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| Day 1 - Santa Clara, CA Day 2 - King City, CA Day 3 - Pismo Beach, CA |
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| The next morning, after taking advantage of the complementary continental
breakfast, we set off in light traffic planning to make Solvang by
noon. Hwy 101 south of King City is a nice ride and worth your consideration.
We pass Camp Roberts, an abandoned Army post off to our right, and
then reach the summit of Cuesta Grade with a great view of the valley
below off to our left. As we approached Atascadero, Dave pulls off
for gas and a visit to the local Harley dealer. Something I didn’t realize until Dave explained it to me, and you may not know it either, but Harley-Davidson made more money last year from selling clothing and accessories than from selling motorcycles. After visiting Gary Bang’s Harley in Atascadero I understand how this could happen. They had every motorcycle doo-dad you could ever desire, all with a Harley logo attached in some way. I’m not kidding; shot glasses, tee-shirts, clocks, games, puzzles, sun glasses, kiddy clothes, dog clothes, big models, small models, hatchets, knives, and hundreds of other items, all of it for sale, and all of it expensive. Oh yeah, there were six custom Harleys squeezed onto the showroom floor starting at $24,000, four stock Sportsters in the back, and a couple of vintage Harleys out front, so I’m sure you could actually buy a Harley motorcycle there if you wanted to. This marketing strategy makes perfect sense. Most of us usually buy only one motorcycle but you buy accessories for years to come. Shortly after leaving Gary Bang’s Harley, we passed a Honda dealer but did not stop. Since they only sell motorcycles, for the most part, and I already own a Goldwing, there was little else there to see, so we kept going. We picked up 101 again and within an hour of pleasant morning riding, we were in Solvang. It was getting close to noon and we were starting to get a little hungry so after a brief tour of the “downtown” area, we stopped at the “Mustard Seed” restaurant for some good home cooking (photo 1). “Good home cooking” is what the sign on the wall says and the meatball soup and salad didn’t make me want to argue the point. Solvang bills itself as a “Little bit of Denmark,” so all of the buildings in town reflect that theme in one form or another (photos 2, 3, 4 & 5). An interesting aside is that this “Danish” town is also the home to one of California’s 21 original Spanish missions. Juniperro Serra must be rolling over in his grave. When you walk through the mission gates (photo 6), it’s an architectural step back in time to California’s mission days and Indians. The Roman arches and bell towers (photos 7, 8 & 9), are surrounded by trees, plants, and tranquil rose gardens (photos 10 & 11), which harkens back to a quieter time. This is in stark contrast to the Ump Pa Pa, Ump Pa Pa, of a Danish Pokka being played in the town square just a block away. Fed, fat and happy, we mounted up for the long trip to the Vintage Motorcycle Museum, which turns out to be about six blocks, just on the edge of town. Dave and I liked this museum (photos 12 & 13). You can walk among the bikes, touch them, photograph them, and generally look just as close as is necessary to figure out where things go. When I visited the Art of the Motorcycle exhibit at the Guggenheim in Las Vegas, it was just the opposite in almost every respect. Even though each bike was identified with its historical information, the exhibit really was like going to an art show with lots of glass, chrome, and presentation, but don’t touch. They also charged me twenty bucks where Solvang lets you in for five. The Vintage Motorcycle Museum is a museum designed by motorcyclist for motorcyclist. The following photos present a sample of what we saw. The oldest motorcycle on display dated back to 1910 (photo 14), the newest was a Honda 750 Four from the 70’s (photo 15). There was also a replica of the first automobile produced by Daimler-Benz in 1883 but was included in the exhibit because it only has three wheels (photos 16, 17, 18). There were several bikes from the time of my youth so that I could say, “I remember that!” We spent a pleasant hour or so at the museum looking at a bunch of interesting motorcycles (photos 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 ). Dave and I both remember the Ariel Square Four (photo 28). I give it four stars. Besides, it gives you an excuse to ride south from the Bay Area, or north from L.A. and you may need an excuse. Tell your wife you have to go there because the DMV is going to ask some historical questions when you renew your motorcycle license. Dave took us east out of town to a local park and waterfall. The ride was on a narrow, winding, backroad, just the kind of road two-wheelers take pleasure in. When we got to the park, there was a livestock fair of some sort taking place but we found a shaded parking place under the trees. Dave led the way as we hiked the trail for a “10 minute” walk to the Nojoqui Falls (pronounced No-Ho-Key) taking pictures along the way (photos 29, 30, 31, 32 ). It was a pleasant diversion and change of pace, which is what touring is all about. When we got back to the motorcycles, there were three young boys standing around admiring the bikes. Well, I should say they were admiring Dave’s Harley. For these young lads, my Goldwing didn’t exist or at least, didn’t fit their definition of what a “motorcycle” was supposed to be. I heard one of the boys say to Dave, “Nice looking bike” and he thanked them for the compliment. I, of course, pretended not to hear. Back on the road we followed 101 south to 246 and pointed the bikes toward the afternoon sun and Lompoc. It was this stretch of road I referred to at the beginning of this story. The slow winding asphalt went sneaking between low mountains, colored in various hues of green and emerald. Stands of trees cover the hills with random stragglers filling in the bare spots. Around a fast turn is a 10-acre patch of cultivated, soft brown farmland, manicured and ready for planting squeezed between the mountains. I immediately thought of a huge sand trap on a giant golf course, and then it was gone. We reach Lompoc and keep moving west. The Vandenberg Air Force Base sits right across the street from the Hwy 1 junction with 246. A right turn took us north toward the ocean and I find myself looking forward to seeing the Pacific once again. The temperature has been dropping slightly as we’ve gotten further west. Yes, the ocean is close at hand. We stop for gas in Guadalupe where I calculated I’m getting a little better than 40 miles to the gallon. This is much better than I did on our trip last summer. There must be something about not pulling a trailer and carrying a passenger that the Goldwing likes. Leaving the gas station we head right into a northerly headwind. It was more of an annoyance than dangerous, but I prefer not to ride in headwinds if I have a choice. Of course, you don’t usually have a choice. Still, at this point in the trip I’m feeling good and no headwind can change that fact. I find myself singing, “A way out west, they have a name, for wind, and rain, and fire. The rain is Tess, the fire is Jo, but the call the wind Mariah.” Now at this point, we’re heading north with the wind and the ocean on our left, and I’m belting out, “Mariah…Mariah… they call the wind Mariah…..!” The acoustics of my helmet give me a bathroom studio effect and I sing all the louder! Hot damn, this is a great way to spend an afternoon! For those of you who live inland a bit, seeing the ocean again is always a treat. For those of you who live deep in the interior of our great country, I have to ask, why? We have water on three sides and you choose to live inland. Why is that? Pack your belongings right now, I’ll wait, and move to the coast. I don’t care which coast; any coast will do, but move now! Remember, you are 97% water and your relatives crawled out of the sea about a billion years ago. They had no idea you would move inland. Get back to the water just as soon as you can. You owe it to your relatives. Enough said. The wind slowly diminished the further north we got and by the time we reached Pismo Beach, it was no longer an issue. We checked into another independent motel, this time for $59 bucks (location, location, location), and headed downtown (photo 33) to get something to eat and see the sights. This time we decided to do some serious meat eating for dinner, and landed at Mo’s BBQ in Pismo Beach (photos 34 & 35). We got a ¾ slab of pork ribs and proceeded to clog our arteries, first class. Why is it that all the things that taste so good are so bad for you? Mo’s is good eating but Mo himself is on the American Heart Association’s 10 most wanted list. After dinner, the sun was still shinning, the town was jumping (photo 36), so we took a stroll down to the pier. You see if you live on the coast being next to the water is not always good enough. Some communities need to allow their citizens to actually get out over the water, if they can, so many coastal communities build themselves piers for walking and fishing on. Such is the case in Pismo Beach (photos 37, 38, 39). Having watched the surfers and sightseers and still needing to walk off at least 100 of the 3000 calories we’ve just consumed, we head back to the motel, secure the bikes, and call it a day. |
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