March 19
Having realised my error in navigation, we turned left and right a bit and eventually, I managed to get us out of town. The first part of the ride was an initiation into riding in the US for H. In the same way that some American's are still absolutely convinced we have fog on a daily basis in London, most Europeans believe that US drivers crawl around at 55 mph. The average speed on an Interstate in the USA is 70 and that's just the godzillion hp trucks. American truck drivers would hoot with laughter if you told them that European lorries don't exceed 60. These rigs are big, long and fast. If you go under one of them then it's all over. In fact, if you fall off, by the time drivers have stopped reading, shaving, eating or looking at the television, it's all too late. The little bump you make as they mow you down would register naught. Fast lane switching is (just about) legal as is overtaking on both sides. Mirror dicipline and head swivels are pretty much vital for a bike rider.
After twenty minutes or so of this roller-coaster ride, we managed to break off towards the west and in a few minutes, we picked up an altogether nicer road, State Route 1, otherwise known as the Pacific Coast Highway. Now, I was able to slow the bike down to a happy 55 mph and listen to the soulfull "blatter-blatter" from the exhaust. The sun was warm on my face and a breeze washed across from the ocean on my right where, across the horizon more than 2500 miles away lay the Hawaiian Islands. After that, it's another 5000 miles before the Northern tip of Australia hoves into view. No doubt about it, that's a big ocean!
Our first stop to gather our thoughts and have a bit of lunch was Dana Point. We rode the bikes into the harbour lot and as they grumbled up to the parking bay, people, as usual, stopped what they were doing and looked. When they realised that the bikes were delivering nothing more than a couple of middle-aged Wild Hog's wannabees, they quickly lost interest. H and I stopped the motors, swung off the bikes, pulled of our helmets and looked at each other as if we'd crossed the desert - rather than just ridden 30 miles. Putting away our silly grins and slipping on the shades we walked into The Harbor Grill where we could guard our steeds with loving glances from the table.
The restaurant specialises in Fish dishes (Dana itself is a fish-crazy town)and their unique selling point is they have a well stocked herb garden attached. I started with some Scallops in a Lime sauce whereas H cracked on with a plate of Oysters. For the Entree course, I had a plain grilled Salmon and H had the seabass. We washed it all down with..well, a bottle of water. The meal came to $80 which while not cheap for the States is still pretty good value for fresh fish. The service and atmosphere was just right.
The weather had really warmed up by now and I was looking forward to the final ride down to San Diego. In the UK, I tend to ride with a full face helmet and I was disappointed by the buffeting this caused on my Road King. However, the half-face made a big difference. Minimal vibration, much more vision and an open-air feel that brought back memories of riding my first bike (a Jawa 90) some 38 years ago. The open helmet however, was going to come back and bite me later on the trip.
Soon we passed through San Clemente and then came to a long, clear strech of road bordered on the left by Camp Pendleton, home of the US Marines. They must have been somewhere else as all appeared very quiet. Heading south still at a steady 55, the next town was Oceanside which once again, welcomed us with a large marina full of leisure and fishing boats. Passing thru, we soon came to Carlsbad. This is a beautiful, upmarket town and to my mind, epitomises the successful American Dream. Money is in evidence everywhere. Not just because of the obvious wealth of homeowners and Rolls Royce drivers but the infrastructure is also good. I'm guessing that taxes are pretty steep but the result is scenic beauty and good roads. Certainly, a place to stop next time but for now, San Diego is in striking distance and the Corona's are calling. Thirty minutes later, we ride into West Ash Street, San Diego and in front of us is the entrance to the covered car park of the Best Western. As this is our first night, paranoia steps in and we lash the bikes together with the various cables and padlocks provided by Eaglerider. I then turned my attention to the RiggPak and begin what will turn out to be the regular show for H's amusement where I struggle with the Velcro "snakes" while removing the luggage. Eventually, we arrive at check-in and I'm given a more than adequate room on the third floor. Despite only having done 120 miles (or 109 depending on whose GPS is to be believed) I feel pleasantly tired. A quick shower and change and we're ready for the first Corona's and a trip out to town.
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