Day 10
August 3
Dawn comes a bit earlier than we want it to, but I get up and wash the sludge from the day before's ride and scrap my face. It looks to be a gray, misty sort of day but that's all right. I'd much rather be riding than working and the weather has never slowed me down much before. As we break up camp, we all check our bikes over before we head for the coast. In the daylight, we get a good look at the back tire on Dennis's ST. I see the telltale signs of threads and know it's tough to even find a tire for the ST in town, much less on the road. I've been caught twice in that predicament and neither time was a pleasant experience. But I am able to offer some encouragement –
“Well, I have reason to believe a feller can go at least a 150 miles on a back tire with threads showing. Funny how I would know that.”
Dennis hates worse than anything to have to leave us, but we all know that curvy coastal roads, fog and mist that's coming in and slick back tires make for a deadly combination. Bob steps up to the plate and offers to be our tour guide, so Dennis can wing it back towards home to get a tire. We wish Dennis luck as he heads out and I know personally the knot that's in his stomach. With no tread on the back tire, you just wonder how long it will hold out before you're on the roadside begging, hopefully in the upright position. Bob leads Doug and I out of the campground and on down highway 1. It is a bit wet and slippery so we do not stop for any shots of the coast, for this is not the place to make a tactical error. There are few guardrails and it's a long way to the bottom. Bob guides us to a great little restaurant down the coast for breakfast. It's nice to get out of the fog and mist and sit somewhere dry. There are two elderly gentlemen sitting at the next table who notice our motorcycle gear.“Y'all from around here?” I ask.
“Yes, just down the road a bit. Where are you from?” one of them asks.
“Well, I'm from Nashville, Doug's a bit south of there, Bob's sort of local” I reply.
As is the usual reaction, they are astonished that we rode our bikes all the way from Tennessee. I guess a lot of folks talk about cross-country riding, but when it comes to the doing of it, the ranks kind of thin out. As I've told folks, it's just like riding around locally – you just spend the night in a different place. Nothing magic about it except the folks you get to meet and the scenery you get to see.
One of the men has actually been to Nashville and plans to go back. I tell him what I usually tell anyone contemplating a trip to Nashville –
“Be sure and see the Parthenon in Centennial Park. It's pretty incredible at night.”
He has never heard of it like most folks, so he thanks me. We finish up and hit the road carefully again. It is a bit slick but that does not prevent me from enjoying the ride and the scenery. Slowing down a bit is not a bad thing sometimes cause it gives you a chance to reflect. We pull into a little store to gas up and I wander across the road to a park area for a bathroom break, since the store only has one holer and it's pretty well booked. There's a young lady who is cleaning the facilities which smell about like an old fashioned Tennessee outhouse, but a little fancier. I prop the door open for her so she can get some air.
“That's a pretty rough job I reckon, given the way most people are at messing things up” I tell her. “I did a bit of that when I was in the Marines.”
“Yes”, she replies, “You wouldn't believe some of the messes you run into. And thanks for holding the door open.”
“Well, I appreciate the fact you're willing to work for a living at a job that's pretty tough” I tell her. “Most folks would rather sit on their rump than do this kind of work.”
Her face brightens a bit.
“Thanks a bunch. It is hard work” she replies as she finishes up.
As she walks back to her truck, she seems to have a little more pep in her step and I'm glad I got to brighten her day a bit. The art of human kindness is something that is fast disappearing from the landscape, but it is never too late to start. And seeing an uplifted spirit is well worth the slight investment it takes. I catch back up with Doug and Bob and we are on down the highway. We finally head inland to highway 101, as the rain does not lighten up. I bid the coast a fond good-bye, hoping that I will be able to ride it again in the near future. I also keep Dennis in my prayers, knowing the challenge of riding on a back tire with threads. As we get in closer to San Francisco, the traffic gets thicker and thicker and my thoughts turn to my hands. I am hoping that we will not get caught in a major traffic jam, cause if we do, I'm in trouble. Ten days on the road have made my hands extremely inflamed and weak. As we approach the cutoff to Oakland, Doug waves a goodbye and heads for it. Bob is in the lead with me right behind and notices that Doug has headed for Oakland. He is puzzled and pulls over with me behind him.“Did I do something to make him mad?” Bob asks.
“No, don't reckon you did. He's just wired a little different than some folks so don't worry about it. He probably decided to head for the house” I reply. “ I know he was having some overheating problems earlier in the trip, so maybe he didn't want to do the traffic.”
“What should we do?” Bob asks me.
“Well, he was upright, riding fine, and possession of his senses and he knows the way back to Tennessee. I reckon we'll wait here a few minutes and then go on.”
As we wait, I squeeze off a shot of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. After reading about it and seeing pictures of it since I was a little kid, it seems surreal to actually be staring at the real deal.
I am pretty sure that Doug is headed for home but I do wish he had given us a little more notice. As we pull out and head into the city, and I realize that the ride back east will be solo for me. But it ain't my first rodeo, so I look forward to it with anticipation knowing I have a few extra days to explore a few extra places. In my early years, most all of my distance riding was solo, so being on the road alone is nothing new to me. I enjoy riding with company, but I can have a big time all by myself. It becomes pretty obvious that he ain't coming back, so we head for the Golden Gate Bridge. I manage to get a shot of Bob while we are crossing.
Bob is great tour guide, and he maneuvers us around the traffic with ease. He gets me into the perfect spot so he can shoot me and the Redbird with the bridge in the background.
Then he takes me to Lombard Street, the crookedest street in town.
"You want to try it?" he asks with a grin.
"Well, I'm a pretty game chicken, so I'll give it a whirl" I tell him.
It would have been a lot of fun except for the slow poke cagers in front. Bob, the ever gracious host, gets a shot of me in front of it. Then we make run up a cable car hill , one of many in San Francisco. I manage to squeeze a shot off on the way up which is no mean feat, considering the traffic and the incline.
Bob knows this town, all of the famous spots, and how to get us there in one piece. I am grateful to be riding with him and he is excellent company. He just has a great sense of what a feller like me would want to see. So next we swing by Fisherman's Wharf, another famous landmark.
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