Ride Report - Operation Destination Part III

I rolled into Ojai with quite a bit of fuel to spare.  I was pretty impressed, usually the sportbikes get crap for gas mileage but for some reason the R6 was running at about 40 mpg. I attributed it to the 'pansy pace' and pulled into a gas station to top off anyway. I really didn't know where I was going to go from this point so I erred on the side of caution and pulled out with a full tank. At the gas station, a gal on a ninja was waiting to lead some friends who were on cruisers in the direction of 33.  We exchanged cordial nods and I yanked my stiff knee over the seat of the bike with more unnecessary groaning before filling up and chatting with an old guy who compliment how pretty the bike was.  I followed some roads around until I landed somewhere near the 101 within range of Highway 1.  I decided to pop down there for a breath of cool ocean air and I cruised along on what seemed more like an access road than a major California Highway. I flipped up my visor and took a deep breath.  The sadness in my heart was stifled by the cold moist ocean air and it was rejuvenating after the long ride I had just taken. I glanced down at the temperature gauge on the bike and noted that it was reading significantly lower than it had been the entire trip.  Apparently the ocean air was a reprieve for both of us.

I popped back on the freeway and rode up the 101 briefly before entering into Santa Barbara.  I thought I might stop there and grab some lunch, but then I forgot that I remember very little about navigating around there since most of my friends have left.  I felt too exhausted and dingy to hit any of the places on State Street so I stopped for a minute to drink some water and consider my next move before I hit the road again and made my way north.  At this point my objective was to explore the logistics of overnight sleeping at a camp ground.  I didn't bring my sleeping bag.  I didn't bring much at all but I didn't really care.  I had a backpack for a pillow and two layers to throw on if I needed it.

Most people would think this was stupid.  Some ill effect of improper planning but I had thought out my necessities well ahead with the consideration that I wasn't opposed to sleeping on the ground next to my bike somewhere.  Hotels on the central coast are easily upwards of 100 dollars a night and I just couldn't reconcile the idea of spending that much money for something that wasn't really 100 dollars worth of reward; at least not on this adventure. Yeah, it could get pretty chilly here at night, I thought, but whatever happens, however bad it sucks, I know it's only going to be temporary and I'll live through it.  If I decide I hate it, I'll just get on the bike and ride to a Denny's somewhere. Homeless people make it work, and I can too.  I don't know why people feel like they need to bring bagloads of shit for a sleepover in a dirt patch.  Although, if I did somehow manage to finagle my way into a campground, I was most certainly going back to town for some beer, pretzels, and a roll of toilet paper. 

Priorities, man.

There were a few state beaches and coastal areas but the campgrounds were all full and I was turned away by park rangers who said that I could pay for day parking, but that was it. I didn't care that much and I wasn't that interested in just randomly picking a place in the middle of nowhere. So I rode... North... exiting at various locations and exploring the roads.

 

 

 

Once I had given up my quest for natural sleeping accommodations, I continued on toward Solvang.  Solvang is a little Danish community that is nestled a few miles up off of the 101 between Santa Barbara and Santa Maria.  There is a motorcycle museum there and a lot of really good eats.  I decided this would be as good of a place as any to stop in for some food while I decided whether or not I was going to try and hunt down a hotel room (and subsequently continue my ride on Sunday) or if I was going to make the daunting trek back in the evening.

 

It was about 4:30 when I arrived at the brewery and I pulled into the parking lot behind a guy on a chopper that had the trade-mark overzealous exhaust pipe.  He got off of his bike and did a double-take as I assume he realized I was a chick. I nodded politely, let my backpack fall of my shoulders and made my way into the restaurant where I was greeted with awkward stares.