My ‘to go’ pizza from last night was great but so great that I had to leave the last slice, in the box, outside, on the balcony. In the morning it was gone, I remonstrated with myself over the stupidity of leaving food out in a state with a bear on its flag until, walking around the cabin to go sit on a rock and contemplate the ocean, I caught sight of a ringed tail disappearing into the bushes. The culprit, a raccoon about the size of a small dog, later ran across the lawn and up over a fence and down into the bluff to sleep it off.
I delayed hoping that the rain would clear, blogged, packed, watched the rain, refitted the battery to the bike and loaded it, checked out then whir, whir, splutter, rat-a-tat-a-rat-a, you know the story.
I’d deliberately parked away from the motel at the top of a slope just for this situation. At the bottom of the slope for the second time I considered the spark plugs, I have spares however the bike was checked over by ‘Baldrick’ the Guzzi mechanic prior to going into the shipping container and I’d assumed that he’d looked at or changed the plugs. Apparently not, they had a lovely golden brown colour that indicates a healthy fuel air mixture but the gap between the electrodes was massive, my friend Chaz will laugh at this because I have recent history in the area with an old Lotus. I gapped the new plugs which have a slightly colder specification than the ones that I’d taken out (she was running NKG BP6ES but for some reason I’d packed BP7ES plugs, we’ll see) and she fired up first time. Fingers crossed, again.
The rain was relentless and at times it felt torrential, not what you want on the twisty Highway 1 on five thousand mile tyres so I set a goal of Zen House (the classic bike guy that Katie had recommended), 12 miles away and got absolutely soaked.
I dripped on Dave’s floor as he greeted me and sold me some new BP6ES plugs, a dry T-shirt and dry gloves, mine were sodden sponges by now. He looked for a replacement rear tyre, sadly fruitlessly but he did have a very classy pair of rear shock absorbers that I was unable to resist, the old girl deserves a treat and her old Koni ‘Dial a ride’ units were taken in part exchange (they can be rebuilt and Dave had need of a spring).
‘Trash’, his mechanic made space in a bay for me to change them out of the rain and Dave chatted amiably about the classic and racing bikes in his shop/stable. I felt no pressure to hurry and they helped me find extra washers to better fit the new suspension. Across the road the Arena Market and Cafe served me soup and a sandwich, the little town of Point Arena CA was charming but without accommodation options, David said my best bet was Fort Bragg thirty eight wet miles to the north.
Soaking and freezing I arrived. Motel 6 offered refuge and a working heater, I didn’t refuse. Eventually, by sun down, the rain stopped and I ventured out to another Saloon, they all have long wooden bars and tilted mirrors as far as I can tell from my second experience. This one has a band. Stephan (recently self-unemployed) and Diana (a doctor) welcomed me and even offered a room in their house, I politely declined. Later on I met Kevin and Mel from the old country who were riding the Pacific Coast Highway in the other direction on a hired Harley Davidson but had taken the day off on account of the rain. We compared notes and drank and danced to the band and talked shit, it was great. “I don’t want to leave you” Kevin said as we parted, I felt the same camaraderie but did anyway.
Le Mans man 