Saturday, May 18. My flight from Dallas got to Albuquerque a little before 9 a.m. I picked up the dresser at Chick's H-D, stopped at the mini warehouse to load the bike and hit Interstate 40 pointed at California. While waiting 50 agonizing minutes for my bike at Chick's I met Paul Marshall (photo 01), a police captain from Manhattan Beach, California. Paul was picking up his dresser so he could head home. I knocked off an easy 360 miles and spent the night at the Econolodge in Williams, Arizona.

Sunday, May 19. Another make-time day - 475 miles ending west of Bakersfield in Buttonwillow, California. The wind farm (photo 02) is among many on the hills about six miles east of Tehachapi on Highway 58, which was the highway that took me from I-40's west end at Barstow all the way to the coast.

Monday through Wednesday, May 20 to 22. A dust storm Sunday night and rain Monday morning trashed the bike, and it stayed that way for the rest of the trip. Given a choice between riding and washing, go figure. Two and a half westbound hours on 58 got me to San Luis Obispo by mid morning, and the Pacific (photo 03) and great mountainside roads (photo 04) were in sight shortly after that. I rode California highway 1 to Marina (just north of Monterey) and spent two nights there. These three days are combined so I can cluster my California photos and skip the day-by-day chitchat.

Highway 1 includes a variety of bridges built in the 1930s (photos 05 and 06) and no shortage of spectacular views of the Pacific (photos 07 and 08).

At the Point Sur Naval Facility (photo 09), I coaxed some stunt cows to pose in the foreground. The naval station is both below and atop the huge rock (photo 10). The notch in the mountain on the horizon of photo 11 is highway 1. Photo 12 is an oblique shot of one of the higher bridges.

Photo 13 is an effort to be a little artistic with composition, and photo 14 is a gull (regrettably not a girl) checking out the dresser. Photo 15 shows some of the 1,400 elephant seals on a beach to shed their skin (molting). They first showed up on this particular beach in 1992. Photo 16 gives an idea of the size, relative to a human, of a bull elephant seal.

No big deal - near Pebble Beach I took the turn-off for the so-called and fabled 17-Mile Drive, a trip I did by car with my then-current wife in 1971 (not my 1966 starter-wife, who was the best I could do with the car I had at the time). Alas, as private property, scooters aren't permitted on the $8-fare route. Sorry I missed it. But no sweat, there's no shortage of good riding out here. And if I lived there, I wouldn't want riff-raff like me on the property anyhow. Groucho Marx said it best, “I would never join an organization that accepts people like me as members.”

Not all the scenery involves the ocean - photo is 17 is some of the lush greenery between a couple mountains looking away from the ocean. At a scenic overlook, the chipmunks, or whatever the species, are pretty tame (photo 18).

If you're still reading at this point, congratulations, sport - you've now endured the bulk of the surfside photos. One other observation about the so-called scenic overlooks: at most of them where I stopped, the other tourists often were not “couples” in the usual he-she context. But hey, this is just south of San Francisco where a Band-Aid is some kind of disease-related musical fund-raising event.

On Tuesday I took a side trip to Hollister, a hamlet of 34,000 souls that was forever put on the map after a July 4, 1947 motorcycle gang altercation that became the basis for Marlon Brando's (photo 19) 1954 movie, The Wild One. Check out an account of the incident furnished by my brother John (see July 2000 trip with him) near the end of a 1983 Easyriders article at http://www.fargonasphere.com/boozefighters/easyriders.htm. Photo 20 is the first of a few I shot in Monterey.

Also in Monterey I took my obligatory gull-in-flight shot (photo 21), plus some frolicking sea lions (photo 22). Photo 23 shows some fish filets sliding down a trough into a truck, and photo 24 is “CLAW” (Canister Lifting Aquatic Worker), a tethered undersea device headed for its maiden dive in Monterey Bay with its creator-students from Monterey Peninsula College.

Let the record show that it wasn't until the fourth day of the trip that I first set foot in a saloon - saloon deficit disorder (SDD) is the name for this condition. Clearly, I had some catching up to do, beginning at London Bridge Pub (Wharf II, Monterey), which boasts 16 draft beers (photo 25). That's me wearing the slightly crooked Texas flag do-rag in photo 26.

Wednesday afternoon, after heading south on Highway 1, I made an unplanned stop (hell, except for highway 1, the whole trip was unplanned - as a trip should be) in Cambria and ended up spending the night there. Vicki (photo 27) presented the colors at the West End Bar & Grille, where I also shot photo 28 in the men's room.

At the East Village end of Cambria I raided Camozzi's Saloon (photo 29), where I also shot the sign in photo 30. Photo 31 is outside Camozzi's, and photo 32 is The Bluebird, the floral-abundant motel where I stayed Wednesday night.

Thursday, May 23. The Bluebird was charming in the morning - upholstered chairs around a glowing fireplace and gratis coffee and poppy-seed pound cake from their bakery in the lobby. The ride from Cambria to Barstow, was 300 easy and often-scenic miles with no photos. The main event in Barstow was my laundry. Hey, I'm still behind in the saloon department: five days and only three saloons. But now the good news: what lies ahead is eight (count 'em) saloons in four days – well ahead of my self-imposed quota of 1.5 per day.

Friday, May 24. Hot tip: avoid buying maps by Rockwell Enterprises - they're $3.95 at convenience stores and they're horrible, missing towns like Buttonwillow (pop. 1,266) and no distances between towns. In a TV promo for The Weakest Link, the host guy commented to a lady from Anchorage, Alaska, “The ratio of men to women there is 150 to one; the odds are good.” She replied, “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”

Somewhere around Kingman I called The View, my motel of choice in Cottonwood, Arizona and was able to book a room, which was lucky because of the Memorial Day weekend. On the way there I stopped at the Kirkland Bar & Steakhouse (and hotel and arena per the sign in photo 33), where I had my pic taken with barmaid Rose (photo 34). Bless her heart, Rose fell asleep during the photo. The bar featured a very-narrow, two-roll men's room (photo 35). Beyond Kirkland, I shot the Skull Valley store in photo 36.

Gassing up in Prescott, I met and visited with affable Gerald Bringle (photo 37), a writer and former Phelps Dodge guy who lives in Bagdad, a remote copper town that I visited on my softail in 1987. I meet interesting people everywhere, even as gas pumps.

My route from Kingman to Cottonwood followed a good portion of a ride that was labeled to me in 1987 as the “Arizona 600.” I highly recommend it - from Kingman, 23 miles east on I-40 to US 93; then south on 93 to the twisties on 97 and 96 east through Kirkland and Skull Valley to Prescott; then 89 and 89-A through mountainside Jerome to Cottonwood. My total Friday ride, from Barstow to Cottonwood was a fun 405 miles.

Saturday, May 25. The night clerk at The View is Adam “Cracker” Chartrand (photo) 38), a neat young guy who has a shovel FLH. We swapped scooter war stories and I demo'd my doorbell alarm.

In all the years since my first stay in Cottonwood in 1992, I had never set foot in a saloon there. After tidying up the wiring for the GPS and electric gloves, and after installing my homemade Walkman headset jack (patent pending), I headed for the Chaparral Bar (325 South Main) (photo 39), where George (that's her name) in photo 40 presented the colors. A sign on the wall said, “To some it's a six pack; to me it's a support group,” and another ordered, “Do not drop cigarette butts on the floor; they burn the hands and knees of customers as they leave.”

The Chaparral also has an outdoor beer garden (photo 41). I left George still smiling and rode to old downtown Cottonwood, where I plundered Kactus Kate's Saloon at 929 North Main (photo 42). Inside, the saloon has an interesting 1930s refrigeration case where bartender Soncho posed for photo 43. About a block from Kactus Kate's, I checked out a clock shop called Time For You (1008 North Main), where I bought three stop watches for $40 (I collect them) and visited with neat-guy and owner Charley Anderson (photo 44).

Sunday, May 26. Race day, and as reported on this Web site the last two years, I loafed around and watched the Indy 500. Yesterday I was urged to visit the Backyard Grill (Highway 260 at Western Drive), which has a motorcycle on the roof and reserved parking for scooters (photo 45). Inside I found a well-stocked inventory (photo 46) and a tell-all Montana license plate (photo 47). I also had a long visit with raconteur and pool shark (photo 48) Bryan Adams. To encourage Bryan to buy his 14-year-old son a Bultaco, when I got back to Dallas, I sent him my like-new, early-'70s Swedish motocross shoulder pads.

While at the Backyard Grill I overheard a table of women grousing about the disparity in wages between men and women. Sadly, the din of inequity in a den of iniquity.

Monday, May 27. Step outside any motel room in Cottonwood before dawn and savor the sounds of the lush Verde Valley, specifically the annoying beep-beep-beep of back-up alarms and the big-metal crash and rumble of Dumpsters^™ being emptied. I packed up and headed east on 260, stopping for breakfast at Nifty Fifty's Diner (see April '02 ride) in Pine.

East of Show Low on highway 60 I found Bison Ranch, a slick year-old development with home sites, retail, time-share properties and so forth. On the square in the brand new old-time downtown I shot some lariat practice (photo 49), Memorial Day parade preliminaries (photo 50) and, best of all, the Wild Women Saloon (photos 51 and 52).

I continued east to Springerville and hit a motel called El Jo. I dropped off my stuff and rode most of the town and the adjacent town of Eagar looking for a watering hole. With no success, I went into El Jo's next-door eatery, Safire Restaurant & Lounge, for a brew. The waitress there referred me to Tequila Red's Cantina, which I missed on my saloon search because it's behind Booga Red's Mexican Restaurant (521 Main Street).

A deal indeed - a glass of beer at Tequila Red's was 75 cents. Missy in photo 53 did the honors. While there I met rock painter Tom Hansen, who obliged for photo 54 and took me out to his Bronco to see some of his paint-job rocks (photo 55).

Tuesday, May 28. Per plan, I rode east on 60 to Socorro, New Mexico to see my friend, now 7-year-old Nikolai Purdy and his folks, Gloria and Rick. We scrounged up a bicycle helmet and I took Nikolai to Socorro Springs Brewing Company (another saloon favorite since 1999) for pizza. He had his usual un-kid-like fare, a garlic pizza and a glass of water. Photo 56 is Nikolai in the doorway of the saloon as we left.

I dropped Nikolai off with his parents and headed up I-25 to Albuquerque. Hey, figure this out: the seat belt law signs in New Mexico show an unfastened seat belt (photo 57). Unbuckle, pilgrim, it's the law!

The rest of the day was my usual Albuquerque routine - La Quinta, laundry, mini warehouse and dropping off the bike at Chick's H-D. A 6:30 a.m. flight Wednesday had me in my Dallas office by 9:30. At a total of 2,550 miles, the trip, including California, wasn't as long as I expected, but it was one of my best yet. Stay tuned for Sturgis.

 

 
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