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.