We woke up early but, even so, Esau beat us on the rode by about 2 hours:D By eight in the morning it was already smokin’n hot and we lathered on the sunscreen. In the process of gooping up my back, Jodie found a tick on me!!!!! ewwww!! yucky!

 

It was gorgeous, the road was gorgeous, ( and very mountainous might I add), the sunshine was gorgeous, we were gorgeous, ( as usual)……..so because everything was so gorgeous Jodie and I worked the camera with some stellar poses on top of boulders at a vista point. Follow the pictures, they are self-explanatory. It was such a pitiful moment crashing to the ground after sporting a flying superman pose off of a 2 ft tall boulder. Pathetic to say the least. We laughed our heads off….well, we laughed our heads just about off, luckily they stayed ontop our necks where they belonged.

Tootie Fruties were calling to us so we stopped in Big Sur, bought some very expensive milk and each had two heaping bowls of the joyous cereal. We rode on and on. Our food supply was pretty much zilch but every town we enteres seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. First there was Lucia, nothing but a bar/grill connected to an inn. Then there was Pacicific Valley; hmmm I don’t recall anything at all in Pacific Valley, actually I don’t even recall riding through Pacific Valley. Hark, actually Jodie can recall seeing one motorhome in Pacific Valley.. By now we were more than zilch out of food, we were nada, zip, empty, broke outa food. Our last hope was Gorda. And hope we found in a quaint, oober expensive general store. They sold teeny tinny jars of peanut butter for $6.75 and that was pretty much it. Though Gorda had a little food, it did not have any place to camp so it was going to be another bush night. We rode just outside of Gorda and started looking for the prime location away from prying eyes and find it we did. After detouring a private, locked gate, we reined our bikes down a path until, voala, there was a private campsite just for us. Complete with a bridge, mowed grass and n excellant bush bathroom with the most magnificent ocean veiw. It was dark. The crickets were out. Our stomachs had begun the laborous and often painful job of digesting unchewed spaghetti. Then we heard it. A motor. A squealing motor. A squealing motor heading down the path towards us. Paniking we switching off our headlamps and Jared voiced the dreaded words, “We’re done for”! The squealing motor rounded the corner and the headlight shone on four squatting candadians, frozen with fear. The squealing motor shut off and an awesome dude proudly dismounted his 5 horse moped and chatted up a storm with Calen about the history of our private campsite, his little cabin down yonder and that it was no problem for us to stay ther for the night.