There’s a rock out in Morro Bay, and it’s pretty famous. Fiona and I arrived in the tiny seaside town just in time to watch the fog completely envelop the top of that famous rock, and watched as it rapidly encompassed the surrounding harbor.

Though it was a Friday night, we had little problem finding a room at the Breaker’s Motel, and while it was a bit on the pricey side for what can only be termed ‘a dump’, at least the room had a fireplace and a small balcony.

The balcony view promised to be impressive, assuming the fog lifted by morning.

Fiona and I went out on the town that night. After a fantastic meal we stopped off at The Otter Rock cafe to hear some good live music. The drinks started flowing, and the night started getting a bit… shall we say… foggy. I know I was in bad shape because at one point I got up and danced, something that I only do when I don’t know better anymore. I know I stunned everyone with my awesome repertoire of moves, including “Shakin’ The Dice”, “Stirrin’ The Pot” and my latest “The Bouncin’ Frenchy” – a move best described as mimicking (poorly) a toddler learning to walk. I remember slurring away at the guitarist, a nice guy who turned out to be a fellow New Englander, I remember walking in on a girl in a red shirt washing her hands in the men’s room, I remember noise and colors, lots of laughing, settling a big bar tab, and very few other specific details.

One other detail I do remember is a few people ending up on our balcony at the Breakers, including Little Miss Red Shirt and her strange, silent boyfriend that drove six hours from San Diego to meet her. I tried to take a picture of Rain Cloud Follows from three stories up:

I recall at some point, much later in the night, our merry band of revelers being threatened by a gigantic, overweight Swedish woman in a fuzzy white robe that the manager would be called if we didn’t ‘Shooot The Fooock Oooop Right Now!‘ Then, I sorta remember being called ‘assholes’ by this rotund mound of foreign flesh, but by then then my world view was getting pretty dim.

One thing I do know for certain. It was the Best Night Ever. I know this because I toasted and toasted and toasted away until the Macallan flask was empty.

The next morning I woke up feeling fuzzy. “Uhh… What happened?’ I wasn’t too sure. At least I was in a hotel room. So was Fiona. OK. So far, so good. A quick headcount brought immediate relief. While we may have made some new friends the night before, they didn’t become CLOSE friends. I don’t know where the others ended up, but thankfully it was somewhere else.

I looked out the window, and saw that the sun was up, and it was a bright, clear and beautiful day.

Then, snippets of the previous night started percolating in my head. I grabbed my camera and immediately deleted any and all evidence of the previous night. No sense in saving incriminating evidence, is there? No. Then, noticing my previous night’s attempted Rain Cloud picture, I decided to test my ‘morning after’ photographic ability.

Not bad. If my hands were steady enough to take this picture, I felt like I’d be able to make it through the day.

The fog free view from the balcony was stunning. After a quick breakfast of Advil and water, Sleeping Beauty and I decided to head over and explore The Rock.

Pretty cool. For some reason, we didn’t feel too much like exploring that day, and decided to jump on the 101 and head straight home.

We stopped in the little town of Los Alamos for food and fuel, and had another bizarre road encounter. I pulled up to the middle pump, and before I even got off the bike, a guy pulled up next to me in a little black Mini Cooper clown car. “Hey! I was in line and you cut in front of me!”

I didn’t believe what I just heard. First off, Mr. Clown Car driver pulled in after me, I saw him in my mirror. Secondly, the pump in front of me was available, so why bother saying anything? Third, what the hell are we, in Kindergarten or something?

“What?” I wanted to make sure I heard him correctly.

He whined his same clown complaint at me again.

“What??” Now I knew I’d heard him, but I wanted to make him repeat himself a third time, in hopes he’d realize what a completely unreasonable douchebag he sounded like.

“YOU CUT ME!”

OK. Play time is over. “Are you here to get gas? OK!” I pointed to the vacant pump in front of me. “Then GET YOUR FUCKING GAS, CLOWN!”

He glared at me the whole time he filled his little two gallon tank. Though I don’t suffer stupidity lightly, I’m mostly non-violent. However, I will admit the idea of pulling the nozzle out of my tank, hosing this little shit and his clown car down with fresh hi-test, then asking for a match crossed my mind.

I managed to keep my inner arson in check, but this clown encounter really put a damper on the day. We took exactly three more pictures on the trip.

Three Of My Favorite Things

It took a while, but eventually we were laughing about the guy, and in fact, the experiences of the entire trip. Through the remaining five hour ride, Sleeping Beauty managed to get in an hour nap, but only whacked me with her head twice on the way home.

Our Two Day, 544 Mile Route

With a bunch of non-motorcycle travel coming up for work and the holidays, this most likely will be the last ride of 2008. We’ll take some time to do some holiday motorcycle shopping for Sleeping Beauty, and of course, start planning for the 2009 riding season, which is already shaping up to be the Best Season Ever!

Author: frenchy