The numb fingers and cold toes from the frosty Oregon morning seemed to melt away as my 10" wheels rolled over the California state line.  Groves of Redwoods stretching skyward crowded the narrow roadway when meandering off the 101.  Passing through Crescent City and south along the coast, I reminisced over past trips through this spectacular terrain, helping fix a cyclists' deraileur on a steep climb in 2014, meeting German cyclist Daniel after he was hit by a drugged driver, seeing my first old growth redwood here in 2009. I imagine the ghost of a tire tread in the wet pavement, my own.

The weather mostly cooperated and I enjoyed high temperatures in the 50's and steadily climbing when the sun shone.  The density of a Redwood forest lends a comforting feeling as my feet bounce on the thick layer of needles and decomposing limbs and my eyes reach skyward, distant and blue beyond the dark green needles. The creek of frogs emantes from a small puddle created in the base of a fallen leviathan,  Various fungii grow along the moss-lined trail and a banana slug eases it's way across the path. High overhead, the rapid fire knock of a Pileated woodpecker breaks the stillness and is quickly abosrbed among the deep-set bark, soft floor and overarching canopy.  These ancient giants hold a special place in my heart, a humbling appreciation for their enduring grandeur and their harmony with the land. The grey-green Eel River flows on endlessly to the sea only to return again on a later day. 

I'm sitting on the bank of the Eel River writing in my journal and sipping cowboy coffee from my scratched and dented steel cup when I have that feeling I'm being watched.  Glancing around, nothing immediately appears but I've just got that feeling.  In a few minutes, a short man emerges from the woodline and walks along the cruncing smooth stones toward where I'm standing.  I holler a greeting and put away my journal, sure I won't get much more writing done.  He doesn't speak English and communicates he is from Korea.  We work out a short conversation with lots of smiles and gestures.  He appreciates having his photo taken and I smile at the foreign characters on the camera screen.  A small crowd emerges and we walk back into the grove to meet his family, visiting their Uncle (pictures below in a green jacket) for the first time in the USA.  Seoul must feel so far away in this remarkable forest.  I introduce myself to the uncle, who smiles and asks if that is my scooter by the trailhead.  The young girls chatter with their mother as we turn and continue back to the trailhead.  The uncle walks slowly with a cane, stopping often to rest his legs. Although his stride may be short, all I can think of is how I spend the day walking and moving everywhere too damn fast. The depth of his conversation regarding the comforting majesty of this special place and his frequent returns impresses me.  Back at the scooter, he tells the family about my trip in Korean and everyone smiles and is cheerful at the ridiculous milk jug handguards.  I wish I had something to give the young daughters...Oh!  I have a handmade American Flag cross stitched by woman and sold by her daughter with the desire to know where the flags end up.  It was given to me by Tracy and I've had it strapped to the Ruckus for over 5k miles.  The surprise and joy in her eyes and the smiling approval of the family made it feel right.  I bid my goodbyes and slowly eased onto the wet pavement south through the tunnel of old growth trees.

Up in the King Range, the roads can be quite steep, potholed and washboarded.  The Ruckus commenced rattling and knocking with a greater and greater violence but I figured it was just my centerstand spring going out on me again.  I climbed up steep grades, often at only 10 mph, providing ample time to observe the surrounding characteristics of Humboldt County, or HUMCO as stenciled on the many road hazard signs. Climbing from the cool and shaded redwoods, the King's Peak Rd runs the last ridge to the west before the forest falls off into the Pacific Ocean.  The air grows warmer in this microclimate where heat rises and the warmth and humidity of the sea allows for various species of flora and fauna to thrive that otherwise don't exist miles away.  The oak forests and comforting smaller deciduous trees felt snug and familiar to my east-coast eyes.  It would be a comfortable night in the hammock and a campsite with a fire ring sure was a nice addition.

In the morning, I packed up and didn't even make it out of the campground before I knew something was wrong with La Tortuga.   At the turn off from the road, I pulled over and was shocked to see my exhaust wearing down the dipstick with both bolts missing.  This has happened to me before and I suspect it is how my exhaust weld broke the first time.  Rummaging through my toolbag, I uncovered a bolt that would barely fit with two or three light twists into the distant threads.  It may hold.  Throwing a bungee chord onto the rear fender support, I get it rigged up and set out onto the rough dirt road.  By the time I reached the pavement four miles away, the bolt was long gone and I was back where I started.  Fortunately zipties came into service and I got it to a running condition.  Down into Shelter Cove I rode, on a hunch that the General Store may have what I need in this remote coastal community.  They didn't have the specific item for sale but an employee ld me to the back room and handed me the nuts and bolts bin.  My lego-trained eye immediately scanned the various sized nuts and bolts and picked out one that was the right pitch M8X1.25.  Like the last bolt, it just barely reached the threads so I assumed the last one had worked out the outter few threads from the engine case.  I bought a banana and thanked them for the free bolt.  Turning back uphill, it only held in for about a mile and a half before also rattling loose.  Back to the zip-ties.  Redway was  a long 35 miles with the precipitous terrain and steaming thickly piled patches of loose tar patch.  The small black chunks adhered to the fender and one on the footboard.  Soon the hum of my muffler began to deepen and I recalled my climb from San Rafael up through Nicasio where I first broke my muffler in half.  The sound grew louder so I pulled over and confirmed my suspicions that my new exhaust with less that 8k miles on it was now also broken.  Loctite is the kryptonite to Murphy's Law but I never seem to learn my lesson.

In Redway, I limb into Humboldt Motorsports with a hoseclamp around a cut up beer can serving to hold the expansion chamber to the header.  Elegant, I know...  After an introduction and display of the issue, an employee offers to weld it up for me as a permanent solution instead of half-assing it with hose clamps and exhaust rap as I had suggested. Although the later makes the rear wheel easier to remove, it isn't as stable for backpressure and engine performance.  The exhaust is quickly removed and within minutes sparks began to fly as my exhaust returned to it's previous shape with a much improved weld.  That is clearly a weak spot in the design although the pipe is only as big as my pinky.  They had the spare bolts I needed to replace it, complete with 12mm head (I hate those 13mm Ace Hardware heads!). Black spray paint stuck to my hand as I clumsily grabbed the pipe while reinstalling it on the bike.  As expected it started up and purred again nice and quiet.  They didn't ask for payment and were quite happy to chat for a bit despite my offering to pay them.  I'll be sure to order parts here on my next trip north in April.

With the bike repaired and much of the day spent in the endeavor, I head back to the coast, arriving at the Sinkyone Wilderness Area just near sunset.  The road descends nearly 3000 feet in 3.5 miles of rutted and high-clearance required trail.  The temperature changes dramatically as I descend and the stiff breeze blows heavy from the west. In a meadow ahead I spot the silhouettes of Roosevelt Elk, grazing at sunset. Everything once again had come together in another spectacular day on the road.

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There is a tunnel of trees that took my breath away many years ago.  Each time I return, I cannot help but stop to photograph this amazing spot.  The sea spray often leads to dramatic lighting and sunbeams here and today was a banner day.  Following CA-1, I wind my way down the coast with the Bay Area as a destination.  Following will be a post about the Bay Area visit and my continued sojurn southward.  I'm currently in LA updating this blog and fixing up the scooter so bear with me as we play "catch up".

It has been a productive few months in Bay Center, WA.  I was fortunate enough to get some riding in, a hike and even a short ride on a sailboat up in Port Townsend. While visiting, I learned much about drywall, insulation, demolition and structural repair.  There were many days spent indoors with a dusk mask and protective clothing, which wasn't really so bad. The weather has been abundantly rainy and cold so the idea began to form to head south to Baja for a few months. I took few pictures over these months, spending more time reading, and working than photographing.

After a cold couple days, I made it through Brookings, OR and smiled at the outlook of a few sunny days and highs in the 50's.  The idea of stopping in the sunshine out of the wind and just sitting on a rock till I warmed up seemed more and more appealing as the ride wore on.  Next up, California!