Snapped a few photos of Vader fully loaded , and the obligatory shot of Cathy and I. Cathy is my 19 year old daughter. She was probably wondering if she would ever see her goofy Dad again! The journey finally began at 10:30 PST. It felt great to actually be underway. Traffic was non-exeistant as I passed through Hayward, Castro Valley, then up I-580 to I-680. This is my prefered route when I'm heading towards I-80, a trip I make occasionally when visiting my daughter at U.C Davis. The scenery is nicer, and you avoid the disastrous mess where I-80, I-880, I-980, I-580, and Highway 24 all come together in one gigantic maze. You end up with a huge traffic-weave of cars merging from the right lanes all the way to the left lanes in a short distance to get to the Oakland-S.F Bay Bridge, and cars merging from the left lanes all the way to the right trying to get to I-80 East. If it sounds confusing to you, just try driving it during rush hour! It's a huge revenue source for the local Tow Truck Drivers. It's been a mess ever since the Cypress Structure collapsed in the Loma Prieta earthquake in October of 1989. I did major damage to my Ford Explorer there a few months ago, and just didn't feel like fighting that mess on my bike. Despite my mere 3 months of riding experience, I don't fear traffic when on my bike. I've been driving for 26 years, and manuevering a bike through traffic is much easier than wallowing through it in a cage. To me it's like a real live video game. I just didn't want to start my trip in that mess.

I-680 takes you up through the East Bay Area hills, near the Yuppie towns of Danville, San Ramon, Walnut Heights, Walnut Creek, and then up through numerous small cities which are effectively one continous suburb, up to the Benicia Bridge. The view from the bridge is incredible. On a clear day you can see forever. Once you cross the bridge, it's a great ride for an Interstate. Up I-680 a ways off to your right you see a floating boneyard of surplus Navy ships. Rows of old sailors long past their useful life. It's kind of a sad sight. It was the huge military industrial buildup of WWII which was responsible for turning the Bay Area from an agricultural base to an industrial base. It threw together folks from all across the U.S. into one geographic locale. Probably one of the greatest social expierments of all time. The melting pot theory seemed to hold up while the economy was viable, but this area is going through some big changes, partially due to the phase out of the military, but mostly due to the loss of unskilled and semi-skilled manufacturing jobs to cheaper workers overseas. Who knows how it will all play out. I can't picture an economy based on bankers, lawyers, stockbrokers, teachers, and hamburger flippers. Someone has to produce something along the way, or it will all come tumbling down. Well, enough of the sociology babble and back to the trip.

Day one was all interstate riding. There was no reason for me to dawdle around in California. The sooner I left my home state and traversed the deserts of Nevada & Utah, the more time I would have to spend in the "nice areas". The traffic was light passing through the Sacramento area, and it was clear sailing all they way on I-80. The bike had no problem climbing the mountain passes in the Sierra Nevada range. There was only one long uphill stretch where I "ran out of throttle", topping out at around 72 MPH. Not bad considering the grade and length, and the load I was carrying (my 190 and about 110 pounds of gear, food, and clothing). I've had cars that wouldn't do that good. Nearing Nevada, my butt was still feeling good, and with hours of daylight remaining, stopping early made no sense, so I scrapped my Tahoe camping plans and kept rolling East. I Stopped in Sparks, Nevada for gas. Since it had been windy, and I had been riding between 70-80 MPH, my gas mileage was 35 mpg. Normally, my bike averages between 40 and 41 mpg. My first gas stop earlier in Loomis, California was a normal 41 mpg.

In Sparks I passed a couple of worn out Ford Pinto's . There aren't that many left running around in the Bay Area. One of them even had two large round stop lights mounted on the top of the roof. You definitely want people to know that you're stopping when traveling around in a gassed up 73 Pinto. As a former Pinto owner, I never worried much about the gas tank problem, but mine was a 1978 model, and the deficiencies were corrected by then. Apparantly this owner was taking no chances. It's my theory that the Pinto population is probably a good economic indicator. Why pay all those college trained economists? Just count Pintos. The more you see in an area, the more depressed economically it is.

Physically, I was holding up pretty good. My ankle was really my only sore spot. The day before the trip I had slightly sprained it the while putting the bike on the center stand. That was one skill that I hadn't really perfected yet. The other sore spots I was able to alleviate by moving around on the bike. That's the beauty of a standard bike. You can lean back against your luggage and cruise, or slide your butt back and put your chest on your tank bag for a sportier riding position, or go with the usual standard upright mode. Physically, I was doing so well that I decided to try to make it to Battle Mountain before dark. My AAA map indicated a campground there.

Driving across Nevada puts one in a meditative state. You just cruise, and your mind wanders. It is probably one of the few places were it is relatively safe to do that on a motorcycle. You're mostly going straight, and there isn't much of a wildlife danger in the day time. Not much traffic either. You're alone, for all intensive purposes. My mind wandered to all of those who had made trips coming out west in the past, taking weeks to travel distances that we do in a day. No gas stations, no AAA maps, no towns to speak of, just a group of brave souls looking for a better life. Most of them with all of their posessions, their loved ones, everything that they held dear crammed into wagons, braving the weather, the unknown, occasionally running into hostile Indians, who were fighting just as vigorously to hold onto their land and way of life. I wonder how many descendants of those hardy people have the tenacity of their ancestors? Time will tell... I learned an important lesson on I-80 in the middle of Nevada:

Around 7:00 PM I rolled into Battle Mountain, gassed up (only 32.7 mpg), and cruised around looking for the campgrounds. There was nothing in that town remotely resembling a campground. They did have a small city park, which was hosting some kind of city festival. I was tempted to just pull in and set up under a tree, but the local authorities would probably frown on a dusty biker setting up camp in the middle of their park. I learned another important lesson that day: