San Francisco

We had food at an Italian restaurant from which you could see the sea lions on Fisherman's Wharf. During my visit I tried lots of food I had never tried before. That's how I got to try fish and chips - the fish being mahi-mahi from Hawaii, with Heinz ketchup, not to mention hash browns, catfish, fried cheese, the biggest plate of nachos I'd ever seen followed by Cajun spaghetti (at Tied House in Mountain View), root beer (:: burp ::) and any number of different goodies (but not simultaneously!). We ate well, then forgot to have the parking ticket annotated to give us free parking - argh! That had been the whole point of eating at that place...

After a wander round the Wharf, where my favourite shop was full of zany clockwork beasties that launched themselves at you from on high or rattled away from their shelves, we went to the Golden Gate. First we crossed it, then we enjoyed a rare clear view down on it from the hill road above. The bridge was beautiful, with the Bay and the city behind making an excellent backdrop... I'd wanted to see it since I was about nine years old, when one of my schoolfriends (I think she was called Julie Gulliford and I have no idea where she is now - anyone know her?) was talking about her trip to see this bridge. I was envious then and had always promised that, one day, I would see it. And I did. There were even eagles and pelicans. San Francisco had one of the best city atmospheres I'd ever come across - and I don't even like cities.

Back in the city, we saw something in the region of fifty Harleys go thundering by... Linda stood there whooping and yelling at them, I just stood and grinned, being terribly English and reserved. Either way, it was a magnificent sight and, particularly, sound. Bill then took us on an alternative tour of San Francisco - incorporating all the sleazy sectors - before we landed in the hippy area, had a snack and headed on home.

Carmel and Lodi

That was when the temperature became its hottest, and we stopped frequently to drink pints of Coke and eat ice cream dipped in chocolate. We also stopped by to visit Don's other motorcycle, which had been in storage for some time, an old Honda CB750 with a monstrous fairing. I could flatfoot that one, too, and got covered in years of dust as a result of trying.

The other trip was to the beautiful coast around Carmel, rocky and gorgeous and oddly reminiscent of Cornwall. There, after several wrong turns which ultimately had us asking for directions at a petrol station furnished with a red British telephone box, I met my long-time penpal, Kat, who had spent a long time waiting for us on the beach expecting to only meet one lot of bikers and apparently embarrassing herself by shouting to more than one wrong pair. We did not meet Clint Eastwood who was, apparently, mayor of the town and whose home location is a secret guarded by the locals!

The bistro where we stopped for icecream looked askance at me when I used the crayons and table paper that had been provided to create a large dragon, but the waitress was a South African who had been to school in Bedford and didn't seem to mind that much so long as we could swap stories. As always, the Small World principle applies and an English accent proved something of an advantage for attracting people to come and chat. Before Kat left, I read her cards for her on the beach with the Pacific crashing in the background: by the far the most mellow place I've ever read tarot.

Before we left Carmel, I had sat in my first Cadillac and honked the horn by accident whilst posing with my elbow on the wheel. I also acquired a bum bag, and enjoyed the reaction when I explained what a fanny pack meant in English. I couldn't bring myself to buy a fanny pack, so I got Don to buy it instead. We spent one night in a motel and the next day went back to the beach for a while, stomping about in boots which seemed to have most of the beach in them by the time we returned; I even paddled in the cold Pacific ocean.

All the fun of the fair

I even got to play on the 100 year old carrousel, but nowhere near the brass ring. When I next watched The Lost Boys, I suddenly realised that everything there was rather familiar - and to my delight realised that I had recognised Santa Cruz. Where the vampires hang out.

Those ten days were probably the most exhausting holiday of my life, and amongst the best. It took me about a week to recover from it when I got back to work! The bit of California where I went had a flavour all of its own, and perhaps what I liked best was the friendliness of the people and the strong evidence of biking meaning fun. I felt comfortable there, was welcomed in, and was more than keen to go back.