Day 5: Lancaster->Visalia

I woke up with the weird memory of myself disassembling the light bulb in the middle of the night. There was a motion sensor in the room, and every now and again I would wake up due to the light. I had to do it. It's funny, the room I had the night before had the opposite problem - If I stayed put for a certain amount of time, the light would turn off. What's with the motion sensors?

I had coffee in my room, realizing I'm running out of my Turkish coffee. Oooh, it's time for:

Motorcycle roadtripping tips #8: use pill containers for storing small things

I save those orange pill containers from Walgreens, and I use them to help organize my backpack: one has quarters for parking, one has earplugs, one has Tums, and the big green one that used to hold syringes for a cat we took care of - that one has my turkish coffee.

I planned to get to Helendale, to see the Bottle Tree Ranch, and then start heading home.

First stop was Richie's diner in Victorville. It's a classic 60's diner frozen in time. I had lunch, of which the best thing I can say is that it wasn't really as bad as it looked.

I followed G-Lady's instructions and realized I am on Route 66. I was on other parts of Route 66 when I drove from Boston to San Francisco last year.  It's never boring here. I stopped in a random antique shop, and the owner and I immediately bonded. She told me about her son, who married an Icelandic woman,  and after nine years of marriage, she went to visit Iceland, where she decided never to come back to the US again. We talked a little about Israel and San Francisco. Then she gave me a postcard and asked me to bring Julia with me next time.

I finally got to Bottle Tree Ranch. It's pretty crazy.

I hung out near the house for a while, like the antique shop owner recommended, hoping that the dude who made all this will come out to chat, but I guess he wasn't home. It's not only beautiful and intriguing and weird, it also sounds wonderful - there are hanging pieces of metal and windchimes dangling in the wind, adding an enchanting soundtrack to this weird forest.

It was time to start heading home. The way home goes through Helendale, a beautiful, isolated retirement town built around a lake. Many houses are built right on docks on the lakeside, and everybody has a boat. It doesn't make sense that people really live like this. Some of the traffic signs actually refer to golf carts.

From this point on I was pretty much riding north-west. I passed by Mojave, Tehachapi, and Bakersfield, again, which is fine with me - I love riding in the Mojave desert. It's a super chill ride, not too curvy, and very beautiful.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #9: have a small digital camera and an OTG cable

When a photo opportunity presents itself in the middle of the road (pull off very slowly and responsibly, of course),  instead of taking off your gloves to operate your phone, a small digital pocket camera is a perfect alternative. A USB OTG cable is useful to later connect the camera to your tablet and import the photos, so that you can embed them in you blog.

My last stop for the day was Visalia. I got a room in the Marco Polo Inn and went downtown for food and beer. On the way, I passed by a high school football field, where the marching band was in the middle of a practice, so I stopped to watch. Some of my American friends don't understand my fascination with marching bands and diners and motels and old rednecks in tiny bars, but the thing is, as an Israeli, you only see these in movies, and they don't even seem real. The fact that they are is just fascinating to me.

Back in the room, when I was writing the blog post, I had to keep moving, because every time I didn't, the lights turned off.

Day 4: Bakersfield->Lancaster

I should have listened to my instincts and not stayed in that hotel. It was noisy and cold all night, and to top all of that, when i woke up, I realized my phone didn't charge. This can be pretty bad because I use my phone to navigate: I have a bluetooth system installed into my helmet which allows me not only to chat with Julia when she's riding with me, but also to be connected to my phone. This means I can listen to navigation instruction from the Google navigation's feminine, yet somewhat strict, voice, which I fondly call "G-Lady", or sometimes "Gladis" (get it?). I can even take incoming phone calls!

So a charged phone is really important for me. Lucky for me, I follow...

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #7: carry plenty of juice

Not only do I carry an unnecessary amount of USB power adapters and cables, I am also equipped with:

• A cheap power extension cable, which is super useful in motel rooms, where the power outlet arrangement is often sub-optimal;
• A portable phone charger: this TYLT one is especially awesome - it has enough juice to fully charge my phone *twice*, and has a built in arm that replaces the need for a cable.
• A USB charger on the motorcycle. I'm not convinced it's not shortening the lifespan of the battery, but it's a nice-to-have, regardless.

After a terrible, loud breakfast, and some inspiring eavesdropping to some of the regular tenants ("...and the guy goes like 'say something black!', and I'm like, 'man, fuck you! I adapt to who ever I talk to. If I need to use proper English, I'll do that. If I'm talking to my ghetto cats, that's something else. You could say I'm bilingual'"), I drove to the Kern County Museum.

Most of the museum consists of house, real houses, that they brought from all over the county, and turned into a small town. They have everything from a drugstore to a jailhouse, from a school to a photography shop.

Since Kern county has a big oil industry, there's also a truly surprising and cool exhibition called "Black Gold".

Then I tried to go to the Natural History Museum, but it was closed.

I tried to check out the steampunk store, but it was too weird, and the lady at the counter was obnoxious.

I tried to go to the small park, but it is was infested with homeless people.

Bakersfield didn't want me around anymore.

I got a chicken sandwich and a beer from somewhere that was open and drove on.

I drove down the 58 and hit Tehachapi. It's tiny and cute, but that's not a reason to actually stop and hang out.

Next I drove by Mojave. I stayed a night in Mojave when I drove from Boston to San Francisco, and I'm happy to report that Mojave hasn't changed a bit - it's still a shithole.

Then I got to Rosamond. Now that's a good reason to stop - one of my favorite places in San Francisco is Rosamonde, where you can get sausages from elks and bisons and snakes.  Not kidding.

So I stopped for a beer in Norma's Pub and had a beer with an old man and a dog named Shelby.

The old man told me Rosamond is a retirement town. He moved there eight months ago after being all over the place, including ten years in the navy. He was born and raised an orphan and was never married, so he just moves around. Fascinating character he is.

Next and last stop was Lancaster. It's pretty chill here.

I got a room and drove downtown. I found the Kinetic Brewing Company, and ordered, for the first time in my life, a veggie burger. I think my body is getting tired of crap being shoved into it. The guy next to me, however, realized it's Monday and yelled at the bartender "Meaty Monday!" The bartender began to specify that "this week it's with bacon, sausage and...."

- "I don't care. Bring it!"

It turned out to be a burger, with maybe four different layers of meat. It looks disgusting. I have to have it sometime.

We watched the football game, of which I understand absolutely nothing, and during the breaks we played "beer bingo".

 America is so weird.

Day 3: Madera->Bakersfield

Today was mostly uneventful. I started by riding to Fresno, where nothing happens. I drove around until I found Mia Cuppa Caffe, where I stopped for coffee and regrouping. I decided to head straight down to Bakersfield. I pulled over at Selma to check out the huge flea market. I bet I'm the the first Israeli to ever set foot there. In fact, you could probably count the non-Mexican people there on one hand.

The things you find in these flea markets can get pretty random:

I wonder who their customers are.

I had some Chinese food from one of the trucks and moved on.

Downtown Bakersfield was dead. Nobody in the streets. I finally found a coffee shop with more than two people in it, had a cappuccino outside in the terrific sun and then started walking around looking for a bar. Which is when I saw an asshole. Not a person acting like an asshole, but an actual hole located in the middle of an ass. It was a homeless person taking a dump in the middle of the street, but since he was hiding, very poorly, between the cars, all that I could see was an asshole staring right at me. What an asshole.

That marked a transition to one of the less nice parts of town. I walked in on a drug deal, some homeless people, and finally found the Mint. It's not a gay bar as much as it's a sports bar gone sexually ambiguous. It's pretty cool.

Then I looked for a room. I found the Downtowner Hotel. I talked to the receptionist for a bit but had a bad feeling, so I decided to look some more. I drove around the other motels in town.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #5: when looking for a room, check for the signs

Shopping carts in the parking lot? no go. These belong to motel "guests", and people who carry their belongings in shopping carts are not the kind of people you want to hang out with. Also, try to check in advance for hot water, smell of cigarettes, noise, towels, and wifi.

All the motels that I saw had shopping carts in the parking lot, so I came back to the Downtowner. I checked in and went to Goose Loonies for dinner, beer, and to watch the game.

We won! and by that I'm referring to the fact that the San Francisco Giants, without any help whatsoever from me, won a game that I actually don't understand at all. But still - we won!

Then I came back to the hotel where I learned:

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #6: if staying in a multi floor hotel, do not take a room that is near the elevator  

Day 2: Turlock->Madera

Motorcycle roadtripping trip #3: blog from your tablet

Whatever you're doing with your laptop when you're travelling, you can probably do it from your tablet. Blogging, however, requires lot of typing. This is why I got this cute, foldable, bluetooth keyboard from Perrix. It's great, cheap, and the only downside is that it does take a while to get used to.

I spent a few hours last night writing yesterday's blog on a Google doc, with Julia proofreading in real time (thanks, love!). If you have been reading the blogs from my previous trips, you may remember I posted them on Tumblr, which brings us to:

Motorcycle roadtripping trip #4: don't blog on Tumblr

There is simply no way, at all, to add images to your Tumblr blog if you're on a tablet. Not from the app, and not from the website. Seriously, Tumblr, you had one job.

I spent a few good hours in Christina's Coffee House this morning trying to resolve this, eventually posting on Blogger. It's not much better, mind you: the app will not let you add images either, and the mobile website sucks balls - but it's possible. It's also nice that you can select your image from your device's gallery, Google Drive, Dropbox, or take a picture on the spot.

When I was finally done and was about to leave, I realized it had started to rain. I forgot that I had to move south faster if I wanted to avoid the rainy weather that was expected for the weekend. I decided to ride anyway - I figured it would be better than being stuck in heavier rain.

The rain stopped around the time I got to Merced and I saw a sign for the Castle Air Museum. Although you get really wet when you ride in the rain without rain gear, you also get dry very fast.

And of course, right when I was about to leave, it started raining again. I decided to ride straight to Fresno, where it was supposed to be warmer.

I don't mind being wet as much as I don't like the urge to pee once my feet are wet. Why is that, anyway? Is my body so stupid, it thinks peeing is going make my situation any better? Does it go "oh no! There must be so much fluid in me, that it's oozing through the feet! Quickly! Drain it through the pee hole!" Intelligent design my ass. Evolution: 1. Creationism : 0.

And yes, I totally just reset the evolution-creationism score-board and claimed the first point. This is how vain I am.

It was dry when I arrived to Madera. I ate the rest of the strawberry cake that Julia made for me (sooo good!) and an apple, and since it started drizzling, decided to move quickly. In a weird way, I enjoyed racing the rain. I pretended it was a tornado and that this is a really bad movie.

However, just as I went back on the freeway, I saw a sign for the "Madera district street fair". Fine, I'll turn around.

Right outside of the Madera speedway lies the Quarter Midget Racing track, where tiny kids race with tiny cars. The races were just over, but the kids were still running around dressed as ninja turtles and Disney princesses. It must have been hilarious to watch them race cars dressed like that.

"But you can hang out for a couple of hours until the real races start," said one of the parents. "They smash pumpkins on the course and..."

I couldn't really parse what he said next. It was too weird. I just had to stay.

I killed some time and a couple of beers at some random bar. Then I got a room at the Super-8 that's just across the road from the race tracks, changed socks, and left for the races.

So this is how it goes:

Step one: smash pumpkins on the track.

Step two: wash with water and soap.

Step three: harness boats to race cars.

Step four:  race while trying to break other cars' boats. Last car to still have a boat - wins!

Next, we had a "Destruction Derby", where cars just smash into each other.

At the hamburger stand, the lady asked for my name. "Ian," I replied. She picked up a pen, and then stopped. "Is that with an I or an E?"

I think I need another Starbucks name. Is "Earl" to rednecky?

Speaking of rednecks - the emcee was one of the most annoying people I ever had the pleasure of being forced to listen to. In an attempt to kill time, he started to poll the audience. "Show of hands: who's drinking a Bud? Who's drinking PBR? Who came from from Fresno? Who lives here in Madera? Who's a veteran? Who's in active service? Oh, I almost forgot! Who is proud to be an American? You know, personally I don't like our current president, but I still think the USA is the best place to live in the world!"

I had a lot of questions, but I thought I better let it go.

Finally, we had a normal race, only every now and again, when they had to stop the race for various reasons, they would also put a boat in the middle of the track for the cars to smash into. You know, for good measure.

Day 1: SF->Turlock

Welcome back to yet another installment of...

Person

On

The

Roaaaad!

(ta, tun tuuuuuuunnnnn!)

(pu-du-ga-boom)

This time, I will be wandering aimlessly south-east of San Francisco. I will be alone, and I will be on a motorcycle. I left home today, Friday, October 24th 2014, and I intend to be back home on Wednesday, October 29th.

Why am I telling you all this, I hear you ask - well, it turns out a lot more people than I thought are actually reading this, and some explicitly asked me to write more. So here it is, and judging by the events of today, this is going to be fun.

I'm also going to try to add some roadtripping tips that might be especially useful for the technology-savvy motorcycling roadtripper. Which is basically me. Fine, you caught me, I'll be writing tips for my future self so I don't forget. O.K.- let's do this!

I left home at around 2pm, way later than I wanted. I was waiting at work for someone to do their work so I can do mine and leave, but it turns out they couldn't do it because somebody else didn't do their work properly. So I left. Although I already had everything with me, I realized that there's a slight chance that during my trip I might hit Mexico, so I went home to get my passport and started driving to Tracy, CA. It's a beautiful ride between warm, golden hills.

Tracy, as a town, is exactly the same as you would expect from a woman named Tracy - boring. They do take Halloween pretty seriously:

I had a boring beer at The Great Plate, and after riding for a while between a few tiny farm towns, I got to Modesto, which unlike Tracy, is not boring at all. As I entered the town, I stopped at a gas station, and while in the bathroom, I heard a man yelling "get him off me! get him off me!" The yelling seemed to come closer and closer to the bathroom.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #1: your helmet is your weapon 

So first, I grabbed the chin-strap really hard, ready to slam the helmet at anybody coming my way. Next, I move closer to the bathroom door, in case I would feel that I need to block it.

The sounds were coming from right outside the bathroom - there was definitely a fight. At this point, the guy was actually screaming for help.

I opened the door. He was about my age, and he was getting punched by a shirtless, somewhat younger man. Both were heavily tattooed and bleeding from random places in their bodies - everything you look for in your regular meth addict. Nobody in the convenience store seemed to have any intention of intervening, which made sense to me - it looked painful, but generally harmless. Especially harmless for me, as long as I stay out of it and hold the chin-strap of my helmet really tight.

When the older guy realized that he's on his own, he came to his senses and release a punch that threw the shirtless guy over a stand of chips-bags. The shirtless guy tripped, and when he finally got up, he ran away.

Outside the store, I asked the guy if he was O.K.

- "No, I'm not O.K."

No shit - you're a meth addict. But I better rephrase.

- "Do you need help?"

Too late. The police showed up. They searched him, questioned some people, including myself, and left. He approached me and asked if I would buy him a soda.

- "Sorry man, can't help you."

Now hold it right there, I said to myself: first, that's very hypocritical of me. Just five minutes ago I actually offered him help. Second - I promised myself in the past to try to help more people as long as it's not giving them actual cash. And third, I am missing an opportunity for a story here.

- "Sure man, I'll buy you a soda". And I also got one for me.

The story? The story is that the guy used to date the attacker's mom. HIS MOM. But not anymore. No. And now he just jumps him. Everybody jumps him.  Yesterday three guys jumped him out of nowhere. And fuck this, he's getting his gun.

I gave the rest of my soda to these fine ladies:

and moved on.

I stopped by the McHenry Museum, where I saw a sign for a "Haunted Museum". Of course I went. "It's not scary", said one of the organisers who stood outside, "it's just haunted". They led a group of us into the first room where we were greeted by a dead girl with a British accent. She intorduced herself as Eleanor, and asked for our names.

- "Ian", I replied with my Starbucks name - the name I use when it doesn't matter and I don't have the patience to work with the other person on pronunciation.

- "Oh, so we both begin with an E!" she cheered, leaving me extremely confused.

She talked to us for a while, and invited the kids to play the piano, or as she pronounced it, "peeeaaano". I was the last one to leave the room. She grabbed me by the arm.

-"you know, if you ever get lonely, you can come back here, and we can play forever and ever and ever!" It was a nice gesture, but I was not impressed.

- "That sounds nice! I'm looking forward to that." We were then led to the other rooms. The museum is about the history of Modesto, and in it, more amateur actors were portraying scenes for the young children.

It wasn't supposed to be scary, which is why the old elevator actually caused everybody in the group to shriek. Otherwise it was mostly, well, embarrassing.

- "How was it?" asked the organizer.

- "Well, it wasn't scary."

- "I told you, it's just haunted. Which actor did you like best? I picked them myself."

- "The little dead girl with the British accent. I liked how she said 'piano' - 'peeaannoo'. Anyway - do you know where I can find a motel in this town? Preferably one that is not infested with meth addicts?"

- "Well, Modesto is not doing so good these days, so maybe..."

- "How about the next town over?"

So I found myself in Turlock. I got a room in the Venice motel, which is definitely seeing its share of questionable sexual activity, but it's clean and cheap, so I don't mind the young lady with the deep cleavage who chased and threw her shoes at a guy with an unnecessarily large cowboy hat out of her room.

People are dicks, though. It just so happens that after I took the room, another guy asked for vacancy. The motel owner, which like many other motel owners is of Indian descent, told him there is one more room left but it needs to be cleaned, and the gentleman will have to wait. The man offered to take the room as is for half the price, but the owner refused. The man was upset and made some comments that at first sounded playful, but as he walked to his car he turned around and yelled: "you make all Indian people look bad, you fucking asshole!" and added a Native American war whoop. Because that makes sense.

To end this glorious day on a positive note - I had dinner at 10 East. I had an elk burger and truffle fries. It was great.

And lastly:

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #2: make daily clothes capsules and pack them in your saddlebag

Each capsule is a T-shirt and underwear, rolled and held together with a pair of socks. There are plenty of techniques. YouTube it and find your own style.