Kingston to California by motorcycle in 9 days - so, let me tell you about my day…

Last night’s planned stay was in a hotel and though a little cheesy looking on the outside offered a very comfortable bed, free morning coffee and friendly staff. After a great night’s sleep I was packed and ready to go early having already responded to some emails from “Mustang Sally” of California who had great advice for travelling along my planned route. Garmin Dan was programmed and we headed off to Interstate 80 West…I missed the turn due to construction. No problem, Dan calmly guided me to the next best way and we were on our way to California.

Blue Star Memorial Highway - California

At 7:44 this morning I passed the “Welcome to California” sign - what I didn’t expect was the next sign that read, “Caution, watch for snow removal vehicles.” I don’t know why it came as a surprise, I was after all 7,000 feet up in the mountains … but it’s California - the land of sunshine, vineyards and oranges (funny what our perceptions are). I had dressed warmly starting out this morning, but not warmly enough and had to stop to add layers to my layers. The mountains in California wore the brownness of drought but I could see, unlike Nevada’s mountains, they were alive. It was a refreshing change.

I started, finally, to descend and thought (clearly another misconception) that I might see flat land and maybe even the ocean after a bit. What I saw in the distance instead were more mountains. To avoid Sacramento I veered off northwest on the 20 and decided to stop in Yuba City for a snack and gas. My first introduction to Californians in their native habitat - friendly smiles were returned not by matching smiles but by scowls that said, “What the h#@!” do you want! I decided to get my gas and get going without my snack; it was kinda chilly in Yuba. I stopped later for a hotdog at a little spot on the highway which shall forever in my mind be known as Montezuma. From there I rode into Nice and thought, ‘wouldn’t it be nice to live in Nice,’ a small town on Clear Lake. The loon filled lake was surrounded by little wooden cottages that seemed to hover at the water’s edge, almost floating, hugged by pink and white and fuchsia colored rhododendrons. I would have taken more time to enjoy the palm dotted town but for the revenge of the ‘dog’. Lucky for me Nice had had one nice little gas station too.

I spent most of the day riding twisting, turning, mountain roads that I swear should be travelled only by goat. I passed ‘elk crossing’, ‘rock falling’ and ‘rock slide ahead’ signs. I was finally, according to Dan, only kilometers away from my destination, just over one more blessed mountain. I didn’t like the sound of the road when I saw it, ‘Mountain View.’ I’d viewed enough mountains for one day, but still on I went. In hindsight, I should have gone with my first instinct. It was on Mountain View Road, on a 10+ degree incline on a sharp right, 120 degree turn that I shifted down and somehow hit neutral and found out … no gear, no go forward so must go down. The Star and I took a soft, slow landing in pine needles and dirt but luckily there were instantly three strong men and one strong woman to help put her back on her wheels again. At that point I reconsidered Mountain Viewing and with road advice from one of my rescuers decided to take the less treacherous, but longer way round.

First View From The Pacific Coast Higway #1

Highway 128, which is on the map, was lined with towering California Redwoods but by 5 o’clock the afternoon sun had become a hindrance and I was freezing. I finally had my first glimpse of the famous California Coastal Highway #1 and pulled off to take a photo. It was when I started up again that Garmin Dan quietly reminded me I might be low on fuel. “%$#&” I must be riding on fumes. After the excitement of the day I hadn’t filled up at my usual 200 km mark. With no more stops for photos and a lot of finger crossing I made it to the campground where I have decided, in self pity, to once again trade my tent for the indulgence of a cabin.

Maybe I’ll just go back to Reno and start the day over, or maybe I’ll stay here forever since the nearest gas station is about 13km away. But for tonight, I’ll just sit here, eat my Pringles and ponder the irony of it all – my cabin is on ‘Falling Star’ Drive.

Falling Star - Caution