Sept 28/08 - New friends - New Memories

Sunday, Sept 28th/08

We enjoyed a great hot breakfast that included Starbuck’s coffee at our hotel in Truckee, California. I had been up since 4:00 a.m. working on our Blog and updating photos. Rod finished his novel relaxing in the tub – his third since we have been on this trip.

We checked out at 10:00 a.m. and as we fired up the bikes to leave – I couldn’t find my prescription sunglasses. We both looked everywhere and couldn’t find them. Rod went back to our room to look and I went over our ‘luggage’ on my bike. They were no where to be found! We went back to the 50/50 Grill where we had dinner last night and to my great relief they were there. Whew! I will at the very least concede to the possibility of the key issue of yesterday.

We fuelled at Truckee on the way out of town. It is another glorious, sunny autumn morning. At this altitude, close to the Sqaw Valley ski area, the mountain air is very ‘brisk’ this morning but oh so unbelievably pure and fresh. The fall colours are even more pronounced here – a little further North – a few days further into fall.

Normally in California, I LOVE to ride the 101 along the coast and admittedly, I am missing the ocean I have lived near all my life. But, it is cold there now, (low 60’s) and we would most certainly be getting wet. I cling to the warmth of these inland routes as I know at home we will be facing rainy and gray skies for the next six months. There is time enough for my feet to go back to being webbed.

Rod has picked up a hitch-hiker. Somewhere overnight, an itsy bitsy spider has made a home on his bike. Now, at 65 MPH he is slowly inching his way up to the top of his windshield – on the outside! Now, he’s straddling the top and hanging on for dear life – ‘puckered’ right down I’m sure. He creeps along the very top to the left and then with a ‘leap of faith’ on this Sabbath day he spins his web out … out from the bike … and is … gone. I’m sure at his ‘forced’ displacement he is quite the little immigrant. A new home in a new land.

Down, down ,down the mountain we fly on Hwy 89 towards Graeagle. We press hard – fresh asphalt, newly painted lines, absolutely perfect for two wheels. Add throttle, lean left, sit up, re-seat – a little front brake – add more power into the curve. We are nestled in the embrace of a veritable Cathedral of monstrous Ponderosa Pine, Mountain Ash, Fir and Cedars.

From time to time I check my mirror to make sure Rod is still hanging in there with me. Sure enough he is, though a ways behind and in my mind I fancy I can hear him encouraging me to ‘let my hair down’. In a manner of speaking of course since my hair is pretty short. I can also hear my friend Keiko, who just celebrated her birthday (Happy Birthday Keiko) say as she has in an email to me – “Go Go Linda Sue”. I’m riding behind a brand new Corvette in an electrifying shade of blue, nipping at his heels. Now HE’s fun to chase !!!

An interesting phenomenon that I’d like to share regarding cornering on the bike. Sometimes, you come into the corner a little hot (translation – too fast) and you scare yourself a little. The natural tendency is to tense up – this is something that at times I still have to talk my way through. What you need to do is relax and drop the shoulders (hopefully they are not glued up around your ears) drop the death-like grip on the handlebars to a feather-light touch, LOOK where you want the bike to go, let it ‘fall away’ from you in the direction of the corner and then let the bike take over. Much like an airplane, it will tend to find it’s own way. Now emerge from the corner wearing … a smile.

We make a stop in Graeagle as I am inspired to make some notes in my journal. I have a perfect spot at a picnic table by the lake with the sound of a creek rushing by behind us. We meet Ken & Susie there who have just come in on a red Harley (we won’t hold that against them). Please drop us an email – we’d love to hear from you and meet up for a ride in the Pacific Northwest.

We set off again and for the past few miles have had a couple of sport bikes sitting on our quarter. Each time I pull out to pass I pull into the far right to allow them to pass us should they choose to do so. They seem quite content however to ride along behind us. We blow by a California State Patrol car while climbing up near 80MPH in a 55MPH zone. OOPS!!! I back the throttle off and add a little drag with the front brake. It’s kind of a dead give-away if the trooper sees the front end of the bike in a dive. He knows that you know – you’re guilty. I see a sign that there is a rest area in 2 miles. Seems like the perfect time to let the tires cool a little. We pull in and enjoy a 15 minute respite.

Murphy’s Law … again. Why is it that motorhomes (I’m sure this does not apply to you David & Rose) feel the need to be out in front – then drive 20 MPH below the posted speed in the ‘crooked’ parts then at full pedal to the metal through the straights where we might have an opportunity to pass? It’s really NOT that we HAVE to go fast (although we certainly like to) it’s more that we can enjoy the view a whole lot better when we’re not having to watch for the ‘cock-a-mamie’ antics you get up to trying to push your rig down the road in an effort to keep in front of us. One has been in front of me for a number of miles now and studiously avoids the many pull outs provided for the use of slower vehicles. Finally in frustration, I lay on the horn and miraculously he pulls into a pull out to let Rod & I pass then immediately pulls back out right in front of another unit. Go figure!

‘Paladin’ just LOVES being out on the highway on this adventure. When I picked him up 3 years ago in Texas he was getting 100 miles to a tank of gas. Robert, his former owner, insisted that I take with me a little jerry-can of extra fuel “just in case”. I filled the can in Fort Worth and carried it all the way to Vancouver without having to make use of it. At one point, I coasted into Fallon, Nevada on fumes but still made it after all. When I got ‘Paladin’ home, Rod changed it over to Amsoil, a synthetic oil product and it immediately picked up 150 RPM and started getting better mileage. Rod tells me I have been averaging 54 miles per gallon on this trip and we have not been running it easy. Now, I have just gone on reserve at 124 miles on the tank but I’m not quite sure how far to the next fuel station. I ‘sit a little lighter’ and back off the throttle a little to 65MPH and we pull into McCloud, California on reserve, fumes and prayer. My trusty steed has come 137 miles on this tank. We call ahead to Mt Shasta to reserve a room for the night and head off down Hwy 89 ‘bombing’ through the trees. Mt Shasta looms straight ahead in front of us as if, were we to keep going we’d run right into it and up the side. I have never seen it like this with NO snow on it.

The ever playful Pika’s are back – playing their death-defying game again. Those little beggars just love to taunt you.

We pull into Mt Shasta, check in to our accommodation and I write yesterday’s stories up on the computer on an outside picnic table while Rod relaxes for a bit. We walk the few blocks to dinner at Lily’s – a historical little restaurant that looks like you’re going to Grandma’s house for dinner. We enjoy a fabulous dinner there and meet some new friends as well. The table next to us is celebrating a special birthday and have come in from the San Diego area. Their daughter and family and new baby grand-daughter have surprised them by showing up from Medford, Oregon. A happy occasion and when they leave they send a couple of glasses of wine over to that “happy looking couple”. Thanks so much Bill and Zan – we’ll send you the photo and wish you all the very best.



On the table, there is a little oil lamp as “mood lighting”. I note that the etching on it is of Calla Lillies. My Mom’s name was Calla and I think it is neat as she has been so much on my mind this trip. I ask the waitress “could we purchase this little lamp as a souvenir”? She brings us a brand new one still all wrapped up. It will bring us wonderful memories of a very special time.

Sept 27/08 - "Bumps" in the road ...

Saturday, Sept 27th/08

Catching up our Blog is incredibly time consuming (do I write too much???) the photos take a considerable amount of time to upload as the internet connections at the hotels are not always as good as can be and often I lose it right it the middle of an upload and have to start all over again. Grrrrrrrr! Again we’re off at the ‘crack of 11:00’ – hmmm – there seems to be a pattern here. I have run out of ink in my ‘journaling pen’ (I wonder why) so we stop at Staples to pick up a refill. No such luck – mine is purple ink which I love and all they have is BLACK. Boring!!! I’ll have to make do with blue … for now. To Safeway to replenish our water – again. On our way out of town, we stopped at the Post Office so I could mail more post cards. There must have been some ‘poetic justice’ here as I stood in line for 20 minutes (needing 3 stamps) and as soon as it my turn the postie closed his wicket to go to lunch. Sidenote: I worked for the New Westminster Post Office for 10 years – more than 20 years ago. It’s just possible that I was guilty of that on occasion :-)





This is definitely ‘small town America’. Cute little towns on the Historic 49er trail. I can’t help but think how Cori would have loved “Angels Camp” with its whimsical storefronts and names like “Frog Hollow”. It’s hot here though and we look forward to going back to the mountain elevations and cooler air.

Angels Camp, the only incorporated city in Calaveras County boasts a population today of about 3,000. Set in the rolling foothills, surrounded by oak trees is a quaint town that has maintained its historic charm as evident when you first roll into town. The well maintained architecture is classic, early Californian.

A young and adventuresome Mark Twain overheard a story in a hotel bar he frequented in Angels Camp. That fall of 1865, Mark Twain penned the now famous "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County". It was the literary piece that made Mark Twain a household name.
Angels Camp is also a state of being. That state of being includes prosperity and kindness. The local merchants and townspeople have dedicated themselves to the goal of creating a kinder and gentler place.

Its nine miles up Highway 4 from Angels Camp to the neighboring mining town of Murphys, founded in 1848 by John and Daniel Murphy, whose wagons creaked over the Sierra in 1844. The diggings here were extraordinarily rich, and the town grew prosperous despite the usual cycle of devastating fires and rebuilding. Today, its streets are lined with oaks and sycamores; handsome mid-19th-century buildings house art and antique emporia; and a pretty little park, complete with a Victorian bandstand, sits beside the creek.

The Murphys Hotel, one of California's oldest, opened to guests in 1856. Ulysses S. Grant slept here; so did Mark Twain and Black Bart, the poetry-writing bandit who successfully robbed 28 Wells Fargo stagecoaches before his arrest in 1883.

We follow 49 over the mountain pass towards Lake Tahoe. We fuel in Kirkwood at 2:30 – a teensy tiny pit stop where gas sells for $5.64/gallon. OUCH! I don’t have a choice though – I’ll not have enough to reach South Lake Tahoe. I also really need a WC (translation - bathroom) and the only available is a porta-potty – not my favourite but it will have to do in a pinch – and it is. One of my ABSOLUTE paranoias is of dropping my motorcycle key into the “pit”, therefore, even at the risk of my bike being absconded with I usually leave the key ON THE BIKE!!!! Coming out, Rod has just finished fuelling his “Wing” – looks to me and calls “Hey! Where is your bike key”? I start looking frantically - on the ground all around where my bike had been parked before Rod moved it to fuel. This particular fuel stop had had a number of ‘glitches’ and we were both feeling somewhat ‘flustered’. Could I have possibly taken my key in there with me? I check all around the waistband of my chaps – I often tuck it there when I get off the bike. Rod says “Well, go check in the porta potty”. By now, a whole group of Harley riders are lined up to take their turn there. Oh my goodness, I am NOT going to ask them about it. I stomp around and continue to check all around the ground. Finally, the ‘stall’ is clear and with a sinking feeling I go in to have a look. First, the floor, then the trash bin then finally with mounting trepidation I open the lid and look into that human cesspool. With ‘somewhat’ of a feeling of relief – I don’t see it – but then where the @#$% are they ??? As I leave the stall, Rod calls out “I found your keys”! “WHERE” ??? “Under your helmet" –which he had moved before fuelling my bike. A ‘discussion’ ensues. We are both equally certain that we did not place them there. I am at once relieved, disgusted and decidedly unfriendly.

We continue over the pass and drop into the Lake Tahoe area. I give a toot on my horn to say “Hi” to a vehicle with Alberta plates – a fellow Canadian. Rod thinks I want him to pull over so cuts in front of me and almost runs me off the road as he pulls off. Now, I’m REALLY HAPPY!!! Not. Another ‘discussion’ ensues whereby I decide I’m not leaving the pullout til we dispel the tension between us. ‘Are we having fun yet’? This is really spoiling a beautiful ride for both of us and unnecessarily so. We agree to disagree and Rod decides perhaps we should stop further up, make some calls and see if we can stay in Tahoe for the night. I agree but I really am NOT hopeful. I know what it is like around the Tahoe area on a weekend and it is Saturday night. We stop a few miles down the road in a Safeway parking lot and pull out both the AAA tour book and my cell phone. Many places were SRO and the ones that were available were far, far beyond our budget. Ridiculously so. We called ahead to Truckee where we found a Best Western still beyond our normal budget but not so far that we decided our marriage was worth it. We headed out Hwy 89 – just 30 miles to go. Enroute I lean over and give Rod the ‘peace’ sign which earned me his wonderful smile and nod. Rod had written down the directions but when we got off the highway made a turn that as soon as we made it I knew this was NOT going to take us in the direction we needed to go. We were in an industrial and train station area and then moved further along into outlying areas. He finally pulled off the road and said “We have to turn around, I don’t think this is right”. My ‘turning around’ skills with the bike fully loaded are weak at best so we travel a mile or so further down the road before I find a place I am comfortable I can make work. I really wasn’t upset – really! Rod, however was and his frustration was evident when we finally pulled into ‘town’ – yes, Truckee is now a town, and he couldn’t read the map because he had his sunglasses on and was not able to use his ‘reading’ glasses as he had his camera around his neck and had his glasses in his pocket which he was having a hard time getting at.

We check in and mosey on over to the 50/50 Grill and Brew Pub for dinner. Em, in your honour I order a T & T and am thankful they are able to oblige – even with a wedge of lime.

Sept 26/08 - A Stellar Day...

Friday, Sept 26th/2008

We had been in bed since 8:30 last night. The heat seemed to really zap our reserves and we were both ‘tuckered out’. Rod was up before dawn and took his camera and Wing out to get some early morning shots. The morning temperature is 48F – tonight it will dip to 39F. Winter approaches.

I lazed around in bed reading when I ‘should’ have been catching up our Blog, consequently we didn’t get away from the Inn til the crack of 11:00 a.m.

First stop – a grocery store to replenish our water supply as we had depleted it entirely in the desert heat of yesterday.

It is a crisp, fall, gloriously sunny day without so much as a single puff of cloud in the sky to define the landscape. After the sagebrush and tumbleweed of the desert it is wonderful to have greenery and I am delighted to be back among my beloved pine trees and drag deep breaths of the scent into my lungs.

Rod called his office to catch up on the news and happy (sort of) to know he is not needed back urgently. Well, at least according to Karen as he hasn’t spoken to Mike yet. :-)

We are seeing hundreds of motorcycles on the road today – all headed to Reno for the weekend for the “Street Vibrations” Rally. Street Vibrations Motorcycle Festival is a celebration of music, metal and motorcycles offers tours, live entertainment, parades, ride-in shows and stunt shows. We briefly discuss whether we should re-route and take part but decide that Yosemite beckons strongly. It turns out to be an awesome choice.

The Sierra Nevada range rises sharply to our left. Although not as “craggy” as those we experienced in Colorado – they are still incredibly majestic.

To our right gleams Mono Lake as we descend into Lee Vining and fuel before heading into Yosemite via Route 120.

I stop along the road many times to make notes in my journal. I keep thinking there must be a way I could have a voice activated recorder so I don’t have to keep stopping. Any ideas out there?

As we climb into Tioga Pass, there is yet evidence of snow in the crevasses and old avalanche runs. The scent of fall is heavy in the air redolent with the promise of the coming winter. It is so unspoiled and the fall colours abound riotously.

Today is a perfect example of when it would be wonderful to ‘double up’ with Rod on his Wing. Although the road is wonderful to ride – it takes some concentration that doesn’t allow for ‘lolly-gagging’.

Numerous waterfalls drop their heavy load to valleys far below. I am at a loss for words (for once) to describe the awe-inspiring beauty we are viewing.

Ellery Lake glistens in the mid-day sunlight with the sun creating millions of diamonds across its pristine surface.

The water dances across the river rocks en-route to the lake creating a cheerful, gurgling symphony of sound.

With our many stops and starts to take

photos and journal, it is doubtful we’ll make 100 miles this day.

I am overcome with emotion as I try to write what I am seeing and feeling. My eyes well up with tears and it’s hard to write through them as the expanse of grandeur grows more beautiful at each turn in the road. My heart is truly full of gratitude that we are able to undertake this wonderful adventure being strong of mind and body and I offer a prayer of thankfulness.

My fingers fly across the pages of my journal as I write page after page in hand-writing that would be in-decipherable to any but this would-be author. As I read to Rod what I have written, I see him bite his lower lip – what – is that mist I see in his eyes too? He takes me in his arms and smiles in silent understanding. I feel finally at peace. It is nourishment for both soul and spirit and heals at a deep level the pain and difficult times of earlier months this year. First, the loss of my very dear friend Cori, then the day after Mother's Day, my mom, then within days, my much loved brother, Dave. Too much. Too much.

Towering above us, these phenomenal rock formations jut proudly skyward each seeming to be more spectacular than the last. We are dwarfed to atom-like insignificance by virtue of their sheer immensity.

Highway 120 leading out of Yosemite and into Jamestown has to be one of THE most fun roads I have ridden. EVER!!! It snakes down from an elevation of 8000 ft and twists and turns down the mountain through the dappled light of the pines. For some time we followed a tour bus as he put it through the manoeuvres. I would NOT liked to have been a passenger as he wended downward tortuously close to clipping the mountain on several turns. He was really wheeling that machine and even had he not been in front of us I doubt we would have traversed it at a greater speed.

We need fuel but what I’d REALLY like to do is gas up- go back – and do it all over again. Greedy wench that I am.

We come through a ‘town’ called Chinese Camp. (Is that still politically correct?) It is the remnant of a notable California Gold Rush mining town. Some of the very first Chinese labourers arriving in California in 1849 were driven from neighbouring Camp Salvado and resettled here, and the area started to become known as "Chinee" or "Chinese Camp" or "Chinese Diggings". At one point the town was home to an estimated 5,000 Chinese. The current population of Chinese Camp is 146.

Days end is in Sonora, California. We have come 145 miles. At our hotel we ask for a recommendation of where to eat. Joe suggested dinner at ‘Outlaws’ – in “town” some 5 minutes away. We enjoy a fabulous meal there in a fun atmosphere. I try a wonderfully rich and smooth Merlot from a local winery (Mt Brow) and Rod a local beer. Our bartender, Mark, moved here from Orange County a couple of years ago. The restaurant he had been working in was failing and "seeing the writing on the wall" he decided to come to Sonora where his parents live and own a couple of acres of paradise. He has never looked back and speaks glowingly of friendships made here that form strong bonds that will endure forever. Dessert (that we share) is raspberry pie with hand-made ice cream – delicious!

Back at the hotel, we slip into the hot tub and then into the pool. I lie on my back and float and enjoy a black sky with millions of stars twinkling overhead. A perfect ending to a stellar day. For me, the most memorable of our long journey.

Sept 25/08 - Death Valley ... Fiery Furnace

Thursday, Sept 25th/08

We wanted an earlier start today as we head into Death Valley where the temperature at the Junction will reach at least 115F. WHEW!!! We were loaded up and on the road just after 8:00 in the cool sweet freshness of the morning. At present the temperature is in the high 60’s and perfect for riding. Smarter today I am back to wearing boots and the added protection of my chaps.

We stopped for fuel in Shoshone at 9:00 – time to take off my jacket – it’s already growing much warmer. As we were fuelling, a car with California plates drove into the pumps. A handsome young family – he takes note of our Canadian flags and asks in beautiful French “Parlez vous francais”? Well … my very rusty high-school French is rudimentary at best and that is a number of years ago. They are travelling here from Paris and are also headed into Death Valley. As we each stop to enjoy different photo ops we honk and wave as we pass and re-pass each other enroute.

The colourful red rocks of Arizona give way to softer, almost pastel hues here in Death Valley. Dusty rose, ochres and soft charcoals. These enormous monoliths rise up from the valley floor thousands of feet skyward. One can only marvel and wonder at the violence that birthed them an eternity of years ago.

A brisk wind from the summits chases pink sand across the road. It dances and snakes down the highway creating a myriad of patterns quite mesmerizing to the eye.
Death Valley is extreme desert. It is one of the hottest places in the world. Summer daytime temperatures often exceed a blistering 120°F (49°C), and nights may fail to cool below 100°F (38°C).The dramatic landscape in Death Valley helps generate these extremes. In the low valley bottom the desert sun heats the air. The valley's steep mountain walls trap rising hot air and recirculates it down to the basin for further heating. This cycle leads to sizzling temperatures. Death Valley is also the driest place in North America, with an average rainfall of less than 2 inches a year on the valley floor. The surrounding mountains and the Sierra Nevada to the west capture moisture from passing storms before it reaches the valley, creating a "rain shadow." Only the occasional summer thunderstorm or most powerful winter storm brings rain to the valley.
We turn into the visitor area in Badwater – the lowest point in North America. The low, salty pool, just beside the main park road is probably the best known and most visited place in Death Valley. A sign in front of the pool proclaims it to have an elevation of -282 feet - below sea level. Adjacent to the pool, where water is not always present at the surface, repeated freeze-thaw and evaporation cycles gradually pushed the thin salt crust into curiously hexagonal honeycomb shape. The young family pulls in beside us and I call over “Hey! Are you following us”? She gets it – and laughs.

We fuel again in Furnace Creek at 11:30 – aptly named as it is already in the low hundreds and not yet in the full heat of the day. As quoted by Oscar Denton, caretaker of what is now Furnace Creek Ranch on the record hot day of 134F (56C) in July 1913. “It was so hot that swallows in full flight fell to the earth dead and when I went out to read the thermometer with a wet Turkish towel on my head, it was dry before I returned”.

We stop for a much needed cold drink in Panamint Springs and enjoy a short sojourn in an air-conditioned oasis. Rod has been talking for some time about buying some sort of RV or “Toy Hauler” that will allow us to bring the bikes with us and day trip from areas with them and have a ‘house’ to come home to. That way during the long ‘boring’ stretches (or areas where air-conditioned comfort would be welcome) we could pack up the bikes and drive. Today, that is sounding like a great idea. The scenery is breathtakingly beautiful and warrants more time spent here but being continually in the blazing sun takes a lot out of us. Even the normally placid Rod gets a little grouchy. There are a number of roads that we would love to explore further such as “Artist Palette” but we decide to come back another time. Perhaps January would be better. The curvy, one-way, one lane Artist’s Drive leads you up to the edge of the Black Mountains. Artist’s Drive rises up to the top of an alluvial fan fed by a deep canyon cut into the mountain. As you make your way up to the mountain face you'll dip up and down, roller coaster-like as the road dips into ravines carved into the fan by Death Valley's occasional, but intense flash floods. The narrow road runs high up onto the fan, with views of the strikingly white salty floor of Death Valley in the distance.

As we head towards the mountains and Mammoth Lakes, at the 6000 ft elevation there is finally some surcease from the stifling heat. At 7000 ft I consider donning my jacket but decide to wait and enjoy the coolness for awhile. Lyn – you would love this!!!

We pull into Mammoth just after 4:00, fuel the bikes and ask directions to the Cinnamon Bear Inn – our accommodations for the night. I am quite taken with the name – it sounds very welcoming. Once we arrive, we realize that it’s a little quainter (rustic) than we imagined. No matter, it’s only for one night – we can certainly ‘rough it’ for once. After all – it’s not like camping. Rod always teases – “Linda, camp? No that’s a four letter word like tent and she tries not to use it”.

We ask Mike, the owner for a recommendation for dinner. He suggests ‘Whiskey Creek’, a mountain bistro with marvelous views out to the hills. We walk there … uphill with me whining half the way there. Me, who normally looks for a place to stay with exercise facilities and loves to walk is sniveling like it’s some kind of marathon.

After the heat of the day, we are both depleted and after an early dinner we are in bed by 8:30 and sleep and sleep. There was a visitor outside last night that left his calling card at the commercial garbage containers out front – a very well-fed black bear. Just after 4:00 I am awakened again by further noises outside. A number of coyotes are out on the porch and not being very quiet about it.