After Reno & Lahontan, we stayed for a few days with our new Bunk-a-Biker host Brian in his mountain retreat, while Gid fiddled with chains, sprockets and swingarms in the garage.  It was a great place to be, surrounded by trees up in the mountains in a very quiet area outside town.  He had a couple of friends staying and between them they made a comedy trio.  Brian was the straight man, Larry the feed and Charlie the clown.  It was great fun to be around them.  Especially the evening they polished off a bottle of whisky – perhaps a little bit more subdued the morning after.

We were watching baseball the following day and I asked about the superimposed rectangle that kept appearing on the screen and the commentator’s words.  ‘That’s a strike!’  Brian stood in front of the TV explaining the rules of baseball.  He was simplifying the rules but very focused on giving an accurate account.

Larry interjected, “She’ll never understand that just say it’s this”.

‘Will you be quiet and let me explain!’

Charlie was bouncing about in his chair, chortling and throwing in the odd word just to stir things up.

When leaving, the trio very kindly led us out back into Tahoe National Park – it’s bigger than just the lake that we disliked in an earlier post.  When they had offered to lead us out I was most concerned that we would hold them up.  Their bikes were powerful Harleys and our best speed is 50+.  Winding up and down mountain passes we’d be even slower.  ‘That’s ok’, they’d chorused.  ‘The speed limit is only 50 and no one can go any faster on those roads’.

En-route we pulled into a layby to admire the view.  Across the gorge was a great view with snow clinging to the mountain tops.  We wound our way over the top and down to the breakfast stop.  A delightful little old village called  Downieville,  I wandered off to look at the gallows.  The only gallows in America that are still functional the sign states but the one and only hanging was back in 1884.

Following a great breakfast with the lads, four of them now as Richard had joined us, we wandered off to see the town as they set off to do some serious biking.  We had our route plotted out – firstly north to the Lassen volcanic park before heading west on the US 36.  It was the best road to the coast was the unanimous decision.  And no Gid, you couldn’t cut the corner off to reach the Redwood National Park quicker.  ‘You’d be missing the best part!’

We didn’t do the volcanic park justice.  We should have turned right to take us further into the park where we would have seen geysers we’re told but we hung a left more focused on finding a campsite as the daylight was drawing in.  The official campground was shut for maintenance, but there was free “dispersed” camping all around, informed the local lady filling her water bottles at the water spring. The only difference really is the lack of a drop toilet (so dig a hole), and a park bench (what are we carrying these chairs for?). So we filled up our bottles and camped.

Dutifully we went the long way round on the 36 and yes it was worth it.  Again we went through gorges, valleys and over mountain tops but this time the trees looked half dead but not burnt.  The leaves across most of the leafed canopy looked crisp and dull whilst there was a vibrant green sprig somewhere at the top.  Were the trees dead or alive?

Trundling along the US 36 heading for the California beaches I was having a rave.  ‘Surfing USA – trala la la la’. The odd riff that I remembered from the Beach Boys hit was on replay at full volume – in my head.  It was party time, giggling around in my saddle. No 200Watt speakers like the Harleys had – perhaps that’s just as well.

We smelt the sea before we saw it.  At Fortuna we’d stopped to put on extra clothing.  Down this low by the coast it was cold.  Perfectly obvious when you think about it but it hit us as a bit of a surprise.  Now heading north up the coast we were equally surprised by the mist.  The whole reason why the Redwood trees thrive in this area is the moisture from the sea mist.  It keeps the canopy damp.  Ferns, slugs and the trees thrive. Our preconceptions of California faded when we saw the beaches – scenic, but minimal waves this week. The few surfers, well dressed up in wetsuits, to keep the chilly California Current at bay were floating around on their boards.  Equally, the local towns looked as though they weren’t much benefiting from California’s famous wealth.

Camping proved challenging as the National Park was fully booked, we’d arrived at a weekend again – when will we learn? We went further afield to pitch our tent and became tourists for the week exploring the coastal region on foot as well as by bike.   The scenic drives were awesome and neck breaking constantly looking up. Yup, they’re big trees.

Our route on down to San Fransico was quite an adventure but the bridge itself was shrouded in mist. Brian was there to greet us at his San Fran residence where later he took us out for a fabulous tour of the city.