Summary of California Trip

Finally, what did I think of the bike?

In some ways, as you approach the bike, it is reminiscent of a Road King Classic. However, if you see them together, you quickly realise the Heritage Softail Classic is a much smaller ride. As I said earlier it is low with 27inch seat height and altogether softer than the King. There is no cruise control on the Softail which might be an omission for US roads although I didn't find it a problem. The supension on my bike was very soft which, I quite liked. My Road King Classic rattles my teeth on some roads, whatever the suspension setting. The rental bike had 14,000 miles on the clock so it may well be that it had bedded in somewhat. No Harley is going to handle anything like a sportsbike and quite frankly, we don't want it to. I found it great fun hauling the bike round tight bends and bottoming the footplate. I'm sure a more agressive rider would have scraped the exhaust/muffler as well. The fuel consumption is quite high but at the end of the day, this bike is nigh on 1500cc with no fairings. Our average speed was about 50mph on open roads with very little "stop/start", so I guess the consumption might drop further at motorway speeds.
The bottom line however, is that this is a pure-bred Harley. These roads and conditions are exactly what it was designed for. It eats the miles up during the day and is a smart boulevard cruiser by evening. No bike on earth gives you the same feeling of comfort, confidence and pride as it blatters down Main Street, USA, completely at home in its role as a twentieth-century American icon.

View Larger Map
A few people have asked for some trip stats for our four days and three nights (we did stay the first night at LAX but that was on points. Budget another $90.) so here goes:
- The map above shows the general route. We deviated from some parts of it for various reasons so please don't use it as an exact copy of our trip.
- Although we used points, the cheapest cost of economy flights with Virgin at the moment ,including taxes, seems to be about £475.
- Eaglerider charged us $1700 each. This included the bikes, GPS, all the available insurances, a folder which included the trip details, area guides and all hotels. Package included breakfast and free Wi-Fi
- We ate well. My food and sundries bill came to $260
- I travelled 612 miles and spent about $55 on gas. That works out at about 38-41 miles to the gallon. Yep, they drink fuel. The Electra Glide worked out at about 48-50 mpg.
Overall, it's not a cheap trip if you're coming from Europe BUT... if you feel you a re confident with the route, you could just book the bikes rather than a package and with hotels, I think you might get the trip portion down to $1100.
So, to do the package you should budget £1500-1800 for the 4/5 days or if you arrange everything yourself, possibly £1250-1400.
However you do it, it's a memorable and totally enjoyable trip!
Note: Click "Ter" on map above if not set. It will then show the mountain ranges and deserts in relief giving a better idea of the terrain changes for the whole route.

March 22
Given this was our last day and Oxnard is quite close to LA, we had a lazy start and didn't leave tthe hotel until 10:30am. The bikes were due back at 4pm so we decided to ride down to Malibu and then up into the Hollywood Hills and finally make our way slowly back to Eaglerider.
Heading south out of Oxnard, we picked up our favourite road again, the Pacific Coast Highway and puttered downhill with the blue Pacific Ocean on one side and the hills of State Park after State Park on the other. We made poor progress. After stopping to gaze out from one viewpoint, we would hardly ride for five minutes before stopping at another to look at dolphins leaping and twisting just out to sea. The sun was warm, I had the Beach Boys (I know, I know) playing on the Iphone and all was very well with the world. We carried on like this until about 90 minutes later we pulled into Paradise Cove and headed for a snack at the Beach Cafe. This really is a great spot for families. Surfing, fishing, a pier and great food at the cafe, well worth a longer stop or a hook-up for a few days with an RV. By now, the hills were still bordering us to the east but the west was taken up by hundreds of houses lining the beach. Most houses were dramatic and individual in their style but the common factor was how the builders had tried to balance the amount of beach access with the size of the house and the size of the drive. In most cases, the drive lost out and massive Lincoln's and Caddy's had either their rear-ends or snounts sticking out onto the pavement, much like a bunch of mid-terraces in good old Blighty. However, when you see a property for sale and the selling agent is Christie's of London, you realise that whilst some of the properties aren't much bigger than a suburban "two-up two-down", the price probably is. For it is here that the stars have their homes, hidden behind tall walls and gates. As we drifted past, we presumed the more CCTV cameras, the bigger the star...
As we cruised south out of Malibu, everything started to get more built-up and as we approaced Santa Monica, we were beginning to be held up at signals. We had spent more time than we thought coming through Malibu and with the clock approaching 3:15pm, we decided that it was probably best to head for the depot. 30 minutes later, we skirted LAX and closed the loop of our 4 day journey as we pulled up on South La Cienega Boulevard, home of Eaglerider.
The guys at Eaglerider were friendly and efficient as we checked everything out and they kindly allowed us to use the "boardroom" to change into our travel clothes. After loading the van, we were driven straight to the airport and twenty minutes later we were sitting in the shared Virgin Lounge. The flight was on-time and having eaten in the lounge, after take-off, I pulled down the blind and settled in for the ten hour journey home. The answer is "Yes!", I'd do it again without hesitation.

March 22
Some might say the best bit about Barstow is the road out. Now whether they would be referring to the general ambience of the town or the fact that the road out is Route 66 is questionable. Despite its tiredness, I think Barstow is an important place to visit on a road trip. Like an aging celebrity, it's not so much what it means today but more a rememberence of the towns history in the fifties and sixty's.
In any event, we picked-up the Mother road and I fulfilled the wish I set myself by riding on Route 66. Clues to the fact you on it are manyfold. Firstly, the sides of the road still have closed down shops, gas stations and restaurants. Secondly, there are a number of potholes and areas of creased tarmac and finally, evey mile or so, "Route 66" is painted in big white letters on the road. These letters attract the tourists and it was not uncommon to round a bend and find ten or so drivers or bikers having a group photo in the middle of the road. H just rode round them, not forgetting to give the "low V sign" as they scattered...
Two hours of uneventful riding saw the desert scrubland slowly start to turn more lush and by Acton, we were entering the Angeles National Forest. After three days of sand, the greenery was quite a difference. At Santa Clarita, we stopped at Kisho's, a Japanese restaurant, and sampled the Tempura which was very good indeed. With a small bottle of Asahi beer each the price came to about $15 each. Have rested, we then headed out of town on the 126 which becomes the East Telegraph Road. You can continue on this road direct to Oxnard but we'd been told of a fun route. Climbing up through mountain territory again, we turned left and south at Filmore into the Happy Camp Regional Park and onto Grimes Canyon Road.
View Larger Map
Having touched the footplate on the Softail a couple of times earlier in the trip, I realised these were just practice runs. As we made our way down the canyon, we came to a series of switchbacks (zoom in on map above) which had me scraping and scratching for about a mile. I was only doing about thirty but I defy any low-slung Harley to get down that road without grounding. A fun way to finish the leg and certainly worth taking the detour to experience it.
Around 6pm saw us entering Oxnard and a short while later, we pulled up at the Courtyard Marriot in Ventura. The hotel was welcoming, comfortable and had a nice little bar from which we availed ourselves a couple of beers. The pool also looked good, so we took a quick swim before heading out to a recommended restaurant in Ventura.
The weather was still warm but cooling as we rode out. We were heading to the Ventura Pier and Eric Ericssons for dinner. Another dramatic part of California, some of the best surfing in southern california is found here. It was getting dark as we slipped the helmets onto the handlebars to walk into the restaurant and the temperature was definitely dropping. Ericssons is a big, roomy building on the coast end of the pier with stunning views and within sound of the crashing Pacific rollers. The food is, as you would expect, fish and ours was once again, perfect. I dived into a shellfish extravaganza with Abalone, Scallops and Shrimp and H took some Lobster Tacos. A bottle of Californian white accompanied the meal and after a quick walk on the pier, we headed back to the bikes. By now, the weather was decidedly cool, even cold. Wiping the condensation off the bikes we had a chilly 15 minute ride back to the hotel where we headed for the bar and finished the evening off with a couple of Irish coffees.

March 21
The delights of Barstow were hiding this particular late afternoon, so we decided to take a ride out of town to Calico. Calico is a Californian ghost town brought back from the dead. Unlike a number of other mining towns which were founded around gold, Calico built itself around silver which, was unfortunate because although the two metals are often mentioned in one breath, there is a rather large spread between the two hence, a kilo of silver today is about 400 Euros whereas the same in gold is about 30,000 Euros. This disparity started around the turn of the last century and when the silver price plummeted, that was it for Calico. However, someone saved it from dereliction and now it is a county park with various museums and both original and new buildings in the 1850's style. When we arrived, the was a gunfighter show going on in the corral which was pretty impressive. I don't know if it was a trick or not but the guy really did seem to be able to shoot the quarters he threw in the air.

We walked up the hill to look at the various attractions which followed the norm, fast food and gift shops. Because we were late arrivals, we didn't have to pay but the $6 entrance fee seemed reasonable enough. There was a large RV park attached and many families seemed to be set there for a few days. We drank a couple of cokes on the verandah (I'm sure they're not called that in Cowpokese) in rocking chairs and headed back to the bikes. People are fascinated by Harley's and there was a family with a couple of 4 or 5 year old children looking at the bikes. The Dad asked if he could take a photo of the kids on my Softail which of course we obliged. I think the kids had become a bit carried away by the wild-west environment and seemed to think H and I were a couple of drifters moseying through, making our way with a bit of ranch work here and there. I'm sure, once out of earshot, the father explained that we were, in fact, just a couple of middle-age fantasists.
Having headed back to Barstow, we started to look for a restaurant. Nearly every one we went into, despite the exterior look was some sort of fast food place. Even the "normal" looking ones required you to go to a counter to get your food and then return to the table. Our guess was that waiting staff had become an expensive luxury. Most places, for some reason, were also dry. Having come out of yet another disappointing establishment I said to H that we should perhaps cut our losses and just pick one. H doesn't give up easily. Strangely, or so I thought, he accosted two nice looking old dears in a car park and asked if they knew where we could find a "normal" restaurant. "Why yes honey", said one. "Just across the road and one block up behind Main Street, a Italian run by a very nice gentleman. By the way, I do just love your accent!" "What's more my dear", enthused her companion, "they do some lovely wines!" Have to hand it to H, he comes through with the goods when it matters.
Leaving H's new girlfriends to chatter excitedly about "That nice young man", two minutes later saw us pulling up outside DiNapoli's Italian Eatery. Anywhere else, you might just walk on by but for Barstow, this was haute cuisine (or whatever the Italian equivalent is) so we grabbed a piece. Two loaded pizzas and one bottle of Valpolicella later, we were fed and watered for $30. Great food, good price.
We headed back around 10:30pm and as we couldn't find any bar for a nightcap, apart perhaps at one of the many bonfires burning by the side of the rail tracks, we called it a day. As I lay awake, listening to the haunting sound of locomotive whistles, I realised Barstow probably hadn't changed much in a hundred years. Still just somewhere on the way to somewhere else.

March 21
As we vigorously addressed yet another massive American breakfast, we decided the Shilo Inn was an excellent hotel. By now we were becoming experts at using the waffle-irons so beloved of motels in the country and as we poured tangy maple syrup over the hot waffles, I realised you just could not eat like this everyday. Having said that, there did appear to be plenty of evidence around us of people who thought quite differently...
Today, we were heading into the desert proper and making our way to Barstow through the Joshua Tree National Park. Although the sun was already hot, I had to wipe quite a lot of condensation from the bike so I presume the night had been chilly. Feeling warm, we headed west along 10 through phalanxes of hundreds of wind turbines which lined the area for about 10 miles. The road was straight and we followed it without event until we came to the turning for the Park on 62. To the English ear, a "park" is somewhere with a bit of grass, perhaps a lake with ducks and a twee little shop selling teas and buns. This park is somewhat different on the basis it covers nearly 800,000 acres, has two mountain ranges and is located in two deserts, the Colorado and Mojave...I didn't see any tea shops either. Despite being desert, we started a slow climb through Yucca Valley before arriving at the park entrance. There was a queue to pay at the entrance booth but for some reason, a rather large uniformed lady just waved us ahead of the line of cars and into the park and off we went. H did reflect later that perhaps we were supposed to stop and pay. However, by then we were ten miles downrange and not hearing the sound of tracker dogs , helicopters or warning shots, we decided to just carry on.
In Europe, we call the indiginous plants Yuccas but here they are named Joshua Trees on account, it is said, of early Mormon settlers who described them as looking like Joshua raising his arms to heaven. They will only grow in exactly the correct conditions and this leads to a perceptible definition of where they start and finish populating. As you approach the park, no Joshua trees and then, in the space of 200 metres, "Shazam", a lot of Joshua trees! The same phenomenom is apparent as you leave. The Park is located in the Mojave desert and apart from the trees, the next "wow" factor is the large boulder formations scattered around. Unless you have studied how these boulders are formed (where it is explained that water and wind erosion are the main causes of formation), it looks as though someone has been engaged in a major project to balance massive boulders on top of each other for no reason other than it looks quite cool. Despite the precarious look of the formations, there were quite a few groups climbing the higher rocks with all the specialist tackle. The official guides advise that the park is teeming with wildlife but on the couple of occassions we stopped and I walked 100 metres or so away from the road, I was surprised at the quietness and solitude. No bird noise or wind rushing. Just a heavy stillness. H, reading from a pamphlet, advised me that there were at least fourteen types of poisoness snake to be found in the area, particularly hiding in scrub bushes. He told me this as I was relieving myself behind a rock, just next to a scrub bush.
Passing more echelons of waving bikers, we exited Joshua tree after a three hour visit and picked up the Barstow Road for the remaining 100 miles or so. Now, we really were in the desert. A good road indeed but nothing either side apart from sand and maybe an entrance to a far flung ranch. The ranch entrances were quite dramatic affairs ranging from a couple of wooden posts with a rail strung across to large brick built affairs. All had sun-bleached Head n' Horns of long dead steers dangling underneath in the wind. No matter how ornate the entrance, the attached fences only ran for about 50 metres on both sides before returning to the sand and small boulders of the desert.
By now, it really was hot and we stopped only to drink water. Maybe two cars every ten minutes passed in the other direction so we couldn't say we were really on our own but even so, not the place to have a breakdown..especially I would think, at night.
An hour and twenty minutes saw us approaching Barstow at 4pm, which was an earlier arrival than most of our destinations but this was due to the fact that we were hot and needed to get out of the desert. After the bustle of San Diego and the charm of Palm Springs, Barstow was different. We found our Best Western - right next to the Union Pacific railroad and realised pretty quickly that this town was weary. Once a favourite stopover on Route 66 for gamblers going to(and coming from)Vegas, it was now a bit run down. Not as dramatically as some of the towns on the Mother Road but definitely now suffering even more from the recession and not helped much by vagrants coming off the railroad box cars and making temporary homes in the goods yards and ruined buildings. The biggest disappointment of all however, was that the bloody hotel was dry!

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.

March 20 Palm Springs
After another light breakfast of bacon, scrambled egg, sausage, hash browns, pancakes with maple syrup etc, it was time to head out for our next stop, Palm Springs. Once again, while H told me the journey was 190 miles, my GPS insisted it was in fact 220. One thing was agreed, we were heading East and up.
We took the Martin Luther King Jr Freeway out of the city and after about thirty minutes, having passed El Cajon, we joined another road and started the long slow climb up the Granite Hills. Slowly but surely as we climbed, the altitude markers on the side of the road crept up. At 1000ft, the sun was still hot on my face but I detected the first chilling of the air as I breathed it in. Climbing slowly, we reached Los Terrinitos where we turned North on 79 and continued our ascent into the Cuyamaca State Park. The roads here are a dusty, pinky yellow and bordered by Pine oaks, the dry wood that reminds everyone of the ever present danger of fire. People here still have the memory of the terrible conflagrations this area suffered in 2003 and there are warning signs everywhere. Shortly, we came across Lake Cuyamaca and after another climb, at a brisk 4000ft, we reached the town of Julian in time for lunch. Julian is famous for Gold and Apples. Unfortunately, it would appear we were about a century and a half too late to make our fortune although there are still museums where you can see how Gold was panned and try your luck.
Having worked on and off for twenty-odd years in the States, I was pretty familiar with the saying "As American as Momma's Apple Pie..." so, you can imagine my happiness when, as we cruised down Main Street, I saw a bakery called "Mom's Apple Pie". Parking up, we went in and bought a couple of small apple pies with coffee and settled down on a bench in the sun to see what it was all about. Apple, cinnamon, a light pastry..just a perfect way to spend an hour and reflect on the journey so far.
The bikes just did what Harley's do best - start first time and run smoothly. Having put a couple of hundred miles on the Softail, I took stock. As mentioned before, the bike rides low and this is an advantage for riders with shorter inside legs. While it's OK for Rossi or Valentino to stand on tiptoes as they prepare to launch their rockets, those bikes have a centre of gravity somewhere just above the fuel tank and weigh about as much as a box of feathers. We ride Iron. Low centre of gravity but heavy as hell and to be comfortable, you have to be able to put your feet flat on the ground in most normal situations. The Softail, will tick this box for 99% of riders although paradoxically, it might seem a bit small for six footers. By now, the first big difference between the bikes was obvious, fuel consumption. I was getting about 42mpg but H, with all the Electra's fairings, was beating me by at least 10mpg and that starts to add up. Having said that, with petrol at two quid a gallon, it's not really that much of an issue here.
So, after a pleasant break in Julian, we mounted up and headed out of town on 79 beginning the first part of the descent phase of the trip to Aguanga. As we continued the ride, the landscape opened up to scrubland, bordered in the far distace by snowcovered mountains. With every mile, the air breathed warmer and thicker and the sun felt strong on my face. At Anza, a small township, we stopped for a drink of water, my second litre of the day, and a five minute rest. Although we had both been wearing banadanas, I was amused to see H's red face. Nonplussed, he told me to take a look at mine. In the mirror, a red forehead, nose and cheeks were surrounded by babyface white ears and jawline. The sun had burnt right through the banadanas. In common with all males of the species, far too late, we now started slapping on copious amounts of suncream. Heading off again, we followed the 371 for a few miles until we reached the 74, the Pine to Palms Highway. This is a real motorbiking road. Threading its way through the San Barnadino Forest and the Cleveland mountains, it offers everything. Wild straights give way to snaking switchbacks and seemingly impossible bends for a Harley. In fact, the bends just outside Palm Desert finally caused my right foot board to scrape satisfyingly. H, who was about 50 metres behind me heard and saw it as well and I could hear his whoops behind me. For some reason, the experience reminded me of the first time I got my knee down at a track day. About five seconds later, an esquadrilla of Ducati's swept past doing their best to emulate that.
By now, we had left the mountains and dropped down to our first desert environment. As we approached Palm Springs, stopping at the first set of signals, I was reminded of how powerful the V-Twin was as it pumped its heat straight up to join the hot sun which together started an extremely warm and wet sauna effect. However, heat, petrol fumes, Bougainvillea and Oleader all joined to give a heady mix of aromas as we pulled up outside The Shilo Inn, Palm Springs.
Having performed the Rigg Pak rigmarole in direct sun, I was more than ready for a beer. We just dumped our bags and headed straight for the bar. Sitting on the stools, we both looked and felt like extras from Ice Cold In Alex and we we'd only ridden 2 miles in the desert! Now it was time for a shower before heading into town.

March 19
Downing a quick celebratory Corona beer, we went back to the bikes in shorts and T shirts. Now, we were going to use the Harley's for their second best capability after touring - cruising!
We'd been given the name of another Fish restaurant which we were told was cheap and cheerful...basically, it was part of a small chain called Tin Fish. Located next to the busy rail interchange (or sidings in the UK) there was plenty of whistle blowing going on and lots of heavy locomotive movements which were interesting rather than intrusive. Having eaten so well for lunch, we decided that some appetizers of Shrimp and Calamari would do the job. Washed down with a glass each of Californian Chardonnay the price of $22 for two was most acceptable. By now it was about 9pm but we felt we should have a quick look round before calling it a night. H had been told about a memorial to Bob Hope which was located quite close so we rode down Harbor Drive to the G Street Mole and what a sight was there. As we parked in the lot, we were overshadowed by an enormous aircraft carrier, the USS Midway. This is now a museum which would certainly be worth a visit. Walking down the mole, we came to a clearing and there, with the ship in the background was a lifesize bronze casting of Bob with an audience of thirteen or so other lifesize castings of Marines, soldiers, airmen and Nurses. Every two or three minutes, a tape would start with an excerpt from the show. I can't do it justice here but I found the setting and exhibit quite emotional and I wasn't in any of the wars! An old guy standing next to me shook his head said "A true American hero, born and bred". I said "Yes, he was". I just didn't think it was the right moment to mention that Bob was born in Eltham, London.
A fine end to a long day and as we strolled back to the bikes, we thought about how the sacrifices of so many young men sixty years ago allowed H and me to enjoy our evening in this lovely city 8000 miles from where the majority of them gave their lives. I guess that's one memorial that did exactly what it said on the box.

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.

March 19
Grabbing our bags, helmets and GPS, we followed our agents out into the lot and the warm Californian sunshine. Two bikes had already been moved into the loading area. A red Electra Glide and a jet black (is there really any other colour for a Harley?) Heritage Softail Classic. We were given a quick walkround to look at dents or scratches and (there were a few but not serious)after signing yet another form, that was it, we were at last on our own with the bikes. The bike was lower and more compact than my Road King Classic. Just swinging my leg over quickly, I was pleased to feel the balance low down and the 26 inch seat meant that my 30 inch inside legs were actually bent at the knees. This is a great bike for smaller riders. Hopping off, I now turned my attention to luggage. Because the Road King had been in for a service, I hadn't been able to check the fitting so this was going to be a learning experience.
The RiggPak is very well designed. For it to work, you must have a sissy-bar but you don't need a rack..unless you are two-up when you will have to have one.
Single rider, you can rest the pack on the passenger seat. However, I had a rack so decided to use that method. On the back of the pack, there is a zipped cover which when undone, reveals five velcro straps, one above the other, running the width of the pack. The trick is to undo each of these and slide them over the sissy-bar. When tight, they firmly lash the main pack to the sissy-bar. Finally, the cover is zipped up and the whole package looks quite neat. The roll bag is then attached by four snap-loks to the main bag and that's it. I'll show a photo of the installed system in a later posting.
For now, after all the planning, travelling and general faffing about, we were actually able to start riding. We loaded our individual Tom-Tom's with the first journey sector. We were heading to the Bayside Best Western in San Diego and my GPS told me it was 125 miles. H's showed 109. This was to prove a fascination to us throughout our tour. Same GPS's, set up with the same preferences, yet mine determined to route us through Nicaragua at every possible opportunity...
I flicked almost identical switches to my Road King and the Heritage burst into life with that trademark initial thump. Checking over my shoulder that H was ready, I slipped the clutch, eased us out onto the road and started our tour...in completely the wrong direction.

March 19
An excellent breakfast of..well, everything available actually, was settling nicely so we checked out of the hotel and waited by the door for our pick-up to Eaglerider. The sun was warm and we were in T-shirts and shorts. Very different clothes from the airline crew and business people waiting for their shuttles to the airport. This felt good, for the first time in a long while I was staying in a business hotel with not a thought of work in my immediate future! My happiness was increased as through the traffic came a crew cab pick-up truck in those famous orange/black colours of the MoCo. The door opened and out jumped a guy straight from central casting for Harley Davidson riders..well, the one's the public expect to see anyway. Carl was er..large, with a shaved head and goatee. A selection of tatoos around his neck poked through his polo shirt and his arms..well, there wasn't any spare flesh. I noticed that the throng around us had become quiet as this sunglassed behemoth arrived. Spotting us, he thrust his hand out and spoke in a strange American/Scandinavian accent. "Velcome zu LA dudes, I'm your ride to ze World Headqvaters." With that voice, I guess if he lost ninety pounds or so he might give Arnie a run for his money. The audience now flicked their gazes to us. I shook his hand as firmly as I dared and muttered something like "Great job, man" but the spell was broken when H, smiled politely and said "Oh, jolly good, thanks very much."
Obviously, thought the crowd, we were a couple of Harley frauds so they lost interest and returned to their business conversations and in-flight stories.
Carl proved to be quite chatty and a nice guy. We didn't have too much time to talk as within five minutes, we had arrived. My heartbeat quickened as I saw twenty or thirty Harleys of different flavours lined up in the parking lot. However, we were steered firmly into the showroom/office where we were each assigned a representative.
Being America, now started a process whereby we paradoxically had to sign numerous insurance forms for the bikes, ourselves, the public at large and every possible calamity that could befall us. We then were required to sign forms which told us that we were engaging in a highly dangerous activity that would, in all likelyhood, kill us or leave us horribly injured. Finally, we signed umpteen papers saying that if the former occurred, the owners, employees, their friends, families, distant relatives twice removed could not be held in any way responsible. I just signed the bloody things. "Right" says I, "now take me to my bike!" "Soon." said the nice check-in agent. Another ream of paper was required before the Tom-Tom GPS could be released to me together with a natty little binder which contained our route and other travel information. At last, it was done and I noticed H had taken a similarly pragmatic view. The "inclusive" rental helmets looked exactly as I thought they would (manky WWII SS Stormtrooper look alikes) so we carried out our plan to buy a couple of open face lids. Good quality and only about $120. So yet another helmet added to the collection..
Now, we were ready to go out to the lot and get on the bikes.

March 18
Coming off the ten hour flight, we were pretty pleased that, having grabbed our bags, the hotel shuttle bus was waiting just outside the exit door. We were the last on, so we had a non-stop five minute journey to the Hilton LAX. I first stayed here in the mid-eighties but like a number of ageing Californians, the hotel had a few facelifts since then. As with Virgin, Hilton has been my hotel of choice for many years so as well as getting a couple of rooms on points for the night, Hilton kindly upgraded us to a suite each. However, the bar and restaurant were calling so after a quick shower I met up with H in the bar and we downed a couple of Corona's with a slice in short order. The restaurant was French themed but bless their cotton socks..., as with all American restaurants, it's really just good plain food that they ruin by coating it in something vaguely ethnic. I had a thick, juicy "Fillet Mignon a Parisienne" which, when I pushed the sauce to the side, was as good as any regular Texas Angus beef steak. H went for a catch-of-the-day Swordfish so we split a bottle of Rose between us and after a medicinal brandy to help us sleep, I crashed out, ready to start the real business of the week tomorrow.

March 18
As previously mentioned, I've been lucky enough to fly with Virgin Atlantic for a while so although we aren't getting up to the front of the plane, I still have access to the Virgin Lounge. The first lounge at Heathrow was nice and intimate but then, as happens, it started to get crowded so the new one was opened a few years back. When on business, there never seems to be enough time to relax and enjoy the place but H, who I've just met up with and I have just turned into kids in a sweet shop. What to do first - drink, eat, hair, massage, play with Nintendo's...?
In the end we have a really good breakfast and I sit back to watch the news with a mucho-loto-caffe-choco-latte thing and H is taken away by a very attractive girl to have his hair blow dried.
My TV watching is briefly disturbed as I become aware of a level of noise and I look up to see Gwyneth Paltrow, her husband, kids and the rest of Coldplay arrive. They are very friendly and Gwyneth is happy to chat to other parents with children and have photo's taken. After that they settle down to their own breakfasts.
Ninety minutes later, the boarding call comes out for us and we make our way to the gate. Although we are travelling Economy, VS have been kind and given us two seats by the door and crew seating. I was really surprised at the good quality of the food and drink and to be honest, it was served quicker and with less fuss than in Upper Class. Fed and watered, we watched a few films and slept. Ten hours later, the massive metropolis that is Los Angeles appeared out of the desert.

March 18
After some final shoving of clothes into the RiggPak, it's 5:30am and I'm ready for the off. The main pack has turned out to be quite light and the top roll bag is just right for passport, hotel docs and etickets. The doorbell rings and and a nice warm taxi awaits. I have a 90 mile journey to Heathrow so with the rain drumming down on the car roof, I'm back to sleep in short order.

A Decision Taken..

Earlier this year, with a friend, H, I decided to do a five-day triangle'ish tour of California from Los Angeles down to San Diego, across to Palm Springs through Joshua Tree, back to Oxnard and finally along Malibu Beach to return to LA. That route also took in a good chunk of the Mojave. H is also a new Harley owner. H was rather upset that having just bought his Fatbob he had to leave it behind. Not upset enough however, to pay £5000 and wait six weeks for it to sail/ship to the west coast of America...

February 12 2010
It's cold, raining and miserable in Suffolk. I know, let's go touring on a Harley!
For years I've wanted to do Route 66, or what's left of it but the time has never been there. Just browsing through the Harley UK forum, I noticed someone writing about shorter tours in California. I think I'll check it out.
February 13
Well, spent a considerable time googling last night and I think an organisation called Eaglerider may be able to assist. I've emailed them asking for their ideas on a 5 day self tour starting from Los Angeles on March 18.
February 15
Eaglerider have come back with a 5-day option which, including the bike, hotels and all insurances comes to $1700. I've chosen a Heritage Softail Classic and H has decided to go for the Full Monty, an Electra Glide. Both are quite different from our own bikes but should be an interesting change.
February 18
The route is more or less finalised. Fly into LAX arriving late afternoon. Pick-up from the hotel and then Los Angeles, San Diego, Palm Springs, Barstow (via Joshua Tree Park) Oxnard and then return to Los Angeles along Malibu Beach.
Now just have to decide what to wear, how to travel with it and what to pack it all in.
February 26
Flights arranged with Virgin - happily, I have a few Miles following extended business flying for the last few years so we're going out Economy but coming back Premium. This will be a bit of a shock to my system as Upper Class has been my cabin of choice since 2004 but "what the...", we're on holiday!
March 3
Having looked at all the available luggage for a Harley, I've chosen the CBT-900 from Nelson Rigg. It comes in two parts, a massive main bag with more pockets than any reasonable person could expect and a top pack which looks as though it will be both useful as cabin baggage and providing quick access to documentation and other bits and pieces. However, the main reason I've chosen it is that it is designed to fit the Heritage and the Road King.
March 16
With a temperature range of 16-28c expected and a chance of rain, the packing has been a little fraught. However, in the end, the list is:
Underwear/socks 6
T-Shirts 3
Polo Shirt 3
Draggin's 1
Chino's 1
HD Rainwear 1
Armoured Jacket 1
Shorts 2
Fleece 1
Boots 1
Deck Shoes 1
Wash Gear 1

As neither of us have an open-face helmet in the UK, we'll buy them in the States and bring them back.
Well, that's it, early start tomorrow.