Day 27: San Antonio, TX

Well, I found a Triumph dealer in Boerne (pronounced Bur-nee) which is a bit northwest of San Antonio, but they didn't have a chain and sprocket set for a Speed 4, and had no idea if anything they had would fit.  They said if they could find a place in the state that had one they could get it within a couple days, but if they had to order it from England it would take about two weeks (as was the case when I broke a foot peg last summer).  So I called the Triumph dealer in Austin.  They had the parts, but their service department was booked solid for the next three weeks.  So my only option was to ride 80 miles to Austin on a slipping chain to buy the new parts, then 100 miles back to Boerne to get it installed.  On the way back from Austin I followed the signs to Boerne, which turned out to be the long way around.  It could have been an incredibly pleasant ride through the country, and 'Old Towne' Boerne is a neat little place full of bier halls & brat hauses that would have been fun to check out.  As it was, I was too nervous about throwing a chain, running out of gas, and arriving at the dealership too late to really enjoy it.  But I made it, and with some time to spare, and Chris & Ceasar at Alamo Triumph took good care of my bike.  The folks at Lone Star Triumph in Austin were very friendly too, and as helpful as they could be.  Riding on a new chain isn't as much fun as fresh tires, but it was a huge relief to hear and feel the bike behaving normally again.  I took a look at the old sprocket set after they pulled it off the bike.  The rear sprocket was all chewed up and the front sprocket was actually cracked in a few places.  For a while I was afraid my transmission was starting to give out as well, but it was just the chain rattling on the front sprocket.  This round of maintenance only cost me about $325.  Next up will be an oil & air filter change.  If I can find an oil filter somewhere besides a Triumph dealer I could probably get away with spending less than $100 for the whole deal.

San Antonio is full of barbecue joints; more than I could count.  And every person you ask gives you a different recommendation.  It became clear that I would have to just pick one.  So I picked one that was recommended that just happened to be closest to the motel, called The Smokehouse.  It's the real deal, alright.  You order at a window, they pull the food out of the smoker and slice it onto your styrofoam plate, give you a cup of sauce and some sides, along with pickles and onions and some plastic utensils, throw it all on a tray and off you go to a picnic table, each with its own roll of paper towels.  The meat itself was delicious, very smokey and tender.  The sauce was very tangy, but not very spicy.  The potato salad was good, the cole slaw wasn't.  The sweet tea at Sandra Dee's in Sacramento was was much better, but they do more of a Louisiana style sweet tea.  On the way to Austin today I saw a place claiming to be 'The BBQ Capitol of Texas!'.  I suppose I'll have to check that out tomorrow.

Day 26: San Antonio, TX

West Texas is a profoundly lonely place. I'm glad to have made it to San Antonio.

Yesterday I woke up in El Paso and headed east, then north, through the Guadalupe Mountains up toward Carlsbad. I had a small picnic lunch under the massive cliffs of El Capitan. I got to Carlsbad Caverns in mid afternoon and opted to walk down through the natural cave entrance. The mouth of the cave is large, but actually smaller than I expected. It's pretty spectacular though, with cacti and desert brush growing out of the cliff face, and dozens upon dozens of cave swallows zipping around, darting in and out and around the mouth of the cave in a dizzying frenzy. The chirping and chirping echoes and reverberates into quite an impressive ruckuss. It's a fairly long and steep descent, and about half way down my feet started to hurt. I was certain I'd have blisters by the time I was done. Next time I'll be smart enough to put my sneakers on first. The caves themselves were bizarre and spectacular, although not as eerie and dissorienting as I was hoping it would be. The paved walkways and handrails are nice, but it takes away a lot, if not most, of the fun and adventure inherent to exploring a cave. To be honest I had more fun crawling around and exploring the lava tubes southeast of Klamath Falls with nothing but a flashlight, even though the caverns and formations themselves weren't nearly as interesting. It was a good experience though, and I can't say I didn't enjoy it.

I made it back up to the surface in the late afternoon and continued on to Carlsbad, NM, which is an odd little town about 20 miles north of the caverns. I bought some snacks and lunch items for the road, then followed a recommendation to a local restaurant hidden behind a drive-in movie theater, completely unidentifiable from the highway. They had good barbacoa tacos, and excellent salsa, but I expected a little more from the mexican food in New Mexico. I thought about heading out to Dog Canyon to camp for the night, but I was afraid it would get dark before I had a chance to set up the tent, so instead I turned back toward Texas, where the beer is cheap and the speed limits are high.

I ended up spending the night in Pecos, Texas, which is about the saddest town I've ever seen. There was a town before I reached Pecos named Orla. Orla consists of about 25 buildings, and only three of those appear to be inhabitable. Of those three, only one seemed to actually be in current use. Pecos, on the other hand, is a town that seems to be desperately clinging to life, despite having spent the last several decades in decline. I found a dilapidated old bar advertising Disco Dances every Thursday through Saturday. Something tells me there hasn't been any disco dancing in Pecos since I was three years old. There were more broken down and dying buildings than I have ever seen, and some of the buildings that were actually lived in looked like they definitely shouldn't be. Purely by chance I ended up spending the night in the nicest motel in town, which for an extra five dollars was considerably nicer than the Motel 6 I stayed at in El Paso. The shower I took convinced me that I wouldn't be drinking any of the water in Pecos County, so I walked down the street to a gas station to buy a bottle of water. While I was there I ran into a friendly Mexican man who looked like he had personally killed three people and was responsible for the deaths of up to three more. He offered me some advice, and that advice took me to a bar at the other end of town. At the bar I met an incredibly freindly cook who claimed he made the best hot wings in Texas, and that he was living in Pecos on account of a few warrants out for his arrest in his home state. He later offered me his own advice: never trust any of the Mexicans in Pecos. Since I had been offered conflicting advice from two different felons in the same evening, I decided I should just get a good night's sleep and move on in the morning.

Today was relatively uninteresting, aside from a few small points: I saw the first patch of green, natural grass since leaving San Diego a week and a half ago. I nearly hit a flock of vultures that was startled away from its road kill; I had to swerve and duck to avoid getting a face full of tail feathers. I rode through my first Texas thunderstorm. It stung, and I was soaked, but I saw some pretty spectacular lightning, and half an hour later I was dry. I never knew it before, but parts of Texas are nearly as pretty as California. The entire area surrounding San Antonio looks almost exactly like central Oregon, except it's sunny and warm. The days in Texas feel significantly cooler than the days in Tucson, but the evenings seem much hotter and less pleasant. I think it's the humidity. About 60 miles outside of San Antonio I started to feel my chain slip occasionally, mostly when I'm slowing down quickly. First thing tomorrow, before the Alamo, before the barbecued ribs, I'll have to get my chain replaced. I'm due for an oil & air filter change anyhow. Hopefully I won't need a new sprocket to go with the chain, but I'm not holding my breath.

I just drank my first ever Lone Star Beer. Not so good, but not so bad that I wouldn't drink it for 82 cents. It's about on par with Old Milwaukee, or Milwaukee's Best. Better than Schmidt Ice, but not as good as Schmidt. Better than Camo.

Day 24: El Paso, TX

What a day. I bid farewell to Tucson and continued east for a while until heading south on highway 80. Tombstone was incredibly disappointing. Aunt Betty & Uncle Ron tried to prepare me for it, but it was absolutely horrible. I'm becoming convinced that Americans have no respect for their own history. It's more of an entertainment spectacle than historic landmark. I was annoyed by the children in the Boot Hill Cemetary treating like an amusment park rather than an actual cemetary, but I suppose there was nothing about the place to indicate to them otherwise. Apparently the town is in danger of losing its historical status because they've spent all their federal money building up tourist attractions rather than trying to preserve the historical character of the town.

Bisbee, on the other hand, is a beautiful and still vibrant mining town further south from Tombstone. I stopped for lunch at the Grand Union Hotel & Saloon for some local refreshment and also gained some local wisdom from an old timer riding an old Honda 200 twin. The town itself is built along the walls of a ravine, with a majority of its buildings still standing from the 1880s to 1920s. The Copper Queen mine still sits just outside the town, and has to be the biggest hole in the ground I've ever seen. I couldn't even see the bottom of it from the road.

I crossed into New Mexico for the first time. It's very much like Arizona, but they have dead grass instead of dirt, and weird little palm bushes instead of cacti. I also broke 3,000 miles on the trip meter, and got my very first speeding ticket on a motorcycle. I got tagged going 70 in a 55. I had no idea how fast I was going, or what the speed limit was. The road was straight and flat and there were no cross streets within 100 miles. But rules is rules I guess, and you gotta pay to play. Overall it was a very nice ride, though I'm a bit tired of looking at desert. Which I guess is bad news since I have about 700 more miles to cover before I get to the swamp. Maybe tomorrow's desert will be different.

I like Texas so far. I've never been here before. El Paso is a strange town. I got here just after seven and all of downtown was locked and shuttered. It seemed like if everything had been open it would have been an exciting place, but apparently everything shuts down right at six. I couldn't even find a restaurant open. I saw the border crossing. It's very different from the Peace Arch at the Canadian crossing. The outskirts of town seemd nice enough, if you like suburbs. El Paso's historic district is quite nice though. It reminds me of Queen Anne, but without all the yuppies. And a lot more dirt and dust. The whole town smells a bit off though, probably from the huge mill outside of town.

I've heard that the girls in Texas are very friendly, and so far it's been true. I finally found a place that I thought was serving dinner, but was, in fact, only serving drinks. The bartender was a very sweet lady who offered me free popcorn and helped me find the cheapest motel in town, then gave me directions to it.

The only place to eat within walking distance of the motel is an Arby's, so I have yet to sample any authentic Texas barbecue, or chili, or even any honest Tex-Mex.

Today I saw two jack rabbits and one tumbleweed, and an enormous hawk that looked like it had a four and half foot wingspan. The heat wasn't nearly as bad as the ride from San Diego to Tucson, or even crossing the Mojave. I wonder if I've started acclimating to it.

Day 23: Tucson, AZ

The first two days I was in Tucson it pretty much never stopped raining.  It was incredibly unusual weather for this time of year, but that didn't make it any more appealing to ride around in.  But I was able to spend some time with my aunt & uncle, and my grandmother, and swim in the pool a few times.  Granny and Aunt Betty taught me how to play Mah Jongg, but I don't think I'm good enough yet to make any money in Chinatown.  It finally quit raining Friday, so we decided to go up to Uncle Ron's cabin on Mt. Lemmon for the weekend.  To be honest, I was a bit intimidated by it after all the stories I've heard of people driving into the ravines and careless motorcyclists decorating the cliff walls.  I got to the top without incident though, and spent a good portion of the following day driving down, then back up again, then back down and back up, etc.  The speed limit is 35 all the way up the mountain, but I think that's on account of all the pedestrians and bicyclists. I'm not entirely convinced there are more than half a dozen corners on that hill that couldn't be safely taken at 50 mph with a little bit of caution and some practice.  If it weren't for all the traffic it would make a beautiful road race course, although I have to admit that the views were a little bit distracting on more than one occasion.  I went up to the ski lodge, which I found amusing since I haven't seen any snow within about 1,500 miles of this place.  I rode a ski lift for the first time, thinking I'd get some good photos from the top of the mountain.  It's nice and cool up on the mountain, about 25 to 30 degrees cooler than in the city.  The Blue Bomber once again proved capable of handling rough terrain, although we're not about to win any supercross rallies.  It's been a really nice week here in Tucson.  Tomorrow I'm headed down the highway again, although I haven't quite decided which highway yet.  I've been reading old newspaper articles from The Tombstone Epitaph all weekend, and I might have to check it out...

Day 17: Tucson, AZ

Yesterday I took the Blue Bomber up to OTD Cycle Sports of Orange County, on a recommendation from Don at I-90 Motorsports who sold me the bike.  Even though it was expensive Nate and Johnny and the guys in the service department did a great job and ended up giving me a pretty good deal.  The new tires feel great, the new brakes brake fast.

Today I bid farewell to San Diego and headed east on Interstate 8.  Riding through the desert between San Diego and Yuma was quite an experience.  It was a devilish, crushing heat with no shade for miles and miles.  The only breeze came in even hotter waves washing up from the south.  It was intensely uncomfortable, yet somehow slightly pleasant, like spending too long in a sauna.  By the time I got to Yuma, the heat had pretty much lost all of its appeal.  I thought to myself 'So this is what I have to look forward to between now and New Orleans, where it will be nearly as hot, but soggy and damp...great.'  Past Yuma the heat subsided slightly, or I just got used to it, but the miles between Yuma and Gila Bend on I-8 were incredibly unpleasant.  The sun was relentless, the wind was brutal, and I was not looking forward to another 240 miles of dirt.  Once I got onto highway 85 going south the wind relented, and so did the sun when I drifted beneath the shadow of the clouds.

Several times today I thought I was headed straight into a thunderstorm, soon to be the victim of a flash flood or a washout.  My luck held though, and all the way to Tucson I felt only a few drops of rain, and never bore the brunt of a desert thunderstorm.  Highway 86 going east from Why (it's a town, aptly named) is a really fun road for the first few miles, winding its way through rocky hills, then steeply down into Dome Valley.  Eventually it straightened out, but still had enough dips and bumps to keep me awake, and it offered a view of the desert that I hadn't seen before.  Taking the smaller highways added an hour or two, but it was well worth it.  If nothing more, the possibility of seeing something new and different was a tremendous boost to my attitude.  I'm exhausted and filthy, but it was a good ride.

Day 16: San Diego, CA

Yesterday was a big day for me.  Last summer my brother signed me up for Brickmasters, the official Lego magazine, and it came with a free pass to Lego Land, which happens to be in Carlsbad, about 30 minutes north of San Diego.  So yesterday I coerced my good friend Samantha to go with me.  I had been looking forward to this for a long time but didn't really know what to expect.  It was one of the strangest places I've ever seen.  The front entrance has loudspeakers blaring incredibly dramatic music thatsounded like something from a cheap TV version of Jurassic Park.  There were thousands of little children running around, which is something I generally try to avoid, but we were mostly able to ignore them.  I thought it would be more focused on actual legos, and less on children's entertainment.  My favorite part of the park by far was the Miniland, where they've built miniature replicas of cities like New York, DC, Las Vegas, and San Francisco.  It was really impressive.  A couple of the roller coasters were pretty fun, but Sam hated them.  Pretty much every ride in the park exits directly into a Lego store.  They had a little section that was kind of like a Lego museum, with some old sets, and examples of some of the factory equipment and production line.  We played mini golf, and that was pretty interesting.  Samantha came in 7 under par, and I finished significantly over par.  Now I owe her a bloody mary.  I was disappointed by the ratio of non-Lego versus Lego structures, but there was still a lot of really cool stuff there.  Not sure I'd pay the admission twice.

Today the Blue Bomber and I are headed up to Orange County to get her some new tires and maybe some brakes and hopefully replace the missing front fender bolt.  I was considering waiting until I got to my uncle's house in Tucson so I could borrow his tools and do the work myself, but I'm not thrilled about the prospect of traveling through 300 miles of desert on questionable tires and brakes.

Day 15: San Diego, CA

It's been a while since I've had a chance to spend some time updating the journal.  When I left Sacramento and headed for Turlock I took highway 16 east, then highway 49 south through the foothills of the Sierras.  Amador county is a perfect picture of golden rolling hills, dotted with huge green Oak trees and huge red tail hawks swooping above in the clear blue sky; it's the exact picture in my mind when I think of California as the Golden State.  I spent the night in Turlock with my friend Tim.  We stopped by to see his brother Tommy and his three boys that I haven't seen in about 5 years, then had some cheeseburgers and hit the rack.

I woke up early knowing I had a long drive ahead of me.  Stanislaus county smells like cows, but I made good time and before long I reached Visalia and headed east toward Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Forrest.  I missed a turn and didn't realize it until I reached an enormous lake that wasn't supposed to be there.  So I turned around and found the right road and headed south.  A few minutes later I missed another turn and ended up riding past Rocky Hill, a mound of dirt and rocks a couple hundred feet high covered in petroglyphs that's been used by local tribes for various ceremonies for centuries.  So after my second scenic detour I got on the right road and headed straight up in the Sierras.  If it weren't for the horrific road surface, it would have been the greatest stretch of twisties I've ever seen.  Unfortunately, I was too intimidated by the lumpy  road covered in sand and loose gravel to really push the corners, but it was a beautiful ride and I made it out alive, which I guess is what's most important.

The southern end of Sequoia National Forrest in the south Sierras is amazing.  Absolutely astounding.  Perfect road surface, perfect corners, third- and fourth-gear driving the whole way up the mountain.  It's like the Thunder Mountain ride at Disneyland, except it's real and a lot more fun.  I was going to camp at the south end of Lake Isabella, but made it there around 2:30 in the afternoon decided to keep going to Ridgecrest.

About an hour later I was in a tiny town at the northern edge of the Mojave Desert called Inyokern, about 15 minutes from Ridgecrest.  After a brief rest, and talking to the locals for a few minutes I decided that I could make it all the way to San Diego by the end of the day.  The Mojave Desert is unbelievably hot, even in May.  The northern end of the desert is beautiful and mostly pristine, then gradually is cratered with small towns mostly populated by dead and rusting cars and tractors as you go south.  By the time you reach the southern edge of the desert it's a hot, depressing mess of sprawl.

I reached San Diego around dusk, which is when the city is really at its most beautiful.  It's a bit like Las Vegas in the daylight, but not nearly as forlorn and desperate.  It was another long day, twelve hours on the road, and I was completely exhausted by the time I finally got off the bike.  The last two days in San Diego have been fun and relaxing.  I've been here several times before, but always on work trips or as a tourist.  This is the first time that I've had a chance to hang out with the locals and experience the city as its residents do to some extent.

Day 11: Sacramento, CA

The past few days in Sacramento have been a lot of fun.  All but one of my favorite places is still here, but all the cooks, bartenders, and waitresses are gone.  And almost every restaurant in the city has remodeled or painted or changed their sign.  Everything is familiar, but it's changed enough to seem strange and a bit disorienting.  Like if you woke up and found that someone had moved all of your furniture around.  My friend Lynn's old office downtown where I worked briefly is now a hotel room which you can rent for $159 a night.  I stopped by to see my old friend Alan at Megami and he still makes the most unique and tastiest sushi I've ever had, by far.  I went to the Streets of London, where they still have Fuller's ESB on tap, but they've added Sausage Rolls to the menu, which I've not had since I left New Zealand.  They also had battered pickles which were delicious, although different from what they serve at the Jolly Roger in Ballard.  The Farmers' Market is still going on every Sunday, and that's probably what I miss most.  That and the sunshine.  The markets in Seattle just can't be compete with this one.  The variety and quality of the produce is amazing, and it's typically about half the cost of a supermarket, or less.

Yesterday I went for a ride out on the river delta.  The weather was perfect and the landscape is beautiful. There are lot of neat little towns out there, although most of the shops are only open on weekends.  The roads are built on top of levees so you can see the river on one side and fields stretching out below you on the other.  When I get old I might buy a houseboat and live on the delta, and ride my bike along the levees until I miss a turn and careen headlong into a centuries-old orange grove. After that ride I can't wait to get to New Orleans and see the Mississippi River delta.

I got to spend some time with my old boss at Avis.  I even helped him wash a car or two while I was there.  When I walked in the door Marvin, who replaced me, was on the phone with a customer having the exact same conversation I had a thousand times before, and I have to say I don't miss it for a moment.

Today I'm packing up and leaving Sacramento to head for Turlock, a beautiful gem in the Central Valley, where I'll be visiting a few more old friends.

Day 8: Sacramento, CA

Today I learned that the best way to make it through a hangover is to take a three hour bike ride across the bay bridge up into the winding hills above Berkeley.  I also learned how to split lanes.  I'm still not sure that I'm quite comfortable with it, but when the alternative is roasting in the exhaust of some suit dummy talking on a cell phone parked in the middle of a freeway traffic jam, it's worth the risk.  At first it was terrifying, then convenient, then, in a very unsettling way, a lot of fun.  Riding through the streets of San Fran and Berkeley I got the sense that my friend Jarad has declared a moto-jihad, and has begun a full scale suicide mission to terrorize the citizens of the Bay Area armed only with a Ducati Monster 900.  It was pretty impressive to watch, when I could keep up, but I don't think I'll be adopting his riding style anytime soon.

When I packed up and headed for Sacramento my new lanesplitting tricks got me neatly through three more unbelievable traffic jams.  By this time the sun was hot and I was tired, sunburned, still hungover, and running late, so it wasn't exactly my most pleasant ride.  Still, it was more fun than being in a car.

Sacramento is hotter than I remember this time of year.  The city looks nicer now than it was when I left it.  The trees and lawns are greener, the sidewalks have been repaired, and the streets are cleaner.  Most of my favorite restaurants and hangouts are still here, but I've been back in Seattle now more than four years, and alot has changed.

Thoughts and Observations on Motorcycling

Even the best-written travel books are a dim reflection of the actual experience, and so I'm afraid this journal is also inadequate.  The experience of traveling by motorcycle is much more profound than that of traveling by car.  You don't simply see the weather change, you feel it change.  Often you feel it before you see it.  I can feel the cold of the rain on my knees before I can actually see droplets accumulating on my visor.  I can feel the temperature drop as I slide beneath the shadow of a cloud, and feel it rise again when emerging from the canopy of a forrest into the sunlight.  All this happens in a few seconds, or less.  You're constantly bombarded with changing sensations as the wind shifts, sometimes gently pressing against you, sometimes shoving you violently halfway across the lane, and always carrying with it a different scent.  You can smell the thick mixture of fresh foliage and decaying vegetation in the forrest, you can smell the seaweed baking on the beach and the mud and weeds growing in the coastal ponds and estuaries.  You can smell the snow in the mountains.  You can smell the poppies growing along the highway and the dry, golden grass blanketing the hills.  You can smell the cows and the sheep and the wild dill and the eucalyptus trees.

Sometimes my mind wanders.  Sometimes it seems like the world is rushing at me so fast that my mind can barely keep up.  Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment.  Not only the landscape, but the moment itself, with all the wind and the noise and the roughness of the pavement and the struggle between motorcycle and physics.  It's in those moments when I'm winning the battle against gravity and inertia that I'm compelled to seek out the next crest, the next apex, the next vista.  Those moments can't be captured in any photograph or relived through any journal, and so each arrival inevitably prompts the search for a new destination.

Day 6: San Francisco, CA

Yesterday was quite a day.  I got a bit of a late start, but I was on Highway 199 headed toward Crescent City by about 10:30 am.  My brother was right, it's an absolutely gorgeous ride.  It was a little chilly, but fairly bright and sunny with a little bit of clouds when I started out.  It's a really fun road without a lot of traffic.  There are sections where it's 4 lanes and big sweeping corners that you can take at 80 mph, but then there are several 2 lane sections winding through the canyons alongside rivers and creeks, full of sharp, banked corners and hairpin turns where I even had to (gasp) downshift.  Once I got about 10 minutes south of the California border the clouds cleared and the sun came out and it started getting warmer and warmer.  Riding through the Redwood Forrest is a bit surreal.  Many of the trees lining both sides of the road are nearly as wide as the road itself, and so tall that you can't even see their lowest branches.  I wish I had a video camera mounted to my helmet.  I didn't take many pictures because I didn't want to stop riding.  I was having too much fun.  It was a perfect day to ride, and the perfect road to be on.  The California coast is incredibly beautiful, unlike any other place I've seen.

After 440 miles and 8.5 hours on the bike I arrived in San Francisco.  To be completely honest the last hundred miles of the day were pretty painful.  Riding across the Golden Gate Bridge was fun, although I couldn't really take much time to enjoy the view.  My friend Jarad let me park my bike in his garage, and set me up in his livingroom for the night.  As soon as I was unpacked we went down the street to Joe Dimaggio's to relax and chatch up.  From Jarad's apartment I can see the Coit Tower on Telegraph hill, and the cathedral where Joe Dimaggio and Marylin Monroe were married.

Today I'm still a bit sore from yesterday's long ride so I decided to see the city on foot instead of dragging the bike out of the garage.  I had breakfast at a nice little cafe in North Beach, then walked down to the Fisherman's Wharf.  I've been there before, and this time it just seemed too crowded and trashy and pointless, so I took my friend Annie's advice and headed over to the old ferry building that's been converted to a public market.  If you're into boutique food, it's the place to go.  Whatever kind of food you're into, they have a store that specializes it.  There's a store dedicated entirely to mushrooms, and place advertising 'Tasty Salted Pig Parts'.  It was hard for me to refrain from spending all my money there.  From there I walked through the financial district.  I saw entire blocks lined with motorcycles.  Nothing special, just everyday commuter parking.  I can't believe how many bikes there are in this town.  Then I walked up to Nob Hill and sat in a park and enjoyed the view while I took a work call.

Next stop was China Town.  I spent a couple hours wandering aimlessly through all the streets and alleys.  Well, not exactly aimlessly.  I was trying to find homemade Lap Qiong, which is a special kind of sweet chinese pork suasage, and I was trying to find a Sake bar that I remember seeing when I was here about 6 years ago.  Never found the sake bar, but I did find the Lap Qiong and some fresh turnip cakes for 50 cents each.  If you've never had a chinese turnip cake, you're missing out.  It's starchy and mushy and greasy and salty and has little chunks of barbecued pork in it.  Absolutely delicious.

Day 4: Grants Pass, OR

Yesterday morning I had brunch with Dave at the Spar Cafe in downtown Olympia, and I had my first ever beer milkshake.  They mix Terminator Stout, chocolate syrup, and vanilla ice cream.  It was actually really delicious.  It was like a chocolate shake made from bittersweet chocolate instead of chocolate syrup.  It pretty much rained the entire time I was in Olympia, but after I got about 20 miles south it wasn't so bad.

Last night I stayed in Salem, OR and got to visit the Japanese language night class that my friend Stephen teaches at the local community college.  Stephen and I were in our first year Japanese language class ten years ago, so it was interesting to see him teaching it now.  I think he's a much better teacher than ours was, because his students seem to be much further advanced.  This morning we went to the beautiful and majestic Oregon State Capitol Building.  It was more fun and less informative than I expected.  We got to climb up 150 feet of spiral stairs to the top of the rotunda to see the giant gold leafed bronze statue at the top.

This afternoon I had my first real adventure.  I was heading south on I-5 and saw an exit sign for the Old Pacific Highway that indicated it would rejoin I-5 a few miles down the road.  After riding the OPH a couple weekends ago with my cousin, I figured it would be a good way to make the last 60 miles a bit more intersting.  It was a nice twisty road through some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen.  As much as I dislike this state, it really is beautiful.  I ended up missing the turn to Glendale and ended up on an old, one lane logging road.  I followed it for quite a few miles, first wondering if I was supposed to turn right at the bridge, then thinking that it had to go somewhere.  Eventually it became a gravel logging road, and my curiosity outweighed my better judgement, so I continued following it for a few miles.  Well, it really didn't go anywhere, so I turned around and went back to the bridge I was supposed to turn onto to begin with.  If you ever have a chance to ride on any section of the Old Pacific Highway, do it.  It's amazing.  My little detour cost me an extra hour of travel time, but it was worth every second.

Day 2: Olympia, WA

Went to the Yashiro Japanese Garden today.  It's a tiny little park hidden right in downtown Oly.  I remember driving by it a few times before and thinking that I should go in, so when Dave suggested that we stop by there I was happy to do so.  It's a relatively quiet, peaceful spot right in the middle of the city.

We had ploughmans for dinner, which is a brittish meal that's basically slices of meat, chunks of cheese, salad, and thick slices of bread piled on a plate, usually served with 'pickle' or chutney.  Wendy taught me how to make a new salad dressing that's ridiculously good, and incredibly simple.  All you need is one small shallot, finely chopped, one crushed garlic clove, one sprig of fresh rosemary, a couple teaspoons of honey and about a third of a cup of balsamic vinegar.  Just throw it all in a skillet and sautee it until the shallot and garlic are cooked, and then reduce it until it's the consistency that you want.

I also learned that one scoop of pistachio ice cream goes really well with one scoop of chocolate ice cream.

Day 1: Tacoma, WA

Well, I know it's not much of a distant or glamorous destination, but I'm finally on the road.  After all the preparation it's hard to believe that I'm actually doing it.  It's a little bit terrifying.  After all the anticipation, as much as I've looked forward to this trip there was actually quite a bit of sadness in my departure today.  I've had a lot of fun living with my brother and I really believe I have about the greatest group of friends that any person could ask for, and it's hard to leave that behind.

Loading up the bike was interesting.  It took about a half an hour to figure out the best way to secure everything on the bike.  Even so, I'm not certain I've really found the best way to pack everything into the bags.  It seems to be fairly balanced; there's no wobble in the handle bars and it doesn't seem to drift to either side.  Having the tank bag seems to provide just enough front end weight to keep it from bucking like it did when I only had the side bags and the tail bag mounted.  I still need to stop at a dealership and get the suspension stiffened up a bit I think.  The bike gets pushed around a lot more by the wind with all the extra luggage, and I can hear the engine working harder to keep up the same speeds, but it still has plenty of zip to it.