Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Gee, a bit of time went by. ;-)

Here’s the very short version.

Barb cooked great stuff on Friday night. Barb’s husband showed up on Saturday morning, after we had spent a leisurely hour or so checking out downtown Santa Cruz. My husband was never able to make it at all, as the idiot contractor did what he was asked not to do and brought down their internet connection, including the corporate website.

We went to the Woodys on the Wharf. This is not rude, though we saw countless jokes about it. It was a collection of cars which had been converted to being made out of wood, and some that started that way, including a Morris Minor. It was pretty cool. We were able to get a ringside seat at a restaurant to see the parade, which was a lot of fun.

My feet hurt a lot because I did a lot of walking.

Barb’s hubby makes fantastic steak. I have never had steak so very good before.

On Sunday morning, we set out. I get nervous, Barb gets nervous, jitter, jitter. I led them home on Highway 17. It was very neat, sort of a rite of passage. I feel like a real biker now. ;-)

There were no problems with the ride, and we stopped at the summit to take photographs. I rode home with Barb and Brian to find out what they thought and they were happy. Barb had never done 17 before and was proud of herself.

Images:

– A man walking through downtown Santa Cruz with a snake curled around his neck

– A lady carrying her little dog in a basket into the expensive optomotrist

– Snarfs, snarfs, everywhere!

– Browsing exquisite one-of-a-kind jewellery in a classy gallery: Barb is a graphic designer, so she really groks this kind of thing; even a pleb like me can see what work and beauty goes into these things.

– A tiny alleyway painted with murals, and indeed murals everywhere. A house brimming with flower boxes and of course flowers

– Great holes where buildings destroyed by the 1989 earthquake were never rebuilt; a very peculiar and disturbing mural with people in the basement in a kind of living hell…climbing up out of the doldrums, with odd perspective.

Friday morning I was up earlier and brighter than usual. For some reason, bright sunlight and being on vacation, not to mention the sound of coffee brewing, motivates me to get my butt out of bed.

The coffee would have been nice if there were any sugar, btw, but at least it smelled nice. We had soup for breakfast. (This was stranger for Barb than it was for me, I think.)

I was leading us to Watsonville, a little dash down highway 1. I managed to get us lost within about two minutes of leaving the apartment, so Barb led us to highway 1 and then I took over. It’s a fast road, a freeway on this section, and I found it a bit windy and disconcerting for some reason. But we only had to travel ten miles, and then we were off to find the KOA.

The road we took was nice - two lanes (one in each direction for those unfamiliar with the phrasing), nice curves, rural with pretty houses, a bit of up and down. The turn into the campground was a bit iffy, what with the swathes of gravel and the railroad tracks to cross, but we both managed just fine.

We got parked and stuff and admired the leafy campground. It looked nice on first glance. I did some postcard shopping and then we went outdoors to wait for Jamie and Sandy.

As it turned out, they were late, but knowing this it was fine to just hang out. I got to watch my first gopher, which popped up out of the ground like a little…well, gopher. I now understand the game Whack-A-Mole.

I left the gopher a corn nut. It popped out, sniffed, popped out, grabbed. The grab was literally a fraction of a second: too quick to see. Then it popped out again with its cheeks bulging, like a hamster. We derived a lot of entertainment out of that gopher, and a big freight train that meandered by.

Jamie and Sandy arrived, and we went to talk to the people inside, and got the go-ahead to check out the campground. We fell in love with the layout and the possibilities, and had a good look around, and schemed things for the rally which I shall not mention here lest anyone be listening (it’s supposed to be a secret to spring on the members when we get there). Then we went to check availability.

O, poo.

There is absolutely no availability on a Friday and Saturday until November, and that’s too late for us. So, essentially, if you think in terms of the rally this was a waste of time, but if you think in terms of an excuse for a four-day weekend, it was grand. ;-)

We went down the rest of the road as a group of four; it drops us into Watsonville. The ride was a delight; it opened up into farmland, and I got quite a rush when we all overtook a farm vehicle one after another, riding in conjunction with one another as you are supposed to do (there are “rules” for group riding, and it is a rush when you do it - like dancing. Everyone is responsible for her own ride, but there are things we can do to help the group stay together and be visible.)

Sandy seemed to know her way around, and we were soon settled down into a Mexican restaurant for plates of tacos and other fine things.

We got in, had drinks, showered, then headed out to explore. We went down to the Boardwalk, a required pilgrimage - it’s just so nice to walk up and down, watching people being turned inside out by the rides, enjoying the colours in the shops and the cotton candy and the giant corn dog that we got a lady from Cambridge to take a picture of.

On the way back up the boardwalk we sat at some restaurant and had a beer. It has been many years since I had a beer at an outdoors restaurant, and when the bill came I remembered why.

At least the beer anaesthetized my hurting feet, allowing me to walk to the other end of the wharf, which was a first for me. Lots of people fishing, gewgaws for sale alongside, homeless people, and the sound of sealions honking underneath. At the end you can look down holes to barnacle-encrusted beams, but this time we didn’t see any of the critters.

We got fish and chips at a very slow-moving hole in the wall place and they were delicious. One portion between us both would have been enough. We were stuffed!

Finally we walked home, very slowly in my case. Had a quiet evening doing nothing in particular.

I had arisen nice and early so that I could run some errands before departing, and I got them all done. So, by the time I had been to the bank, filled up, been to Radio Shack and proved myself to be a dork once and for all by trying to charge the cellphone in the headphone jack, I had ridden about 20 miles before even getting started.

Barb was ready when I arrived, having left the house to ensure that I would call. ;-) We set out, with her leading.

Our route took us through downtown Los Gatos, which is, frankly, a PITA, with stop-start traffic and car drivers opening their doors without looking. However, once we got through there we were on Highway 17, a road previously described by me as “driving your own rollercoaster”. It’s a freeway, but it’s twisty and uppy and downy, and I rather like it. Whee!

That got rid of the human-overheating I picked up in Los Gatos, anyway!

Our exit was at Bear Creek Road, and that turned out to be my first real uphill switchback. The exit looks innocent enough, until it does a 180 degree turn and whomps itself up a hill. The stop sign at the top, about which I had been warned (on a hill and all that) was a doddle in comparison. Despite pounding heart, I carried it off neatly, and was able to get onto Old Santa Cruz Highway.

Now that’s a road! It, and the roads which one takes to get into Santa Cruz, are marvellous! It was my first experience of real twisties of any length, and I had an absolutely stunning whale of a time. I was going up and down and left and right and flying up great sweeping curves and switchbacks (but nothing that worried me as much as the freeway one). The landscape is glorious - little villages tucked into forests of redwood and eucalyptus, and then a glimpse of hills and valleys from time to time; by the time we arrived at Summit Store for a break, I could not contain myself from jumping up and down in absolute glee and going “Wheeeee!”

Break over, we did it all over again - this time downhill.

Eventually the road took us into Santa Cruz, where the last few miles were hot, stop-start traffic, and then we had arrived. Did a bike-hug and then a human-hug: we were both intensely proud of ourselves for different reasons; Barb because she’d lead us here safely, and me because once again I am reminded that I can ride and for the sheer wonderfulness and joy of it all.