"Paul snores. REALLY loudly. Absolutely incredibly loudly."
July 18th was the first day in almost forty that I did not ride my bicycle. Instead, the four of us piled into John's ancient VW van and hit the streets of San Francisco.
First stop was "It's Tops", a greasy 50's-style diner, for breakfast. From there it was off to the North Face outlet to look at tents. John and Paul were heading further down the coast in a few days, and Paul's a-few-strings-and-a-tarp pup tent wasn't quite cutting it.
After an unsuccessful bout of tent shopping we went to visit Jennifer, John's ... umm ... "friend".
"Absolutely gorgeous. Full of grace and power, like a cat. Smart too. Creative. Artist."
At this point in my journey I had no idea what I wanted to do -- but I didn't feel like I was quite ready to return home. I still had at least a month before Petra would be in Arizona, but I didn't have a month's worth of money left. I mentioned to Jennifer that I would be interested in finding some kind of under-the-table work, and she said she could probably get me a job (minimum wage, under the table) at the photo lab where she worked, as well as a place to stay. What a woman.
We let Jennifer get back to work and then drove over to an art gallery where her work was on display. She was showing sculptures of corsets and motorcycle gas tanks. Like I said: what a woman.
We headed back home for dinner and threw together a little barbecue. Everyone had been so impressed with my cooking skills on the road that they put me in charge of the grill. I also contributed a potato salad and a greek salad. The wine flowed freely, and everyone had a great time.
"Eventually everyone left, and it was just the four of us, getting happy in the basement. What a great bunch of guys. Hope we stay in touch."
"Today, the journey officially ended... I'm done. Now what?"
Once again, I had to endure another dreaded goodbye. True to form, I puttered around John's garage for an hour, slow gathering my things and packing up my bike. Then, it was hugs all around and off I went. I was sad to leave those guys behind. We had spent only five days together, but their friendship had taken my trip from merely enjoyable to absolutely wonderful.
With a good tailwind I zipped along El Camino Real. It's a business road with heavy traffic, but it goes right by Stanford, where Ka Kay lives. I stopped for lunch at Fresh Choice, the other restaurant that I had wanted to eat at. Remember Jack In The Box? Well this time, I wasn't disappointed. Smiling happy employees and good food. And All You Can Eat! Just like I remembered it.
Ka Kay was away in Canada until Monday, and Tommy, the guy with the key, wasn't home, so I went exploring, found a nice little lawn in the middle of campus, and had a nap. I finally got into Ka Kay's apartment at 5:00. Small, naugahyde furniture, and no TV. Typical university residence. I dropped my stuff and settled into what was to be my home for the next three weeks.
I went exploring Palo Alto -- and got myself locked out of the apartment in the process. I don't suppose you can blame me -- I hadn't carried anything even remotely resembling a key for six weeks. Tommy was nice enough to vouch for me so we could borrow a replacement from the office. The part of Palo Alto that I saw was nice, full of trendy little shops and just a few too many burrito/"wraps" restaurants. Apparently, West Palo Alto has the highest per capita PhD's in the US, and East Palo Alto has the highest per capita murders in the US. I didn't go very far east. Palo Alto also has a huge number of bicycle shops.
That night I went ballroom dancing with Tommy, and his girlfriend. The place wasn't what I had expected -- a very hot, sweaty gymnasium -- but the crowd was. Lots of hot, sweaty, social outcasts. Tommy and his girlfriend are both great dancers, but the rest of the crowd left something to be desired. I did learn the two-step, though. Slow. Quick Quick. Slow. Quick Quick. Slow. Quick Quick. Slow. Quick Quick...
"After that dance we went to another one at Stanford. Much better -- although weird. It was like being thrust into an episode of "Fame". Everybody knew how to dance, and dance well."
I met a beautiful International Relations student from Germany named Deborah, and proceeded to thoroughly embarrass myself in an attempt at waltzing. I also asked her if she was interested in lunch, and after giving it a great deal of consideration she turned me down -- "no time" was her excuse.
"This is actually an interesting trend. I always have lots of free time. Many women I'm interested in seeing have no free time. Are they making stuff up, or do I have an unusually undemanding lifestyle? Right now, the latter applies, of course. However, I think that perhaps I am just naturally attracted to busy people."
Deborah filled my rejection quota for the night, so I walked back to Ka Kay's apartment.
I'd gotten so use to being out on the road, exploring, that I went for a little bike ride. My route took me up, over the hills along the west side of the San Francisco Bay and down to the Half Moon Bay, on the Pacific. It was an absolutely beautiful ride -- if only a little bit demanding going up the steep hill. The road up the hill wound through a beautiful forest, and in among the homes of some of the richest computer nerds in the world. This was Silicon Valley, after all. No fewer than FOUR Ferraris passed me while I was sweating my way up the hill.
The road deposited me on a nice ridge, and I glided the ten or so miles down to Half Moon Bay to find a crowded, foggy beach. I read for a while, had lunch, then joined the traffic jam heading back over the hill to Palo Alto. I was a little nervous riding with all the traffic on the narrow road, but once I got on top of the hill the traffic disappeared. Gliding down through the forest was wonderful. I felt like singing at the top of my lungs, but I was worried that Steve Jobs might hear me.
"I called Jennifer in San Fran from the beach to check out my job status. No go for the photo place, so I guess I am still a professional transient."
Jennifer said I could stay at her place for a while if I wanted, and she would keep an eye out for other jobs. Again: what a woman. I still had no definite plans, but on Monday I would start calling some of my industry contacts in the Bay Area, looking for jobs.
On Tuesday I went for lunch with one of my industry buddies. I had tuna salad. Bad idea.
Four hours after lunch, I was really tired. Eight hours after lunch, I was sick. By midnight, I was saying hello to lunch again. And again at 8 am the next morning.
I tried to make it downstairs on Wednesday (Ka Kay lives on the 12th floor) so I could watch TV. I pushed the button on the elevator, and as the numbers slowly counted down to 1, I knew that going downstairs was a bad idea. I pushed 12, sat down in the elevator, and hoped I would make it back. I just barely did -- and ended up lying, sweating and shaking, on the cold tiles. I was sick.
Thursday entailed more extreme nausea, but no vomiting.
On Friday I decided to go to the hospital. The ever-useful Tommy dropped me off. It was full of crazy patients and nice doctors, but neither was able to help with the nausea. The latter filled me up with drugs and shoved me, barely able to walk, out the door.
Saturday entailed more lying around doing nothing, but feeling a little better. I was feeling well enough to walk down the block to the computer house, and use Ka Kay's account to access my email account and surf the web, looking for jobs.
The Olympics were on, from Atlanta. On Sunday I watched the 100 meter dash, and Canada's Donovan Bailey won. Too bad I had to listen to the Americans cover it. The same goes for all the media hype surrounding the 4x100 relay. American media coverage is way too biased when it comes to international events.
"Still don't know how I'm going to finish the trip. Continue to Mexico, or go back to San Fran and live it up for a week? Tough call. We'll have to wait to see."
That's how my journal ends.
I ended up wasting another two weeks in Palo Alto. I did hardly anything... watched TV, played online computer games, and did a little bit of painting. Basically, I sat around and watched my money disappear. I went to two job interviews at computer game companies, and although both looked promising, neither panned out. I think I came across as a little too over-confident. My attitude was pretty much: "I know you're going to hire me, so let's talk relocation bonus."
By the end of the two weeks I was starting to run out of money, and Ka Kay was starting to run out of patience. Vince (another friend of ours) and I had been living in her tiny, one-bedroom apartment for the past three weeks. And, she had another set of friends arriving soon. She oh-so-kindly suggested that she might like so time to herself before the next wave of visitors arrived, and I concurred.
I made arrangements to take the Green Tortoise from San Francisco to Seattle. The Green Tortoise is an "alternative" bus line that runs regular routes along the west coast, and does excursion trips just about everywhere. They're 1/2 the price and twice the fun. My parents would drive down from Vancouver and pick me up there.
I rode my bike from Palo Alto to San Francisco and got two flats on the way. I'm just glad they happened in good neighborhoods.
I met Jennifer at her apartment and we stowed my gear. Then, we met John and his friend and went out for some great Thai food. From there we went cruising. We tried to sneak onto the navy base in the middle of the Bay to check out some great views, but John's hippy van immediately attracted the attention of the military police. We were kindly asked to leave. John told us stories of running up to the top of the cables holding up the San Francisco Bay Bridge -- twice. Although I admire his spirit of adventure, sometimes he can get a little too crazy.
The next day I met John and his friend and we went for breakfast -- back to "It's Tops", the greasy 50's diner. John must really like that place. From there, it was off to the beach. We spent a couple of hours there, basking in the sun and admiring the beautiful... um... "scenery". Then, back to Jennifer's house, where I picked up my bike, said my good-byes, and rode down to the bus station for the 8pm departure.
The anticipated collection of backpack-adorned travelers was awaiting the bus when I got there. I said my farewells to Jack In The Box with a final chicken fingers snack (still disappointed), and hopped on the bus.
Green Tortoise is a wonderful way to travel. Instead of airline-style seats, the front half of the bus is arranged around tables, and the back half of the bus is a big, open platform. Everyone is pretty much the same age, and of the same mindset. Adventure travel is the name of the game.
The bus folds down into bunks at night, and I shared mine with a nice, if opinionated, New York woman. I didn't sleep all that well, what with my face pressed against the window and the frequent stops to pick up passengers, but I didn't mind. The bus drove through the night and we arrived in the morning at their "Simulated State Park" for breakfast.
Half the bus cooked breakfast -- pancakes, fresh fruit, granola and yogurt -- while the other half went skinny-dipping in the river. Then, the latter half cleaned the dishes while the rest of us cooled off in the water. My first time skinny dipping, and I loved it -- except that I was a little worried about leeches or other nasty water residents attaching themselves in certain awkward places. A scene from the movie "Stand By Me" comes to mind. Anyway, after a refreshing dip we all climbed back on the bus -- except for two passengers who had decided to spend a week in hippy paradise, working in the camp and earning travel credits. The rest stop was nice, but just a bit too much on the "hippy" side for my tastes.
Back on the road, and making new friends. While we were stopped in Oregon one of the passengers announced that she was planning to head to Vancouver, and was looking for travel companions. I introduced myself and told her I lived there. She seemed a bit standoffish at first, but I sat with her for the rest of the trip and Suzanne and I got to be good friends
We finally arrived in Seattle, 27 hours after leaving San Francisco. I was planning to stay with my friend Laurel, but her house was a good hour's bike ride away, and I wasn't too keen on riding through a strange city in the middle of the night. Fortunately, Suzanne knew what she was doing. She managed to track down the last two hostel spots in Seattle, and we finally got to sleep just after midnight.
I had thrown all my various bike bags and attachments into two large garbage bags for transport on the bus. Unfortunately, the hooks on my panniers had ripped the garbage bags to shreds, and I arrived at the hostel in a state of disarray. I had four panniers, a tent, a jacket, a tarp, tent poles, kite, and painting paper. Somewhere in the confusion, I managed to lose one of my small bags. It had my fleece sweater in it and a few other clothes, but nothing else of real value.
My parents picked up Suzanne and I the next morning. Two months after leaving I arrived back home, $2000 poorer and infinitely richer.