After the photo shoot I headed south on Hwy 1. A dense cloud of sea fog rolled in over the mountain like a grey wave in the sky.  It crashed upon the marine growth, succulents, redwoods and my visor forcing me to clean it often. Visibility plummeted in the dark when oncoming headlights illuminated the moisture before my eyes...it was time to pull over for the night.  I camped along a now familiar Tunitas Creek Rd strung up among the second growth redwoods with the peaceful sound of the creek 20 feet below.  It took me 10 minutes to set up and I swiftly fell asleep before 8PM, a more common bedtime with the sun setting so early.  

My 5AM alarm presented itself slowly before I shut it off.  My eyes adjusted to the moonlit forest floor. Suspended above through the cathedral-like canopy twinkled stars in the crisp night sky.  I packed the gear in 10 minutes and was soon bouncing down the twisty canyon in the darkness mindful of deer, raccoon and fallen limbs on blind corners.  Reaching Hwy 1, I turned south toward Santa Cruz and followed the coast.  Headlights illuminated the ocean spray flying over the dunes to land on my slowly rusting bike and dirty windshield.  Traffic was light as I rolled on into the darkness by the light of my two 35w headlights and LED's illuminating the sides of the road.  Ahead, the eerie glow of Pigeon Point Lighthouse flashed through the darkness on a rocky promontory.  I prepared coffee, gave my pops a call and watched the sunrise over the eastern ridge.  Pelicans skimmed the water, hunting for fish on a cushion of air above the waves.  So graceful is their grouped flight pattern, so ancient are their courses.

My body and bike were ready for a change of pace. It has been nearly a month now along the Pacific Ocean's foggy and damp shores.  I am ready for a change of scenery and pace of life.  I plug in  my cousin's house in Lemoore, CA, some 230 miles away, and hit "GO".  The GPS leads the way...

Today I met up with a team from www.egarage.com for a video shoot in Pacifica featuring me, the Ruckus and my journey.  I didn't know what to expect but was pleasantly surprised by their easy-going nature and willingness to bend rules from time to time.  I had to chuckle as we filmed at the grocery store I made oatmeal at in the rain at 5am this morning. Later we were making a shot outside of a church where I napped at 6am waiting for the wind and rain to pass.  I felt like I "knew" that town after my 24hrs spent there.

After filming in town and around the beach, we headed up the walking trail to Mori Point.  I pushed the Ruckus up until the very end to avoid any violations from a lurking ranger.  The weather was in our favor as the sun set with amazing clouds nestled in the mountains.  Riding up there along the coast reminded me much of Newfoundland and how my heart longs for those areas in the north.  All things in time.

Despite a perfectly watertight glass bus shelter, my stealth camping spot beside the county jail proved too harrowing and risky to maintain.  Happily hanging in my hammock in the hills of Pacifica listening to the distant crash of surf, buzz of traffic and patter of rain.  Heading south soon and happy to explore fresh scenery along Hwy 25.

On my first transcontinental motorcycle trip in 2009, I pulled off Hwy 1 into one of the many quaint towns that dot the California coast.  Much like today, Half Moon Bay's main street was foggy in the early morning hours.  A small establishment caught my eye as I pulled in to rest and warm my hands at Raman's Coffee and Chai.  The white haired owner, Raman Beshar, made the most memorable impact on me that day through his warm conversation, introduction to the morning regulars and even his son.  The aura around him glowed brighter than his shirt, one of 20 identical ones he later admits.

With some time to pass along the coast, I pull out a map and notice how close I am to Half Moon Bay.  The following morning I arrive after taking in the sunrise and order one of his famous Chai Tea.  I make a small comment regarding my previous memorable stay five years ago and can see the sparkle light in his all-knowing eyes. "Ah yes, the map maker from Virginia", he smiles handing me the hot chai.  Once the customers orders are placed, we sit and talk about my journey this time and the choice of Ruckus for transport. To my surprise, Raman owns one as well, originally purchased to accompany an RV that has since been sold.  "It just won't accelerate when you give it the throttle and I've had the carb rebuilt twice."  I offer to give it a look before I leave, agreeing to meet in the morning to take a look.

After a delicious Chai and some time spent writing in my journal, he hands me the keys to his home, garage and Ruckus with a set of directions.  I accept them and the weighty responsibility entrusted to a near-stranger like myself and set off to see what is wrong with his bike.

My list of tasks completed in the three hours was as follows:

• Inspect Spark Plug

Check for air leaks on all hoses and air filter

• Check for fuel flow and kinked lines

Check fuel pump and filter


•  Check battery leads

• Inspect Valve Clearance

Rebuild Carburetor

• Swap coil for a spare I had

After completing all the items on my list singularly so as not to contaminate results, I was able to pinpoint some debris in the slow jet and a fuel leak on the carb as well as the front intake boot not being properly secured.  I got her running and made as few tests and tweaks to idle before riding over to the shop just as he closed early for Veteran's Day.  Although small, I give him this gift for his years of service.

He treated me to lunch afterward and one of the more filling conversations I've had on this journey. Such are the quality of thoughts offered by a wise man who stops to consider his choice of words.  In the spaces in between, I find time to ruminate on his lesson.

The journey continues to enrich my view of humanity and the "good" shared around us all.