REMEMBER ONLY YOU CAN HELP COMBAT OVARIAN CANCER
CHECKS TO:
GAIL PURTAN FUND
KARMANOS CANCER INSTITUTE
4100 JOHN R DETROIT, MI  48201
1-800-527-6266
"IN MEMORY OF MARY LOGSDON" - IN NOTE SECTION OF CHECK

JULY 28, 2006 - ROLLIN, ROLLIN, ROLLIN, KEEP THOSE DOGGIES, ROLLIN ... RAWHIDE

I kept rolling today, long after my behinder felt like Rawhide.  I left good Grandma Tessie and Grandpa Chris, who are referred to as "Emma" and "Empa" by Sophia, the cutest grand daughter ever born in west coast human history. I was not yet five miles down the road when two things happened almost simultaneously. I broke my camera.

When I bent over to pick up camera flotsam and jetsam, my damned crown popped out. So, what to do? I plugged in Ms. GPS and found a Ritz Camera. Went there and found that my camera would have to be sent in to be fixed. That would take four to six weeks. I would be home by then. I decided to go get some duct tape (my mother would love this part) and as I left the place, I noticed a Dentists office in the same strip mall. I went there and found that my Delta insurance was good, so I waited on the good Dr. to "squeeze" me in. Which he did. He thinks it will only be a temporary fix, though.

I had left Tessie and Chris around 10 or 10:30 AM. I finally found myself headed for San Francisco at 2:15 PM. I did get across the Bay Bridge - it cost ME $5.00. It cost cars $3.00. I have this road buckling trailer to pull over those bridges….. yada yada.

By the way, the fellow that I mentioned having the dubious title of being the worst artist in the city was there in the same spot today. There were far more vendors around, though. Get this. Not one soul was at his booth. I continued toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

I noticed that the camera continues to work, but I can tell it is sick. I shouldn't drop it, I guess. I thought the day couldn't get any worse. Here I am running late, waiting for my tooth to drop out again, the camera is jacked up…… what next????

Well, I didn't have long to wait about "what next"…
I had stopped for gas right after getting off the Golden Gate Bridge. They didn't have ice, but the store across the street did. Over I went to get the ice, which I was able to find in short order.

I came out to the parking lot and opened the lid to the cooler. When I sliced open the bag of ice, I noticed that the stuff was pretty solid. Easy enough to fix THAT, I said to myself. I took the pocket knife that I carry and started chopping away. CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, CHOP, and the blade folded close slicing open my little finger to the muscle……

I put ice on it, it was right there, and therefore, easy to find. I opened the saddle bag and got out a clean cloth. I thought I better assess the situation and took a look at the slice. No echoes could be heard, but it was deeper than I thought it was at first. Luckily it wasn't bleeding. Just as I thought that, it started to bleed really badly. Pressure, pressure, pressure. I have found that I can open the trailer with one hand. This, I did with alacrity. I dug into the stuff and found my first aid kit. I applied all of the antiseptic stuff - and the ice - and the two tone cloth that had started out white. I was seriously considering going to get more help, but it seemed to start acting better, so I just kept applying pressure and readied the other stuff for application. I got it all bandaged. It throbs a bit, but it hasn't sprung any leaks to date.  I lost another good hour farting around with that, but finally got on the road.

I remember writing that Route 1 between San Luis Obispo and Carmel, acted like a snake that didn't like me on its back. Route 1 is mostly like that, I am finding. It runs right along the coast and has been the victim of many rocks thrown by the adjacent mountain sides. I remember writing that those 90 miles were some of the most difficult that I have ever ridden as a motorcyclist. Thank God that I had the experience of those 90 miles for what I had to do today. I covered more than 70 miles of Route 1 north of the Golden Gate Bridge that were every bit as challenging and every bit as forbidding and every bit as dangerous as the previous 90 or so that I had the pleasure of writing about.

Vertical curves fought with horizontal curves left and right and up and down; sometimes simultaneously. Very tight curves mixed with longer tangents to give the distinct impression that the rider didn't know what was going to happen next. Then variable like on coming traffic and very rough pavement called for some entertaining driving. The road got so rough at one point - while still hugging the coastline - very high and getting higher - that my rubber ducky "Wilson" left me - along with my bungee cords and the Harley pack that they were holding down. The car behind me honked his horn, indicating that I had lost something. I had heard it crash to the ground and glanced back while entering the next curve to see the pack sliding to the side of the road.

My first priority was to control the bike. I was able to turn around five miles beyond the point that I lost the pack. I did NOT relish the idea of going through those conditions again, but the pack contained a patch work quilt my mother had made. Back through the twisting snake of a road, I went again. There was a turn off about a ¼ mile from where the pack was, so I pulled in there. I had to walk IN the road because that was the only place TO walk. Mountain on one side, fought with sheer cliffs on the other. Frankly, I was too busy to even try to take a photograph. I got my pack back, and I got the bungee cords AND Wilson, the rubber duck. He sits on top once again, riding the trailer.

Route 1 makes the cycle driver very very tired. My arms ache. My thighs ache. Why do my thighs ache? They ache from hugging the gas tank as  I get into the turns, knowing that a road sow or road rhino COULD be coming around that hairpin turn in my lane. I hugged the mountains pretty tightly if the rough texture of the snake would allow.

I have to say that shortly after coming off the Golden Gate Bridge; I opted to take a walk through the Muir Woods. This National Park is home to the rare giant Redwoods. I believe that it is only one of four locations that these quiet giants can be seen. They are the most awesome sight. The size defies accurate adjectives to be used. Suffice to say that they are so big, that they almost look fake. NOTHING could be that large. Well, they are. They are and they are wondrous in their ability to have survived such a long long time. I am looking forward to finding more of them as I head north.

In order to find a place to stay this evening, I had to travel almost 40 miles inland to get the last room available at a Holiday Inn, where I am at the moment.

Route 1 has a personality that makes me think that if it were an animal, it would be the only python allowed in the Professional Bull Riders Association Rodeo. I tackle it again tomorrow, but like today, I have to try to stay on for more than 8 seconds. It will be a tiresome challenge.

HANTA YO