The Misadventures of Ian Heller

We started off the day in Flagstaff (as planned) and we are now back in Flagstaff  – unplanned.

If you read yesterday’s blog entry, you know that Bill’s BMW (or BMN as I call it — “Bayerische Motorarbeit Nicht” – Bavarian Motorworks — NOT), broke down in the most humiliating fashion possible – in front of a group of Harley riders. Also, Bob’s son has taken ill and the two of them decided to head back home to Colorado this morning.

So the first thing we did today on our vacation was to ride to the local U-Haul dealer to help them pick out a truck. They also bought some straps and we all went back to the Hampton Inn East in Flagstaff to load them up.

Although this is a nice facility, the Route 66 U-Haul in Flagstaff is not on any biker’s bucket list.

The hotel thoughtfully provided this raised dirt wall ideal for riding motorcycles onto a U-Haul truck.

We worked as a team to load the bikes, get them strapped in and secure and then sent Bob and Bill on their way. We learned this evening they made it home safely.

I played my usual role as trip photographer as Bill (prone by the left wall), Bob (red hat, right) and Clive (in front of Bob) worked hard while Dale silently but effectively communicated his disapproval of their efforts.

After yesterday’s aborted attempt to visit the Grand Canyon, we were determined to get there today. We made it just outside the Visitor Center when we suddenly realized none of us had eaten since breakfast and it was almost lunchtime. So, we made an emergency stop at a steakhouse and I grabbed a quick photo of my remaining riding companions before we went in.

Clive’s not delighted to have another picture taken but Dale is – in fact, he’s putting his arm around his invisible friend Herbie, whom I mentioned yesterday. Whatever Herbie’s corporeal reality, he doesn’t touch a thing on the plate when Dale orders meals for him.

We watched this impressive line of Vipers coil its way into the parking lot as we prepared to enter the restaurant. Unlike the British cars we saw outside our hotel on last year’s trip, this collection is all-American and appropriately parked at a steakhouse. Bring on the beef.

And then, at long last, we made it into the Grand Canyon. Well, not “into,” per se, but right on the edge. You’ve no doubt heard this, but it’s impossible to capture this awesome place with photographs or video. It’s perhaps the most majestic thing I’ve ever seen. For reference, it’s 277 miles long, so you can only see a small part of it and along the South Rim, it’s nearly a mile deep.

I noted to Dale and Clive that it’s such a profound thing to see that we found ourselves talking in hushed tones – as though we needed to be reverential in its presence. As this nearly-spiritual sensation became almost tangible, I was reminded of one of my core beliefs:

No matter how spectacular the terrain, any backdrop can be improved by putting our group of riders in front of it.

L to R (in order of beauty): Clive, Dale, me

Dale complained this morning that my pictures make him look bad. “Ugly” is the exact word he used. I showed him this picture to prove that I wasn’t out to get him; in fact, I think he bears a similarity to Mark Ruffalo here. He immediately pointed out that – technically – I didn’t take this picture; after all, I’m in it. It was shot by a visiting Chinese gymnast who actually perched himself on the railing.

We dropped in unannounced on the Grand Canyon Visitor Center (no one seemed to mind) and checked out some of the exhibits.

Both handicap-accessible doors opened automatically when Clive and Dale stepped in front of the entrance, but I think they’re actually meant for people with physical limitations.

It’s a little astonishing to walk from the rim of the Grand Canyon where it stretches on seemingly forever and then see this diorama, which proves you’ve witnessed only a tiny fraction of it.

This is one of five boats used in a geographical survey done by the nine men in the top right back in 1923. They rode 84 sets of rapids and carried these 900lb boats when the water was too shallow or they needed to ford falls. They were surveying for places to dam the canyon, which fortunately never happened. It would have damned the canyon.

After wrapping up at the Visitor Center, we mounted up and headed back towards Flagstaff, on our way (or so we thought) to Sedona, AZ. We stopped in Flagstaff for gas and I attempted to make hotel reservations. Rosalind Fassett, who is my sister (and Clive’s in case you’re unaware that he and I are brothers), lives in Phoenix, knows the area well and spent some time generously researching various hotel options in Sedona.

We were astonished at how steep the hotel prices are in Sedona, particularly given that it’s off-season (for example, the Hampton Inn there is $229 a night). We were more astonished to learn that there were absolutely no rooms available tonight at any price in Sedona. Websites like Bookings.com and Expedia literally showed no available rooms in town.

So, we stayed in Flagstaff at the Hampton Inn, East Side, just like last night. It’s a wonderful hotel; nearly new, very comfortable, staffed by extremely competent and friendly employees and an absolute bargain at $122 a night, including taxes. Clive and I also took advantage of this nice facility to do our laundry. Before he and Dale tell you, I will admit that I forgot to add detergent. On a relative basis, though, our clothes smell cleaner.

This also allowed us to walk across the parking lot to Oregano’s again — we gorged on Italian food there last night – I was even able to enjoy wonderful gluten-free pizza, words that rarely go together.

But tonight, we knew we should eat healthier.

We all enjoyed our salads at Oregano’s. All we had was salads, although Dale and Clive did splurge a little on zucchini sticks. I promise that we did not subsequently have huge Italian meals. I swear. I mean it. For real.

So tomorrow, we head to Sedona, Arizona and points beyond to be determined. It’s going to be in the 30’s when we get up, so it will be another brisk day. It should be fun.

I want to wrap up today’s write-up with a response to certain critics who have accused my blog of serving as a great representation of what is frequently called “fake news.” I reject that idea. I don’t believe that my observations on my fellow riders’ various flaws, idiosyncrasies, foibles, limitations and odd behaviors are news at all. At least, not to anyone who knows them.

Goodnight from Flagstaff, AZ. And yes – I promise we will ride safely.

The day started out normally enough – two dogs on a cliff overlooking our hotel barking at all of us in the parking lot. You know how that is.

This is the bluff behind the Santa Fe Inn. Too cheap to provide alarm clocks, they offer alarm dogs instead.

After a quick breakfast, we hit the road for Monument Valley.

Clive in the lead. You may recognize this as the road where Forrest Gump gives up on running.

We saw three guys running on this road, one of them looking very much like Forrest Gump. A small SUV drove alongside, four-way flashers blazing and a cameraman with professional equipment hanging the window out filming them. No idea what was behind that, but it was interesting.

Monument Valley is stunning, as you might expect from the name.

However, by now you know my philosophy. Any great wonder of the world can be improved by placing motorcycles and motorcyclists in front of it.

We pulled over and lined up, hoping to find a volunteer to take our picture when a young woman emerged from an RV carrying a professional camera. She used my travel camera but the equipment was a tip-off: she was very good. Her name was Beatrice, she was French and she spoke virtually no English. However, using the universal language between photographers (I took a shot without me in it and motioned for her to approximate it), she took some great shots.

The Official Group Photo from the 2018 Great Motorcycle Adventure. It has to be since, due to unforeseen events, we won’t have a chance to try again. See story for details. 

One more gratuitous glamour shot of Monument Valley:

We then rode to Kayenta, Arizona. We just stopped for gas but if it had been time to eat (and if it had been open; it was Sunday and lots of places were closed), we definitely would have eaten at The Blue Coffee Pot Restaurant and skipped the fast-food joints in the background. Wouldn’t you?

Kayenta is also the home of Jo D’s Laundry, upon which some artist has applied this wonderful mural, bringing a spirituality to laundry that has not occurred to me before.

Next it was off to Glen Canyon Dam. I’ve been reading about this engineering marvel for years – mostly in works by Edward Abbey, the original eco-terrorist who dreamed of blowing it up (I’m not endorsing this!) The dam was built in the ‘50’s, back in the days when grand engineering marvels were commonplace. To wit, check out the massive rock mountain they cut in half — just to make room for the visitor center parking lot.

We get ready to visit Glen Canyon Dam. Dale is shaking hands with his invisible passenger, Herbie. There is some growing concern in the group that Herbie may not be real, which has certain implications for Dale’s sanity. 

Despite the sign, none of the visitors we talked to were named “Carl Hayden,” so apparently you can get in no matter what you’re called.

The visitor center has grand windows through which you can see both the dam and the bridge. We were just a little late to make the tour, but that’s water over the dam. And under the bridge.

Interesting tint courtesy of the visitor center window.

Note the rescue boats. Lots of people must fall off of that bridge because the boats were packed full.

Inside the visitor center is an interesting representation of the regional geography displayed on what cartographers call a “cylinder map thingy.”

Bill thought he had found the only window in the place and that it was an overhead view of the map and bridge. I pointed him to the 100’ of real windows right behind this diagram.

The majesty of the engineering marvels around him inspired Clive to play Candy Crush on his phone.

I wish I was kidding when I say that we were in the visitor center for about 30 minutes and about to leave when we discovered we could go outside and see the dam from the other side of the glass. We came upon this stunning revelation as we gazed out the window and a young woman walked in front of us. Here’s what we saw when we ventured out the door:

Obviously, a breathtaking sight like this could stand some improvement, so:

L to R: Clive Heller, Bob Steffen, Bill Dunn, Dale Berkbigler, Ryan Gosling

After taking in the sights, Dale suddenly yelled, “Staring contest!” and Bill jumped to the challenge as I took photos and Clive and Bob acted as judges for the impromptu competition. At least this time they did this while they were not riding.

After the contest – which ended in a tie when those of us not participating stopped caring – we rode into Page, AZ for some lunch at Big John’s BBQ.

Clive polishes off an entire bucket of fried chicken by himself while I have a salad and sautéed peppers (foreground).

After this delicious meal (and it really was excellent), Dale and I engaged in some photo hijinks.

I did my “Big John, the Happy Cowboy” look. 

Dale did his “Big John, the Constipated Cowboy” look.

We then rode to Cameron, AZ, where we gassed up at the Navajo Trail Trading Post. The Navajo Trail Trading Post (or “NTTP” as the locals probably call it), is sort of a fascinating place. We ran into a group of about 20 Germans who had flown in, rented Harleys and a chase vehicle and were riding across the United States. It was interesting to contrast our two Americans on German bikes with the Germans on American bikes. I guess the gas really is greener sometimes.

I also saw this remarkable piece of artwork at the NTTP:

Note the snakeskin on the edge accompanying the studded surfaces elsewhere.

We left the NTTP and headed to the highlight to our day – the Grand Canyon! Getting there from the Post requires a 50-mile run to the entrance, where we lined up behind the other vehicles waiting to pay for admission. I was in the lead as we idled, inching forward, when Bill suddenly pulled off to the side and slammed his BMW to a halt. The clutch had broken.

I am not kidding when I say that a group of five Harley Davidson riders looked over as Bill climbed off his obviously-stricken bike. You could see the “I told you so” look in their eyes. If you know anything about motorcycle culture, for a BMW rider to suffer a breakdown in front of Harley owners is about as humiliating as it gets. I acted like I didn’t know Bill until the Harleys made it through the gate.

After much fiddling and some serious consideration to just leaving him there, we decided we would all turn around. There’s a scene in the movie Apollo 13, where the astronauts discover they will not be able to complete their mission due to mechanical problems and Tom Hanks’ character says, “We lost the moon.” Well today, we lost the Grand Canyon.

Thus began the 50-mile ride back to the Navajo Trail Trading Post, where we attempted a hopeless and ultimately futile parking lot repair of the BMW’s clutch.

The red bike towards the right is the guilty culprit. We shall now call it a BMN for “Bayerische Motorarbeit Nicht” – Bavarian Motorworks — NOT.

We pushed Bill to a rolling start and he scooted down the highway with us following him to our new destination – the Hampton Inn in Flagstaff, AZ. Fifty-four miles later, through incredible winds that caused me to toss out the sea anchor on my land yacht a few times, we rolled in, checked in, and had dinner at the pizzeria across the parking lot.

But wait, there’s more: Bill recently bought a late model Honda Gold Wing in excellent condition. His BMN is 22 years old, he bought it used and he believes it was poorly-maintained by the previous owner. Yet he did not ride the Gold Wing because he did not want to scratch it. I say take it off of the pedestal in your living room and ride it, Bill!

However, he is paying the price, as tomorrow he is renting a U-Haul truck, loading up his stricken steed and riding home to Colorado.

That explains one of the two riders departing our group unexpectedly tomorrow. The other person leaving is Bob Steffen. Bob has been the true gentleman of the group and I’m sorry to report his son was suddenly taken ill, so he is going to load up his bike with Bill’s and drive back with him. Bob – all the best to your son and your family and I hope he recovers very, very quickly and completely.

We’ll miss both of our riding buddies for the rest of this trip. Bill and Bob have greatly enriched the ride this year and now I’m stuck with Clive and Dale again. In fairness, they are stuck with me and I’m the one writing the blogs, so I guess they have it worse.

Goodnight from Flagstaff, AZ. No idea what tomorrow will bring but check this space to find out yourself.

Saturday, April 28^th, 2018

This year’s Grand Motorcycle Tour (my third consecutive) began in Longmont, CO for me. Since the grand part of all three tours has been in the western US (this year and last) or partially in Canada (the first year), this is a much more convenient starting point. However, I needed to pick up some friends along the way – two of whom I knew about in advance as well as two surprise riders.

5:50AM Longmont, CO

I left our home in Longmont before 6AM this morning, gassed up and headed through the mountains for Del Norte, CO — my hometown, to the degree I have one.

It was 36 degrees.

Okay, not the entire way. During the first 250 mile leg of my journey, the temperature actually soared into the 40’s after a while and then reached a comfortable mid-60’s for the last 50 miles or so.

Once in Del Norte, I met up with Dale Berkbigler – repeat visitors to this blog will recall he was on last year’s trip – and also Bill Dunn. I knew Dale was coming along but it was a surprise to learn that Bill was joining us.

I’ve known Bill for about 40 years but haven’t seen him for 30. He hasn’t changed any more than I have in three decades. Bill’s an attorney, meaning we now have group legal representation to accompany our group physician (Dale).

We again met at Dale’s hangar and he again promised to take me flying sometime and I again said I looked forward to it while not believing he meant it (again). Like Dale, Bill rides a BMW but, also like Dale, somehow manages to be a nice guy anyway.

We mounted up and rode west to Pagosa Springs, CO, to pick up Bob Steffens, our second surprise rider. Bob is a large animal veterinarian and rides a Honda Gold Wing.

It’s really great to have these professionals on the trip with us. I know I personally feel safer having a doctor on the trip in case I get hurt and I’m sure my brother Clive feels the same way about Bob.

Speaking of Clive, we rode west from Pagosa Springs to Durango, CO, where my brother and his wife Gwen recently relocated. They have an absolutely gorgeous home in the mountains outside of town and I should have thought to take more pictures of the views they enjoy but you’ll have to settle for this pic of us having lunch inside along with a shot of our bikes outside their home. Gwen made a phenomenal white bean and chicken chili along with cheese quesadillas and we all ate too much.

From L to R: Dale Berkbigler, Bill Dunn, Gwen Heller, Bob Steffens, Clive Heller. Not pictured (for obvious reasons) — me.

Outside Clive and Gwen’s house. BMW riders always position their bikes closest to the camera. We get it – you’re super discerning and so you ride a BMW.

We then rode west again to a very out-of-the-way and truly hard-to-find National Monument called Hovenweep. Hovenweep is a large group of Indian ruins scattered along 20 miles of rough, desert canyons. It’s desolate, beautiful and frankly a little haunting. The ruins date back to AD 1200 to 1300 and the monument spans the Colorado Utah border.

Three walking paths of various lengths and of course, we took the shortest one (a mere 900 feet) to gaze upon a cluster of ruins built in a canyon. It’s amazing to see what these primitive people did with such basic tools. It must have been back-breaking labor in the desert heat. No wonder they all moved somewhere else: no air conditioning.

Of course, no matter how grand the historical achievement of ancient peoples or how spectacular the terrain, any backdrop can be improved by putting our group of riders in front of it.

I have to say that is was particularly gratifying for me to visit these ruins with this year’s riding group since I was able to thank them, personally, for building them.

As we walked towards the bikes to depart Hovenweep, I reflected that Bob Steffens really struck me as an extremely nice man. I’d heard he is a true gentleman. What I had not heard was that he has a sketchy side – as witnessed by him rifling through this motorcycle. It’s not his. On the other hand, it’s not mine, either, so I didn’t really care. I suppose he might have been looking for large animals requiring veterinarying.

After this adventure, we next rode through the spectacular deserts to our stopping point for the day, Mexican Hat, UT.

Clive and I decided to go on a little photography expedition to capture some shots as the sun set. Mexican Hat is named after the rock in the left side of this picture by someone who didn’t need much imagination:

Mexican Hat the town is named after Mexican Hat, the rock. 

I should point out that I have not manipulated any of the images in today’s blog. I only cropped a single shot and the lighting and colors are exactly as they came out of the camera. Dale really is that pale.

Once again, of course, no spectacular panorama is complete without us in front of it, so – like last year – I used my helmet as a tripod and shot this picture of Clive and me and I have to admit I like how it turned out:

The light was particularly flattering so I thought it was a perfect time to take a picture of Clive.

Monument Valley at dusk.

As it began to get dark, we headed back to our motel. As Clive pulled in, I stopped on the hill above to take a picture of our evening dwelling.

You can see our motel on the right. It’s a dramatic setting but ride down to that driveway was rocky.

At last, after more than 550 miles and 13 hours after I left home, I pulled into the hotel for the night. It’s a very interesting place – it’s in a gorgeous setting, it’s loaded with character, it’s run by a mostly-surly staff and it’s a dump inside. So we sat outside and talked and I took some last photos before we headed to dinner. Notably, this motel also has the slowest internet I’ve used since dial-up, meaning it took me half an hour to write this blog and two hours to upload the pictures and copy to WordPress.

Although the architecture fits the terrain, the interior of the motel is remarkably similar to what we saw in the ruins at Hovenweep.

This is the view from where our bikes are parked.

L to R: Clive, Bob, Bill and Dale. Dale ran out and grabbed the comfortable chair before anyone else could.

So, for those of you who complained last year that some of my blog entries didn’t have enough photos in them – I hope you’re satisfied and thanks for the implied insult on my writing.

Kidding aside, the friendship and scenery today were both off-the-charts spectacular. I can’t imagine having more fun on a motorcycle or enjoying more beautiful examples of the breathtaking topography of the American Southwest.

I can’t wait to experience the next eight days of this adventure – thanks for sharing them with us. And a special thanks to my riding buddies who stop so I can take pictures, pose for my camera and then endure my steady stream of cheap shots. I’m grateful they don’t run me off the road. Of course, the trip ain’t over yet.

Goodnight from Mexican Hat, Utah.

Riding up Highway 101 on the Oregon Coast first thing in the morning brings certain benefits. Such as the view.

We could have stood there for a long time, just reflecting, feeling the breeze and listening to the waves. But since I was there, we took a lot of pictures instead, including this one of my traveling companions. Clive, who doesn’t understand how cameras work, looked away just as I snapped the shot.

Speaking of reflecting, sometimes you take great shots purely by accident — like this one (in my humble opinion):

If you continue riding north on this road, you eventually run out of Oregon and have to resort to Washington. That happened to us, so be forewarned. However, we were blessed to cross the Columbia River, which separates the two states for many miles, allowing us this gorgeous view of the river and Mt. Hood:

I’ll be interested to see how Dale’s picture turned out, given that he has his phone turned around the wrong way and he is accidentally taking a selfie. My guess is that his first reaction was, “Oh my God — Mt. Hood looks just like me!

Dale and Clive make me lead most of the time. This isn’t out of deference or respect but because the leader is most likely to get a speeding ticket and the bikers following can usually slow down in time to avoid getting caught. I admit that I got us lost once today but the upside was that we only went about 7 miles out of our way (okay, 14 miles in total) and I led us right up a fantastic and curvy mountain road (and then back down). We also found an offbeat gas station with a couple of tongue-in-cheek signs:

And:

Ignoring the clever sign (“WE COOK” – Ha!) are Clive, who is preparing to put on his helmet and Dale, who is urinating in the parking lot.

Just a couple of miles down the road is the “Maryhill Stonehenge,” a full-size replica of England’s genuine article (in much the same way that “New” England is a copy of “England,” for example). The Maryhill Stonehenge was commissioned by businessman Samuel Hill on July 4th, 1918 and completed in 1929. Samuel Hill thus inspired the colloquialism, “What in the Sam Hill is this?”

In any case, the monument was supposed to honor US servicemen who were killed during World War I. Interesting story and you should read about it online. But for now, some glamour shots from Stonehenge:

We eventually made it to Pendleton, Oregon, where we are about the sleep after a long day on the road. But there is a British sports car club rally going on at this hotel, so I had to go and take a bunch of shots; here’s one:

But the parting shot must belong to the stars of our trip, our wonderful and trusty bikes:

It’s late and I’m exhausted — goodnight.

[Author’s Note:] When you first learn how to use a computer, you’re taught, “Don’t forget to save your work.” That remains good advice and ignoring it tonight led me to lose more than an hour of work on tonight’s blog entry. I did learn (re-learn for the 20th time) a valuable lesson. I’m now saving my blog entries as I write them.

Since it’s late here and I need some sleep, tonight’s update will be mostly pictures with some brief comments and captions. More of a travelogue than a column.

We took a long detour away from the Oregon coast to see Crater Lake National Park. We were astonished by the amount of snow still at the visitors’ center, given it’s June 21st, but they had a record year for snowfall.

Once inside, we were disappointed to see that the lake is much, much smaller than we’d anticipated. In fact, it was Barbie-sized:

At the visitors’ center, they told us that only the road to Crater Lake Lodge (a hotel built in 1915) and one mile of the road around the crater were open. This is the lodge, which experienced 612 inches of snow this past winter and there’s a bunch of it left.

On the back deck, you can rest in one of 50 rocking chairs and enjoy this view:

We left to ride the one mile of road we’d been told was open and within a few miles ran into construction traffic:

Much to our delight, just as we arrived, the construction crews opened a large section of the road! We were able to ride around about a third of the crater. After traversing a rough, muddy and rocky temporary road surfaces for a couple of miles, we reached a vista point and mugged for a shot of us wth our bikes in front of the wall of snow lining the road:

The effort was worth it to get shots like this: None of the shots of the lake have been edited in any way.

Of course, in this part of the country, you can look directly away from the lake and see plenty of gorgeous scenery:

It was extremely cold in the Park, of course, so we then cruised to the Ranger-recommended Beckie’s Restaurant in tiny Union Creek for a delicious lunch.

Our bikes needed some nourishment too, of course, and there aren’t many choices in these parts, so we wound up stopping at this throwback service station:

We rode for a few hours in mid-90’s temps and spent most of the day with no cell phone coverage. But eventually, we made it back to the coast, the temperature dropped to 60 degrees and we rode the 101 north to the town of Florence, maintaining the faux-Italian theme we noted in Fortuna as well.  We found another great Best Western — this one with a nice view and a decent restaurant.

I walked a bit to capture this view of Florence and its historical bridge (so says the sign).

Walking back to the hotel, I came across Doc — a very nice gentleman who is walking the ORegon Trail. By himself. He said after years of working in offices and raising kids, he wanted to “just walk,” so he’s walking. He was kind enough to let me take his picture and I gave him my blog address. So Doc, if you’re reading this, thanks for the chat and I hope the walking is everything you wanted and needed.

I will hopefully have more to say tomorrow. We’re riding north for another 50 miles of coastline and then turning east to catch the Columbia River road before heading towards home. Yes, we are at that point in the trip when we need to plan with our destination in mind. Hard to believe we have only four more days of riding. I hope they all are as easy, fun and interesting as the days we’ve enjoyed so far.

Goodnight from Clive, Dale and me.

After I posted last night’s blog entry onto Facebook (and even though I apologized for the lack of photos), I had at least one complaint that I failed to share enough pictures. I’m looking at you, Brandy Serfazo.

In any case, I’m making up for it tonight with nine pics. Given the famous 1000:1 value of pictures to words, I’m writing less copy. Who am I to disappoint my fans? (I have so few.)

We are at the Olympic Inn in Klamath Falls, OR. Klamath Falls has a large “geothermal district” — meaning many government, commercial and residential buildings are heated by hot water that occurs naturally underground. That’s a great plan until the earth’s core finally cools, I suppose, but if you’re fine with temporary solutions, it’s a good one.

There are many taximerdied animals in the lobby here at the Olympic Inn, as well as a breakfast and snack area where footwear is apparently optional.

We arrived here today via a route that included a stop in a redwood forest as well as spectacular views of the California and Oregon coasts. I’ve never seen redwoods before and they are truly majestic. I pondered today what the European explorers thought when they saw them for the first time. I imagine their immediate reaction was, “I wonder if the bears in the area are similarly proportioned?” This particular example is called (imaginatively), “Big Tree.” It’s more than 300 feet tall and 21 feet in diameter:

I placed Dale and Clive between two of the monsters so I could share this picture of them to help them feel insignificant:

As we passed this tree, I tried to get it to explain what tragedy had struck it but it said it had already spilled its guts:

Of course, not all trees in this forest are freakishly large. Some are freakishly mossy:

After leaving the redwoods behind, we headed up the coast on Highway 101. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to line up the bikes with the ocean in the background so we could do the perfect “poster shot” for printing after the trip. I think I have it:

The big rock in the background is surrounded by mist – it’s stunning and you can see it better here:

Journeys are defined not only by where you go but who travels with you. My traveling companions on this trip ride safely (most important), swiftly, never complain and have wicked senses of humor. However, I realized this evening when I went out to my bike that both Dale and Clive are embarrassed of their motorcycles. So embarrassed, in fact, that they cover them up every night so no one can see what they ride. As a proud owner of a Victory bike, I leave mine revealed for the many admirerers to see — it’s like a sculptural masterpiece parked right outside the door of the hotel. I should ask for a discount for the business it’s bringing this establishment while we stay here.

“Brand anxiety” is a common problem among riders who don’t buy Victory motorcycles. Personally, I think that’s why Dale and Clive brought along a whole bottle of Crown Royal as well as a QUART-SIZE “flask.” They seem to be making good progress on both.

Tomorrow, we’re off to see Crater Lake National Park. According to the Google reviews (4.8 out of 5 stars), it’s an amazing sight and the source of some of the best photos some reviewers have ever taken. You can be the judge when you read tomorrow night’s post.