San Diego to Stockton

Today's journey began much, much too early in the morning but, as my grandpa used to say, "Get up early and you'll have a longer day to loaf."  Boy, I miss that guy.In an age before "political correctness" he used to tease me when I was bad and tell me that he was going to call the Indians on me. "Operator," he would say into the phone, "Get me Wigwam 1234."  The odd thing is, I don't think he had ever been to India.  But enough about Grandpa.

For a change I planned ahead a bit and packed the bike before I went to bed.  All I had to do was eat some food, kiss the doggies and the wife (in reverse order) goodbye and head out on the highway.  I timed my arrival in the Los Angels area so that I would miss rush hour.  Oh, who am I kidding... it's always rush hour in L.A.

Traffic was somewhat light yet it was filled with the usual number of Soccer Mom People Movers with the stereotypical cell-phone enthralled pilots at the wheel signaling right while turning left.  I managed, with the usual effort, to avoid any close encounters. (If any of you reading this fit the Soccer Mom description... I'm sorry.  And shame on you!)

North County was socked in with fog and so I was denied one last look at the Pacific.  L.A.'s air was a particularly pleasant shade of charcoal and I enjoyed every bite.  I did a little bit of "lane splitting" when the traffic stood still but felt uncomfortable doing so with the luggage attached (side view mirrors are expensive... don't ask).  Just when I had plopped back into lane, a fully-equipped Honda Goldwing snaked through on the white line. I don't understand how they can do it. Those bikes are boats!

North of L.A. I encountered some rather breath taking views of golden hills, green fields and the California Aqueduct.  All along the side of the highway were signs erected by the local farmers reminding us that "water makes food grow."  And to think that all this time I thought food came from boxes at the store.

I got phenomenal gas mileage for the first 150 miles: 46 MPG, to be exact.  But that mysteriously eroded when the speed limit went to 70 MPH.  The gearing on my Nighwawk isn't optimal for those sustained speeds (and above).  Much to my surprise, the bike went on reserve at about 120 miles.  Actually, the Nighthawk doesn't "go" onto reserve by itself, I'm expected to switch from main to reserve myself.  This can be a little disconcerting when it happens in the middle of a turn, for instance.  This time it happened while I was going in a straight line.  I had enough inertia to sidle over to the right, reach down, switch the the fuel line and avoid the snake.

The SNAKE!

Some poor, misguided (and now injured) snake was trying to cross the road (presumably to get to the chicken) and he wondered into my path (or I into his).  The little bugger probably didn't see or hear me coming.  I checked myself and the bike for bite marks at my next stop but I think the score stands at BIKE: 1, SNAKE: 0.  "Loud pipes save snakes."

Another thing that all motorists should be alert to are those road signs.  It turns out that road signs, particularly the ones that give direction, can be very informative.  Had I been reading them, I would have noticed that my three lanes of highway were no longer I-5 but were instead Hwy 99.  I-5 breaks off to the right in a subtle yet important way and I noticed this (too late) as I passed the last sign.  ...a few extra miles and I was back on I-5.  Reading: it's not just for smart people.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, if not occasionally boring.  I've come to the conclusion that the Golden State isn't so much golden as it is brown.  (Governor Brown is long gone, now they've got Governor Gray... but that's another story. heh... more power to him).  I'm looking forward to a return of the green hills of home.

Me? I'm a toasty Red... sunscreen is something I forgot to pack.

More on stuff like this on Day 2, when it's available.