I stopped at Carson City for the night. Just another Nevada gambling paradise. I check-in at Motel 6 for $39.95. By the time I set up my computer, make a few calls, take a shower, it is close to 9 pm. I am really hungry now. I head downstairs to the front desk to ask for advise. "Sorry sir everything closes at 9 pm except the casino restaurants". Bummer. I go hungry that night. Next morning, 6:30 am, famished, I depart for the corner of Height and Ashbury in San Francisco. I continue along hwy 50 through South Lake Tahoe looking for real food. Suddenly, around the bend, there it is, the Zephyr Cove Restaurant, open at 6 am daily overlooking the lake. A fine meal of country fried steak with scrambled eggs and home fries mixed with onions and green peppers makes my morning. This meal would clearly pass the Paul and Eddie test of culinary excess.

Highway 50 winds itself through spectacular countryside all the way to Sacramento, and then it is a drag through the suburbia and industrial waste of San Jose and Oakland. It is cold, damp and extremely windy. Entry to San Francisco through the Golden Gate bridge is $4. Traffic at the toll gate is awful, but thanks to the law allowing motorcycles to split lanes I go through pronto. Surprisingly, the car drivers accept this with a smile and often clear the way. I would not want to try this maneuver in moving traffic.

Height and Ashbury. Not much has changed. Most people here are still on drugs but look old and worn out after 40 years of homelessness. Quick lunch at the Green Door Cafe and I'm gone. Motorcycling in SF is crazy. Imagine having to stop at at a red light on a 30 degree incline.

I head for Highway 1 just north of Sausalito. I was not thinking straight. If you can imagine the suicide turn at the Forks of the Credit, multiplied a thousand times, you might be close. I am so tense and exhausted that I have to stop for the night at the end of 20 miles. It is not just the turns but the drastic changes in elevation with long drops to the ocean on one side and solid rock on the other. With the level of concentration dedicated to the operation of the bike who has time to observe the beauty of the coast line. Naturally, while I am crapping my pants, Paul would have been taking pictures from the seat of his moving bike, which would come out perfectly clear without the help of an image stabilizer.

The lodging along Highway 1 caters to a different type of tourist best described as one driving a Porsche or Mercedes, with unlimited spending credit cards. I manage, however, to spend the night in comfort at the Olena Historical Inn, and tonight at the Elk Cove Inn.

Ah, the Elk Cove Inn. This is the place where Ducky and I spent a few nights some 12 to 14 years ago on the wonderful Mendicino coast. The dogs, Asta and Boomer, have passed on, but Elaine still runs the place. Elaine, in the meantime, has put on an addition, sold the place taking back a heavy mortgage, took it back when the buyer defaulted two years later, got divorced and remarried. Not much has changed. The breakfast is still great. Since this establishment is rated as a romantic get-a-way, and all the rooms are equipped with King size beds, it is unlikely a place that Paul and I would share. On the other hand, while I am in the lap of luxury, Paul could camp on the beach below.