The Moon.

     The Moon lit up the night and surrounding hillsides. Its rays glistening at me across the longer length of the lake, as I rode out of the canyon and into the warmer open summer nights air over the 49er bridge, crossing out of Calaveras and into the cozy familiarity of my Tuolumne.


     It was about 7pm on that night and I was wrapping up the last stretch of my round trip from Arcata to Sonora, CA. It was much cooler than I'd expected riding through the countryside along the 16 to the 49. The week I was gone there had been a series of rains that ran through the mountains and I'd just managed to miss all of em. I was actually surprised that I hit some rad warm evening weather coming into Tuolumne, Co. and it was one heck of a big breath of fresh air. Totally made me stoked to be back in the gold country.


     One thing I was encountering on this trip was that I was having issues with the circulation in my hands for about an hour or so. At first I thought it was the cold, but then I'd ridden through much much much colder weather and hadn't had my hands go numb before. So I thought the cuffs on my gloves were hitting my nerve or that something was pinching a nerve in my shoulder and causing my circulation to go out of my hands. Another thing, I felt like my bike was riding a lot rougher than usual. I blamed it all on my road fatigue. Well, I made it home that night, problem undiagnosed. I slept it off, and about mid morning, with my giant cup of coffee, I headed out to the garage to do my post ride checks on Boss and aim to diagnose the exhausting jiggles and funny knocking sounds coming from my front rocker. Ya see, before I headed up to Arcata 7 days earlier, I had replaced all the gaskets on my front rocker box. I screwed it all back together in the order I'd disassembled the housing, and well, she fired right up and held together a 700+ mile trip, so I was stoked for that. But I knew I had to tighten the rockers down and take everything back apart so I could use that thing called a "torque" wrench, which I'd totally ignored using the first time around. Well, this time I wrenched everything down, and washed and dried my gaskets and re inserted and then put it all back together the way I should have in the first place. I sometimes love a little extra work. Geeze, what's wrong with me? haha.


     But that wasn't the last of my worries. Another thing that peaked my concern was when I noticed a really weird body creak in my front end. Like when I lifted my bike to level her out there was literally a body squeak, and I was like, "Oh, dang, what the heck is broken on this lil mama?" I thought my frame had cracked on some of those really rough roads. I thought things had been unscrewed and my engine was gonna fall off. Well, I must have leaned and lifted her left and right a million times before my finely tuned ear had located the mysterious creaking sound in the front frame area. Guess what it was??? I remembered loosening but screwing back in one of my engine stabilizing bolts, and that dang thang had come all kinda loose, and my engine wasn't holding still like it had before. And that was the cause for my severe engine shakes. So I torqued that thing down too. I just went all kinda torque wrench crazy, and got every thing on my bike tied/bolted/wrenched/fastened the heck down.


     That afternoon after she was all reassembled and happy, I rode her around town and on down to Jamestown where my friends were barbecuing and I played them all my new songs that I'd written on the road.


     So, what I learned is that I need to use a torque wrench on my repairs, and also that I am decent at taking my bike apart and putting it back together. (wink wink)


See you on the road.

Endurance.

One article of underware. One pair of socks. The shirt on my back. My guitar and my horse. It's been almost 7 days now on the road with nothing but these things mentioned. One thing I didn't mention was that I also haven't showered since the day before I set out on the road from home. Always a proud accomplishment for me indeed. Funny thing is, I don't smell yet. So I might as well just keep going, right? Well, I'm faced with arriving at home in another 30 minutes or so and I'm gonna lay my cold rickety bones in a hot drawn bath. But for now with these last few minutes of freedom I'll make like a proud wild animal in my natural essence, until I am forced back into the throes of unwanted domestication. The plight of one dirty biker (aka: Dirty Bird.)

Where the redwoods meet the ocean.

I was 20 miles from the Pacific Ocean. Exchanging elevation for temperature, making my descent along the remaining western facing slopes of the 299 towards Arcata, chasing the last few seconds of daylight to my destination.

Leaving LA.

     Nothing like 5 hours in 100 degrees and 3 hours in 95. Thursday I had finished packing and stuffing all my things into safe places, and with too many bags draping from my landscape, I rocketed out toward Simi Valley for the night. I was so wasted tired from the previous two days of packing, that I spent an extra day and night in Simi just resting and recuperating, and inevitably postponing my exodus toward Sonora till Saturday morning. Being as famished was all apart of my two day exhaustion and dieting on nothing but pizza and soda, when Friday night dinner came around I was fed a delicious homemade pot-pie dinner, cornbread and all, then camped butt on the couch for some Alice in Wonderland, which promptly resulted in me missing the whole thing due to passing out. 
     Which brings me to this morning when my alarm clock was set for 7:30am, yet somehow I managed to push snooze till 10:30am, at which point I shot out of bed, literally, cause a certain indoor cat was hanging/dangling/screaming by its front paws to the outside of the screen on a very high window.
It took me no more than 30 minutes to gather and lasso my belongings to my horse and let my senses wake up, drank some water, ate a brownie, gave my kisses and hugs, and happily hit the road for some scenic riding through the mountains north of Simi and east to the 5 where I'd shoot right home. I was really looking forward, and I mean really really stoked, to see the new territories along the 23 and 126 highways, cause I had no idea what these stretches of road looked like, other than a two year olds doodle on my google map. 
     Now, I have seen the 118 and the 5 freeways way too many times to get excited about anything along their routes other than cheap fueling opportunities and new bugs for my headlight. So when I was looking for alternate routes to the 5 north from Simi, this new route just totally lit up my little wheels with exhuberation. One thing that particularly tickled my tail feathers, was when the 23 dropped over the first ridge and gave me this great view of the Fillmore valley and the upcoming corkscrews, hairpins, and fun little whoop-dee-woos leading me to the valley floor. There was what looked to me like none other than a large sand mining operation off to the left. I know, super exciting. But when I finally wound my way into the lusciousness of the agricultural farmland happening between Fillmore and Piru, it just screamed "jack, you need a farm." I even took a few extra minutes to shoot out to see what Lake Piru was all about. Yep, it's a lake. Complete with water and boats. I can hardly believe it.


     12pm It was already hot by that time, but when I hit the 5 it really started cooking. Great day for 10 layers and a suede trench coat. This leg of my ride all the way up the five goes like this: it was a long trip with lots of water stops, hair drenching, passing people in air-conditioned cars looking at me like I'm crazy, and sitting in shade with my eyes shut letting my dry irritated overheating port-holes take a break from the pounding hot air. Hours later, some sweet 80degree foothill evening, and a lost 20oz C02 bottle, I rolled into Sonora at about 8:30pm into the arms of those golden hills, soothed by the sweet warm smell of her tall tan grasses, and sung to by the lulling sounds of her rustling oaks, clapping at my arrival.


     And can you guess what I learned today? I learned that my Co2 canister can not ride in its formerly attached position with weak ass hoseclamps. And I hope whatever prisoner that ends up cleaning the roadside gets some use out of that full 20oz can. Time to make another purchase and re-engineer a better harness.


...and that I need to carry eye drops.


  Home sweet home. :)