Time, it seems, gives the best and most appropriate perspective of all events. Waiting a few days after helped me sort out the most interesting highlights to share.

Now, I wouldn’t be as bold to say that you, dear reader, will find all of my memories (cleverly written or not) sparkling with the dust of the “ooh” and “aah” fairies but I will try to cut out the boring bits as best as my sensibilities will allow.

Day 5 - Leaving Lost Wages

My body woke up later than expected, my brain still would not be up for some time. I was overly tired from the long days of meetings, negotiations and walking all over the tradeshow floors of CES. I was a little shaky from lack of real food. Most days I opted for the unfulfilling $20 breakfast at one of the hotel restaurants. Today I wasn’t worried about the time or the distance I had to cover - had 2+ days to get only 600 or so miles from Vegas to San Francisco.

At the beginning of the trip I had already started a trend of frugality (read: cheap). I would carry my own bags, wash my own clothes and generally not let the hotels make any more money from my stay. Instead of calling the bellman to bring a cart in which all of my gear could be transported in one trip, I decided (remember the frugal part) to walk the half mile worth of hallway + elevator + hotel + lobby + garage and back to my room a total of five times. Well, I made the trip 3 times with my street clothes and carrying a few bags, then twice in my full gear (the second one because I had forgotten my GPS in the room).

Each time I came down the elevator I was reminded that the hotel had chosen this particular Friday morning to begin jackhammer work on the lobby floor. Aside from the dust and debris billowing through the air from the marble and concrete being pulverized there was the overwhelming sound of a jackhammer at work. If the hotel staff had added a smell of rotting garbage to the lobby it would have felt like stepping onto any street in New York. Now, I didn’t mind the jackhammering all that much but a couple riding in the elevator, each covering their hangover with cheap “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” sunglasses and expressions, couldn’t have been in a more awkward place. As the elevator descended the sound appeared and progressively became louder. Like someone turning a giant volume knob controlling pounding in their heads I watched their faces contort. A shrug and a slight smile was all I could offer.

Before I left Las Vegas I made sure to call the hotel in SF to arrange an early arrival. “We’ll be happy to have you a day early, Mister Curtis. No problem.” the hotel clerk said to me over the phone. I rode on along to my destination happy as a clam that the plan was working out just dandy.

Driving down Las Vegas boulevard along the strip I notice in the stark light of day all the casinos lose every bit of luster they might have at night. The buildings seem, at night anyway, to be the lit up and flashy Las Vegas showgirl with plumage and a sexy neckline then nothing more than a boring series of expensive buildings in the daylight. Let me put it another way… Night = Elle MacPherson , Day = Phyllis Diller.

Out on the road the bike felt heavy. I hadn’t ridden in a week but I was so happy to be getting out of vegas. Immediately when I got out of view of the city I started the playlist for the Cirque Du Soliel & Beatles show “Love”. Top to bottom I listened to that soundtrack…what great road music. My spirits were good and I felt like I was flying across the desert.

I-15 was a breeze with it’s big open road and speed-friendly multiple lanes. Highway 58 toward Bakersfield turns into a two-lane road, each side a flatland of scrub and seemingly bombed out buildings. Highway 58 is what I imagine a good bit of Route 66 to look like today. Long forgotten from the fastlane of the Eisenhower Interstate System.

Just before getting to the northern edge of Edwards Air Force Base, the location of Chuck Yeager’s famous first supersonic flight, I reach the crossroads 58 and 395. Aside from some train tracks and a few gas stations there isn’t much there…except the most glorious burger shop. Astro Burger is located in a building that was probably always a burger shop with a series of parking spaces and outside seats. Inside it’s not much to look at and ordering a meal doesn’t happen at a counter but at a stand located near the bathrooms a the back of the seating area. I had a bacon cheesburger and coke (with fries, of course) and sat in the warm, now California, sun. This was truly the life.

In planning the route from Las Vegas I had heard from a few people that I should drop down to Los Angeles before making their way up I-5 to San Francisco. As a man with time and deepening dread of LA traffic I decided to take a more northern route. But, as the storms raged along the California coastline pushing wet weather (and some snow at higher elevations) I watched the route carefully for signs of trouble. Tehachapi, at about 4000 foot elevation, could spell problems for me enroute toward Bakersfield. Fortunately, the weather was good and I was given a windy but clear pass through.

Tehachapi is rural town that reminds me in many ways of a model, I’ll explain that in a minute. Leading up into the mountains are these amazing wind farms. Dozens of wind turbines cover the hills to generate energy with the help of incredibly gusty and strong winds. The hillsides, now brown and somewhat lifeless except for a few leafless trees whose branches looked twisted and gnarly as they reached up to a sky full of clouds that seemed to be descending as I climbed higher. Swept along the hillsides is a railroad track making long curves in and out of sight.

“Tehachapi, land of four seasons” read the welcome sign.

As I wound my way up toward the city on the serpentine roads I noticed off in the distance a building structure unlike anything I’d seen before. For you geeks it seemed to be a mashup of Jabba’s Palace and Cloud City (aka Bespin, for those in the know). I couldn’t quite determine what it might be and was able to grab a few photos…you decide.

The most remarkable thing about Tehachapi, which other people who have been there seem to come to the same conclusion, is that it reminds me of model railroad layout. I imagine that someone has taken great care to place each tree, building, cow and railroad track as to maximize the realism. It all looked too well placed to be anything other than a model.

Down the backside of Tehachapi is great fun. Long, curvy sweepers kept me awake and the descent brought me out of cooler weather toward sea level.

Bakersfield is a mostly unremarkable town…but I’ll try. As I drove through the flat and agricultural center of California I found myself feeling just a little uneasy that I was on a holiday (of sorts) while these people were working. At least it was the end of the work week. Truly a blue collar town, Bakersfield hasn’t much charm as you drive through the city center. It’s really not until you get outside the zone of chain restaurants (and traffic) that you’re able to see the extent of farming that’s done here.

The weather turned to a pissy rain as the higher clouds started making their way to the ground. I zig-zagged my way across large swaths of farms and up I-5. Not a large set of miles for the day, near 400, but I needed some rest and pulled into a Best Western in Kettleman City, California. Yes, you can find it on a map (most Californians I talked to didn’t know where it is) but it’s not much to look at in person.

Beside the ability to get a warm bed was the In & Out Burger across the street. I nabbed the second burger of the day over there and sequestered myself away for the evening. I must have been more tired than I thought because as I ate somehow the notion came to me to lay on my side to each while watching TV. Four hours later I awoke, a bit startled at my surrounds because I had forgotten where I was, and with tomato and other burger juices smashed and slathered up my left arm. I hadn’t actually fallen asleep mid-bite but pretty close. There, next to me, was an unfinished burger and a few fries.

A quick flick of the bed spread sent the random leftovers flying and I clicked off the TV. I was done for the day and hope the maid would forgive me in the morning.

Day 6 - Is every day is a winding (and gravel-strewn) road

Again, not quite up with the sun but better than the previous day. Outside it was cloudy but the sun had finally come out in full force and it burned off quickly.

Though I hadn’t planned it, a serendipitous thing happened when I pulled off the previous night in Kettleman City. Originally I had wanted to get to Paso Robles on the first day but since I wasn’t in any hurry I made it about 60 miles short of that destination. Kettleman City happened to be the turnoff I was needed but didn’t know it. Just another in a long line of happy coincidences.

Wide open spaces and rolling hills took me toward Paso Robles. Now, I hadn’t known it when I chose the route but Paso Robles seems to be the everyman version of wine country. While areas north of San Francisco like Napa and Sonoma get all the credit for California wines this area seemed to have a great deal more boutique vineyards. There was something very magical rolling through what I imagine a slice of southern France might be like. Each hill and valley held a plot of land that made me want to wander through it swishing a glass of wine and my wandering scored by Nino Rota.

At Cambria I turned North. Immediately you could smell the ocean just off in the distance. The air cleared my senses and I felt bathed in sunlight.

Signs began to appear along the road insisting that trucks over X number of axles shouldn’t continue as the road was about to get narrow and curvy. I sighed in relief as this would be the first part of the trip where I wouldn’t be traveling along being buffeted by the wind streaming around the length of some 53′ trailer.

I pulled off at one of the first vista points I on Highway 1 in a sort of celebration for reaching the coast. At this point I am more than 2,400 miles from home. This was the longest trip I have ever been on by myself with my motorcycle. While I was filled with a sense of pride in the accomplishment I had many times been struck with the wish that I could have ridden all this way with some company. There was nobody but me to take pictures, to enjoy the sights or to tell me to slow down/speed up/stop for the night/etc.

I pulled out my cell phone and my camera and did whenever I found myself in a new and marquee location -I called my mom and took a picture of myself doing it.

At a distance I saw the Hearst Castle as I circled the parking lot. I had forgotten exactly where it was located (thanks for the reminder, dad). Ever since hearing the story of connection between Citizen Kane/Orson Welles and William Randolph Hearst I have been intrigued and spent many nights reading up or watching documentaries on the subject. Maybe if I had more interest in touring a big house I would have stopped. To me it’s not as if the people (or spirits of people) who made places like that famous still live there. Though, I couldn’t say the same for old theatres or places like the Winchester mansion.

I clicked my iPod onto my travel playlist instead of random and started my journey up the coastline with The Decemberists “California One”. The wide lanes of San Simeon slowly got more narrow and the road began to twist in an ever smaller route. Hairpin turns began to be the norm as I leaned my bike in lower and lower semi-circles. I kept my speed relatively low as, well, it was kinda scary and unfamiliar.

Wind and water from the storms of the previous week hadn’t done much damage to the highway as I’d seen elsewhere with trees and limbs along the side of road. Mostly the rain had started (or helped) cleave loose rocks from the high cliff walls on the eastern side of the road. Every 1/2 mile, or around every tight corner it seemed, there were long piles of gravel strewn across the road. As a motorcyclist that might be about the scariest thing to find in a blind turn (aside from an oncoming car in your lane or the possibility that the road drops off into the ocean).

I got comfortable enough on a few turns to really enjoy the scenery. My bike could come around a corner and crest a hill and the ocean view would open up in front of me. Like someone drawing back a curtain and showing you heaven there it was in every glorious detail just beyond my windshield.

For those who haven’t been there, this section of Highway 1 is likely the most spectacular driving/sightseeing experience the US has to offer. This little two lane road has so many amazing vistas that they’ve made sure you can pull over to just look out and experience it about every mile or so. On one side of the road is often a sheer cliff wall sometimes rising up several hundred feet. On the other side is the the view everyone wants to see, the Pacific Ocean, with only a diminutive guard rail between you and The Almighty.

After 70 miles I had enough and needed lunch and a faster route to San Francisco. Earlier I had heard that there was to be a surf contest up in Half Moon Bay and traffic would likely be stopped or, at the very least, crawl along. At Carmel I grabbed lunch, gassed up, pulled over to reset my baggage. When I flicked my starter there was nothing. The instrument cluster lit up, the fuel injector whined but it just wouldn’t turn over.

Luckily I’m not so daft to think that I could start the bike by pure will power so I called the emergency roadside service number on my Honda Riders Club of America card. This was exactly why I purchased membership -take that road gremlins!

A tow truck was dispatched within an hour or so and I think the driver was surprised how ready I was to get a jumpstart. I already had taken the tupperware (ST owner speak for bodywork) off the bike and was ready. I’m pretty sure this might have been the fastest stop this gent had ever made. He wasn’t there a total of 10 minutes - my bike was started, his paperwork was filled out and I was ready to get on the road.

By sundown I was skimming over the last bit of farmland that leads into Santa Cruz. Since my GPS was set to find the fastest route to San Francisco I followed its advice and ended up on a Friday night, rush hour slalom down Highway 17 between Santa Cruz and Los Gatos.

A few long miles got me on the extended route (remember that the GPS was set to fastest and not shortest) put me on the 101 toward SF. Lots of gawking at a few stalled cars made the normally speedy road a drudging experience. A few motorcyclists a half hour or so into the waiting had passed me as they split lanes. I’d rather wait than get my handlebars or saddlebags caught on some shmo’s door. Besides, I just feel it isn’t safe.

By the time I pulled into the Marriott I was ready to be off the bike for a few hours (or days as the case was). I pulled up nearly patting myself on the back for making the second of my two destinations (Las Vegas = 1, San Francisco = 2, Home = 3). I chatted with the lead Valet and discussed my trip. He and the other guys out front crowded around and asked questions which I answered with a nonchalant flair.

“Of course I did it by myself…”

“It was 18Ëš when I left Nashville…62Ëš here is balmy and damn near tropical…”

“I just be bragging if I tell you my top speed…”

A bellman came out and brought a cart for me to off load my things. I unpacked the bike in my usual ceremonious manner to make it easy to repack again in a few days. I stood and talked to the head valet for a few minutes somewhat because I hadn’t had anyone to talk to all day and I wanted to make sure he would help me park the bike somewhere safe.

“I’ve got a great spot right downstairs. It’s super safe and you won’t have any problems” he said. This guy was working up a good tip as far as I was concerned.

We rounded the corner and pulled the bike into an underground parking garage. Past a few rows of Mercedes and other higher dollar cars to a spot that seemed tailor-fit for my ST. I popped it onto the center stand, clipped on the disc lock (for good measure I told myself) and contemplated putting the cover I brought with me over the bike. The cover, I had reasoned, would help keep the bike inconspicuous in more urban areas where I would have to park it in the open. In reality I had used it more than the first two nights.

The valet and I had a nice chat about living in San Francisco, one of my favorite towns. He was fairly quiet as I did most of the talking/jabbering. I let him know that I wouldn’t need the bike for the rest of the week as work would be too pressing and I wouldn’t have any free time.

Rolling inside the hotel I walked up to the counter and blurted out a list of who, what, when, where, ecetera. The man behind the desk smiled and began tapping away at his computer. I set my drivers license and credit card (for incidentals, of course) on the counter. He looked at my name several times on the license then asked, “Do you have your confirmation number?”

“I do, it’s in my computer which is packed away but I can pull it up” I replied

“If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, ” I quizzically looked at him and finished, “but I called yesterday and they were able to pull it up by my name. I told them I would be arriving a day early.”

I left him with that info and began unpacking there in the lobby of the hotel. A bellman came over to watch, I guess, as I dismantled his pile on the cart. Pulling my computer out and booting it up the hotel clerk came over to me.

“Yeah, it’s what I thought…” he looked at me and said while biting his lip as if emoting that there was something he didn’t want to tell me, “you’re at the other Marriott.”

This is the one my company always stays at, I thought.

“Okay…where is that?” I ask him as I’m still booting my computer and trying to prove him wrong by pulling up the documentation. I didn’t get far with it, though. The clerk was on the phone to the other Marriott and confirmed that I was, indeed, at the wrong hotel.

“It’s only four blocks away. Just down 2nd to Mission then to…oh, but they have some construction going on. So you might want to…”

The pounding in my head drowned him out. I knew where the other Marriott was but I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to *be* there.

We did the the whole exercise in reverse. The desk clerk, the valet, the packing, the traffic. Then, we did it forward again. The traffic, the valet, the unpacking, the desk clerk. Finally, I was in my room at the San Francisco Marriott.

Roughly 2,700 miles. *sigh*

I went down to the pub at the end of the street and downed two beers and a bowl of chili. Damn they tasted good. A week at the tradeshow would be easy after all this…wouldn’t it?