Guy Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages

Adventures in Sport Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT

Exploring North America...One Road at a Time

Day 10
June 11th, 2001
San Luis Obispo, California

My clock startled me out of a good sleep at 6:00am, but I rolled over and slept till 6:30.

I got up and flipped on the TV for weather info.  Dawn was breaking and it looked liked it was going to be foggy and damp.  I listened to the Weather Channel to confirm what I already knew.

By 7:00am I had the ST loaded, and rolled out of the parking lot.  I picked up US 101 south out of San Luis.  It was cool and foggy, and the morning commute was just beginning for the locals.

My goal for the day is Phoenix.  I guess it to be 500+ mile ride.  I called my cousin there and told her I should be there in the early evening.  She supplied me with directions via e mail, but I left the print out in my motel, as result I would have to call and get them again.

I rode through the towns of Pismo Beach, Grover Beach and Arroyo.  The were full of morning commuters on their way to do whatever it is they do.  I was glad it was THEM having to go to work, and NOT me.  But then again, I love my job, so going to work is no big deal.

Just north of Santa Maria I leave 101 and take SR 166 to begin the trek eastward and home.  I marked the occasion mentally in my brain "well Guy, you are officially on the way home now".

I noticed a sign that 166 is a memorial highway to 2 CHP officers.  I fail to recall the names of the officers.

SR 166 follows the Cuyama River.  It takes me through rolling hills and valleys.  I cautiously lean the ST in the curves because fog has reduced visibility to a quarter mile or less.  Moisture droplets cover the windshield, and the Beifee.

I noticed a 18 wheeler up ahead.  He is traveling fast for the road and conditions.

Cuyama is quiet road.  The homes and farms along the way appear indifferent at the lone rider making the first few miles east of a 2500 mile ride back across the country.  Can't they see I am on a epic journey?  Don't they know how far I have come to see their valley?  I guess not, as the farmer I saw, getting in his truck to start his day, failed to wave back at me.

Twenty miles after leaving 101, I came across the road side shrine honoring the fallen CHP officers.  A large wooden cross with flowers and rocks decorating the base marks the spot.  Pictures of the 2 officers are also displayed.  I am saddened the shrine does not explain what happened to the officers.  Were they slain by some crazy guy? Traffic accident while in pursuit of someone?  Perhaps they were on routine patrol and killed?  If a reader has the answer to my question please e mail me.

The fog begins to lift, giving way to the sun.

I rode 166 to Maricopa, where I stopped for a Mountain Dew and a Cliff Bar.  I also take this time to remove the liner I had been riding with all morning.

I took I-5 south to SR 138 to cut over to Twentynine Palms.  It is beginning to get warm and I tried to vent out the Roadcrafter, but can't, so tell I myself to play it safe, and wait for my next stop.

SR 138 is a straight shot across Antelope Acres.  I pass pick ups loaded with migrant workers on their way to the fields.  On this straight road I have trouble keeping the ST under 80.

SR 138 takes me to the "desert towns" of Lancaster, Palmdale, and Victorville.  These are full blown cities complete with traffic and hundreds of fast food joints.  I cringe at the thought of Los Angeles, which is just over the mountain from my present location.

I fight my way through these desert towns.  Stop and go, stop and go, I am anxious for the open road.

I stop for lunch in Apple Valley at a Long John Silvers.  I had the fish and chicken combo.  

 I cleared the last of the "desert towns", and took off on SR 18 to SR 247 and Twentynine Palms.  It felt good to escape the traffic and construction.

The temps rose the deeper into the desert I went.  I cranked the ST up in the wide open desert.  As a Alabama boy, the deserts of Nevada, California, and Arizona are a stark contrast to what I am use to.  Rocks, sand and dry hot air.  The ointment I picked up in Virginia City, combined with the moist air of the Bay Area, did a world of good for my dry, wind burned lips of a few days ago.  Now, as I blitz across the desert at 100 mph, I feel them drying out again.

I sing in my helmet for many miles.  In North and South Dakota, it was soft rock 70s music.  In the Bay area it was modern pop.  Here in the desert, it is country and western.  More specifically "old" country.  I keep singing the old country classic "Poncho and Lefty" by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard.  Most notably the lyric "the desert's quiet, Cleveland's cold".

The empty miles roll on.  Not a living thing is moving about.  Not even a bird.  Then I see something up ahead.  What is that?  The waves of heat rising from the road distort the image, but I can see that its moving.  I raise my Oakley's, but it doesn't help.  As I get closer it appears to be a figure carrying a bicycle.  It is.  I shoot by him before I realize it, and intended to keep going.  I think things over, "dang Guy if you don't go back, you will always wonder what the hell that guy was doing in the Mojave carrying a bicycle".

I turn around and go back.  I pull up to a guy in royal blue lycra shorts, yellow jersey, white Bell cycle helmet.  His beard shadow is several days old.  His backpack is old and faded.  He looks hot and tired.  He is carrying something but its NOT a bicycle.  Its a unicycle. NO kidding.

"you ok?"

"yeah"

"so where ya goin?"

"Ohio"

"geezus"

He tells me his story right on the highway.  Two strangers passing in the night we are.  He says he left the Bay area few days ago, and his appearance backs that up.  He makes 25-40 miles a day, then just pulls off in the desert to sleep.  

"so why ya carrying that thing instead of ridin it?"

"well I had NO way to mount it.  The fence and utility poles are too far off the road for me to use.  I can't peddle out of the sand.  So walking to the next speed limit sign."

"your s---- me right?

"no I'm not.  Here let me use your shoulder"

He mounts up, and we say our good byes.  The last I saw of him, he was in my mirrors peddling to Ohio.  The honest truth.  Never a dull moment on the left coast.

I smiled the rest of the way to Twentynine Palms, where I topped of the tank, and got something to drink.  The temp gauge hanging by the door reads 100 in the shade.  The air is thin, so it doesn't feel that hot.

I mounted back up and continued on through the Mojave.

Twenty or so miles later l noticed a beige Honda in my mirrors.  I am doing 90.  I pass a RV and the cage follows suit.  A few miles later the cage passes me, the only time I was passed in 8000 miles.

I am impressed at the vastness of the Mojave.  I am awed by the fact people once used wagons and horses to cross this no mans land.  I wondered how many still sleep out here.  There remains buried in the sand, and soon forgotten.

I am snapped back into reality, when I noticed a car on the shoulder off in the distance.  A trail of rubber behind it.  It is the beige Honda!   I gear down and ease in behind it.  I see two young ladies standing in the desolate highway.  One is on a cell phone.  Evil thoughts race through my mind,  "well Guy, you always wanted to be alone in the desert with a attractive young lady, now you have TWO."

I peeled off the Roadcrafter, and approached the frightened young ladies.  After reassuring them I was not a maniac, I got the spare out, and began changing their tire.  As I changed their tire they became much more talkative, and explained they were on their way back to Arizona after visiting their Marine boyfriends at 29 Palms.

I laid the wrench down on the highway and when I pick it back up, it was so hot I had to drop it.  Alicia had to sprinkle water on it so I could grab it again.

A west bound pick up went by, but did not slow down.

With the tire in place, the next decision is where to send them.  The tire is one of those mini tires, not good for more then 50 miles.  Twentynine Palms is 40 miles west, Desert Center is 50 miles or so east, but I don't know what is there.

"you can't make it home on this tire"

"why not?"

"you just can't, you need to go back to 29 Palms and contact y'alls boyfriends. You need a new tire."

I was now faced with the dilemma of following them back to 29 Palms.  I could not in good conscience send them back alone on their present tire.  What if the desert shredded it?  I may not be a maniac, but 2 scantily clad young ladies in the desert, broke down, is temptation for those who are.

It was then a young man, west bound, stopped.  A Marine uniform hung in the back.  Corporal stripes on the sleeve.  He rolled down the window.

"need any help?"

Confident the young Marine was a honorable man I said-

"yes, these 2 young ladies need a escort back to 29 Palms, they are on their spare tire, can you do that?"

"What's the catch?"

"no catch, will you make sure they make it ok?"

"sure"

He also called the base and used his connections to notify their boyfriends, that they had a problem, but all was fine.

Satisfied they were in the hands of a good man, I said goodbye and gathered my thank yous.  

I picked up SR 177 and saw a car on the shoulder in the north bound lane.  The driver looked to be asleep.  What if he wasn't?  What if he was in trouble?  What a strange day this has been.  Before I could make a decision on what to do, a north bound trooper running code 3 is on his way to check the car out, I presume.

I finally make it to Desert Center.  Not much is there.  I pulled into a old gas station and walked over to a drink machine.  I plop my money in, and to my chagrin the only thing I can get to work is Diet Coke.

I get on I-10 and head east to Phoenix, and my cousin's house.  PJ moved to Phoenix several years ago, and liked it so much, she stayed after she divorced.

I-10 is littered with recaps.  The desert is unforgiving to those foolish enough to test it on less the good tires.  

The sun moves behind me and my shadow dances in front and to the right of me.  I love it when my shadow rides with me.

I cross the Colorado River into Arizona, near Blythe.

I am in the fast lane and a black Jeep pushes me out of the way.  I am doing 85 but I guess that isn't fast enough.  I give him the appropriate distance and fall in behind him.

Not 5 miles later he is ambushed by a Arizona State Trooper hiding in the median.  Saved again by the old "you go I follow game".  We were both doing at least 95.

The miles go by quickly, and I stopped in a rest area near Tonopah for water, and to call PJ and let her know my ETA.  Also making sure I wasn't cramping her style, after all a young attractive single lady in Phoenix has things to do.

It is almost dark when I enter Phoenix.  The traffic is not as bad as I had feared.

The instructions provided by PJ are right on.  I leave I-10 for I-17 north and exit at Greenway.  As instructed I find the first phone, and she comes to get me 5 minutes later.

The red Mustang is a welcome sight and after warm hugs (not seen her in 5 yrs) I follow her back to her condo.  She hits the remote and the door swings open and  I ride the ST in.  Her Mustang makes a good match for my bike.

It was a 651 mile day.

She has a great place, and its fixed up it really nice.  Her kids are with their father for the summer.

After my shower she cooks tacos and we spend the evening reminiscing about childhood antics.  I point out her southern accent is still there, but fading. 

I fell asleep on the couch watching Fox News.