Give us a friggin' break!!!! You want some water?!?! I'll give you some water!!!!
We'd left the hotel that morning in a Scotch mist that kept getting thicker and heavier as we rode, and by the time we stopped for lunch it had become a steady rain. With the exception of Wednesday afternoon every time we get near the coast it starts to rain. On Wednesday we ran most of the Oregon Coast at 75-80 miles an hour, diving and swooping along as the road paralleled the beach then climbed into the hills before returning to the ocean again and again.
By the time we passed beneath that sign I couldn't wait to get away from the coast. We were covered head to toe in plastic, could taste the salt spray in the mist that was swirling inside our visors, the water had begun to worm it's way through any chink it could find in our rainsuits, I was already soaked with the moisture from my body that couldn't escape the plastic, and I was done. But doing a tour of the Pacific Northwest without rain would be like having Poutine without gravy or squeaky cheese. We drove part of the Redwoods Parkway, but it lost a lot of it's charm in the deluge.
So we called it an early day and found a nice dry Brewpub in Eureka California, a much more civilized way to spend a rainy afternoon.
Friday dawned warm and clear, so we rode The Avenue Of The Giants through the Redwood forest, past trees that were already old when the first white guy showed up here, many of them over 20 feet in diameter towering hundreds of feet into the sky.
We had a long haul planned for the day as we headed inland on highway 36, which my Butler Motorcycle Map had highlighted completely in red and orange, signifying it was twists and turns from one end to the other. The next 3 hours were an absolute blast but were exhausting. I have never seen so many hairpin turns in such a short space of time. We were sprinting from corner to corner, that is when we weren't going directly from one corner into the next. We climbed more passes than I could be bothered to count, our hands were sore from constantly grabbing brake and clutch levers, and for miles at a time we never got above 30 miles an hour. I loved it! But was relieved when the road finally opened up into some longer sweeping turns to give us a bit of a break. I fell in love with southern California roads last winter, now I see that the northern ones are just as good.
This afternoon after we'd had a late lunch at "Lois's International Cafe" in Ono California, an absolute dive of a roadside diner but with great food and stupid cheap pitchers of beer, Ray re-enacted a scene right out of The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. He was leading us down the twisting Highway 299 when he startled an enormous vulture having lunch at the side of the road. The damn thing must have decided to get even because when it took off it gained some height as it made a quick circle before diving straight at Ray! He was startled by the movement above him and I was treated to the sight of him ducking and weaving all over the road before he cracked the throttle wide open and out-ran it - one bird power is no match for 145 horsepower. The best part? When we left the cafe I had mounted my GoPro on top of my helmet, and caught the whole thing! If you don't have video it didn't really happen!
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