All good things…

So…we’re back in Paris. Jetlag is starting to wear off and tomorrow I’m flying home to Dublin.

I just said goodbye to Nic who’s jetting off to Emily in Bangkok. Yes Bangkok. Some are making the most of this recession it seems. Not jealous at all because I get to go to sunny Dublin tomorrow AND I have work to look forward to on Monday. Boo-ya!


I haven’t posted anything in quite a few days but I’ll strive to not get too self-indulgent in the reminiscence of our last days in California.


Our itinerary was out the window as we prepared to set off from Mono Lake. It turned out that our bikes had gone through oil like an Irishman through a crate of beer on Good Friday, and we had to make a detour to go buy some. After that we also decided to backtrak in order to visit a ghost-town called Bodie.


The relatively large town, nestled in a valley pretty high up in the hills, was abandoned in the 20s or 30s. Clearly bricks hadn’t been invented in that part of the world yet, so the whole thing is made of old sun-burnt wood and looks like a western town with saloon and all.


On the way there – sorry Nic, I know you’re starting to think that this blog is merely a poorly disguised pretext to make fun of you, but it’s too funny not to share – Nic miserably botched his biker gang member’s application. We were riding behind a group of 20 or so bikers, in a 2 column formation as they tend to. Nic, I knew, was quite curious about how hard it is to achieve and, spotting a gap in the formation, slid into place to ride in synch among the leather vested, skull-capped group. We had no idea whether they were Sunday riders or a proper gang. The big difference being the consequences of the intrusion by a young European tourist on a non US bike. After chuckling a bit at the thought of Nic being taken to the side of the road by 20 bikers wielding ball peen hammers, I did get a bit worried. Nic was promptly and deflty guided out of formation by a biker at the back who slid into the place Nic was occupying.


Not to be ousted like that, Nic decided to overtake the entire column, one by one, around bends and the like, and made his way to the front, where I couldn’t see him. The wise young man had decided that that would show them…As it turned, either they’d already consumed their daily amount of human blood, or they were indeed recreational bikers out for a spin with their mates. Because Nic’s audacity went completely unpunished and this little story doesn’t have the dramatic ending it deserved. Oh well.


We eventually made it to Yosemite and spent two nights in the area because the national park is so big. It’s absolutely stunning. We reached the highest point of our trip both litterally (some 3k in altitude) and scenicly. The immense proportions of the softly rounded domes and the clarity of the mountain lakes were enough to humble you into silence – yes, even Nic. Not some of the Americans around us though, who, teeming at the vista rest-stops were usually too excited by the food and trinkets on offer not to share their delight loudly with their family members. The size of the place is so huge though, that it offered some of the quiestest and best biking we experienced.


Following that, we decided to cross back to the coast, some 10hrs of riding which made for a long day. The start and end of the San Joaquin Valley – the huge flat expense of land at the centre of the state – were truly beautiful. Toward the end of the day, riding back into the hills preceding the coastal range, the sun set in front of us, suffusing the smooth golden hills with all sorts of colours. A well deserved sight after the inferno of the Valley which only really has a few tractor graveyards to distract from the monotony of the flat dusty farmland.


This long drive meant that we could finish the trip back on Highway 1, taking our time on what is my favourite stretch of road on earth. The trip between San Luis Obispo and Carmel is all twisty roads along abrupt cliffs, bordered by scraggy rocks scattered in the waves. There’s something really uplifting about that place. Something that makes you feel you’ve arrived home, and that makes you take the time to enjoy every second of it.


Voila. We got to SF via Santa Cruz, reluctantly gave up the bikes and indulged in coupious amounts of food and booze that evening while the magnitude of the whole trip and the privilege of sharing it with each other was only starting to sink in.


Sitting in the kitchen in Paris, I realise that I haven’t quite incorporated it all yet. As part of me is still there, sitting on the bike immerged in the beauty of it all and the peaceful minute by minute solitude of my helmet. And part of me is considering what could possibly come next.


We spoke of a trip around the Italian lakes this Spring, with Lynsey and Emily. And who knows, Nic, maybe someday we’ll buy those Enfields in Delhi and drive them back home.


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PS: that’s it for the travel blog. A big thank you to all who took the time to read it – although I understand, rightly so, that less words and more pictures may be in order next time. Thanks for the comments and the interest. We’ll see if the blog will be as successful next week, when I turn back to fascinating little nuggets of wisdom about digital creative…