Western USA on a Harley

I suppose the trip started way back in September of 2004. That’s when my elder son, David, and I started talking about my dream of riding the Pacific Coast Highway from Los Angeles to San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge. I don’t know where the idea had come from, but it was a journey that I had dreamed of for quite some time. Anyway, we got talking about it, egging each other on, until it gained a momentum of its own.The first plan was just the Los Angeles–San Francisco/Golden Gate Bridge–Los Angeles roundtrip, with a side trip to Yosemite thrown in.

When I first laid eyes on the bike I had hired, I panicked—it was huge! Long, wide, heavy and low; totally different from my usual wheels, a 600 cc sports bike. I had a real crisis of confidence. I seriously doubted that I would be able to handle it. David must have seen this in my eyes, and he sent me off down the road on my own to give it a shot and get a feel of the bike. It turned out to be easier to handle than it looked and much less intimidating, once I got over the initial panic, so we loaded up and set off into the maelstrom that is Los Angeles traffic.

After a pretty stingy breakfast at a delicatessen (Santa Barbara does not ‘do’ diners!) we headed out on Highway 1 again, aiming for San Francisco. The first stretch wasn’t that exciting, with a long stretch running inland, away from the coast, across miles and miles of flat farmland. At one point, David commented about a strong smell in the air. We were both trying to place it, when we realised that we were running through fields of strawberries as far as the eye could see—that is what we were smelling!

Monterey was home to California’s sardine fishing industry, immortalised in John Steinbeck’s novel, Cannery Row. The current Cannery Row and Fisherman’s Wharf are tacky tourist traps, but the Monterey Bay Aquarium is incredible, and that is what kept us in Monterey Sunday morning.

As we had ridden through San Francisco the evening before, we had seen a shop called ‘Guitar World’, and we just had to go and take a look. The other place I wanted to see was Lombard Street, ‘the world’s crookedest street’, which was not far from where we were staying (our motel was actually on Lombard Street).The people in Guitar World were really welcoming and let David try out several different guitars and amplifiers and listened appreciatively while he played. They were impressed, which is quite something in a place like that.

Our plan for the day was to ride into Yosemite National Park, into and back out of Yosemite Valley, the ‘highlight’ of the park, and then cross over the Sierra Nevada mountain range on Highway 120, which runs through the middle of the park.

Wednesday was our longest, most punishing day in the saddle.We were setting out to head almost due east across Nevada, heading for southern Utah and Bryce Canyon.

One of the places that I had wanted to visit was Bryce Canyon, in southern Utah. But I was beginning to have doubts. It seemed to be taking longer to cover the distances than I had expected, and after the previous day’s punishment I was wondering if we should ‘cut the corner’ and head for Salt Lake City, in northern Utah, rather than continue heading due east to Bryce. David and I talked about it, and decided to see how the day went.About 50 miles into the journey we made the choice and decided to go for Bryce Canyon.

Bryce Canyon was worth the effort. Even the road heading towards it was spectacular. The most amazing thing about the Canyon was its sudden appearance. All around is open rangeland, with scattered pine forest. We parked the bike, walked a couple of hundred yards along a marked trail and suddenly the ground opened up into this surreal canyon, all oranges, yellows and ochres. No warning (well, there were barrier rails), there’s a 300 foot drop and things like stalagmites everywhere.

Saturday morning we had breakfast at the sports bar before heading off. Wimbledon was on, and we got chatting to our friend of the previous evening. Apparently (and here I am demonstrating my credulity) he played tennis as a junior, up to College level (on a sports scholarship to College), and used to play with Andy Roddick when they were teenagers. He damaged his elbow at some point and had to stop playing, hence, as he said, he is now managing a restaurant in Salt Lake City.

Well, if nothing else, Montpellier did provide the biggest breakfast we had had up till then! We ordered eggs, bacon and pancakes, and it came on two plates—each! David likes his food, but this stumped even him. Still, it’s one heck of a way to start the day.

We set of early Monday morning, because it is a quite a long way to Yellowstone from Jackson—about 70 miles to the southern park entrance, and then over 100 miles to do the ‘short’ loop in the park itself, then 70 miles ‘home’ again.Well, we set of early enough, but we decided to stop for breakfast on the way out of Jackson, and that held us up for an hour or so—there seemed to be only one diner open and it was packed and the service was slow.

Our last day, and a day we had been looking forward to. Our appointment was to meet the guide at 8:30 in the morning “by a stand of cottonwood trees” down by a stream that joined the Snake River not far south of Jackson. After a few false starts, we found the right track (gravel, rutted, rough, not ideal Harley territory!) and headed off for what we hoped were cottonwood trees (another oversight on my part: I don’t know what a cottonwood tree looks like).

We took the Harley for one brief run through Jackson, back to the one diner on the road to Yellowstone for breakfast, and then it was time to drop it off at the hire agency.The guys at the bike shop were pretty impressed with us—apparently we were the first people they had had turn up there from California. The bike was a bit of a state, covered in dust, mud and flies, but they weren’t worried; when we saw the bike an hour or so later it was clean and shining just like when we first saw it.