The salty air blew us down the embarcadero and we stopped in at the Shell Shop. Justin picked the brains of some natives and got a line on a great little Mexican restaurant just off the strip. We ate cheap burritos and I called my aunt & uncle in Atascadero. I let them know I was in town with a friend and we were hoping for at least a lumpy mattress to sleep on. The ride over on Morro Rd. is a twisty one with the narrow asphalt flanked by a steep ravine and avocado orchards.

In the morning we are alone, the house empty. My aunt & uncle had gone about thier busy lives and we roam around the house. Any food we source here is an Ensure we don't have to drink for breakfast. My filthy jeans toss in the dryer. I lock my helmet inside and Justin is all too happy to break in and get it for me. The day begins beautifully and we're nothing but eager.

The road back to the coast cuts through the golden, scorched hills high above Morro Bay and Cayucos. Hearst Castle lingers over San Simeon and is really representative of this region - spectacular, gaudy and somewhat insane. The PCH hugs the shore tightly and the pace becomes jerky as we trace the edge of the sea.

The world famous Bixby Bridge

In Carmel I called home to let my folks know I was now a man. We headed north for Monterey and made quick work of it, as we had spent most the day zig-zagging up the sheer face of the Pacific. We were still convinced we could make it to San Francisco before dark.

"Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream." — John Steinbeck

We strolled up to the Monterey Bay Aquarium around 5:30; just as they locked the front doors and stopped selling tickets. We snuck in the exit and of course got caught. A little sweet talking with the female ticket girl bought us thirty minutes to see the whole place, free of charge!

If I ever thought Justin couldn't get away with anything, he proved me wrong by asking a waiter on Cannery Row where the good places to eat were, and the dude actually helped us. Justy caught up with the NFL at the bar and I picked at a bland lump of fish. The bay darkened and we gave up on making it to San Fran. Our night ended with some super cool local girls we met at the restuarant dragging our asses home with them, keeping us out of the gutters.

Keeley busks outside the restuarant to the delight of two old perverts (not us, two other old perverts)

In the morning Kate & Keeley let us buy breakfast as a thanks. Keeley returned all the shit she stole from us and we packed up for San Francisco. Definetly a couple of brave girls, didn't even call the cops when I showed them my stun gun and sexually vulgar postcards I wrote (no, I never mailed them).

We kind of screwed up and skipped the PCH for the expedited ride up the 101. Straight into San Fran we made a bee line for the Golden Gate Bridge. Motorcycles cross for free!

We got one of those bizzaro off season deals at the San Francisco Inn on Lombard Street. Paying 40$ for a 150$ room really appealed to the teenage thief that still lurks in the underdeveloped region of my brain. Grub came from Golden Boy Pizza, a North Beach institution and hang out for the combat boot crew. I hope they can fly a slice in when I'm on death row. We wrapped up the evening by riding over to Haight & Ashbury. It was kind of gay, if you can believe it.