I am at the Pacific Ocean.*

Actually, I arrived here yesterday, in Crescent City, after leaving Grant's Pass, OR at a reasonable hour, and getting a pretty good jump on the day. I entered California, amidst the gloom of numerous fires all around, on the Redwood Highway, US101, and headed down toward the redwood forests of Cali. I hit the ocean at Crescent City in the early afternoon, and I knew it was coming, because the temperature started dropping precipitously. Soon, I burst through the last bend in the road and the the surrounding trees, and beheld a vista that we all know on the east coast - that look of a road, or a group of buildings, where there is nothing but horizon beyond, and that means ocean.

I pulled into Crescent City, which resembeles, eerily, Ocean City or Dewey back home - a long, main drag parallel to the shore,a nd little tendril streets shooting off at ninety degrees. nd there, finally at the end of the street, was the seascape I traveled almost 4000 miles for:

I made it.

I stopped by the side of the turnaround to take a selfie, and relax  a little and enjoy the moment.  Immediately, crazy people were drawn to me. First, a man came up and asked if he could buy a cigarette. i told him I'd gladly give him one, if I had it, but I couldn't help him. He said that was okay, introduced himself as "Jimmy", and explained that he was there to check out the rocks (he had a stone the size of a good Idaho potato in his hand, and the "diseases inside them." I shook his proffered hand, and he went back to berated the world for existing. His hands looked like they had seen a lot of hard work, a lot of weather, and soap not too recently.

Then a gentleman who referred to me as "young man" (aw, bless!) came up and asked me what the previous man had wanted to talk to me about. I was then subjected to a half hour long True Crime story of how the first man ("Jimmy") must be responsible for the recent spate of break-ins in town, because otherwise, why would a sane man be carrying a rock around like that? Tamping down any conversational gambits involving pots and kettles, I made a mumbling apology of ignorance, and made to get on with my ride. I should note that man "two" seemed overly preoccupied with a large bottle of Arizona Tea he was carrying. The tea was suspiciously bright red.

I decided to take my leave before I became the latest installment in the weirdness of "Crime in Crescent City," and headed south. Soon 101 curved back in from the shore, and proceeded through even more majestic redwood forests than before. Seriously, no pictures can convey the majesty of these trees, but I took some any way:

Tricia always said "Look up."

Top of tree.

Bottom of tree

After while heading through the forest, the temperature having climbed quite high since our departure from the coast, I pulled into a fabulous souvenir stand / info point:

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Now, this is where everything fell apart a little: the young lady at the counter said I looked hot Realizing this was na observation, not an invitation, I said I was surprised at how hot it had gotten as we came inland. She said that i could get back to cool air easily; all I had to do was bear right at "One." It would take me back towards the coast and cooler air, and rejoin with 101 farther down.

Now, A) She did not explain that it would also add three-four hours to my journey, 

B) She did not explain that it was a road design specifically to tax the most avid of sport bikers,

C) My GPS had no signal.

Now, once you are on Rte 1, you can't really get off. It ranges from 65mph to 15mph, through a diabolical series of truns twists, hills, defilades, on and off camber banks and probably a few loop de loops, until you are not sure which way is up. It is definteily not designed to "get you there on time."

It is also hella fun. By the time the GPS had found a signal, the fasyetest way for me to get to where I was headed, Mel and Josh's in San Rafael, was to take CA20, which would take me from Fort Bragg straight back over ot he 101, where i would have free way ride straight into hteir waiting arms.

except: 

Everything I just said about Rte. 1 goes DOUBLE for CA20. Now Rte 1 is, I now remember, notorious. But CA20 should be on every motorcyclist's list of roads they have to ride before the day they die. 

Even odds are, it will be the day they ride CA20.

There are no photos, I don't think - there may be some video, but I think the G-forces were affecting the perfromance of the goPro. Suffice it to say that by the time I made it halfway back to  the 101, i had to pull out to let the feeling come back in my brake hand.

This is the Devil's Road.

Seriously: don't make me do it again... there is video, but it is incriminating.

However, I survived it, and made it to 101 again, turning south to rendezvous with my friends, keeping them updated on my progress and my apologies for getting sucked into the rush of the Cali mountain roads. I went whooshing into San Rafael shortly (a couple of hours...) after, and we hugged greetings, and went out to have late meal at a favorite restaurants of my hosts.

Wine country (for that's where, I realized, I was) is really pretty in the late sun.

 At this point, the "Pirsig" portion of the journey ends. Bonnie flew in this morning (Boy, are her arms tired...) and we are going to have a few days together before we both  head for home. Mel and Josh have real wi-fi, for which you can thank today's post, and I will try to make good use of it before eBonnie and I take off again. We are still forming our plan.

* I am going to take a tiny moment here for a feeling of accomplishment. I rode a sport bike across the whole country. Yay me!