March 20 Palm Springs
A friend had suggested we try Copeleys restaurant for dinner when in Palm Springs to get a "feel for the locals". We took that as a code for dressing up a little. So, polo shirt, chinos and deck shoes. It was a warm evening as we walked out to the bikes and within two minutes, we were cruising south on Canyon Drive. On our ride over from San Diego, we had noticed literally hundreds of other bikes going in both directions. While taking five minutes at a layby near a bend, I was reminded of the scene in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, where the couple are on the top of the hill and every ten seconds or so, a group of alien craft come tearing round the corner. Well, we didn't see any aliens but we sure saw a lot of groups out for a ride. Harleys, Gold Wings, Trikes and even a bunch of those fast motorbike-type scooters. Now, when actually riding and meeting these groups coming the other way, there is a formal courtesy to be followed. As in the UK, smaller bikes are noted almost imperceptibly. Supersports receive a friendly nod but with cruisers, everyone goes overboard by hanging their left arm out low, pointing towards the road and giving the V for (I presume) victory sign. H was about 100 metres in front of me and as I watched he duly started his salute as a Harley group approached from around an oncoming bend doing the same. They came on and on, there must have been a hundred of them. After the first formation of twenty or so, H had to negotiate the bend himself which he tried to do one-handed. I started laughing hysterically as he wobbled round, trying to wave and steer at the same time. When we stopped later, I asked him why he had perservered. "I just felt they might have been offended" was the response. He's very polite is H.
Now, as the bikes muttered along the road, I noticed a couple of Harley's parked up outside a bar. Wheeling in, we reversed, parked, slipped the helmets on the handle bars and strolled into "The English Biker Bar". Two Harley's out the front but twenty out the back. The bar was full of Harley riders in leather waistcoats with accompanying badges, tattoos and so on. It took about ten seconds to realise these were not doctors and dentists and real estate agents playing Easy Rider. My shirt and chinos were plain enough for me to melt into the background but I did wonder if H was slightly uncomfortable in his salmon pink polo. In a strange way, as none of them had seen us coming in on the bikes, we were just a couple of "civilians" so they appeared to take no notice. Unobtrusively as possible, I eased my way to the bar and standing between two mountains of leather ordered, in my best American accent, "a coupla Bud's" from a charming girl who appeared to have a Meccano set piercing various parts of her face.
Declining her offer of a tab on the basis I just wanted to get out as soon as possible before some joker decided to use H as a plaything, I retired to the table in the shadows where H was trying unsuccessfully, to hide. As we sat back, I observed the decor in the English Bar. A flag of St George, a picture of David Beckham and five televisions showing Nascar racing provided a backdrop. On the tables, baskets of breaded fish strips and fries sat alongside burgers and hot dogs. In its own way, here was entry-level fusion food. Heston Blumenthal however, probably doesn't need to worry...
Having downed our Bud's in record time, we made our way back to bikes and unnoticed, carried on south to Copeleys. Strangely enough, parking the Harley's in the lot there seemed more comfortable than outside the bar. Must be a difficult job being VP Marketing at Harley. I guess he or she has to operate in some schizophrenic world where some of your customers are rebel rednecks, some want to look like rebel rednecks and the rest are... well, just middle-aged and overweight - like H and me. Actually, H isn't overweight. He has one of those "lucky bastard" metabolisms where he can eat and drink anything he wants, not exercise and not put on a pound. He is middle-aged though.
With appetites ready, we strode into Copeleys and were taken to an outside table where most people seemed to be eating. The ambience is quality American as, it would seem, are the patrons. Plenty of top-end Mercedes, Jaguar and BMW's rested in the parking lot. For once, the food did not seem to be covered in sauces or given exotic names. I started with some Butternut Squash soup which was truly excellent and followed with a Rack of Colarado Lamb. I only ever think of Colorado as a ski resort so a rather strange picture of Lambs gambolling on the slopes popped into my mind.
H had a salad and steak and with a Beaujolais, the whole meal came to $100. Again, not cheap but good.
Returning to the Shilo Inn Suites which, is actually a motel, we had a quick beer and once my head hit the pillow...I sat up in pain having realised how badly sunburnt my face was.
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