The Longest Day

On Friday evening I received my first text message on my cell phone. It said, “No air attack tomorrow, but probable bike ride instead.” That meant a lost day of work (flying), but likely some fun on two wheels instead. I feared that the airplane had broken, but it turned out there was nobody available to fly right seat, so there was no need for a pilot.

So on Saturday morning, instead of going to work at 8:30, I met 3 firemen on their Harleys at 7:30. They were only a little snooty about my Honda because I’m a part time fireman. But as the day progressed, the small size of my fuel tank became an issue and they were more inclined to look down on my fire-engine-red machine.

We headed for the coast on Highway 58, the same route that Dwight and I took on the way to Fremont several Februarys ago. Unlike that day, however, this was a beautiful day for riding, even for Hawaii Weather Wimps. The sun was shining and the temperature was close to 73.6°. The road was lonely, making the run for our four bikes smooth and uninterrupted. We finally stopped after over 100 miles of riding for breakfast, fuel, and to decide whose front wheel to follow. We decided to head to Morro Bay and then up the coast a few miles on the Pacific Coast Highway.

I’ve been on the PCH several times now, but I’ve never seen it like this. “June gloom” is persisting into July, and the ocean was hidden behind a cloak of fog, as was much of the road. There were patches of sunlight as we rode north, but mostly we were in the fog, sometimes dense and sometimes visibly rolling across the highway like smoke from a forest fire. The temperature was in the low 50s, and I was happy to have no helmet radio with HWWs complaining about the weather. This whole new setting for the PCH was quite nice.


The Pacific Ocean and the June gloom.

We rolled past Cambria and San Simeon and continued north into the twisties the road is so famous for. We were all having fun and one of the firemen wanted to go all the way up to Monterey. Just as I was beginning to fear we would actually go that far, we turned around and headed back toward San Simeon. We drove through a luxurious beach resort area I have never noticed before, then turned east up Highway 46 toward Paso Robles, where we stopped for lunch at a biker hangout.


Turn-around point.

Rather than heading straight back home from there, one of the guys talked us into following him up this small road he had discovered leading to Parkfield, the hottest earthquake spot in the West, right on the San Andreas Fault. It turned out to be a great road to ride on and we stopped at a very old and quaint saloon for some iced tea before finding our way back to a main road, a gas station, and home.


Looking east across the fault at the 3 Harleys.


The fault.


Looking west across the fault.

My need for that last gas station dictated our need to stay on a main road instead of some more exploring in the hills, and gave the Harley guys fodder to deride the Honda guy. I promised to strap on an extra gallon of gas on the next ride, but they said, “Just bring a Harley next time.” Sigh.

After 12 ½ hours and 385 miles, I got home and immediately fell into the pool. Sometimes it’s almost worth all the trouble and chemicals. Almost.