The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.2

Posted on June 13, 2010 Sven

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Saturday May 8: I emerged from my lil bed and breakfast at first light. The fresh sea air lingered in on the soft breeze. It was a welcomed substitute compared to the dry, smog heavy air of Los Angeles. I strolled to the boardwalk to stretch out the body before I set off for a second day of long day. I knew it was going to be an especially demanding day. Big Sur was on the day’s agenda.

I packed up the Triumph and rode over to the local Shell gas station to top off the tank before departing. I was in no mood to repeat my mad dash to a gas station like I had done the day before. I was appalled at the prices at the pump. “You want $3.50 for 91?!? Fine. Would you like my first born while I’m here?” Who am I to complain, I wanted the performance machine. As I was filling up, a BMW R1200 GS rolled into the station. I had to quietly gawk at it. He wasn’t there to fill up, but specifically asked me for directions. I pointed him in the right direction up PCH and he set off on his way. Little did I know, I was going to be running into him again later on.

Looking ahead to a great day

San Simeon is by far one of the best stretches of road I have ever been on, be it car, bicycle, or motorcycle; just perfect. The bluffs and Pacific to my left and the rolling foothills to my right, it was the perfect substitution for morning coffee. No need for Starbucks. I wish I could convey an accurate description of how I felt as I cruised along Sven’s magical stretch of PCH, with the seals sleeping and lounging along their rocky pools, the tall windswept grass pulsing from side to side with the breeze, and this lone black motorcycle along with its lone rider following the coast line. It was a pure sense of surrealism.

Could you ask for a more perfect sight?

Eventually as I began to near the region of Big Sur, the elevation started to climb and the foothills pressed along the coast. I was no long riding along the beaches and bluff, but cliffs shearing off to the rocky waters below. Perfect scenery, until the heavy construction. Not fun for a sportbike, or any motorcycle for that part. As I wound along the cliffs, I noticed a very specific headlight pattern in my mirrors. This headlight configuration was so distinctive it only said one thing: BMW motorcycle. It was the very same silver BMW R1200 GS and red rider I had met back in Cambria.

With the heavy construction going on, the roadway would at times would turn to one lane. CalTrans had set up traffic lights to control the issue. One way would have to wait as oncoming traffic would cross and then the lights would switch when clear. Well me and the BMW came to a stop and waited for the green. Oddly it took longer than expected, so we killed our engines and took a breather. We both complimented each others’ machinery and discussed our travels. Oddly enough we both got to the subject of the new Ducati Multistrada. Quite the random sight to see two motorcyclists parked in the roadway discussing the latest and greatest of Italian motorcycling. For some reason, our red light never turned green. Maybe a bad sensor or the weight of our bikes weren’t tripping it but Mr. BMW decided to go for it. I had to follow or risk sitting there all day. So both of us revved up and ran the red, keeping a vigilant eye out for oncoming traffic. None. The icing on that cake was when we got through the one lane and back to the normal flow of traffic, a police officer had rounded the corner. Mr. BMW dropped his clutch hand and gave it a few flicks saying, “That was a close one.”

I played shadow to Mr. BMW as we entered Big Sur. It was nice to have a companion even though we couldn’t speak to one another. Having a second motorcyclist in the picture always seems to pick up the spirits. I’m not alone enjoying it all.

Mr. BMW eventually went his own way and I continued onwards up through Big Sur.

Big Sur was just as everyone describes it. Breathtaking. Awe inspiring. The only downside I spotted in Big Sur was that it was extremely pretentious. For some reason every male there has to be wanna be Lance Armstrong, with their 10 speeds and oddly form fitting spandex, irregardless of age or physical fitness. Wrong in so many levels.

I decided to grab a bite to eat at the Big Sur Bakery, but I didn’t eat there. Instead, I grabbed a quick sugar fix (Snickers) from the 2 pump Shell station at the location. It also gave me a perfect opportunity to check and re-secure my gear. And what perfect time that was to do so. The rear straps to my saddle bags had melted from the heat of my exhaust. I expected this to be an issue, but I was hoping that they would hold. I was in a pickle, leaving it unsecured could be disastrous. But how was I going to tie it down? This is where Mr. Hemp saved the day.

Mr. Hemp was cool, calm, collective, young man (probably due to the many tokes of the Ganja, hence Mr. Hemp). Mr. Hemp was gracious enough to check a bin full of random items, and cut off a length of nylon rope. I was luckily able to use it to tie up the rear of my bags. Mr. Hemp had saved the day, and I felt I had to repay him for it. Offering $10 for the rope, then as a tip, me and Mr. Hemp argued in a friendly matter as I tried to convince to take the money. After some gentle persuasion, and a “God bless you and stay safe.” I was back on the road up PCH.

Probably by far my favorite photo

The remainder of Big Sur did not let up in its beauty and eventually spilled into Carmel by the Sea and Monterey Bay. I was let down by the smug elitists of Pebble Beach when I was denied access to experience 17 Mile Drive on my motorcycle. Perturbed and defeated I made my way to the Monterey Bay Cannery Row to some fish and chips with a nice cold beer.

The first half of the day was a complete success. I began to have a great positive outlook on the trip so far. Expecting some light spirit breakers along the way, I was pleasantly surprised at the outcome. Unfortunately, the day would not be ending the in the boisterous mood it had started…