Coasting

This trip started with the Atlantic on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. If it was going to be truly coast to coast, I had to get to the Pacific.

I was ready to get off I-5. I was planning to wait for an exit, but an inattentive jerk (substitue some of my traditional, technical legal language) driving a black pickup with decals saying, "Full Speed Ahead" chased me into the median when he changed lanes without bothering to look in his fancy, chrome-plated side mirror. Thanks to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation rider course I took at Midlands TEC several years ago, I was prepared to deal with driver stupidity.

Trading the frenzy of I-5 for California highway 20 I headed west into the Clearlake region. California's most famous mountain lake is Tahoe on the Nevada border, but Clearlake had a Lake Lure feel to it. No flash, just lots of lake and vacations homes that looked as if they were owned by real people.

From I-5 in the northern part of California there is no fast way to get to the coast. That is probably why the coast is largely undeveloped and uncrowded.
Unlike the South Carolina coast the Mendocino Coast has seaside cliffs and Redwoods. It also has very little beach. The water is cold too, but the scenery is spectacular.

I got to the coast at Fort Bragg and rode north on highway 1. Each time I thought I had seen the most spectacular ocean view ever, the next corner revealed an even more glorious view.

The Coast Highway would be a spectacular drive in the daylight. Unfortunately it got dark before I got to a place for the night. The combination of tight, twisting road, dark and the presence of elk slowed my progress to 10 m.p.h. at some points. On many turns I had to downshift to first gear to negotiate the turn. One of the problems with tight turns on a motorcycle at night is that the lights don't turn around the corner, and to turn a bike you lean into the turn and look where you want the bike to go. That means that the lights are shining off the road while you're trying to look into the turn.

I had seen the aftermath of a collision between a car and an elk earlier in the afternoon. The elk didn't survive, and the car was waiting to be towed. I wasn't interested in an elk encounter. Monday afternoon in Oregon I saw a dozen elk resting in a field. Within a half mile I saw six more elk grazing in someone's front yard. It must be tough to have a garden in this part of the country.

Did I mention that my slow traverse of the coast road was made even more nervewracking by the thought I might run out of gas? I was so taken by the scenery in the early stage of the trip that I neglected the fuel guage. On the latter stage of the trip I didn't see any gas stations. Then, the fuel warning light came on. Usually I have about 30 miles once the light comes on. Just short of the 30 mile mark I rolled into a station that has 24 hour pay at the pump.

I did finally walk on the beach. Take a look at the picture I took at a beach in Oregon. I put the bike in the photo so you'd know it wasn't a postcard.

Tuesday I will meet Mary and Ken, and we'll head off for Blaine, corner number three.