Flur kein Platz ist und der "Keller" nicht wie in Deutschland üblich über eine Treppe im Inneren des Hauses zu erreichen ist, sondern man eine Treppe im Freien nehmen muß. Somit stelle ich mir das in Unterwäsche zum Schrank mit den Hosen und Shirts zu laufen, im Winter doch eher etwas unangenehm vor. Selbst in Kalifornien.

Dennoch, üblicherweise sammelt sich ja in den Jahren, die man am selben Ort verbringt immer eine Unmenge von Müll an. Und je mehr Platz man hat, vor allem, wenn es einen Keller oder Dachboden, oder, Gott bewahre, beides gibt, desto mehr Müll wird es. Alles was eigentlich weggegeben, verkauft oder weggeworfen gehört, geht auf den Dachboden. Man weiß ja nie. Bis zu dem Tag, an dem man dann auszieht. Und sich nach ca. 20 Mal Treppe rauf und runter rennen wünscht, man hätte doch jedes Teil zum erstmöglichen Zeitpunkt weggeworfen.

Deshalb denke ich, daß meine derzeitige, wenn auch nicht ganz freiwillige Strategie eindeutig besser ist. Weniger Platz im neuen Heim. Dann sammelt sich auch weniger an und man überlegt ganz genau, was man behalten will und was definitiv wegkann.