The rest of the Ride

Next year, and the year after that, and for as long as I can twist a throttle, I plan to begin each summer with a long motorcycle ride.

My ride to California was more relaxing than I could possibly have imagined.

No radio, no iPod, no phone in my ear, just the roar of the wind and my engine.

I didn't fret about finding a job, my daughter's grades, or my dilapidated garage in need of repair. All that mattered was the miles of road before me, and where I would stop for the night.

I rode out of Santa Rosa about noon, after lunch with my brother and niece, and took Highway 101 north. I spent my first night with my tent a stone's throw from this spot _ Lake Benbow State Park.

It was dry scrub grass, gnarled trees, and mostly empty campsites. One was being used by an older, weather-beaten man taking it slow on his trip south, riding a bicycle. I gave him my left-over firewood the next morning when I left and we talked motorcycles for a bit before I rode on about 8 a.m., my wheel pointed north.

Once I passed Eureka, the highway began to follow the coast of Northern California, and it's gorgeous country there. I kept wanting to stop and take in the view, but I knew I'd travel pretty slowly if I did that. Still, sometimes I couldn't help myself.

When I reached Crescent City, I thought about taking Highway 199 again into the central part of southern Oregon, and shooting up north on I-5. The winding 199 was tempting, but I opted for staying on the coast. I've never been on the Oregon Coast, except one brief visit to one single spot. I'm glad I took the Coast.

It's full of twisties and there must have been a rally going on south of me 'cause a lot of bikes were heading that way. I rode to Cape Blanco, where there's an old lighthouse and a nice, clean campsite that offers, would you believe it, free showers! And they were hot! A very nice, unexpected treat.

You can barely see the lighthouse in the background of this photo. I need to get a better camera, seriously.

At Cape Blanco, yet another guy came up wanting to know about my bike, where I was from, where I was heading. And, just like all the others, was a Harley rider. I gotta say, on the road, Harley riders are a pretty damn friendly lot.

The next morning, I went riding and I didn't stop riding for 12 hours. It was exhausting and exhilarating. I don't know why I kept on, but every time I thought about pulling over, the road kept me going. I made it from Cape Blanco to Tacoma, Wash. in about 12 hours. No speed records set since it's less then 500 miles between the two. Still, I was tired and covered in dead bugs when I pulled up in front my house with the sun just setting.
I was 22 years old the last time I went on a long motorcycle road trip. I remember the wind, and the heat, and smiling at pretty girls. It's been more than 20 years since then. I think from this trip I'll remember the wind, I'll remember the road, and I'll remember the peace.

I hope to be back on the road soon.