Tuesday morning we awoke to another crisp, clear day. The morning haze was slowly retreating back into the ocean and the relentless wind continued its attack on the weathered walls of the hotel. We reluctantly packed after our complimentary continental breakfast and continued south on Highway 1. Traffic was non-existent and I lost all self-control and broke out to a very brisk pace. In a rare moment, Kris and I left Eric and Dawn in our mirrors after a few lucky passes. I love the flow of highway 1 as it follows the shoreline and I could see myself very happy with living somewhere on this inspired stretch of asphalt. Stunning scenery and pristine asphalt.
We didn't get too far before we stopped in the quaint town of Point Reyes for a breakfast snack. We would soon be riding through the megalopolis of the San Francisco Bay Area. The plan was to just ride the Golden Gate Bridge and continue south towards Half Moon Bay where we would turn inland to catch Highway 35 and Highway 9 to Santa Cruz .
Before we reached the Golden Gate Bridge , I exited into the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and onto Conzelman Road which affords a stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco universally printed on post cards and posters. We wandered up onto the mountain ledge road that overlooked a hazy San 
Francisco , bustling with traffic and congestion. The low hanging clouds battled for land, flying directly over our heads at a frighteningly fast pace. Alcatraz Island and all the other famous sights around San Francisco were visible. We pulled off and sat on the benches while we watched a small sail boat sail out to just underneath the expanse of the orange bridge before tacking back into the safety of San Francisco Bay .
After gorging ourselves on the view we headed back down into the myriad of the city. We crossed the bridge and paid our toll ($5.00 per vehicle – Ouch) and headed out. Kris and I were in the lead and hesitated to wait for Eric and Dawn to pay. I was to the left and unaware that the exit to stay on Highway 1 was immediately after the toll booth. I missed the exit and so we rode to the Pier, executed a U-turn, and got back onto the 101. But here is where I got real confused. The sign's were counting down the distance to the exit to Highway 1-south, but made no attempt to warn how abrupt the exit was. The exit snuck up on me and I realized it wasn't a traditional sweeping exit, but a 70-to-20mph, ultra-tight, bumpy exit that banked right then left to dive under 101 heading south. I was in the center, having just passed a slow-moving vehicle, saw the exit, changed lanes and dove onto the exit. Kris, right behind me, didn't have the time to make the quick lane change and exit. I watched her fly by in my rear-view mirror, immediately aware that I had just ditched my wife.
On the map, the blue line was the planned route. The red is the way I ended up going, number 1 is the exit I should have taken, number 2 is the exit I actually took.
I felt awful, but figured the best thing to do would be to find a safe place to stop and wait. Fortunately Eric and Dawn were directly behind and Kris and I was confident that everything would be okay, but expected an angry and upset spouse when we eventually reunited.
I found my safe place on a main street, parked and proceeded to wait for them to catch up. I set a time limit and began to watch daily San Francisco life take place on the corner of Park Presidio Blvd and California Street . Meanwhile, Eric, Dawn and Kris rallied up, turned around and started circling the area looking for me, expecting me to do the same. After about 45 minutes, we all gave up and continued south, hoping to rally up together when congestion dissipated. We eventually met up again just North of Half Moon Bay. Hanging my head in shame, I promptly took my place at the back of the group and allowed Eric to safely lead us to a late lunch.
We stopped, just outside of town, at Cameron's Pub where I was repeatedly and deservingly teased for my actions. I will, however, be eternally grateful for what was, easily, the best Fish and Chips us honkey's from Utah had ever enjoyed. The delight of good fish and chips put everyone back into a good mood. Plus the service was top-shelf. It was a nice way to unwind from the stress of the last few hours.
After lunch we hopped onto Highway 92 that led us up Highway 35, known as Skyline Blvd. Skyline is an amazing road that follows the ridgeline, parallel to highway 1, canopied by dense trees, views of the ocean as rare as they are brief. As we rode we climbed sharply to the sky. Within a few miles from Half Moon Bay, we had left all the traffic behind us and were left alone on fantastic tarmac. The clouds, coming off the ocean were racing overhead and as we climbed, I soon felt as though I should duck to keep from hitting my head as we encroached upon the ceiling of clouds. As we neared a mere 800 feet of elevation, we were riding though thick clouds. It's hard to express the delight that comes with this fantastic riding. It feels so different from our arid home of Utah that the unfamiliarity is as engrossing as the beauty. Skyline Blvd eventually intersects with highway 84, where we stopped at the famous Alice's Restaurant for coffee and pie. We sat on top of the brown picnic tables, neatly organized on the deck. They provided warmth from the bottom while the sun provided warmth from the top. Not even our best riding gear and electric vents could ricochet all of the humidity and chill in the air while we rode.
From there we dropped down towards Santa Cruz . I've dreamt of this next section of road ever since Kris and I first discovered it in 2001. I can imagine no road more perfectly suited to motorcycling. Arching banked corners slalom through thick stands of titanic trees. Small neighborhoods of fortunate souls speckled the journey back to reality. Their presence, however jealous I was of them, was a sad distraction from the amazing riding and stunning views. Halfway into Santa Cruz , 
a fire engine pulled out in front of us. I have never considered myself an ambulance chaser, but I soon became frustrated that the lights-flashing, sirens wailing, fire engine was slowing me down! Once we dropped into Santa Cruz , the road was lugubriously over and we were left with flat, open, well traveled roads that outline the contour of Monterey Bay towards Monterey and Pacific Grove , where we planned to spend the next two nights. The sun reclined into late afternoon and commuter traffic disbanded as we watched our shadows stretch out towards the east while the bikes hummed southwards towards evening.
Once in Monterey, excitement returned as we followed out noses towards Cannery Row and eventually found the Borg's Ocean Front Motel, delightfully located right on the coast. If the name didn't seal the deal, their ultra-affordable prices did. I quickly hopped off the bike and snapped a photo of the S3's license plate bracket in the foreground and the hotel sign in the background. I've always thought the S3 looked Star Trek, Borg-esque. Triumph must have thought the same thing as the first magazine ads proclaimed “Resistance is Futile” in big, black, bold lettering.
We unloaded the bags into our shared hotel room and tucked the bikes in for the night. The motorcycle boots were lobbed off into the enormous closet that, amazingly, swallowed all of our gear. We donned our walking shoes and set out into the evening to find a light supper and see the sights in the warm, evening light. We had eaten so much in the past few hours, with Fish N' Chips in Half Moon Bay , then Pie and Ice Cream at Alice 's, we didn't need much sustenance to find contentment.
We 
wandered inland, up 17 th Street , passed delightful small, historic homes, towards Lighthouse Avenue where we found a small shop that sold all assortments of alcoholic beverages. We purchased a few bottles of wine, some cheese and bread and retreated to our hotel with our new treasures, just as the sun dissolved into the western Ocean. Immediately outside the front door of the hotel, Pacific Grove Marine Gardens Park skirts the boundary between town and ocean. We climbed the wall and dropped down onto a ledge that overlook the rocky beach a few feet below. Here we sat while we killed two bottles of wine and discussed the excellence of our journey so far.
We started Wednesday morning by wandering back up to Lighthouse Avenue where we found a Laundromat and a coffee shop, located conveniently across the street from each other. While drinking warm caffinated beverages, the soils of our journey were washed away on the other side of the road. The goal of the day was to go hit a bucket of balls at the driving range of the famous Pebble Beach golf course in memory of Kris' father, a devout golfer, who had passed away only a few weeks earlier. Then we planned to meander through the world-famous Monterey Aquarium; find a good dinner, hopefully with fresh seafood, to end the day.
By the time laundry was done and breakfast finished, we returned to the bikes and leisurely wound our way across the Monterey peninsula, stopping for some play time on the beach – poking sea creatures with sticks – just kidding, then towards Pebble Beach and 17-Mile Drive. We knew that motorcycles are strictly forbidden from 17-Mile Drive , but we have never found out why. From what I did learn, however, it has been closed to motorcycles since, rumor has it, the 50's or 60's when the Oakland based Hell-Angels were running rampant with their “loud pipes save lives” muffler-less big twins. In an attempt to glean some credible information regarding why motorcycles are not allowed on this spectacular stretch of coastal highway, I contacted the Monterey County Convention and Visitors Bureau ( MCCVB) and got this informative response.
“ Pebble Beach has their reasons for no motorcycles allowed on the 17 mile drive and they do not share that with everyone. You would have to contact them at (831) 647-7500 for the reason. ”
Based on the fact, that all the rumors point to the closure being caused by “loud” motorcycles, one would hope they would change their regulation to “noise ordinance strictly enforced” from the over-simplified, “no motorcycles allowed” policy. One could argue that this regulation is discriminatory until you look deep enough and learn that it is, shockingly, not discrimination because motorcycles are not a federally listed protected class. “ the basis of race, color, national origin, sex, religion, age, disability, political beliefs, sexual orientation, or marital or family status. ” However, I now have the17-Mile-Drive issue to argue with all the “loud pipes save lives” folks by stating that loud pipes do not save lives, they cost rights.
We rounded the peninsula looking for the gate to the golf course. One of the brochures in the hotel insinuated that the course was walking distance from the south gate of 17-Mile-Drive. We wandered through downtown Carmel , past the myriad of art galleries, to the south gate and saw the discrete white sign reminding us that “motorcycles are not allowed”. Eric pulled up to the booth to ask how far to the golf course. We were informed that it was about three miles to the course and that there was no way we would be allowed to take our bikes in. In clear defeat, we turned around. Eric and Kris backed up, I circled past the gate to turn around to avoid reverse. I half expected the rent-a-cop pull his 9mm on me when I did.
Instead we wandered back out, past the plethora of Art Galleries . We happened to be coming through while local legislation was initiating control over the number and quality of art galleries that could be in the small, coastal town. “ with a glut of art in the idyllic seaside village -- about four out of 10 businesses [out of a total of about 300] are art galleries -- the Carmel City Council is taking action to prevent new galleries from springing up .” Most of the locals we talked to were thrilled by this new rule because they said its getting increasingly difficult to find places to eat. However, the local newspaper didn't seem so happy. Monterey Herald Art Gallery Story.
We happened, on our way out from behind the curtain of art galleries, to find the Monterey Mission, a highlight for Dawn who loves to peruse these historic catholic treasures. After the grace and serenity of the mission, we returned to the Borg Motel and wandered over to Cannery Row where we began our exploration of the Monterey Bay Aquarium . Worth every penny of the admission price, we spent hours taking hundreds of blurry and dark photographs of unusual and amazing sea creatures. The sharks were a big hit, mostly among the kids who were constantly asking parents “where's the sharks” but we were sorely disappointed that no whales were to be found.
By the time we exited, the day was starting to fade. We wandered along Cannery Row, declining frivolous purchases of fleece jackets and local t-shirts, instead opting for some more wine and chocolaty-treats. We returned to our hotel and killed a bottle while we waited for a taxi-cab to take us to a sea-food restaurant, recommended to us by more than one local. For all the time's we had visited the California coast, we had yet to experience darn-good seafood and were determined to end that sad trend. We were not disappointed although the precursory bottle of wine prevented me from remember the name or the location.
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