Kellogg's Diner

So I'm in NYC. Brooklyn, to be exact.  I am trying for the first time, Kelloggs Diner, on the corner of Metropolitan and Union Ave, right off the Lorimer stop.  I've passed this diner a million times, always wondering when I'd seize the opportunity to disprove all the bad reviews, or hearsay that I've been warned by my peers.  I, for one, am not accustomed to reading, or taking advice from reviews, because my own take is always truer to the opposite of others opinions.

       So here I am, a rainy day, waking up two blocks away, in an Italian neighborhood. The hydrants are painted Green-white-red, from top to bottom.  Italian flags wave from overhead street lines, and front porches.  "Today is the day," I say to myself.

    I throw my clothes on, double take the full rack of umbrellas sitting by the door, and close the door without a one.  In that two block walk, the rain manages to soak through the tops of my jacket, through my undershirt, and I can feel my shoulders, cold and wet.  I weed my way past a couple, blocking the rampway to the front door.  I stop in the breezeway to nod my head rhythmically to the Iggy Azalea song on the overhead speaker, something intoxicating about her voice.

    Inside, I do a walk-through to get a feel for the layout and where I might like to sit. I walk back up to the hostess and ask for a window seat.  I follow her to a far corner where a four-seater with a window view is open.  She puts the menu on the two seater across the aisle, and I agree to take it.  I figure they are reserving the 4-seater for a larger group.  

     I breeze the menu and their prices, locking onto my tried and true favorite, and most affordable thing on the menu: Two Eggs over easy, rye toast and hashbrowns for 7.95$.  A coffee is already on the table, and I read the fine print atop the breakfast options "breakfast comes with coffee or tea, and a small juice." My orange juice comes in a small bar sized shot glass. Me and the server share a good chuckle over this. 

    Per usual, I ask the waiter for mustard and hot sauce. Which I proceed to drizzle and dash over every last inch of my food.  The hash browns look crispy, and I can tell the yolks are runny under that glazed overcoat.  I decide to write a blog entry detailing my experience, and fail to take before and after photos.  So instead, I'll just give you "after" pics. 

Go West Young Jack.

     5 strippers, and a drug dealer all helped me pick up my motorcycle and load her into the back of my truck. Two hours earlier, I had begun taking the necessary weighty extras off, such as: front and rear wheels, forks, handlebars, and battery.  This lightened it a little bit, but the bike was still wet, and its contents mighty; however, with all our collective might, we got my motorcycle onto my tail gate, and finagled her under the truck shell, and into place.  I then proceeded to load my wheels, forks, tools and all sorts of necessities, into the bed around my bikes contents.  With my truck bed visually bottoming out, I decided to make the most with what I was taking for two months on the west coast.  And in 5 short days I would be rolling up to a my friends places in Los Angeles. 

Originally, I had planned to take about two weeks to ride across the country at my leisure, but I had worked all the way up until the last conceivable moment, and my window to ride across the country had diminished.  So there I was leaving Saturday afternoon, from Brooklyn, literally sitting in downtown New York traffic, and then hauling my ass through the toll-free by-ways of New Jersey, and sailing along the 22/78 into Pennsylvania.  Now, Pennsylvania is not just long, but it’s damn long, even more so because the terrain doesn’t change for the scenic better.  It’s just forests, maybe some knolls, but it’s arduous.  I was exhausted before the trip, and my first rest stop was a really shitty 3-4 hour rest stop nap, of on and off, bad dreams, anxiety, and me in the fetal position in my drivers seat.  It was still dark when I woke up, deciding no sleep was to be had, I plodded on. I drove the 78, to the 81, to the 76, to the 70, in a nice long jaunt westerly through Pennsylvania.  The 70 drove me through Columbus, Ohio; Indianapolis, Indiana; ‘Effingham”, Illinois; St. Louis and Kansas City, Missouri; Through Abilene, Kansas, where I stopped to visit Dwight D. Eisenhower’s boyhood home. 

Dwight D. Eisenhower's boyhood home

Sunset across Kansas

The Brown V. Board of Education national historic site.  The school where it all began.

         Over the course of two days, I’d made it all the way to Denver, Colorado, by early Monday afternoon, replete with a horrendous hail storm.   Decidedly staying in Denver to visit two college friends since it was my first time visiting Denver, I managed to show myself around while my friends were working.  One of my friends, a Denver P.D., had given me some info on neat areas that I might want to visit, or dine at, and the other friend, a bar tender and chocolate confectioner, also told me of some things to do, and then to “come on over to help make some chocolate and see the operations.”  The rain was in town, and so I took myself to Hamburger Mary’s, since that’s something I never do.  I sat alone for 2 hours, over a cooling plate of twice baked potatoes, and many refills of coffee, while laughing at anything funny, and singing loudly to the overhead tunes. 

Not high, just exhausted.

Get some and love it!

After dinner, rain pouring down, I sat in my truck and made a few phone calls to some friends, before I decided to go check out the chocolate business.  By this time, it was dark, and all the long travel and poor sleep, had caught up with me, and I made my best attempt to help fold chocolate boxes, just before opting out to go to my friends house and crash out.  However, the plan to rally for a breakfast in the morning before I left town, was well on the agenda.  When I got to my friends house, I visited briefly with her boyfriend and he showed some projects he was building.  
      The next morning at an early 7am, I met Katelyn and Emily for breakfast at one of the best spots in town.  Before I knew it, an all too short visit was over, and I was on my 850 mile drive to Phoenix, Arizona.  This leg of my trip was fun, because somewhere, along my route from Colorado to Arizona, I’d gotten into a heavy conversation, forgot that I needed gas a few miles back, and almost ran dry over a very long steep mountain pass.  I was just stressed enough, after backtracking coastingly through a vacant canyon to a gas station where I was going to pay whatever price they were asking, that I bought a coca-cola, and puffed on a Winston Salem Light, while draining my bladder on a breezy overlook, with a couple of roughish looking horses decorating the same hillside that I was hydrating.  Heading on down the highway into Albuquerque, I decided that I was going to enjoy the rest of my trip, and treat myself to the finer things in life, such as Sonic burger.  

The day dragged along, but the western drive along the upper desert 40 into the sunset, was beautiful, passing wild mud packed clay homes in the hillsides along untamed and non domestic landscapes.  I rolled up to my old Phoenix doorstep at about 1am; weary, and under caffeinated. Greeted graciously by my good friends Mark and Greg, we had a good long visit around the kitchen counter, before I found the comfiest spot on the couch with a pillow, and a table cloth for a bed sheet.  I slept like a baby.

The next morning I had nothing but guns on the mind.  That’s just what Arizona does to me.  Brings out the cowboy.  The gun slinging western settler.  And so although I sleep most of the day catching up on travel fatigue, as soon as my buddy Mark was home from work we hit up the nearby gun store, and then went for late night burgers at my favorite burger joint  Whataburger, where I ordered a jalapeño cheese burger, fries, and a sweet tea.  Just what the doctor ordered.  I stayed another night in Phoenix.

Bright and early Thursday morning, I was on the road for Los Angeles.  It was a drive/ride that I’d done a million times before.  In the chilling cold, and the blistering heat. That back and forth to L.A.  I knew that 10 highway like the back of my hand.  The miles disappeared,  like water droplets to the desert floor.  About 30 minutes before I hit my target destination, I’d called my buddy Greg to see what he was up to, and he said he was at our friends garage in Burbank, to which I replied “perfect! see you in a few minutes.”  I rolled up to the shop around 1pm and gave Greg, Steve, and Spencer hugs. 

        I guess everyone knew I was there for the notorious Babes in Joshua Tree Womens campout, so right then I told them I needed their hands getting my bike out of the back of my truck.  Everyone was jazzed, and lent a hand leaning, pulling, and twisting her out from under the shell of the truck and onto my strategically placed center jack stand, and wood blocks.  I then proceeded to assemble my forks, handlebars, tank and electrical, front and rear wheels, and make all necessary adjustments.  We had bbq for lunch and then it was back to guzzling water in the extreme heat of the afternoon, to which I was extremely red-faced and sweating.  Being as I was taking off for the desert, the guys let me park my truck in the back of the shop behind a gate, and before you knew it, I’d lasso’d my backpack and guitar onto my moto, and I was all ready to hit the desert roads toward Joshua Tree the next morning.  I sat around the green evening glow of the shop lights having beers with the guys for a good bit visiting before I left to go join the girls for a pre meetup and party at a bar, before crashing out at my Nina’s.  I slept on a short couch under an open window, and a desk lamp on in the corner the whole night, but for some reason it was kinda cozy.  

The ladies all started trickling in around 7am.  Harleys, Triumphs, Suzukis, and Hondas all lined up outside of Nina’s house with a badass array of women from all over.  We all got together for some pre-ride photos and did our hellos, and had a little time to have coffee, eat some energy bars, and finalize our then jumped on our bikes and rumblingly rode on out of dodge.  Our route was awesome!  Nina led us over and through the Angeles Crest forest to the high desert two-laned roads that brought us into the scenic back door of Joshua Tree.  A few fun stops, gas, hydration, and we rolled up to our secret campground sometime in the early evening. 

           We rolled our bikes sequentially along the upper fence line, planted our feet on our weekend real estate and then began setting up camp.  Then we went to the check in booth, to get all our awesome freebies, shwag, gifts, free Smokey Mountain Moonshine, and PBR. ( I got free socks! in fact i’m gonna take a moment to announce that the Stance socks that I wear, for I’d say, 5 days in a row, don’t smell, or feel gross, and I wear them inside of Dr. Martens, for days on end.  I rave about how they don’t smell as bad as the rest of my high tech socks with all the rigors that I put them through.  So I really am totally stoked about these socks.  ) The sunsets were phenomenal, and the evening settled with me seeing some old friends, visiting with the new ones I was making, and it was all pretty chill, campfires, drinking, and good company.  I slept next to my bike, under the gorgeous brilliant sparkly desert sky.

The next morning, I got to help some folks fix and figure out some of their bike concerns.   Being a motorcycle mechanic makes you a go-to for things like this.  I was glad to help, because well, I love helping people out.  I took care of an oil overfill, and I got to even straighten someones crooked front end,  from a digger that they’d taken on the ride in.  A couple hours into the morning and me and my friends were riding to a desert oasis, with an awning and a pool.  I didn’t care where I went, or what we did, as long as I was with friends, and motorcycles were the reason.  So there we were, lounging, drinking, and dipping in the cool and shade of a gorgeous desert bungalow.   After that whole week of just plodding west, it was finally good to just sit and feel all the rewards of the arrival.  Relaxation.  After an afternoon at that rad house, we headed to the famous Pappy and Harriet’s where we had a very anticipated late lunch.  We also found out that the Dandy Warhols were scheduled to play that evening, whom I’d seen once at an intimate interview session in S.F. that my friend Michelle took me to. Memories.  After we all took over the joint for a while we were headed back to the campsite.  I knew we were supposed to get free pizza that evening, so I saved room for an appetite.  Lounging around on the dusty desert floor with the other gals, I busted my guitar out briefly, and strummed through some tunes, and also fiddled out some song I’d never played before, which is always how requests seem to go. Pretty soon the pizza line started up, and I ventured toward the action.  

That evening we sat around to a few fun bands, and a long raffle, everyone clinging anxiously to their ticket numbers, hoping to win any of the amazing prizes, such as tanks, helmets, bike parts, shoes, Stetson hat, shirts, and all sorts of goodies.  I didn’t win anything, but it was fun cheering on the gals who did, and that was the essence of the whole energy of the support and camaraderie of the event.  I didn’t drink much that evening but I was pretty tired after the days events, so I think I laid down while a few people were still visiting around the dwindling fire.  Now if anyone wants to know why I stayed another day and night in Joshua Tree, I’ll tell you all about it in person, but for now this is where I’ll leave ya.  The next morning it was final group photos, and well, yeah, I stayed an extra day and night in Joshua Tree.  So there we have it folks.  Babes in Joshua Tree went off without a hitch.  It was a blast, and I can’t wait till Babes Ride Out 2015!  We all had a certified blast!  

Till next time, 

See you on the road. 

I headed down a dirt road,

to see how far it'd go.

My Dr. Martens grip amazingly to these rocks.

I took a hike around some of the trails and climbed up 

those big rocks behind this Joshua Tree,

that didn't seem to get the memo.

Leaving the Park.

Riding back to L.A. via Box Canyon.  

A place where I grew up shooting cans, 

and having bonfires with the family.

Buggies, Bonnets, and Beards: The Lowbrow Getdown 2014.

Lowbrow Getdown, at Nelsons Ledges Quarry in Ohio, was a blast.   A hands down blast.  Maybe it was the crazy blend of hippy ravers and dirty bikers culminating at a busted ass water filled quarry in the middle of the deep Ohio forest surrounded by horse drawn carriages and bonnet wearers, but this shit was a gawd-damn blast.  The long arduous journey to Cleveland the day before was all apart of the plodding toward greatness and adventure.  The long anti-toll trial across the never ending Pennsylvania, into the sunset, 4 gas stops, 1 delicious diner, 1 heinous sunburn, and a rear tire that was on the verge of bursting from the embedded nail and huge tread dry cracks.  I wasn’t sure what one was going to happen first, but I had to favor it a bit, and I didn’t mind.    

I rolled into Cleveland around 10pm.  The plan was to go to my friend Anna’s house the night before, do some riding around, and see some bars, and then the next day, head to the quarry with some of her friends.  We went to some biker bar somewhere, but we left after one drink, because the kitchen had closed.  We walked across the street to a spot with a ton of college kids dawning tan cargo shorts and Lebron jerseys, but at least their kitchen was open.   I ordered a salad and chili in a bread bowl.  Awesome!  It was awesome.  

The cops were out, watching the bikers come and go, so I’m glad I hadn’t had another beer before we headed back to Anna’s house.  But I was exhausted after the long 500 mile ride from Brooklyn, NY to Cleveland, OH.  So sleep and hydration was priority.  I made a nice bed on the couch and crashed out.

The next morning we woke up, had coffee, and ran to the store for some sunblock, and ice.  Anna’s friends showed up at 11ish and we all formatively headed 50 some miles down the road that I’d come in on.  Looking forward to more horse drawn buggies, bonnets, and beards, I got just the dose of it as we gassed up right next to a heehawing horse and buggy.  After hitting the road again, Anna saw one of her friends ride by, and pull off down a gravely road to a house on the side of the road.  We decided to follow suit.  Rolling up to this house and barn on this gorgeous large property, we were greeted by two guys.  One whom is the head of triple 6 crew clothing and twin brother of a guy I know in Brooklyn, and the other is a mechanic, with a beautiful garage.  He shared beer and water with us.  And we all lounged around for a bit under 

the shade.   

Back on the road, a couple miles and some beautiful forest riding, and fabulously dreamy farmland, we got in line to earn entry into the campground.  The Quarry had booked two large parties for the weekend.  Lowbrow Getdown, and Mid Summer Samba, which was a populated concentration of patchouli, dreads, and tie-dye; three of my favorite things.  So there we were, dirty bikers and hippies, all with a common bond of anti-establishment, and contrasting uniforms.  But nonetheless, a sense of oneness.  

It all starts with the free beer!  this is why we all come to these things.  The promise and allure of free cold crisp alcoholic, drunk inducing beverages, to cool the fatigue of the road, and ease the bones.  I mean, I swear, that’s most of why I love heading on long trips to campouts,  not just to be around a bunch of other stinky dirty bikers, but the freebees, food and drink.  Minus the camping fee, of course, and nonetheless worth it.  

Getting setup at the camp included me hanging my hammock between a couple of suitable trees, while others laid out their tents, and we situated our bikes around the bonfires.  

Then we moseyed on down to the beach where we stripped to our skivvies and sat in the cooling water of this mystical water body.  There was a steam coming off the water, it was beautiful.  Hippies and bikers were sunning, and swimming, and I was letting the ladies hang out, until a lifeguard came over and told me to put a shirt on, and that you couldn’t drink on the beach, to which I protested not too much, but I should have.  What is this lame ass submission. I just don’t know these Ohio laws.  Last thing I’d thought was that someone would make a stink about some tittes getting some sun, especially among the specific crowd we were keeping.  

But whatever.  A few minutes later, someone blew the whistle, and the whole beach had to clear out, and everyone had to leave the water.  Some weird mandatory mid-day swim break.  Super weird.  We were over it all, and headed back to the camp.  The rest of it goes like this:  get drunk, sit down, look at bikes, walk around, meet people whom you didn’t know you had names of folks and foreign places in common with, eat the wonderfully provided BBQ dinner, and drink some more, this time wandering around in the dark, aimlessly joining strange fires of folks you didn't know, more conversations with drunk strangers, and overhearing people talk about instagram.  The drifting of eyes and energy across fireplaces, locking on to new faces, bottles of booze being passed around, musical chairs and passer outs.  At some point I’d had enough of it all, and found my two suitable trees, and saddled up into my hammock.  Cozy in my sleeping bag, I found rest.  

I was less than welcomely woken up sometime in the all too early morning, beneath a torrential downpour.  My sleeping bag getting more and more wet, the leaves of the overhanging shrub tree dripping on me, I reached my hand into my sleeping bag and grabbed the large blue tarp, and haphazardly draped it over the length of my head to toe.  I had nothing of energy left to do more than feel that would suffice, and I passed back out, this time to the pounding of giant droplets on the tarp covering my face.  But as drunk and happy as I was, it was music to my ears.  Kinda how at every campout, as drunk and happy as I am, and then the roar of a rogue bike riding around camp while everyone is passed out, is music to my ears. vroom vroom!!!

    It was sometime later morning after a good bit of sleep, the campsite was flooded, my tarp wasn’t working, and I had managed to rescue my backpack by aiming it under my hammock.  Well, then that urge to pee comes over us all, that rain induced urge.  That sound of rushing water urge.  So I traipsed out from my shitty shelter, and tried my best to nestle myself somewhat securely in the overbearing shrub next to my hammock.  There I was squatting and peeing, relaxed… and then it happened….it started running out of the wrong end, uncontrollably.  I was like, this isn’t happening, oh, no.  Too hungover to react, I oddly waddled around with my pants down looking for options.  A car drove by, certainly seeing my ass through the sparsely sheltering shrub.  I stepped full footed in my own pile, in my search for wiping power.  Nothing but the broad wet leaves of the shrub plant I was trying to hid in, would do.  I managed to just spent the next few minutes picking leaves, and wiping until I felt it was safe to pull my pants up and find the nearest port-a-john with some tissue paper.  

Wet, hungover, shitty, and not giving a damn about anything but more adventure at this point, we headed for breakfast.  A tall coffee and a grilled cheese later  (provisions of the hippy campers), and I was off on a morning dewy hike around the lake.  I got to see the cliffs and have a fun chat with some of the performers of our neighboring hippy campers.  I snapped some sweet photos, and took in the crisp morning forest air.  After returning to camp, we’d packed our bikes back up.  I found my hat upside down in a puddle of mud where our campfire used to be, and we headed back to Cleveland, dodging the sparse torrents and at one point, momentarily taking shelter under the eaves at a gas station.   Back in Cleveland, we went for a hearty Asian dinner, and then lounged on the couch at Anna’s until lounging was called “passed out.”   I had an early wake up call, and decided that the next day would be a fine time to travel back.  Sure the weather cross the upper north east was threatening rain all across the route, but I felt like I wouldn’t see much of it.  Like the travel gods would break a clear way in the sky for me.   So sunny it was the first thing in the morning.  And I was seen off by my pals.  I plodded steadily into the east.  Somewhere in Pennsylvania, I started to see the sky just look as ominous as possible, growing darker and closer by the miles.  I tempted my distance and time, seeing how close I could get before I felt the first drop.  And then there they were, a few warning shots from the sky.  I loved how good they felt on my sunburnt skin.  And I knew that any moment, it was going to be buckets and I would be swimming in it.  I pulled over on an exit, to put my leather jacket on.  Another bike had the same idea, and came rolling up shortly after.  Having only a jacket to throw on, I waved the other bike as I embarked back on the highway.  And no more than 1 minute went by, that I was under that downpour.   It rained so hard, I could barely see the road, there were definite layers of river underfoot, and I slowed to accommodate the rabidity of it all.  My bubble shield kept fogging up, and water was getting in on the inside.  I was wiping water from the inside-out.  My heavy denim pants, soaked up the rain completely.  And then my boots, and then the rest of the trip was me sloshing around in boot puddle.  I became comfortable with my soaked state of existence rather quickly, because choosing not to, meant being miserable, and there is never that option for me. I always choose to be absolutely stoked with whatever wild adventure and experience I’m being afforded.  

So there I was: drenched, delighted, and destined for this great long 480 mile ride. 

I stopped for lunch at a diner nestled in a hillside, right off the highway.  I took off my wet ass gloves, and propped them up on various parts of the bike, to air out.  I waltzed inside.  I sat at the counter, and ordered chili, a salad, and a coffee, to warm up with.  My server was very nice,  and almost talked me into desert.  But I forewent.  I decided that I’d visit my friend Michelle in Jim Thorpe, on my way back to Brooklyn, and so I found an easy little backwoods entrance to town.  It’s always nice to drop in to say hi, as seems to have been my summer travel routine.  We visited a local restaurant.  She had food, I had coffee, and we shared recent stories, and I was back on the road within hours.  Winding through the PA mountains, the roads looked freshly washed, the feel and sound of water spraying from my tires, and boy do I love that fresh rain smell, MMMmmmMMMmm, it never gets old.   

Somewhere in Jersey, I pulled over under a bridge on a dodgy two lane off-the-beaten-path road, next to a river, to take a leak.  I found, and promptly kicked away, a broken tip of a jagged kitchen knife, and some other shady bits of what I imagined was the leading evidence in a murder mystery.  All too glad to leave that crazy spot, and end of the story short, I ended up on my doorstep in Brooklyn, at about 1pm.  

I always say, it’s not a great trip, unless there’s rain.  And there was a whole ton of it.  A whole cleansing-fun-ton of it.  And I’ll leave you with that.  

See you on the road.  

More trip pics coming over the next couple days, when I manage to get on the internet here and there.   Thanks for stopping by, 

Just a lil sight seeing

Here we are!

Ohio Forest

Headed to Nelson's Ledges, Saturday.

Leaving Brooklyn at about 12:30pm. Heading to Cleveland, OH.

Almost to Cleveland!