Two down, where to go?

San Ysidro's identifiable landmark lacks to panache of Key West's southernmost point monument. Nothing says San Ysidro like the post office sign, so that's where the photo proof was gathered.

I arrived Saturday afternoon about 5:30 EDT, 3:30 local time. San Ysidro was bustling with traffic lined up in both directions to cross the U.S.-Mexico border. The man who took my photo said he lived in Mexico and commuted to San Ysidro daily on his motor scooter to work.

The Arco gas station where I got my official receipt to include in the document package for the Southern California Motorcycle Association had a line of cars waiting for the pumps. There isn't a gas shortage in San Ysidro, but shaving a few cents a gallon off the price draws customers.

With the current political focus on border security coupled with proximity to Mexico the Border Patrol was very much in evidence from Yuma to San Ysidro. In several places you could see observation posts used by the patrol as it surveyed the border. On I-8 through the mountains all vehicles were stopped at a checkpoint, and one vehicle in line ahead of me was directed to pull to the side of the road. The checkpoint resembled a standard DUI checkpoint with a couple of major differences. This checkpoint was on an Interstate highway and there was a portable observation post with a camera pointed at the line of traffic.

The observation post had an outhouse sized compartment attached to arms to elevate the compartment 15 to 20 feet above the trailer on which it was towed. There were windows on all four sides of the compartment and the glass was darkly tinted. There were at least five agents working the checkpoint. Their paddy wagon was parked beside the highway, and for some reason made me think of the kind of truck used by animal control officers rather than a vehicle for transportation of human cargo.

The patrol agents wear uniforms that are olive drab similar to the uniform worn by Forest Service employees, but without the Smokey Bear hats. The whole scene made me uneasy. No wonder foreign tourist traffic is diminished.

Where to next. I'm heading north to meet Mary and her husband Ken in Redmond, Washington so we can ride together to Blaine for corner three. Mary and Ken are expecting me Monday afternoon.

Some years ago Mary gave me a guidebook for the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to Seattle. I think I might head over to the coast for a change of pace. I did get a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean riding north near Camp Pendleton Marine Base, but I'm game for trading rocketing along the Interstate for a leisurely trip through seaside villages.