Britney came bounding up the stairs at Walaba ; “we are going with you to Panama tomorrow, we booked seats on the same shuttle, hope you don’t mind”. “How could I mind having the company of a couple of luvly young ladies such as yourselves”? I said. Kayla and Britney, a couple of nineteen year olds from Alberta, Canada, were on a 2 week jaunt in Costa Rica and like me, had decided they should check out Boca Del Toro. The following morning we were on our way, an hour to the border, an hour to get through the border and a couple of hours on bus and boat, arriving in Bocas Town on Colon Island at midday. We were headed for Bastimentos Island and a $5 water taxi got us there in 15 minutes. The islands, dotted around the Caribbean Sea, were mostly mangroves with deserted beaches. The girls were excited, I was thinking it was all very nice but I could see it was the beginnings of a resort; I wouldn’t be around for long. The next day Kayla and Britney went on a tour to Survivor Island, where they filmed one of the TV series, I hung around the beach for the day thinking, there was no reason to go further it was all going to be similar to this, I had already decided to head back to Punta Uva the next day. The girls arrived back from their tour a bit disappointed, they didn’t see any dolphins and didn’t go snorkeling and might as well have stayed here. They had also decided to head back tomorrow, they had lots to do, lots to see and only a week and a half left to do it in, we were back in Walaba the following day. Spending the weekend in Panama with a couple of young girls, full of enthusiasm, energy, joy and wonder at all that they encountered, was refreshing, I wondered when it might have been, when I lost all that joy and excitement and realised I never really felt that way, or if I did, I locked it away, to long ago to remember.

After one night Kayla and Britney were off to La Fortuna for more adventures and I was settling back in at Walaba. There were new people settling in also, Sonny, from Flagstaff in Arizona and the two sisters from Venezuela, Isis was living in New York and had come to meet her sister Patricia who was living in Caracas Venezuela. Another great week in their company and it was getting time for me to head over to the Pacific side to visit Daniel and his family. Sonny was going back to Arizona, Isis and Patricia were off to Bocas, before splitting up and going to their respective cities and I was off to Flutterby house, a hostel in Uvita just south of Dominical. Sonny had stayed here and thought I might like it, which I did but I have to say, Walaba, on the Caribbean, was going to take some beating. I rang Daniel who was going to Panama to renew his visa (a three monthly exercise) and would pick me up on Monday; I had a week left in Costa Rica.

It was wonderful for me to catch up with Daniel and to meet his wife Danielle and the girls Ava and Ashley. They are really getting stuff together here, Danielle has been doing some marketing on the computer and making a reasonable quid, Daniel is in the early stages of building a business with a partner who I didn’t meet, he was busy surfing somewhere south. The FJ 60 Toyota Land Cruiser was and still is a fantastic vehicle; they are getting a bit old these days, with no sensors or computers, Daniel and his mate are buying them, getting them spruced up to looking new again and are going to hire them out to surfer’s, who are heading this way in their thousands, from around the world, a winner I am sure. They are living on a farm with fruit trees, vegies, herbs, goats, ducks and all kinds of Fauna and Flora. One of their friends has had a shocking 3 months, instead of going to Panama to renew his visa; he paid someone to stamp his passport, a normal thing to do in this part of the world. Only trouble is, this stamp was stolen and he found himself locked up in Panama and having to spend $50,000 and three months getting out and back to Costa Rica. He told me he was indebted to Daniel, who played a big part in getting him out. I met a few of their friends and went to a party in honour of John’s new freedom. The party house, looking down a valley, overlooking the Pacific Ocean in a dream setting has just been completed by a Canadian guy who has decided to live here.

Costa Rica is my new Bali and I shall return, after leaning some Spanish!

I am…. THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

 

Maria just dropped by to tell me my beer has been delayed; a young German guest has a fever and has been taken to the hospital to get some tests for malaria, my beer awaits the results of those tests, for the driver must stay with the wounded. What a beautiful place I find myself in, I had to leave the USA by the tenth of June, my ninety days were up. I chose Costa Rica for two reasons, my god son Daniel who I have only seen, probably three or four times in his life, for a short time, lives there and it’s probably warm. San Jose was as I expected, hustle-bustle, diesel fumes in the air, warm and humid. I spent a couple of days walking around, finding my way and replacing the things security took from me when I left the States, I started to look into where I might go in Costa Rica. I wanted somewhere quiet, where I could just sit a while, after 3 months of moving around, the decision was made, the Caribbean side sounded the less built up of the two coasts, I booked a ticket to Puerto Viejo and found a place to head for when I arrive. I had messaged Daniel to let him know I was in town and he replied to inform me he was on the Pacific coast around Dominical; I’ll see him down the road a bit. The bus to Puerto Viejo was a 4 hour journey that took six, a protest on a bridge held us up for two hours, my Spanish is nada, so I have no idea what they were protesting, it didn’t seem anything unusual to the locals though and no one seemed perturbed. I splashed out and got a $10 taxi to Walaba Hostel, 6 k’s out of town in Punta Uva and arrived to where I am now in the tree house. It’s not a tree house at all, it’s a house in the trees, built securely on the forest floor, there are more little houses on the grounds. One for 1 or 2 people, one for 4, one for 6 and the house I am in, which houses about 10, each house has its own, bathrooms, kitchens and balconies, to sit and wonder at the spectacle before you, the  howler monkeys appear daily, first to wake you as the sun is rising, the head honcho, who no doubt had to fight his way, to having the privilege, to gather the forces, lets off the deepest most growwwwwlll, a real roar which fills the forest with the music of the wild. Slowly if you watch the trees you see the pack gathering and swinging in the trees around you. After roll call they wander off, do their monkey thing for the day and return for the evening call. When there are no monkeys around you may get lucky and catch a sloth, slothing up a tree, if she’s around, no need to rush for the camera, It’s going to take her an hour or so to get up there, I was told at the rehabilitation centre here, that dogs barking at the sloths, is the major reason for their demise, the little darlings can’t take the stress and have a heart attack. Then there are the Toucans, the multitude of multi coloured birds, insects and frogs. If for some reason you’re getting a bit restless and want to move a little, there is Playa Punta Uva, 2 minutes through the trees, to walk, swim, read a good book under the palm tree, snorkel, dive, fish. Rent a bicycle and go for an easy ride to Puerto Viejo, north or Manzanilla south and just chill in the Caribbean breeze, I am already checking out the price of land and the requirements of foreigners to own it. An exercise I seem to do whenever I arrive in the tropics, I was greeted by Maria on my arrival and introduced to Alexandra her mother soon after. Alexandra bought this piece of paradise 23 years ago and has built something to be proud of, the youth of the world drop in for three or four days, sample the delights of the area, then move on to the next place for more wonder and excitement. A lot of these young people seem to be heading for Boca Del Toro, about an hour or so over the border in Panama, I think, a place the lonesome traveller may have to check out, as it is so close to where I am now. Maria asked if I was staying for the weekend, she had a group of students coming from San Jose and needed to know how many beds she had, just the push I needed, no I said “I’m going to Panama”.

I am…. THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

When I arrived in Monterey, Henrietta was whining something terrible. I parked her up and went for a walk down Cannery Row, with all the other tourists. Along the way, I noticed a Harley parked on the side of the road, looking around I noticed a bloke sitting on a bench with all the leathers on. “Scuse me squire, that your bike?” “Yep!” “I just rode down from San Fran and my bike is making a shocking noise, I wonder if you could have a listen, I’m new to Harley’s.” “Sure, bring it on down,” On my return he had a listen and thought it wasn’t real serious but needed sorted right away, before it did more damage. The nearest Harley dealer was in San Jose he thought, about an hour and a half north, where I’d just come from. In the morning, reluctantly, I was going to have to go back. I booked into the Hi Monterey and went to the Bulldog British Pub to drown my sorrows…Always find a local…! I got talking to Sam who was trying to watch the Hockey game and I told him my story, “Nah! No need to go to San Jose” he said, “there’s a place here in Monterey that works on Harley’s; they do all the work for the bikie gangs, a couple of pints later I was feeling much better, with directions to Bills Monterey Custom Motor Cycles. At 9-30am there was no sign of life at Bills, I hung around till 10, no joy, just as I was pulling out they arrived and before I could say too much, Tony had his ear to the engine, a quick word to Randy and Henrietta was rolled into the workshop and they were pulling her apart. They didn’t seem to mind me hanging around watching the operation, something that wouldn’t happen at a Harley dealership. A bearing in the primary casing behind the clutch basket was the culprit and I’d had my first lesson in Harley maintenance. I went round the corner to buy a pair of jeans and by the time I got back, it was all over, Henrietta wasn’t whining anymore but Tony and Randy both agreed the cam lifters were rattling and should be replaced before I took off over east. I had to store her somewhere, when I went to Costa Rica in a week’s time, so it was decided, I would leave her with them and they would sort it out while I was away.

The following morning I was on the road to L.A, arriving just as it was getting dark; remarkably I found my way to the hostel in Venice without getting lost and ran into some of the people I’d met there 3 months earlier. Alison and Emily 2 had gone; Dave was living on a house boat in Marina Del Ray, Elinor was back in Boston with hubby, Emily 1 was still there, along with Yoshi, Carl and Mary who  didn’t get a mention last time around because we hadn’t spoken much. This time though Mary was very friendly and if I’d been staying longer than one night, I’d like to have got to know her better. It still wasn’t very warm but on the way down to San Diego the following day 101 went inland about 10 miles from the coast and the temperature shot up between 10 and 15 degrees, so I always knew when I was getting back near the coast by how cold it was. I arrived in San Diego to what they call the June gloom, cloudy and damp; it stayed like that the three days I was there, so I was happy to get back on the road back to Monterey. Interstate 5 turns into 405 just before L.A and if you want you can shoot straight through without touching any of it and get back onto 5 at the other end, I was trying to get back in one day, a distance of about 450 miles. Just passed Santa Barbara, the head wind started, trying to blow me off the bike, I persevered for a while but eventually had to stop for the night, pulling off at a small town called Los Alamos where I found the fantastic Union Hotel. Built in the 1800’s with a real Wild West look, a saloon with spittoons and a place to tie up the horse outside, the following day I dropped Henrietta off. I was on my way to Costa Rica.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

The last time I was in San Francisco I stayed in the city which was ok but now I had transport, I decided to stay outside the city. Coming south on 101 just before you go over the Golden Gate Bridge there is a turn off for Sausalito, a left before you get there and the road goes to Marin Point.  This was my destination, only trouble was, I came in on Pacific 1 so the directions I had, didn’t quite match. I ended up coming into Sausalito from the wrong end and getting hopelessly lost, no matter I always get there in the end, on this occasion heading north on 101 for a while, doing a huge huee, coming back and following my original plan. Ah! So this is why you make plans, take the second exit not the first, I was on track. This was good, I was on the coast, in the middle of rolling hills, with an old timber building set amongst the trees, I hadn’t booked but was very lucky to get the last bed, it was getting dark and I really didn’t want to go into town.

Sausalito I discovered was a very trendy little town and just added to the great vibe of the San Fran area. Bars, restaurants, galleries, marinas and of course tourists, a ride over the bridge takes you right into the heart of the city and all San Fran has to offer. My first stop this time around was Haight Ashbury, I missed it in the 60s and early 70s, I missed it when I was here before, I wasn’t going to miss it this time. This is the area around the university and Golden Gate Park, which was the Mecca for all the Hippies and the beginning of the flower power movement. They all lived here Janis, Jimi, Grateful Dead and many more; in my youth I dreamt of coming here and here I am, albeit 40 years too late. On a walk along Height Street I discover Tie Dye is still fashionable, the muso’s hang around the park strumming guitars, beating drums, and peace, love, dope lives on. There are antique shops with memorabilia and book shops with all the great books of the time, I’d been looking for a particular book since Tahoe after beginning to read it down there. Every time I was in a city since then, I’d go to the biggest book shop I could find but could never find it, they could all get it in but I’m on the move, with a very vague itinerary. I walked into a small place in Haight Street, there it was, I kind of knew it would be somehow, John Steinbeck, Travels with Charlie, not one of his classics but very appropriate for me at this time. I’m not much of a one for tours but the other thing on the agenda this time around, was a trip to Alcatraz, I discovered on getting down to the wharf, it’s also on the agenda of every other visitor in San Fran and was booked up for four days, guess I’ll just have to watch the birdman again.

It was time to move on, I got back on 101, missed the turn off for Santa Cruz, opting to go straight to Monterey, the place of another time past, the Monterey Pop Festival, The Animals, The Who, Mamas and Papas, Janis, Jimi and many more, mostly though, made famous by another Steinbeck book. Born in Salinas and a favourite son of the area, this is Steinbeck country and the area along the waterfront was renamed in honour of man himself. The book was Cannery Row and told of the hard life of the cannery workers, after years of over fishing, the sardine industry collapsed in 1950. There is now a National Marine Sanctuary from San Fran to San Simian Bay, a distance of 350 miles, with an abundance of marine life. Nice to know we can learn from our mistakes!

I am…. THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

 

 

I met Peter in the hostel in Seaside; he was from Canada and was riding a Kawasaki which he had bought in Panama. He had ridden up through Central America and Mexico and was almost home, he had a bit of trouble getting out of Panama he told me, “three times I arrived at the border and three times they turned me back, kept saying I didn’t have the right paperwork, the third time I’d had enough and rode down the road and crossed into Costa Rica through a field” He had no trouble crossing from Costa Rica to Nicaragua. I got some good information from him about riding around Central America, (another trip down the road a bit maybe?)

I set off the following morning on Pacific 1 and began the long trek down the coast, I began to see why this is a road the cyclists want to ride, the coast line is rugged and spectacular. There were places where 1 went onto 101 and headed inland through Federal and State forests, May was turning into June and still it was too cold for my liking. It was misty it was wet; it got to around 4pm, when I would normally be thinking of stopping for the day. I’d stopped up the road at a Wal-Mart’s store and bought a tent and mattress thinking I would start camping, first, to wake up in the bush and secondly, to save money. I’d run out of Hostels and was going to have to stay in motels until I got to San Fran, I pulled into a federal park $22 to put up a tent or $50 for a motel…no contest… I carried on to Reedsport; I was cold and wet but had a hot shower, a warm bed and a pub around the corner, I’ll save the camping for when it gets warm (if it ever doe’s). The guy at the desk kept telling me what shit bikes Harley’s were and people who rode them even worse, my teeth were chattering, my head was nodding, “yes I know, mmmm, yes your right, mmmm, your Suzuki is a far better machine, can I go get in the shower now?” I was all toasty again after a long soak in the bath, my phone rang which  doesn’t happen too often these days, it was Susy ringing from Perth for a chat, I thought about the big house on the hill with the wood fire burning and felt a bit lonesome, all in the past now, off to the pub. All the positive thinking in the world wasn’t going to change the outcome when I opened the curtains the following morning. It wasn’t raining but the clouds were low, which meant I wasn’t going far, before I’d have to stop to thaw out, then I hit the Redwoods in Southern Oregon, the road started to wind around these giants. I looked through the canopy way up in the sky and saw a bit of blue, then I saw the Eagles hovering above the trees, I snapped out of it, eyes on the road son, you’re sitting on a 1450cc beast with enough power to flatten you against one of these monsters. Some of the trunks would take half a dozen people to stretch around them and if T Rex were to stick his head around, he would be dwarfed; I wanted to get off and bow to the majesty of these awesome trees. I regret not finding a place to camp so I could  wake up and walk amongst them but continued on to California in search of sunshine and warmth and was soon back on Pacific 1 to that end.

The coast road is a slow one, south into San Francisco, it was the memorial long weekend which meant every man and his dog was on the coast. I passed through many seaside towns chocker block with tourists but not too many on the roads. The road winds around the cliff tops in spectacular fashion with mountains to the left and a sheer drop to the right, often without barriers to stop you going over, so concentration is a must, I came close on more than one occasion and the heart was pumping with the exhilaration of the ride. It was still cold but somehow I wasn’t feeling it, instead I was doing what I came here to do and had a warm fuzzy feeling doing it.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

Olympia! I’d been here a couple of times, changing buses when I was looking at bikes, so I was familiar with the place. Even though this is the capitol of Washington State, it is a lot smaller than Seattle; there was one hostel in town, which turned out to be a little 2 bedroom weatherboard house in the suburbs, with an annex out back made into a dorm, I was in the house and ended up waiting 3 days for the rain to end. Hisham seemed to be the boss around here, a Lebanese American, who knew more than the web, about everything imaginable, Colin, an Englishman who’s travelled around and ended up here in his later years was doing the odd shift to pay his rent, having escaped life on the street. I spent my time there, looking at tents and mattresses for the coming journey;

Hisham had given me dirictions one day to a placewhere I could get cheap tents so I was hopelessly lost, walking in the rain, when I came across an Insurance Broker. One last try before leaving the State, once I’m in Oregon there will no doubt be more reasons why I can’t be insured, I came across another Mary, just when I needed her. I told Kathy the story and with a nod of her head disappeared upstairs for ten minutes; on her return I had two options, comprehensive $950 or just liability for $650. After picking myself off the floor, I thought about it, I wanted to be legal, I only wanted 5 months, it was a long way from the 100 I’d been quoted by Gieco and the others but they wouldn’t insure me. I paid about $250 for 5 months; I will ring and cancel when it’s time to leave the country. I would use the hostel address and Colin would forward it on to me where ever I am when it arrives, I am now street legal, any overzealous state trooper who might pick me up down the road will at least have the pieces of paper he needs to see.

I woke up, there was a break in the clouds, I could see blue and it wasn’t raining, time to go. I had three days to come up with a plan of action and the plan was to get onto 101 and head south. There are those who need to know exactly when they will leave on a journey, which route they will take, when they will stop for lunch, how far they will get that day, where they will stay, etc, etc, etc. They will spend hours pondering over maps and attractions along the way. I get up when I get up, decide if I’m going, pack the bike if I’m going, get on the bike, and on this occasion head south. I’d seen the signs for 101 whilst walking around so had an idea where I was going… I got lost… not that I mind getting lost, in my opinion getting lost is all part of finding your way around and you can always double back and start again. It’s the short cuts that stuff things up, you know, miss a turning right, so carry on, go right down the road and right again I should end up where I want to be right, why does it never work? Then it’s time to stop and ask a local, “scuse me mate, which way to 101 south.” “Oh you’ve come too far, turn around go about 3 miles you’ll come to a fork left, don’t take it, carry on till you come to a starbucks, …here we go… one on every corner, turn right you’ll come to a junction, you want to go left, so turn right bla bla bla. I’m already confused, now I’m so confused I don’t know if I’m confused or not, I went back to where I started, got on to 101 and headed for Aberdeen. Hisham had said to go to Portland and get on to the 101 from there, the people in Aberdeen were a strange lot and should be avoided at all cost, Kurt Cobain was from there he said and he shot himself. That should tell you what they are like in Aberdeen! OK I shall ride straight through and try to avoid the miserable buggers I said. The sun was shining I went through Aberdeen, avoided the miserable buggers, went over the Astoria- Megler bridge which is a sight to behold at 6500 metres long, spanning the mouth of the Columbia river and I was in Oregon. A few more kilometres and I was ready to stop for the night, I found a great little place in Seaside and was all ready for a ride down the coast the following morning.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

 

 

“Who’s Joe?” I asked Bill one day, he looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and shouted over to Carmelita,” who’s Joe, Carmelita”, Carmelita shrugged and said “dunno”. I’m still trying to work out what the mystery was? There never seemed to be anyone hanging around at the end of the bar, I never saw anyone claiming even to manage the place, so no one seemed to be in charge, although if Carmelita had her eye on you, you were in strife! Beautiful big dark eyes, dark complexion, jet black hair half way down her back and a smile to melt a man’s heart, just don’t upset her. Her cousin Mina equally as beautiful, I asked her one day what her heritage was, Pilipino, Mexican, American Indian, and I think the odd Scotsman or Irishman was in there somewhere to!…coffee coloured people by the score…I have my suspicions, Bill somehow didn’t fit, could have been him, he was usually having a drink with Charlie, now my favourite would have to be Charlie. “So, where are you from Charlie”? “Vietnam”, “hang about, didn’t you tell me you were from Indonesia, last time I was talking to you?” “Ah well! You know, somewhere around there, it was a long time ago, I’ve forgotten!” Maybe Alaska was the man?,  Alaska was usually over by the pool table and usually counting  money, a bit of a pool shark I think. When I was introduced to Alaska, he didn’t say a word, just gave me a wink, like he and I, knew something no one else did and gave me a card, with a u tube site for a video, Americas got talent, might have been 2010 or 2011. I checked it out; there he was up on stage with three crosses, He liked to get up in the bar, couldn’t dance if his life depended on it, red hair half way down his back with a headband and the look of an American Indian. I think maybe everyone in there, owned a little bit of Joe’s bar.

I had checked out Insurance on the internet, before I got the bike and it told me no problem son, 100 dollars and it’s yours, until it came time to do it. No US licence, no insurance, no social security number, no Insurance, no address, no insurance. Once again I don’t compute, I tried a few different companies, same deal, here we go again. I’d been lucky at rego, half way through the process, the lady I was dealing with started to shake her head, “I’ve just got to make a phone call”, no that won’t work, she put the phone down, “errrr we need this, we need that,… this, that, this, that”, I pleaded with her to find a way, “Mary! Over here, what can we do with this gentleman, was I in trouble I thought? No! Mary, bless her heart, was able to manipulate the computer instead of the other way round. Here’s to Mary, I hope I run into a few more Mary’s along the way. They were throwing me out of the hostel, I’d more than overstayed, the limit was 15 days, I’d been there at least 25, it was time to go. The sun had been shining for a week, on the day I left it was raining, the first rain Henrietta’s probably ever seen in her lifetime.  It wasn’t bad at first, I was riding around Seattle on a final endeavour to get insurance, before I left, one last try, same result, ok I go without insurance? I got on Interstate 5 and I was heading south, I was on the road again, Seattle was past, I had two weeks before I had to leave the country,  a ride down the west coast was on my  mind, as far as San Diego I think, as far away from this fucking cold, wet rain as I can get. It was chucking it down now, the trucks were flying passed me on the 5 lane super highway. I had puddles in my boots I couldn’t see…coz I still haven’t got a full face helmet…welcome to the new bike sucker… I have to stop, Olympia up ahead, that’s it, Olympia for the night and in the morning? Let’s see.

I am…. THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

I ended up staying in Seattle longer than I’d imagined, I thought I might have the bike sorted in a couple of weeks but I was to stay there four. I looked at many and got a good insight into the Harley range, so that when I found the right one, I could go ahead. There were days when I seemed to spend the whole day on buses; I got to know Seattle, the suburbs, the surrounding countryside and the transit system quite well, I was happy to be in a city with some good walks, it was spring time and although cold, there was plenty of sunshine, the snow capped mountains in the distance, made it very picturesque and I spent many an hour exploring. I grew up in a place where there was a pub on every corner and more often than not, one in between; In Seattle, there seems to be a Starbucks every time you turn your head, everyone here must be buzzing around like bee’s searching for pollen. Caffeine isn’t my poison, so Joe’s Bar became my local, at the end of the day I’d usually end up there for a couple of ales. Joes, with happy hour, 7am till noon and 4pm till 7pm was always jumping and full of characters to entertain, Ed who I mentioned before tells me he’s an alcoholic but controls the amount of alcohol he consumes, sometimes with the help of the bar staff. He was on the street but managed to climb up a rung and had a studio apartment and did some volunteer work at the local medical marijuana clinic, he was in trouble with the criminal justice department he told me. “It’s been going on for 2 years now man”, I go see the judge, he tells me, “stop drinking or you will go to jail”, “I’m not a criminal I tell him!” I was on one of my bus days, checking out a Dyna Glyde, which turned out to be a girls bike, now before I get the sexists remarks, it was a girl selling it and it was a very pretty blue, with nice little matching blue bags, she was asking far too much for it and although I half heartedly made a silly offer, It wasn’t the bike for me, I made my way back into town and stopped in at Joes as usual. Ed was there drinking a pint of water, “Carmelita’s cut me off” he says, “had a bit of drama last night and she won’t serve me”. I learned that if Ed has a bit too much, he is prone to get a bit violent, hence the drama with the criminal Justice system. So when some random guy was giving him a hard time, he let fly and Jeremy, a young lad weighing as much as three people and the bouncer of the establishment, had to intervene. Ed was in the bad books but would no doubt charm his way out before the day was over.

There was a Fat Bob on Craig’s list, in Yelm, a place east of Olympia, it had the saddle bags, the sissy bar, the windscreen, all the extras needed for a long trip and I thought I’d found it. After getting up at 5-30am and catching three buses, I got to Wal-Mart’s car park, at the end of the road to nowhere but Yelm, at 10am. I met with one of Washington’s finest young police officers; he wasn’t on duty but was quick to show me his belt with all the hardware, to show me he was honest, I think? I took the bike for a short run around the car park and it almost had me, I was running out of time, I only had about three weeks left on my visa! There was a slight problem; the bike was financed, so the title was in the hands of the bank, “no problem” he said, “you pay me, I pay the bank, when they send me the title in 3 months, I forward it on to you anywhere you wish, you can trust me…I’m a policeman”… I was trusting him, up until this point! I told him I had to look at another and I would be in touch. Three buses later I was back in Joes bar chatting to Bill, an out of work electrician, who had done a stint behind the bar here, “sounds dodgy to me Al, could be a scam, did he show you a badge”? He didn’t show me a badge but when I thought about the ride around the car park, the bike didn’t fit anyway, it was the bags, sissy bar and windscreen that was grabbing me, I dismissed it and had a beer, before heading back to check Craig’s list. I had been looking mostly at bikes with all the extras I needed, as to buy them later could cost me an extra couple of thousand. There was a lowrider that I kept going passed on Craig’s list, it was the bike I would eventually buy, I kept going passed it because it was top dollar with no extras. I arranged to see it, it was in Lacey and I’d passed it going to Yelm, up in the hills on a large rural property. Clay, had, had it on the list in spring, for the last couple of years he told me, “if I don’t sell it this year, it will be on the list next year”. He wanted 9500, I offered him 8500, he smiled, “if I don’t sell it this year, it will be on the list next year”, ok 9, a shake of his head told me he was getting impatient. “The price is firm, you want the bike or you don’t”, he said, he knew what he had here, this bike had never seen any weather, only done 1000 miles a year and was looking like it just came off the showroom floor, even had the original pipes, which made it the quietest Harley ever heard. “I would like to buy your bike” I told him, I hadn’t mentioned the title yet but knew before I asked, it would be there and it was, a clear title, an office in Tacoma on the way back to Seattle where I could transfer the paperwork and I was mobile, all I needed now was insurance and I was street legal for all the States of USA.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

 

I felt refreshed after a fantastic time in Whistler and was planning a trip to Vancouver Island, which I’d heard so much about. I was walking down Granville Street in downtown Vancouver when I smelt the familiar smell of marijuana, not unusual anywhere on the west coast, I’d gotten used to it by now. Unlike other times though, when it would come and go as someone walked passed smoking a joint, which no one seems to worry about, this time it got stronger. I followed the aroma, people were setting up stalls, tents, marquees all around the Art Gallery and there were a couple of stages. On one stage there was a bunch of young lads murdering dark side of the moon, on the other, Funk Vigilantes, a decent protest band, who I stood and watched for a while. There was weed for sale everywhere, pipes, bongs, hookers, joints, grams, ounces, black hash, green hash, you name it, it was here and all under the watchful eye of a hand full of police. Happy Four Twenty was the cry, the street dwellers weren’t asking for money for food today, it was spare some change for a bit of weed sir? Apparently 4/20 is the code the police use when going to do a bust and once a year on the 20^th of April at 20 past 4 in the afternoon, everyone lights up a joint and the air is filled with marijuana smoke. If you are within a block of the art gallery today you are stoned! It was like stepping back in time to the sixties and guess what, I was walking around with a huge grin all day, a different grin from the 8000ft high grin. It took me three days to find the exit but I eventually got to Vancouver Island. The ferry takes you through many small Islands between Vancouver and Vancouver Island; the waters are calm and protected and I dreamed of sailing around here for a summer living on a boat. I didn’t stay long on the Island, it was raining and I was thinking I need to get down to Seattle and go hunting for the bike, enough time though to confirm what I had heard, a place that would be pleasant to live in.

One more Greyhound and I’m in Seattle again, back to Chinatown in familiar territory, I was right on the transit route which runs under the city. An incredible system of tunnels that the buses and trains use without collision, I would be using this a lot as I wonder around the suburbs and surrounding cities trying to find the Harley that is going to work for me. First stop, Downtown Harley Davidson which isn’t downtown at all and it takes me two buses, lots of walking and half a day to get to. They had a dyna lowrider in there that I wanted to look at and lots more to choose from, I looked at sportsters, the smallest and cheapest of the Harleys and decided that wasn’t gonna work, then there were the heavier models, the softtails, and the road kings but I kept coming back to the dyna’s. The one they had was ok but looked a bit uncared for and far too much money, I was a bit more informed now and started looking at the dyna range on EBay and Craig’s list.

At the end of the block I was staying at, on the corner of 5^th Ave S and King St S was Joes Bar. Joes Bar is the kind of place, when you walk in the door, every instinct tells you to turn around and walk back out, I kept going and sat at the bar, along with crack heads, dope heads, speed freaks, pan handlers, working men, working women, blacks, whites, yellows, pinks and browns to name a few. I ordered a beer, “Hey what’s happenin man, Eds my name” a wiry black guy with the gift to win you over, which he did, by the end of the night Ed and I were the best of friends and it only cost me a couple of beers. They wouldn’t let him drink anymore! They knew him better than I did.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!

We went off to get my boots, skis and lift pass, I already had my tour guide and all I had to do, was tag along. We got on the gondola, at the bottom of Blackcomb and headed up the mountain, it seemed to go on forever but eventually we were getting off, only to get on a chair lift, got to the top of that, then got on another lift, until we were up top. I was 8000ft high (who needs drugs?) with majestic, magnificent, mountain scenery. Tori had been here all winter and had boarded in 20 below temperatures, in snow that if you were to have a fall, you could disappear. It was coming to the end of the season now, spring time, with glorious sunshine and temperatures between zero Celsius and 8, perfect for this new player, I had a grin on my face all day and couldn’t get enough. I’d get to the bottom, my legs burning, get back on the lift and by the time we got to the top, I was ready for more. I was skiing well I thought, Tahoe was like a warm up for me, eventually though we had to go down, Tori could have stayed longer, with her young legs and a full season behind her but I was beginning to lose control of my legs and making mistakes, there is always tomorrow, don’t want any mishaps, I’m not insured! Time for a couple of beers in the village before walking the 15 minutes home, “hope my legs will carry me”. Tori was brilliant, I was there for a week and if she wasn’t working, which seemed to be most of the time, she was taking me all over Blackcomb and Whistler mountains, if I’d been on my own I wouldn’t have known where to go it was so huge, we got on the peak to peak gondola that stretches between the two mountains, I thought, how can I complain about the cost of a lift pass. The investment, that supplied us with this magnificent spectacle, is worth every dollar. We skied down whistler to creek side, a run of about 8 kilometres. Every now and then we’d hit the moguls, I have to say, my legs didn’t like the moguls, more for young legs I think, I can handle steep and fast but lumps, you can keep.

Back at the house I was beginning to think about getting a bike and spent a lot of time on the internet, looking on eBay and other sites, trying to find the right machine, to take me across the USA. I had started looking into it in California but it was all too hard, which is why I ended up on Greyhound, buying a vehicle wasn’t going to be as straight forward as I thought; you need a title here to register a vehicle. It all becomes a bit difficult if you are not a resident, in this computer age the lonesome traveller just doesn’t compute. I emailed the titles office in Washington to see if they could enlighten me, I got a response just before leaving, saying I could get a quick title and registration the same day at certain registry offices, FANTASTIC! I was getting somewhere; I began believing I could do what I came here to do.

The week I was there was the Telus festival week, a week of music, partying and promotion of all things skiing and boarding. There was a stage set up at the bottom of Blackcomb, so at the end of a day’s skiing we could have a beer and watch a live band, it must have been an Aussie running the show, because it seemed all the bands were Aussies. I was introduced to Cat Empire who I was very impressed with, lots of trumpet and upbeat reggae with a bit of Jazz, that reminded me of Madness but with their own particular slant, the next day we got Ash Grunwall opening for The Beautiful Girls, I was looking forward to seeing these beautiful girls but when they came on stage, they were a bunch of hairy Aussie blokes. Tori had told me of the bear she came across in her garden at the beginning of the season, which might sound crazy; I know it did to me, a bit like some poms in England who think they might see kangaroos jumping down the main street in Australia. Anyway it was spring time now, the bears were coming out of hibernation and I spent lots of time walking to and from the village searching for bears in the woods without success. Tori was applying for a job over east, north of Toronto as the season here was coming to an end, I was thinking about my trip across the States, it was time for me to jump on the Greyhound and head for Vancouver and Seattle.

I am….THE LONESOME TRAVELLER….travelling east….BE HAPPY!