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.