"Oysters, Fog, Curves, and Beer"

4/22/12

Marshall  (Oysters)

Point Reyes Lighthouse  (Fog)

and

4/23/12

Page Mill & Alpine Roads  (Curves)

Pescadero  (Beer)

Story by:  Ned Opdyke

nedopdyke@gmail.com

As per the typical routine, I got out of bed first… made (and drank) the coffee… made (and ate) the breakfast… packed and organized our gear… and verified our route.

The bottom-right corner of the map is San Rafael.  That’s about 15 miles north of the Golden Gate Bridge (San Francisco was our starting point that morning).  The top-middle is Marshall, where we had lunch at an oyster bar.  And the left-middle is the Point Reyes Lighthouse.  From there back to San Fran, was our route for the day.

Initially, Sharon was not nearly as excited as I was about getting on the road, but after a few wake up songs to help her get in the mood, she was quickly ready to roll.  Cue the band Little Feat, and their song “Let it Roll.”

We met the other riders at a coffee shop a couple blocks from Golden Gate Park.

Back row:  Shannon, Todd, David, Ned, and Sharon.       Front row:  Jay and Laure.

Johnny and Patricia Delores where at the next table, and they provided a colorful photo-op.  I haven’t gone to their blog yet, but Johnny said it was called PD Parrot and they’d been written up in The New York Times.  He and his bird are very close.  And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

It was a little foggy when we took off around 10:30 and headed across the Golden Gate Bridge, but by the time we got to the Lucas Valley exit, just north of San Rafael, the sun was out and it was time to strip down to our tee-shirts and leathers.

I wish we would’ve had a chance to stop a few times to take pictures, as we traveled the next 20 miles or so, winding our way through some very pretty terrain between Hwy 101 and Hwy 1 at the southern tip of Tomales Bay.  We turned our bikes north on Highway 1 for another 10 miles and stopped at an oyster bar in Marshall.  Good times were had by all.

Thanks Sharon, this is a great photo!

                                                     

It was the first time I’ve had raw oysters.      

                   

                                 

                                   Sharon and Todd agreed… it was the day.

 

 

The Wo-Men

The Men

                                                                                   

                                                                              

The Motley Crew.

After lunch we headed south, the way we came.  First we lost Todd… he turned back east, the way we’d come.  He had a function to attend that afternoon.  I didn’t catch the details, but it sounded like he was getting together with about 10,000 of his closest friends at some sort of an outdoor music festival, or something like that.

The next of our group to separate from us was Jay.  I’m not sure exactly why he had to get back to The City so soon, but we were all glad.  He’s a real pain in the ass.  AH!  JUST KIDDING!!!  I know he can take the kidding.  Jay is really a great guy.

So now it was Shannon, Laure, David (pronounced Daveed), and Sharon and I.  We took Sir Francis Drake Blvd. out across the Point Reyes Peninsula, to the very most western tip of The Greater San Francisco Bay area, at the northern tip of Drakes Bay.  It was foggy and cold, but we were troupers, and roughed the brutal weather conditions like true soldiers (it wasn’t until later that the girls got tired and cranky).

Shannon and I walked down the 300 steps to the lighthouse, and had a very special bonding moment, listening to the ‘park ranger-docent’ educate us on the history of the lighthouse.  Laure, Sharon, and David were faithfully awaiting us when we returned, and we all strolled back to our bikes and happily headed back inland, where the temperatures were substantially warmer.  But only for a few short miles.

In the brief time that it had taken us to ride out to the lighthouse and back, the fog had moved in with gusto.  Earlier it had been 75 degrees and clear blue skies.  Now it was miserable.  For those of you who’ve never ridden a motorcycle in the cold fog… you’re lucky.  Because of the humidity, the wind chill factor is compounded exponentially.  Instead of tee-shirts, we were all wearing every single layer of clothing we had brought.

When we stopped to confirm that we weren’t gonna have that beer we’d talked about earlier, I overheard the cutest pitiful whines and complaints coming from the girls on the other bikes.  Sharon showed me her metal, as she giggled and asked me not to say anything to tease them.

Sharon is good for me.  I’ve always been the kind of guy who LOVES to tease people.  In high school we called it E.S.  Endless Shit.  In our group of friends, if we weren’t flipping each other ‘grief’… well… we weren’t having fun.  Over the years, I’m slowly learning to behave more like an adult, and Sharon is helping me tremendously.  She does it with the consummate taste and decorum of a high class and well-educated lady.  And she does it at the same time she’s talking about catching and gutting a salmon in the back woods of Alaska, and throwing it on the barbeque while it’s still wiggling.  That’s my wife… a high class lady and a rugged outdoorswoman.

Getting back to 101, there was a construction work delay that caused a traffic jam that took us over an hour to get through, so we got home exhausted, cold, and very happy around 6:30pm.  It was just like Todd’s shirt said:  Today is the Day.

Part 2:  

The next day Sharon and I had a very pleasant breakfast, and said our good-byes until we got together again the following weekend.  Being married to a woman who lives 85 miles away is an interesting experience for me.  I don’t think I could’ve done it when I was younger and full of my oats and vinegar.  But now, as my gray hair begins to thin, and my joints move with greater discomfort and with less range of motion… I feel it actually helps our relationship.

We are both very secure in the love we have for each other, and the time we spend apart is getting to be more like an opportunity for us to process our lives and futures together, and to anticipate the re-unification of our physical bodies… rather than a time of sorrow and loneliness.  Plus… both of us are very demanding and not very easy to be around all the time, so it’s probably a good thing we aren’t living together 24/7, or we might kill each other.  KIDDING!!!  See… that sarcastic foundation of my upbringing just will not go away without a fight!

Ok, so after breakfast and our good-byes, I took off for Santa Cruz, and she took off for her work.  As I started down southbound Highway 280, I decided that even though it looked cold and foggy on the coast, I wanted to go home a different route than I normally take (280 to 85 to 17).  I’d never been on Page Mill Road before, so just like Todd’s shirt says, “Today is the Day.”

About half way up to the summit and Skyline Blvd., I saw one of Honey’s favorite signs and decided to have her pose for a picture.  The little black curly and curvy roads on the map are the ones that Honey and I aim for, whenever possible.

Honey is a real poser, so only a mile or so up the road, she made me stop again.  That’s Santa Clara Valley and you can see the big while hangars at Moffet Field there on the left.

When we crossed Skyline Blvd, and started back down the other side towards the coast, the road’s name changed to Alpine.  Page Mill and Los Altos Hills is very beautiful, but the vast and native scenery that treated me now, was even better.

The night before, after our Pt. Reyes ride, Sharon had mentioned that while we were going through Lucas Valley, she had seen a few homesteads, and had dreamed of a way and a day that she and I could live in a private secluded home, off the beaten path, alone with each other for the majority of the time.  She loves me and I am a very lucky man.  Anyway… as I was heading down Alpine Road towards Pescadero, I stopped and took a picture of a house on a hill that reminded me of her description of her walking dream.

 

In the old days (or to be more accurate the old daze), I wouldn’t have even thought once about NOT stopping at Duarte’s Restaurant/ Bar in Pescadero for a cold one.  Times have changed quite a bit for me over the last few years, so I had to think several times before I decided to stop.

One last, quick stop to document the mustard field just outside of Pescadero., before getting home and putting this story together.             I hope you enjoyed it.                   See you soon!

THE END

"Sharon's Shake Down Ride"

4/7/12

About the Author

Ned Opdyke nedopdyke@gmail.com

As with all my stories, this one is primarily for me. As I grow older than I ever dreamed I'd be, I've begun to realize that if I don't make an effort to document the important things about me… some of my thoughts… and some of the things that I believe are important about me, that there is a very good chance that after the people that have had the opportunity to get to know me are gone, so will I be.

I always wished I could figure out how to make money off my charm and good looks, but alas… my innate sincerity has always kept me from being able to take advantage of people. As with the empathetic abilities I got from mother, I call it a blessing and a curse. I have always been very grateful to my parents for instilling a foundation of respect in me. I don't always make it obvious, but I really do care about people.

When I was a child, I decided I wanted to be different from everyone else. Something inside me told me that I was special. Most likely it was (and still is) my ego fighting back my human insecurities and self-doubts. Whatever the reason, it is my wish to be remembered. Mostly the good parts of me, but I also want to be remembered for all the different aspects of my personality. The good, the bad, and the ugly, as they say.

This story is written basically as a first draft, and as such, there will be rambling sentences, bad grammar, way too many commas, quotation marks, parenthesis, and past-present-future tenses all jumbled together, into the same paragraph, and sometimes even in the same sentence. I write as I speak… open mouth, insert foot. Usually I don't know what I'm gonna say, until after I hear myself say it.

                                    Copyright: 4/8/12; all writes (and wrongs) reserved

Saturday April 7, 2012

5am - As usual, my eyes cracked open well before the sun peeked itself over the horizon. It doesn’t seem to matter what time I go to sleep the night before, I’m almost always awake and ready to start the day, before most people would even dream of. Or should I say before they would stop dreaming?

I slipped quietly out of bed, not to awaken my sleeping bride next to me, and started my routine. Coffee comes first - my body’s digestive system has become accustomed to this elixir and in order for me to properly and fully eliminate my wastes I have found this to be almost a necessity.

For those of you who are not familiar with my motorcycle adventure stories, I suppose I should tell you now before we go any further… I use Honey (my motorcycle) and our road trips as vehicles for the story, but I tend to wander… around the country we’re riding in, and in the topics that I write about. It’s all part of my master plan, to leave documented evidence in this world, to prove what a character I was. I mean am. And hopefully will be, for a few more years.

So… today’s routine included a few household chores (sweeping and mopping the floors), so I decided to cut my morning visit to the gym down to just the 10 minute soak in the hot tub, and a shower. Usually I’ll ride the stationary bike for 20 minutes and then either do my stretching and rehab exercises (for my knees, lower back, and shoulders) or work out with free weights for another 20 or 30 minutes. This is another daily activity that I’ve found helps tremendously with my aging body’s ability to get through the rest of the day with a few less complaints.

7am – Back from the gym, I disrobed and slipped back into my sleeping wife… I mean back into our bed. I must remember to make my attempts at curtailing my typical brand of humor for Sharon. She is a classy lady, and has made it very clear on several occasions that her preference is that I keep my stories from slipping into the category of bathroom or otherwise off color topics. I, on the other hand, have repeatedly expressed to her that although her wishes are important to me… if she wanted to marry a totally proper and refined gentleman, well… she shouldn’t have married me. So that being said… after an hour of cuddling, I told her it was time for her to rise now.

Sharon had done a few semi-lengthy rides with Honey and I already, but we hadn’t broken the 300-mile mark yet, and I wanted her to spend an entire day in the saddle before we left for our Arizona trip, and potentially found ourselves in the position of having to break the 400-mile (or more) barrier. Needless to say, as with almost every circumstance I’ve experienced with my Precious and Beautiful Wife, she proved herself to be more than worthy and capable on this day.

9am – As Honey was purring in the driveway, and we were gearing up in our leathers, I popped my symbolic ‘morning beer’ and offered Sharon the first sip. This was a big deal for me. Almost always, I start each day with one cold beer (Bud in a can of course), but this was the first time I was going to be sharing it with anyone else. Ever since I began doing these road trips, about 8 eight years ago, my dream had always been to find someone to sit behind me, and enjoy the experience of the open road with me. Thank you Universe, for bringing Sharon and I together.

9:15am – Our initial communion competed… all gear properly stowed and secured… I threw my leg over my mare (Honey, not Sharon), braced my legs, leaned forward slightly, and stuck out my elbows as the sign to my cowgirl, that it was time for her to mount up (on Honey, not me).

“Oh wait Ned, look at this,” I heard, instead of the gentle grasp of her hands on my shoulders. I relaxed my stance, and looked back towards her. She was securing the straps on the saddlebag. I’d forgotten to properly secure it my self. Instead of feeling embarrassed about my mistake, I had a feeling of warmth and gratitude spread throughout my body, that I had a partner with me for the first time, who not only wanted to be here with me to share my love for these road trips, but was a valuable and trustworthy addition to the trip as well.

As we pulled out the driveway, and headed out to face the day, I leaned back and thanked her, and asked her to please help me out each time we were getting ready to leave after a stop, and double check both saddlebags and tail-bag for us. Her response was a like a glorious and beautiful song to my ears. “Oh good, I like to have responsibilities.” What a gal. What…a…gal.

9:30am – Our first stop was just down the highway at the Aptos Post Office. I live in Santa Cruz, but it’s a temporary abode, and I wanted to have an Aptos address. Aptos holds a very special place for me in my heart. It will always be my (second) home. La Selva Beach is my first. After claiming my mail, I took a picture of Sharon on Honey. The very first picture I ever took of Sharon was sitting on Honey outside this post office, and I thought it would make a cute tradition of sorts, to have a series of pictures of her in the same pose. Aint’t she cute? Sharon ain’t bad either is she?

10:30am - Our first stop was for a poddy break. Just so you know… Chular (south of Salinas, north of King City) doesn’t have a gas station nor any other place to urinate legally and for free. I saw a school, so I tugged on Honey’s reins and pointed her in that direction. As we rounded the corner, I saw some firemen working on their truck, and decided to ask them if they could help us. They did. They gave us directions to the back of the firehouse, and on how to get inside.

After we completed our mission, I took us back to the front of the building and pulled up alongside the truck, and stuck out my (freshly washed) hand. “I just wanted to thank you for your help, for what you guys do for all of us, and by the way… it would mean a lot to me, if you and your friends would take a moment, and stand next to my wife so I can take your picture.

They were very amiable and graciously agreed. They asked about our destination for the day, and after finding out we were going to Coalinga (not pronounced Co-a-linga as I had thought, but Ca-linga), they recommended that we stop at Harris Ranch, a well-known steak house. I’d heard about the place, and had always wanted to check it out. Nice guys. And cute too.

11:15am – Just before we left the freeway (Historic El Camino Real, Hwy 101), we stopped for gas. We’d skipped our morning meal, and decided we’d snack on the PB&J’s that I’d packed before we left. I’d thought they would be our lunch, but a nice, thick steak at a world famous steak house was just too tempting to pass up.

This is where Sharon got a taste of what it’s like with me on the road. After gassing up, I asked her where she’d like me to park, so we could eat. I pointed at a curb just next to the gas pump, and she frowned and said, “Can we please get away from the gas station?” I easily agreed, and pulled around the pumps and parked next to the building, where there was a metal picnic table. I’d thought she meant she wanted to get away from the pumps.

As we were eating our sandwiches she looked at me and said, “Next time we stop, can we please make it someplace that’s not so hideous?” I laughed and almost choked on my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “You think THIS is hideous? You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet!” I thought about taking a picture of the cigarette butts at our feet and the rusty metal table, but decided it wasn’t necessary. When we do find something that is really hideous, I’ll be sure to include a photo for your enjoyment.

1pm – We arrived at Harris Ranch and found a parking place right next to the front door. It was pretty amazing, the parking lot was about 25 acres, and it was almost completely full. I was worried about not having reservations, but when I saw the size of the dining room(s), I figured it would be ok. When the hostess took our name and gave us the little remote notification device that would vibrate, and flash at us when our table was ready, and said, “It will only be about 15 minutes,” I relaxed.  Yeah 15 minutes… right. After about 45 minutes it became obvious to us that most likely, her superior(s) have instructed the hostesses to tell everyone the same thing, no matter what the real wait time is.

The good part was that when we sat down at our table, we told the waiter we didn’t have to look at the menu, we’d already had a chance to decide while we were waiting for our table. Sharon had a chicken salad sandwich… A CHICKEN SALAD SANDWICH?!?! We were at a world famous steak house, and she orders chicken?!?!. That’s my girl… just like me… not typical at all.

I ordered the Big Bull Burger. Two quarter pound patties, two slices of thick cut bacon, two onion rings, two slices of cheddar cheese, and all the condiments you could think of. And fries. The burger was one of the best I’ve ever had in my life. The fries were probably the worst. Just wanted to let you know, in case you go there. Don’t bother with the fries.

3pm - After our obligatory visit to their bakery, and two delicious white chocolate covered oreo cookies with sprinkles, we got back on Honey, and headed back. So far we’d gone 165 miles in about 6 hours. If we were gonna make it home before dark, we were gonna hafta boogie.

Hwy 198 from Coalinga back towards 101 is one of the best riding roads I’ve ever been on. I’d done the route a few times before, and it was one of the reasons I’d decided on taking this ride with Sharon. Just outside of Priest Valley, we stopped at one of the road signs we’d noticed a few hours previously going the other direction. It’s a great sign. Don’tchya think?

4pm – Our gas situation wasn’t ideal, so instead of taking Hwy 25 north towards Hollister, we continued back out to 101. Just as we were ready to jump back on the freeway, we stopped and posed with a couple of caballeros. Honey likes to have her picture taken with her relatives. I pointed out to Sharon when we got home, that if she’d just taken one step to her left, it would’ve framed the picture must better. That gave me an opportunity to learn something about Sharon. If you want her to take a picture, let her take the picture from wherever she wants to stand.

Just a few miles north to King City for the gas, and I remembered that there was a small road that would take us back to Hwy 25. It was getting late in the afternoon, but I much prefer not to backtrack on my road trips, and the minor detour would get us back on the loop route I’d chosen before we left. It was a beautiful decision. I’d never been on the road before, which is something I’m always looking for when I choose the routes for my rides, and… it gave us a chance to see what I decided to call, “Mt. Vulva.” I wouldn’t’ve noticed it, if it weren’t for my lovely classy wife tapping me on the shoulder, and asking me, “What does that look like to you?”

God I love my wife. She is the perfect combination of classy elegance and bar room bitch.

5pm – Our last stop was at the entrance to The Pinnacles. It is the (illegal) resting place of one of my brother’s ashes, and both of my parents’. A quiet moment of respect and reflection for Jon, and Jack & Celia.

7pm – Home safe and sound. 345 miles in just under 10 hours. We’ll have to do a lot better when it comes time for our trip to Arizona, but it was a perfect shake down ride and I hope you enjoyed my story. The End.