So I was laid over in San Francisco for a few weeks. Bringing all my possession to a point of rest, or I to new hands. A week out I bought a bike, and then stitched up some saddle bags. To meet the advanced party in the middle part of the state some maneuvers were ahead. A train was my best bet to catch them up, but to shore my bet I made the reunion sight the carrizo plain. Lying on the San Andreas fault, the carrizo stretches 40 miles north to South and is defined by two mountain ranges. Oil fields to the east, and Pacific ocean west can't been seen or accessed from the plane without a climb out. The result is astounding quiet, and a insulating feeling.
So I hopped on a San juaquin amtrak, Trevor and Simon biked out of SLO, and the three stooges were a together again.
Beans and greens cooked over a fire, bacon and whisky cold for breakfast. It rained a good rain over the night, and we rode out of the plain the next day through wind and fog. The valley continued south, as the dirt road changed to hw 33. The popping metropolis of Ventucopa was my first water stop in 80 miles. Marked by two merchants, the Pistachio Store, who wowed us with covered bike parking and ample picnic tables, but fell short of coffee. 'only one pot per day' was their policy. Mugs still empty, we roved another minute to 'The Place'. Located in quite the middle of nowhere, the promised coffee and home made pie was right in line with the needs of anybody who found themselves there. They also had wants covered as well, the bartender asked us put a log on the fire, so with 'schooner sized beers, we sat down and stoked the umber to a bright blaze, the lemon wood we were burning smelled sweetly, and reminded us of the wondrous bounty California has for the picking.
We camped in the yard, and in the morning, after a final pour of counter top caffeine we rode towards the days peaks.
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