(This report is written in the style of "Johnny Dollar: The Man With the Action Packed Expense Account", a great 1950s weekly old time "radio noir" show. Check out http://www.old-time.com/jdollar.ram)

Expense Account Item 1: Rear brake pads and rebuild kit, $40
I'd finally gotten around to fixing my rear brake. There was corrosion in the groove (that holds the O-ring) of the brake cylinder. Probably a result of the bike being left I think in west SF outside in the salt air. So the corrosion pushed in the O-ring, which made the brake piston stick, and a pain in the rear to remove it. Something for youse guys to watch out for.

So where to go now that the bike is running again? I'd heard about this Hollister bike rally, some of the people on the list joking about it on the mailing list and some mentions in the "California Biker" monthly rag. There was a biker riot in Hollister in '47 where an LA bike gang called the Boozefighters took over the town, rode through buildings, used the main street for drag racing, and generally frightening the town people. This was the inspiration for the movie "The Wild One" with Marlin Brando, with that famous line:

Girl: What are you rebelling against?
Brando: What've you got?

This movie, along with a staged picture in "Life" magazine of a Boozefighter sitting on his bike with a pig and a bunch of empties is credited for giving 'cycling its BadBoy(R) image. It would be a fun ride, and I'm curious to find out what a bike rally is like. I think about it.

Expense Account Item 2: Big Gatorade and Aspirin, $1.59.
I wake with a big hangover and try to recover, slowly. I couldn't see the fireworks over the bay the night before, so I decided to have my own show. There's something about fireworks and beer; they seem to feed on each other until you become a really drunk pyromaniac. Doesn't seem to be any permanent damage to me or the apartment.

So I decide on Hollister. It's only 90 miles from Frisco, and although the fog is pea soup in The City, it should be clear and hot down in Hollister. I look at a map to get my bearings, throw some water and food into the bike bag, slap the Plexifaring II on the bike, and head toward 101 and destinations south. I'm off by 10:00 so I should be on the scene by lunchtime.

Expense Account Item 3: Dairy Queen double cheeseburger & shake, $3.89.
Get a load of all the bikes! Harleys, that is. In every shape and color, and the same for the riders. The coppers have shut off the main street to car traffic, so there are about 5 small town block of bikes, along the sides and down the middle. I cruise down the main drag surrounded by burly bikers, wondering what I've gotten myself into. They seem to be pretty docile and not outwardly hostile toward rice burners; the only anti-Orient thing I see is a guy with a black (of course, all Harley clothing comes in black) t-shirt that says "Jap Bike Repair Kit" with a large picture of a hand grenade. No one is yelling at me or trying to knock me off my bike, so I might make it through this unhurt.

I find a parking space in the middle of the road and park the bike. I figure I don't need to lock it up, seeing how someone would have to be pretty stupid to steal a bike that's cost me $500 so far ($200 of that on tires) in a sea of $10,000+ bikes. Plus the fact that my bike would probably win 1st Prize if there were a contest for "Worst Aesthetic Condition." The tank is all rust on the outside -- or as I prefer to call it, "Mars Red" -- because I got the old paint stripped but couldn't settle on a new color. All four of side covers are off, exposing all of the wiring and giving it a look that architects call "Brutalism". But she's functional, and from an engineering standpoint is over 30 years ahead of these Harleys that are almost 20 years younger. I head for the DQ.

Expense Account Item 4: Old English 24oz, $1.35
Time to grab a fine malt liquor and take in the atmosphere. I walk the strip, amazed by the similarity of the bikes. They all seem to look the same after a few blocks and a few gulps of beer. About 97% of the bikes are Harleys, with the next most popular being the Lay-Z-GoldWing. A scattering of slipstream Indians, most of which I assume have been trailered here. The design is great but the technology looks even scarier than the Harley's. I'd hate to be riding an Indian at night on a bumpy road as the shocks don't look too "compliant." A lone Bimmer cruises by once and a while, looking for the rest of his pack. There are several pack of crotch-rockets on the prowl, looking straight ahead with visors. Since us non-Harley riders are clearly in the minority, does this make us the rebels? I do notice more jap bikes on the side streets. Either because they arrived late or they are afraid of a rumble.

The coolest bike I see is a custom Harley-look built around Chevy V8 engine. Call a tow truck if you should be so unlucky as to drop it.

Expense Account Item 5: Budwiser 24oz, $1.50
The police presence is incredible; there are cops from surrounding towns, CHiPs, U of Cal police (?), and probably BATF. I hear helicopters, not the black unmarked UN brand that I expected but one CHiPs helicopter and a couple of network ones. I still feel strange walking around with an open container, even thought it is perfectly legal, because I grew up in a town in Florida where that kind of behaviour is not tol-ler-ated, boy.

I've heard a couple of radio reports before coming down, both of which implied that "wouldn't it be scary if this thing turned into a riot." But there's no chance of that; this thing is more white-bread than a warehouse full of Wonder Bread (R). The only chance for riots would be if the t-shirt vendors started running out of 50th Anniversary Special Edition 100% Cotton BLACK Made-in-America shirts. This gig is more about consumption than about the fun of riding. Suburban families walk around eating ice kones and looking at the paint jobs and buy Harley pins. Guys stick their video cameras over their heads to tape the procession of Harleys, and girls on the back of Harleys video them back. Husky guys talk on cell phones un-selfconsciously while checking out the bikes and trying on leather vests.

I got an indicator of how conservative this thing was by watching the guys in the only "show us your tits" concession. You'd expect real Harley riders to be yelling this at every and all dames, but I noticed they were pretty discriminate about who they yelled their cheers at. No girls too young or too old (could be someone's daughter or mother), or even the dike-ish looking girls. The judging criteria seemed to be that only breeders between 22 and 30. And not because these were the babes, because I noticed that the guys seemed really uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, when a non-criteria girl rode by. You know, I consider myself pretty liberal as far as women's rights go, some would even call me a feminist. But I also believe in a guy's right to be a drunken boor. Because the Politically Correct pendulum has swung so far toward the maintenance of individual comfort, you rarely get to see PDSs (Public Displays of Stupidity) anymore. I mean, if you don't see it at a Harley convention where else are you going to see it. But there was a sign of hope; women standing by the cruise lane with "show us your dick" signs.

I notice a dame wearing a "gang" leather vest from somewhere in California, cant remember where, and at the bottom is said "HOG: Harleys Owner Group". Notice it said OWNERS, not RIDERS. Yes HOG sounds better than HRG, but it's still telling because for most of these people the ownership and the image that comes along with it is more important than the riding. I didn't check but I suspect that a majority of these bikes get less than a few thousand miles a year. Because once you have the image, the riding becomes secondary, and plus it decreases the value of their investments. I start to feel like I am in some strange DisneyWorld, where everyone is happy to be around other like-minded people, and admission is the price of a Harley.

Expense Account Item 5: Carne asada burito and fried catfish, $7.00
I figure I'd better start winding down and sobering up for the trip back. CHiPs had parked a big DUI/BAC trailer near the entrance to the rally, of course having the desired impact on most of the riders coming in for the weekend. I decided to skip the Corbin tent/trade show. I now have a bad headache from the now processed beer (4 beers = 4 hours) and the day-long tailpipe noise.

I was really pissed that I missed the 50 cent screenings of "The Wild One" that was playing continuously during the rally. I didn't see any of the races or hill climbing. Didn't see anyone duking it out, and the only crash I saw was a failed attempt at a burnout, no-one hurt, get him up before the police see. And most of all I coulda kicked myself for missing Eddie Money (remember "She was Shakin'"? Maybe it was about a tire alignment problem) in his free concert.

But I'd already had enough stimulation for the day, and I needed to turn in my expense report.

Mike.

P.S. You can read the SF Chronicle article about Hollister 97 at http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/chronicle/article.cgi?file=MN39332.DTL&directory=/chronicle/archive/1997/07/05

- -------*------             Atomic Software Consulting
Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
- ------------

> Jeff Munson wrote:
>
> > Okay, one last time, then I'll shut up. Absolute temp in SF: 60-80 F.
> > year 'round, with maybe a total of 15 to 20 days outside that range. If
> > you don't like the weather where you are, drive (ride!) 20 minutes, and
> > the temp is 20 degrees warmer/cooler.
> >

Or more like 3 min. in some cases. Last Sat. night I rode over to Jeff's place for the first meeting of the Y-Triples Club, California Chapter. I live in the center of SF (Western Addition), and when I left it was comfortably cool, around 65 F. By the time I got to the top of Twin Peaks, I was in the low clouds and fighting a 20 mph headwind while my visor and Plexifaring misted over. And it seemed 20 F (12 C?) colder, but that was probably because of wind and water. The next meeting must be on the sunny east side.

Anyway the meeting went well. We found out that we all like non-commercial brews, Python, some other stuff. It gets cloudy after that. I do remember a long yelling match having to do with the religious right that mostly involved Jeff's friends.

Surprising, there was little talk about Yamaha Triples. Mike Sommers drove up in his cage, so I was the only with a running bike. We looked at Jeff's bike, still in boxes. I motioned to inspect his bike bi-weekly to make sure he doesn't slack off and start doing "important" things, and then I seconded the motion.

We started on the rules for the Y-Triple Club, along the line of Pythons rules for the University of Watamaloo(?). But the only original rules we remember were "no poofters", which easily translates to "no Harleys", and the "the is no rule 6". I'm sure your collective minds can come up with more.

Again, thanks for hosting the meeting, and I promise to fix the grass in your front yard.

> > You all need to move here. That
> > makes everything handy for the triples group too! Just don't tell anyone
> > else. There isn't room for everybody! ;-)

Just bring a tent, because even if you find room it is outRAGEously expensive.

Mike.

- -- 
- -------*------             Atomic Software Consulting
Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
- ------------

Rene Chaddock wrote:
> I do not like having to sift through all these message about nothing. Its
> annoying me. bigtime.

1. Nobody is forcing you to read all the messages. You can ignore a thread or kill it if your email reader has that capability. Yes, it is difficult to trash mail without reading it, but you must realize that you just don't have time to read everything, and that things are not posted just because they will be interesting to you.

2. If the posts of a specific person bother you, don't read them.

> A) Try and remember that this list is being archived. Monty Python isn't a
> valid topic of discussion. If you don't think what you have to say has any
> reason to be in a motorcycle archive, don't say it.

I will not self-censor my posts just because they are being archived. Am I supposed to be worried that future generations will learn that I am a Monty Python fan? If they don't care then they won't read those posts. IMO, MP is/was a valid topic because several members of the list are MP fans/fanatics. There is life outside Y-Triples.

I understand your point; subscribing to this list takes up more time than it should, given the info I get from it. But any attempts to police these lists, other than basic netique, are doomed to fail. I'm on the Mopar list which has 10x the trafic and is usually less than 0.5 S/N. You eventually learn to be selective in what you read.

Mike.

- -- 
- -------*------             Atomic Software Consulting
Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
- ------------
 

In a previous post, I wrote wrote:

>
> I'll offer my place up for the next meeting, it's small but quaint. I live in
> Western Addition, in the middle of SF. It will have to be next weekend or in
> a month, becuase of upcoming changes. More news to follow....

The mysterious change that I obliquely referred to is that I am resigning. After two years a LockMart I'm ready to do something new. No firm offers yet but a couple of possibilities doing consulting and/or UI design.

What does this have to do with Yamaha3, you may ask? While after my last day and before I start my new job (whenever that is) I'm going to take a ~2 week road trip on the Y. Up the West coast stopping every 300 miles including Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver. Haven't worked out the return trip but I want to go to Kamloops and Radium Hot Springs (will probably need this after 6 days of riding). I'll post my itinerary when it gets firmed up. If you have any recommendations for good roads please email them to me. I prefer the minor roads and small towns to the highway, and will take US-1 most of the way up.

The only thing I really need now, other than a job, is a set of saddlebags. Got a line on some Vetters plus a fairing in Sunnyvale, and am going to check them out tommorrow. It really depends on the brackets and wether I can adapt them or fab some in 2 weeks. Somebody in a bike shop said that a cheap way to do it is to get some matching luggage and make custom brackets for them. I'll try that if I cant find proper bags.

I noticed that the turn signals are about in the middle of where the bags need to go. Any hints on how to move them back? The tail light housing looks like a likely place to mount them. Help please.

Thanks, Mike.

- -- 
- -------*------             Atomic Software Consulting
Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
- ------------
 

* All systems are go for my two week ride through the Northwestern states. My last day at Lockheed was Friday, I don't start at my new job (http://www.wgmgt.com) until two weeks from tommorrow, the bills are payed, and the fridge is turned off. I just finished all the mods on the bike; horns from a mid 70's Dodge station wagon (loud and obnoxous), map light, trunk made from an "overnight bag", and an anti-collision light on the top of the sissy bar. all's that left is to pack my bags and strap the on the bike.

Below is my ride plan; I wish it was longer but I've got to be back for a conference on the 25th. I added a few days for fudge factor (hangovers, breakdowns, etc) and none of the legs are over 350 miles I think. If anyone on the list is along the route tell me and maybe we can hooke up. I'll be reading email on my newton as often as I can, and sending out updates, when I can find a phone jack.

The only part that isn't at all worked out is a place to stay in Vancouver, if anyone has hints for cheap places (are there any?) it would be helpful

* Eureka, California Monday
	* 281 miles
* Oregon Dunes Nat Rec. Area Tuesday
	* 220 miles
	* Redwood National Park
	* Coos Bay
* Portland Wednesday
	* 150, 320 from border
	* Newport
	* Lincoln City
	* 3 sisters Wilderness Area
* Seattle Thursday Friday
	* 174 miles on 5
	* south side of Columbia
	* Olympic Peninsula east
	* ferry to Seattle
* Vancouer, British Columbia Saturday
	* 143 on 5
	* ferry?
* Kamloops BC Sunday
	* 216 miles
	* Souk? Janet
* Radium Hot SpringS BC Monday
	* ~ 350 miles
* Spokane WA Tuesday
	* Bonners ferry Id
* Burns OR Wednesday	* about 330*

Lassen Volcanic Nat. Park CA Thursday
	* about 300
	* down highway 395
* San Francisco Friday

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
- ------------
 

It's Thursday and I'm in Seattle as planned. No accidents, no mechanical problems, no problems with the fuzz, and very few wrong turns. Considering the amount of planning and preparation (browsing a few tour books and changing the oil on the bike) I'm still surprised that I've covered 1000 miles so far with no incidents. Only 2000 more to go.

Flashing back to Monday, when I woke up with a hangover after staying up late packing the saddle bags, cleaning up the fridge, and finishing my "James Bond" bike mods. I installed the relay and wiring for the horns and mounted, and they sounded and worked great. My first attempt, using a cheap Radio Shack relay, worked fine until one beep of the horns fused the contacts together and kept the horns honking until I could reach down and undo the fuse. How embarrasing. And I mounted a light blue Samsonite "overnight bag" (you know, the small suitcased that every 70's woman had; this one still smells of hairspray) to the back of the sissy bars. I started to install a pump sprayer inside, so I could pull a string and spray oil on the windshields of any tailgaters, but never finished it. The idea is NOT to cause a crash, but to lightly mist the windshield so the get the message to back off. A dirty trick I read about n the Mopar mailing list.

So it's off toward the Golden Gate Bridge and Northern California. I decide to head up 101 to Santa Rosa and cut over to Bodega Bay (where Hitchock filmed "The Birds") and then up Pacific Coast Highway. PCH is some of the most beautiful road in the world; two lanes mostly with hills and trees and cliffs. The only downside is that you have to share it with RVs who decide to enjoy the view while creeping in their mobile living rooms. Fortunaly the YTriple has plenty of power to pass when you can find enough room. About 100 miles out of San Francisco I get turned back because a lumber truck has turned over, blocking PCH. I am pissed at first but it turns out OK because I pick up a one lane twisty road through the hills over to US 101. Once I get over the fear of meeting up with a lumber truck speeding down the hill, it turns out to be a great ride.

Back on 101 and 50 miles to my first stop in Eureka, the bike looses all power with no warning. I grab at the clutch expecting an engine freeze, but when I get to the side it turns out the engine kicks over but there's no power to the starter, horn turn signals... must be the fuse. I replace it, start her up, make it about 50 yards, and the bike goes dead again. Hmmm, could it have anything to do with that custom horn hookup? I remove the fusefrom the Superhorn and put everything back as it was, and no more problems. It sounded so cool, but I'll have to do with the mouse horn until I can figure out where the short is.

Things start turning cold and misty as I get toward Eureka, so I wimp out and get a hotel. Downtown looks like fun but I'm too exhausted to do anything more than watch "Rosemary's Baby" and "Midnight Cowboy." Next morning had breakfast at the Samoa Cookhouse, the only remaining cookhouse in the US. It used to serve hungry lumberjacks but now serves mostly tourists. The breakfast menu is simple; pancakes, scrambled eggs, and sausages, all you can eat.

Then it's off to Oregon Dunes National Park, in southern Oregon. I go through Redwood National Park in N. California, but I've seen so many big trees by now that I'm not really interested in stopping to see more. Continuing up PCH, the fog burns off after noon and it starts to warm up. And the driving is great except fo the times I'm stuck behind a lumbering RV. Stop for dinner in Coos Bay, which at one time was the largest lumber port in the world, but is now much smaller exportwise because the easiest lumber has been cut and it's now cheaper to cut trees outside the US. The downtown has a lot less empty storefronts than many towns.

I ride up to Oregon Dunes, and the campsites seem pretty full, plus it's cold and windy. Decide to do some urban camping on an abandoned dock in downtown Coos Bay. I think it was some sort of wood chipping operation, but it's hard to tell because they've stripped all the machinery. As a reminder of my stay (since there weren't any ashtrays or towels) I remove a set of kill switches labelled "Douglas Fir" and "Hard Wood", it will make a nice addition to the Wall of Industry in my apartment.

I'm up early Wednesday morning, still a little worried about the police charging me with trespassing (there was a sign but it was pretty faded). I check over the bike and everthing seems OK except that one of the bolts holding the sissy bar on has shaken loose; a locking nut fixes that. Hardly lost any oil since I "fixed" the tach cable with electrical tape and form-a-seal; it only leaks when I drive in the city and the engine heats up and melts the form-a-seal. I shouldn't have to add more than quart on the whole trip at this rate, ye-haw!

Now it's up coast on PCH, where I plan to ride up to the Columbia River, then follow the river into Hillsboro, outside Portland where Mark (brother of Beth, my ex-girlfriend) and his wife Debbie live. There are state parks up the butt, and more and slower RV traffic than I've seen so far. I wish I had a way to spray oil on their winshields from behind so the would have to pull over and let me pass. Some great twisties up and down hills but it just isn't fun at 20 mph.

I stop in Tillamook, on the coast and due west of Portland. Tillamook was home to one of about 8 blimp bases active during WWII; another of these hangers is at Ames Fields in Mt View, CA for those who have seen it. These blimps were used to watch out for invasions of the US mainland which never came. Now the hanger is home to an air museum, and they have restored and flying (not in the museum, silly) samples of WWII US fighters. The most incredible display was a 28 cylinder! rotary engin from a 4 engine tranport plane whose tail swings open for loading (the Guppy?). Worth the trip if you're in Portland and are headed for the beaches.

From there I head up the coast to Astoria, the first town settled west of the Mississippi by non-Russian white European descended males, according to one tour book. Lunch and a beer and east on Hwy 30 along the Columbia River to Portland/Hilsboro. I meet up with Mark, Debbie, and "The Hand" at Shagra La, and dined on scrumptious Princess Chicken. Then it was home where we goofed off and I slept like a rock, and dreampt of non-disclosure agreements.

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
- ------------
 

Next morning I headed for Seattle. This was the first leg on an interstate, up I-5 toward Olympia and the Olympia peninsula. Saw a hillarious billboard that said "Clinton wanted us to get permits for the Sex Pistols before he found out they were a rock band." I thought the South was pro-gun before I drove through the Northwest; gun shops all over. Stopped in Olympia for a beer before heading toward Port Townsend. Stopped by the Washington tourist info center and debated nuclear power policy after asking about tours of nuke plants. There's a plant near Tacoma that was never openened, they used to give tours and you could go into the control room but no more. I'll probably go to Hanford on my southbend leg.

From Olympia up 101 to Port Townsend, a quaint little town on the NE corner of the Olympia peninsula. It was too precious for me but got some great fish tacos. Several Rolex-Harley riders cruising the strip trying to look bad.

*News flash* do you know what happens when you pour dirt into a running engine? A paid advertisement came on that I saw the other night for Prolong motor oil, they run a Viper and other cars and a Harley without oil after being "treated" with Prolong oil. There's something about a $1m challenge but they don't describe what they are challenging. I saw another add for motor oil and it was so funny how they mentioned the other miracle oils; they are like a bunch of bitchy queens arguing back and forth. "You may have heard about OIL X and their commercials, well, I don't know WHERE they got their data from but it JUST ISN'T VALID!" It just amazes me what people will do for a buck.

So I'm in Seattle now, having taken the ferry across from Bainbridge Island. Some great two-lane blacktops but again my enjoyment was marred by RVs and clueless drivers. I'd love to do that drive again in the winter, when there are less tourists. Anyway, I'll probably stay two more days since the bike is doing so well and I haven't had to use my fudge factor day, and I don't have to be back in SF until the 25th.

More to come, Mike.

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
- ------------
 

Next stop is Capitol Hill, where Mike Leigh's new movie "Career Girls" is playing. I really liked "Naked" and the reviews of CG have been good. After a slow, sentimental start the movie gets going, with a few good one liners:

"I guess on a clear day you can see the class struggle." {in the context of looking out the window of a pricy condo a character is thinking of buying}

"Vagina; a great place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there." {From a college boyfriend on why he wants to be single, who ends up getting married.}

Before heading into the bars I buy a beer and hang out on the square and talk to the street hustlers and relax after a hectic day. I'm not too worried about finding a place to stay; if I don't I can always stay up all night and nap in the morning before leaving for Vancouver. But for some reason I'm in a foul mood. I'm standing outside some ultrip bar and a girl in a booth motions to me to "move along." So I mime back an "I'm so hip and sexy" flip of the hair and sticking of the nose in the air to show what I think of her. By now her friends in the booth are looking at us, not knowing what is up. A guy flips me off, and I feign shock. A Jason Priestly look-alike shows up and I make fun of his hair. Then out of embarrassment or short attention span they all loose interest in me and go back to chatting. Then I ask a girl outside the bar (the line looked about an hour long for those not on the A list) if she felt more hip just standing in front rather than being inside, hoping I'd get a sarcastic response. But instead she starts off "Well, I'm from New York..." when I break in to make fun of the pretentious fucks from the Big Apple.

By now I'm feeling really cynical and in no mood to convince some girl that I'm a low risk guy and safe enough to take home for the night. So I head out for some 24 hour place to eat and drink coffee, and read until the morning. Not having much luck, I run into one of the street hustlers I met earlier and he promisses to show me The Hurricane if I'll buy him breakfast. He won't tell me were it is and I think that it is a setup for a mugging but later realize that he was worried that I was going to go there and not get him something to eat. I've gotten myself into too many of these dangerous situations with street people not to be ultra-cautious about their motives. Some of them are really great but they are also struggling every day to get money for food, a place to stay, drugs.

I finally do make it through the night and after a nap on a bench and more coffee I'm headed up to Vancouver. This is a short leg, only about 150 miles, so there is no big hurry and I enjoy the ride and the light traffic. There is time to take the ferry over to Whidby Island, the longest or largest or something like that island that's part of the US. The ferry system over here is great for motorcycles; you get to cut in front of the cars, there is almost always room, and you pay the "foot passenger" fee. I meet a couple of bikers who give me some local riding hints, and an authentic Harley dude even asks me about my California plates. The bike really grabs your attention with its many colors and things strapped all over the place, kind of like a gypsy carraige (or what I imagine what one looks like, not really sure). I feel my funk evaporating as I ride off the ferry and complete my uneventful ride up to Vancouver.

Uneventful except for the border crossing. For some reason I seem to raise the suspicion of these people. Last Christmas I was comming back from Baja Mexico and out of a group of about 30 people I was singled out for a full luggage search. It was partially my fault for being honest and admitting to having fireworks which are one of the things that are banned. This time guard asks if I have anthing for my "personal safety" and smelling a trap I ask him to be more specific. He lists some things (including my no longer present handgun) and I say Yes, I do have some Mace.

"Well, is it pepper spray or mace?" he ask, not hinting at what the correct answer is.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Um, it's Mace?" I reply tentatively.

BZZZZZZTTTTTTT!!! Sorry, Mace is not allowed in Canada, so I forefit it but do get a nice reciept; is this covered under any internationl trade regulations? Maybe I can itemize it when I do my taxes.

And here I am, kicking back in my SRO. I'm on Granville in the Gastown district, and there are lots of clubs and strip clubs in the area, and I can watch the streetwalkers out my back window. I was worried that downtown Vancouver was going to be a really "antiseptic" place in the way that Denver is, but it isn't. The tour book I'm using listed a cheap hotel with a strip club in the basement (think "Cleremont Lounge" in Atlanta) but it was closed so I got a place with a game room and pawn shop downstairs. I saw a good strange band last night that did neo-sailor song type of music (think "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald") while enjoying a Guiness. I was still pretty beat from Seattle so I retired early, falling asleep to the sound of drunken idiots yelling at the top of their lungs.

Tommorrow it's off to Kamloops via Hope and Merritt, a day of camping, and then to Radium Hot Springs to recover from all the riding after a day off.

More to come, Mike.

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
- ------------
 

Part Two of a continuing series covering Mike's motorcycle trip through the Northeast part of North America.

It was probably appearent from my last message that things were going too well to continue that way. Thurday night (after sending the email), I went out to Pioneer Square to relax with beer and bands. I went to the Colorbox (rock club with 3 or 4 bands a night) and Old Timer, a blues club with a good Zydaco-ish band. I meet a German who bought a used car in Boston and is travelling cross country; this is about the forth tourist I've met this summer who is doing this. Makes sense because America isn't America without a car, and bus stations get to be a drag after a while.

I was feeling pretty tired from today's riding and decided to call it an early night which isn't hard because bars close here at 2:00AM like a government office at 4:00PM. Back at the hotel I turn on the TV and quickly fall asleep.

The next morning I get up relatively early for a vacation day and do some signseeing downtown on foot. I get a little too engrossed in a travel book and remember that I still have to ckeck out. Outside the hotel I see a sweet XS850 Special, newer model. It turns out it belongs to the bellhop, who bought it a few months ago for $750. Low milage and hardly any tack cable leakabe on the front of the engine; I'm jealous. He needs a few parts; what a coincidence as I picked up a parts bike a few weeks ago. He doesn't have Internet access but I give him my number and the relevant info (would be nice if we had Ytriples business cards for this; any insides?). Then I rush off to do tourist things and find a place to stay for the night because the Camlin is booked, planning on returning later when I have a place.

In my rush to pack, there was one important thing that I forgot to pack. I usually leave a least a sock or toothbrush, despite going through the hotel rooms several times. This day it was something a little more serious than usual; my loaded .38 Rossi snubnose, a nice little handgun. I'd put it under the mattress when I first gotten there, then forgot about it until now. I brought it planning on doing some target practice on my southbound leg of the trip, and on the outside chance that bears or bear-sized men try to fuck with me. I never carry the thing around town even though I did get a carry license when I lived in Atlanta, but it's nice to have it on trips "just in case." (Mark; I left it in the overnight case on the bike at your house, so no promisses were broken.)

By the time I remember this, it was hours after I'd checked out and I'm sure the cleaning lady had either found it or not. I decided that I'd mention it (as discretely as possible) when I went back to get my bags. Hopefully the guys at the hotel didn't freak out and call the Police, but the gun is registered so aside from interstate transportation of firearms I don't have anything to worry about, right?

Now I'm off to do some tourist stuff and find a place to stay. The first hosel is full, so I decide to head toward the International district where I stayed last time and the Amtrack station has a hotel board with phone that dials the local hostels. Stopped off at the Seattle Museum of Art to see an exhibit of Film Noir stuff; it is small and disapointing and seems more like an excuse to hang some so-so noirish photos by David Lynch.

Onward to the hotel and Amtrack station. The SRO (single room occupancey; a cheap European style hotel found in the skid rows of large American cities) is under construction, and it turns out it's being turned into offices. The march of gentrification continues to ruin my plans. No luck at the Atrack station. all the cheap places are booked and I suspect the expensive ones are to. Time for Plan B; hit Pioneer Square tonight and meet a nice lady who will put me up for the night. But first I've got to settle this gun business.

Back at the hotel if find out that they did call the police, and the gun is downtown with Officer Smith. I call the number on the card; no answer so I head to the police station hoping they're not waiting to slap the cuffs on me. While waiting for Office Smith, I hear a woman talking to the duty officer and asking for the person in charge of serial murders; some guy told her about the women he murdered and where he hid their body parts. She is carry a big duffle bag that is stuffed with something bulky and heavy; I edge toward the other side of the bench.

Officer Smith shows up and it turns out that they don't want to arrest me, but they won't release the gun until I shopw proof of ownership. I didn't bring the reg. papers so the gun will have to stay in an evidence locker until I get back to SF and fax them the paperwork. I was looking forward to some outdoor shooting but it is probably a good thing given our Northern Neighbor's attitude toward handguns.

This story is very ironic given my experience on another Seattle Trip. It was 1992, and I was staying at the same hotel on a business trip. My friend Dave was going to fly out for the weekend and I would hang out for the weekend.

It was also during the 92 presidential campaigns, and Ross Perot was in town to to talk about his anti-NAFTA conspiracy theories. Remember, he said that Columbians wanted to assasinate hime because if NAFTA didn't pass the would not be able to smuggle drugs by hiding them into imported consumer products like fruit. And he is speeking at the Paramount, right across from my hotel. This should be good for some Sunday afternoon laughs.

After dropping Dave off at the airport, I'm hanging out on the roof of the Camlin wtching the spectical below. Perot's "astro-turf roots" campaign is in full swing; 18 wheelers decorated with protectionist slogans, and people with signs waiting to get into the theatre. And lots of police; federal and local, undercover and uniformed. I'm the only person on the roof, and enjoying the spectacle.

Soon I'm joined by two officers (I think one was FBI) and the hotel manager. Could they see my key? Turns out that several people (Perot?) had reported a suspicoius character on the roof of the hotel. I can understand because I had a heavy Russian trench coat and a goatee, thus matching some profile. Nothing bad comes of it, they frisk me and take my license info "just in case." I'm free to watch the resto of the show, and get my camera ready hoping to get a picture of Perot getting out of a Mercades of japanees import.

Michael Pearce PO Box 60505 atomic@best.com Palo Alto, CA 94306 (415) 522-1164 http://www.best.com/~atomic

 
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Dateline, Spokane, WA. Part 3 of a probably 4 part series covering Mike's roadtrip across parts of northwest North America.

2500 miles (4000 kilometers) after leaving San Francisco, I've made it across southern British Columbia, down through the panhandle of Idaho (Why where there only 49 Miss America contestants? Because no-one wanted to be Miss I-da-ho!) and into Spokane, Washington. Still no significant problems; weather has been great, no tickets although I've been riding 15 mph/ 20 kph whenever possible. About 900 miles / 1400 kilometers left and then it's back to the coal mines for me.

The drive through southern British Columbia was the most beautiful I've ever experienced. Having driven across the US twice, and travelled across the country via train for a month, the only thing that was even close was the train ride from Denver to LA on Amtrack. Although I don't usually use a lot of superlatives, I could use my month's allotment on this part of the trip. I took the Trans-Canada highway (Interprovince? 5) from Vancouver to Hope, mostly 4/6 lane highway and not very interesting. Then I took Highway 5 to Cache Creek and Kamloops (where it becomes 1/97 I think). I camped about 15 miles / 24 kilometers east of Kamloops at this 10 site place called Simikin Lake, which is in a farming region and near a dynamite fuse plant. There are about 100 free camping areas in the Kamloops forest district, so if you are looking to get away from the RVs it's not difficult. Most of it is primitive camping, so bring your own water, electricity, and TP.

From there I headed toward Radium Hot Springs. I stopped for lunch in the friendly town of Revelstoke and spent an enjoyable couple of hours (nudge nudge). Really incredible scenery, with tree-covered mountains on both sides and the Thompson River flowing in the valley. Several times I would take a corner wide while being hypnotized by the scenery. Most of the road is two lane but there are usually passing lanes going uphill and the traffic was light. Those two days of riding, if I had done nothing else during the trip, would have made this vacation.

Here is a recipe for those who a road-tripping and don't have the will to cook, called "Mike's Road Hash":

- one package of MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) Corned Beef Hash - bread

I heard about this style of cooking from a book called "Manifold Destiny", which contains a lot of recipes that can be cooked on your engine. The book is entertaining but once you get the basic principles down (placing food on warm parts of your engine) you don't really need the recipes in book. I've warmed tamales on the catalytic converter of a Ryder truck, but never had any luck actually cooking food. Historically, this genre of cooking has it's start in WWI soldiers who used to head water for their tea by firing their machine guns, or so I've heard.

In terms of riding, Highway 93 which runs from Radium Hot Sprint through the Kootenay National Park, was the highlight of the trip. For the skiiers/snowboarders, this is near the Banf resorts, close to Calgary. I had not even planned on riding up there, but was too tired after the hot springs (or maybe the radium?) to look for the free sites. The highway looks like it was designed by a motorcyclist; plenty of twisties and loose hairpins. The ride was so great that I decided that I had to go back into town (24 kilometers) to eat even though I had plenty of food. And the ride back in the dark after a coupla beers was even better. After the ride out of the park I looked at the map and realized that I'd only covered about a tenth of the road.

Had the first medical problem of the trip today. A bee or hornet (there wasn't enough left) bounced off my knee, bounced off my forearm, and the remains hit me in the neck, tail first. It stung for a while, but not enough to pull over for. What are the chances of that? Reminded me of the "magic bullet" theory behind Pres. Kennedy's assasination, luckily it didn't hurt nearly as much.

What a bummer. I check into the hotel in Spakane and start flipping through the channels, and catch then end of cops. A drunk driver had pulled in front of a bike at night, the bike caught the front of the car and smashed it pretty good. The bike driver and passenger got compound fractures, the passenger (a 15 yo girl) had her leg amputated below the knee. I think I'll stick to day driving for the rest of the trip.

I hope to be in San Francisco on Saturday, stopping in the middle of eastern Oregon and the volcanic parks in N. California.

Close to the end, Mike

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
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And with all body parts and most bike parts. But two 500 mile days have taken their toll. To sleep, perchance to dream; final report when I recover.

Mike

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
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But wait! I'm supposed to be the superior animal, at the top of the food chain. I've got an opposable thumb and the ablility to make tools to amplify the power of my body and mind! But I can't help but grab for the flash light when I hear them; one crawls across my sleeping bag. Finally I convince myself that they just want my sunflower seeds and drift off to sleep.

I wake up early, hoping to avoid paying the $10 camping fee by getting out of there early. But I'm caught by the camp host before I can finish packing. She says she heard me ride in the night before and asks me if it is a Harley. Turns out she used to do a lot of riding when she was younger. I pay my $10 and point my bike toward San Francisco.

I do stop on the way to see some of those damned lava formations. They turn out to be interesting, and the side roads that lead to them are plenty twisty. No traffic this early in the morning, so I use the whole road while flipping the bike back and forth to some of the exhibits. Skull Cave is a "lava tube" that formed a cave with a 30 foot diameter. Didn't explore very far because I was ready to get back to a hot shower and a real bed.

Since I was further than planned from SF, I decided to skip the planned drive through the area north of Sacramento CA (Shasta Nat. Forest, Chico, Yuba City) and pick up I-5 in Redding CA. Figure I can see this area some other time, although I don't look forward to riding on the Interstate.

But before I make it to Redding, I decide I really must drop the bike one more time. Stopped for gas, I pull the bike off the kickstand to check the oil and when I lean it back it moves forward and falls on the left (for a change). The clutch lever bracket and left rearview mirror are shattered and the clutch lever now hangs from its cable. I brought back clutch and throttle levers and cables, but no brackets. But it's broken in such a way that it looks like it can be wired back together. The gas station guy, a nice redneck, offers to help with some baling wire (for those without farm knowledge, used to hold bales of hay together) and does an expert job of patching up the Yamaha. I have a fisheye mirror in the trunk and get that out to tape it to the mirrorless rearview mirror assembly. This should hold for 500 miles.

The rest of the ride was pretty boring, being on an interstate. My headlight warning light came on outside Sacramento and it turns out that both elements are out because the halogen bulb has vibrated loose in it's fitting. Outside Berkeley I meet the familiar backup over the Bay Bridge, and decide to lane split (legal in California) with several other bikes.

I notice I'm riding a lot more confidently than when I started the trip. I'd ridden about 2000 miles before this trip since I started motorcycling in March of this year, yet this trip was about 3900 miles. I bought the bike in April for $250 and the only real maintenance I'd done was to rebuild the carbs and change all the fluids. I'm glad I didn't think about this trip too much before I left, or I probably wouldn't have take it.

Some final Statistics: 3,918.0 Total Miles 356 Average miles per Driving day $117.45 Total Fuel Costs $0.03 Fuel Cost per Mile used 2.5 quarts Of oil

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
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The last in a four part series about my trip across Nortwest North America.

It's been almost a week since I arrived back in San Francisco, and I'm pretty much settled back into the swing of things. I started my new job two days after I got back into town, so there wasn't much down time to just relax. At the beginning of the trip I was thinking about how great it would be to extend the trip a week or two, but by the end I was ready to get back to the apartment and a regular schedule.

Poor planning and a rush to get home resulted in the last two days of the trip being over 500 miles each; not a great thing on the XS750 or probably any bike. The last night I camped in the Lava Beds National Park, and arrived pretty late. I was cursing the Park Service for their arrangement of the park -- "Why in the FUCK did they put the campgrounds all the way in the back of the park; now I have to ride ALL the way through the park. They shouldn't be FORCING me to see all of these DAMN lava formations when I just want to get off this bike." I calmed down by the next morning but was definitely grumpy and even a little wreckless in my riding. Fortunately the trip couldn't have gone better.

Starting where I left off in the last installment, I got up and left the hotel in Spokane late in the morning an rode around looking for a place to eat. Stopped off at a "touring bike" store -- Harleys and Gold Wings and all the accessories. This was my only stop at a motorcycle shop during the whole trip and I bought one of those gimballed cup holders for the bike. The store owner and some guy were talking about new gun restrictions in Washington state and we chatted for a while but when I told him I ride a Yamaha he was not too impressed. I guess I wasn't much of a prospective customer. At the next stop at a 7-11 I found that the cup holder was too small to hold all but the smallest Slurpee cup; damnit!

I got into downtown Spokane and was surprised at what a nice place it was. There is a lot of revitalization going on there and old brick buildings were being converted into housing and new offices. Was only there long enough to eat lunch but downtown Spokane looked like it would be a fun place to live if you wanted to get away from the "top 10" cities.

From Spokane I took Interstate 90 southwest toward the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. About the time I left 90 and got on Highway 395 the bike started hesitating so I flipped to reserve and took the first exit toward Lind, WA, a one gas station farming town. Decided to take a long-cut and explore some of the farmlands. These little two lanes in farming areas can be really exciting with their dips and sharp curves; sometimes too exciting as most of the curves are unmarked. I missed a turn and rode across gravel to get back to the route. Results: first accident when I drop the bike at low speed and break of the right rearview mirror. I guess the XS isn't a dirt bike, duh! Everything else is OK and I continue onto Hanford.

The Hanford Nuclear Reservation was established in 1942 as part of the Manhattan Project in the race to develop the first atomic bomb. The plutonium reactors at Hanford produced the fissionable material that was dropped on Nagasaki in 1945, and during the height of the cold war 800 tons of plutonium were produced there each month. Business has dropped off lately but there is still alot of nuclear research going on there.

My guide book said that there were two Hanford-related museums in the area; one in Richland and one at Hanford. After a few navigation problems I got to the Federal building (surrounded by big concrete traffice barriers, like all Federal buildings today), a police officer directed me to the entrance to the museum. But there was no door, just a piece of drywall where it should be. Turns out the two museums are consolidating are and closed until Labor Day. The closest I got to seeing anything atomic was the high-security entrace to the Dept of Energy in the Federal building, with its hand scanners and computer controlled exits. Oh, and I did drive by the Atomic Grocery Store.

After this major disappointment I forge on to Burns, Orgeon, in the middle of the southeast quadrant of the state. I start to realize that my planning of this part of the trip could have been better. I gained one day against the schedule because Spokane was pretty close to Radium Hot Springs, BC, but this leg is turning out to be much longer than I wanted. The maps in the guide book are missing scales and aren't much help, and I xeroxed the wrong part of the atlas so I'm not really sure how far it is to Burns. The miles keep piling up and it starts to get dark and I'm getting sick of riding. There's no place like home, ther's no place like home...

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
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Suddenly a blur appears out of the dark, headed for my head. I duck instinctively but the bird bounces off the winshield (thankfully, since my visor was up) and disappears into the night. Didn't get a good look at it but it seemed medium sized like a dove. Brilliantly, I decided to turn around to see what it was, pull off in the gravel, and drop the bike again.

I will not ride in the gravel. I will not ride in the gravel. I will not ride in the gravel.

Up early the next morning, hoping to avoid the lumber trucks, if there are any. This ride (still on Highway 395) is like a minature version of the ride through British Columbia, with hills instead of mountains and a stream instead of a river. Two lanes and plenty of tight curves, and I'm well awake by the time I get to Burns for breakfast.

Leaving Burns I get on Highway 205 which continues through the Malheur Nat. Forest due south toward Nevada. The tour book describes Andrews, OR, a ghost town, and Alvord hot springs. When I reach Fields, the turning point for Andrews and Alvord, I find out that it is a 25 mile drive on unpaved roads to the hot springs, a fact I'd overlooked when planning this side trip. But I've come this far and the local says the road is well maintained so I give it a go. I never do find the ghost town, so it is a good thing I stopped early because I had planned on camping there. I do find the hot springs, which have been tapped by some locals to feed into a small pool, part of which is covered by a shed. The natural part of the springs are a little scarry with multi-colored mold-like stuff growing under the water, but once I get over this the pool feels great. I soak for a while and then get dressed and jump in so I keep cool during the ride back up to the highway, and then south toward Nevada.

Hadn't planned on going through Nevada but lack of planning and good maps means that I'm navigating by thumb. I'm only in Nevada for about 20 mile on Highway 140, and then back into Oregon as the road heads slightly north. An interesting transition: on the Nevada part of 140 the road is nice and smooth but when I get back into Oregon the road turns rough and is a hazard to motorcycles. There aren't even any "rough road" signs on the Oregon side. At first I think it may be a difference in snow clearing procedues; maybe Oregon uses teams of jackhammer-weilding road crews to chip the ice from the roads. But then I realize that it's just Your Gambling Dollars At Work on the Nevada side.

I had planned on staying in Lassen Volcanic National Park in northeastern California, but realize that there's no way I'm going to make it before dark. So I settle for Lava Beds National Forest(?), just over the Oregon border. I got to the campsite before dark, weary but in one piece. Decide not to setup the tent, because the weather is so nice and I'll be able to see the stars. And I'm lazy. I figure that my neighboring "campers" (RVers and other drivers parked less than 10 feet from their tents) may be shocked to see someone camping without a tent but I'm too tired to care now.

After reading by flashlight and snacking on sunflower seeds I decide to call it a night. I'm staring up at the stars when I hear this rustling to my right. I look over and see this rat-like animal clawing at the sunflower seed bag, about 2 feet away. Closer inspection with the flashlight reveals a Jojoboa (sp?), wich looks like a gerbil with a long tail with a white tuft of hair at the end. At first I'm interested because I did a book report on these animals when I was about 10 and had never seen one before now. But then I start getting worried; I think they are vegetarians but can't remember if they will attack snakes. I start imagining a pack of these bloodthirsty animals lunging toward my neck as I sleep. Remember the storries about homeless people whose eyese were eaten out by rats after they passed out? Eeeeuuuuwwww! Maybe this is why everyone is sleeping in tents.

Michael Pearce             PO Box 60505
atomic@best.com            Palo Alto, CA 94306
(415) 522-1164             http://www.best.com/~atomic
 
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I hate sounding like your mother, but two incidents in the last few weeks have caused me to rethink my attitude toward maintenance. I didn't have this many injuries on my cross country trip.

Last night I was working on the junque engine and was removing the oil feeder bolt from the left side. Had a deep socket but no extension because I was worried about rounding off the bolt. I had also left the front allignment dowell (that short section of pipe that is sharpened on both ends) in the block. When the bolt gave way my left hand went down and I cut open my middle nuckle, down to the bone. No serious damage but I'll probably have a scar.

A couple of weeks ago I was taking apart the front brake cylinder fromthe parts bike and had sprayed some gunk down in the piston to clean it up so I could get that damn clip out. I pushed down on the piston and a mixture of Gunk and brake fluid sprayed up into my eyes. Luckily I had the sense to run to the shower and flush my eyes with water for 20 min. Had the worst case of eye snot ever the next morning. But no damage.

So now I wear my safety glasses and gloves when I'm around that engine. Thinking about also wearing a helmet and kevlar vest.

Motorcycles don't kill, motorcycle Engines kill.

Mike "I don't believe in that Zen crap" Pearce.

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