The Track Princess Goes Back to School

New school supplies in hand, I recently went back to the featured locale of my “Twelfth Day of Christmas," the Inde Motorsports Ranch, this time for some formal instruction at the Peris Riding School.

I got to play the role of Track Princess yet again, being the guest of my former employer-now-friend-now-“benefactor”.  And again, this wasn’t the mob of riders I had fully expected, but a class of perhaps ten or fifteen really serious riders and racers from all over the US and Canada.  Yup, all those top notch riders and… me.  Hah!*  I’m not kidding about that “Track Princess” part.

The Princess and her Ride

The line up gets a spot check.

The two day course was part classroom time (from which I pilfered the lean angle photo I used here) and part riding.  Aside from the obvious thrill of getting to zoom around a racetrack unimpeded**, some other class features included getting yourself video taped for a lap (cool!) and having it critiqued in front of the class (groan!), a detailed talk about motorcycle suspension and how it affects your riding by guru Dave Ciesielski (who couldn’t bear to let me leave my folding mirrors on while I was riding), having the expertise of the Evan Steele Performance team at your disposal (they adjusted my rear brake lever so it would stop dragging on the ground when I cornered - I’d hate to catch the rear brake accidentally when I wasn’t meaning to, can you blame me?), and…

AND…

…a bomber thrill ride as pillion with Top Ten AMA Professional Racer Chris Peris!  I can’t think of a more effective way to redefine “fast.”  It went something like this:

Chris:  “Okay, first we’ll go on a slow lap..”

Me (in anticipation):  Hop, hop, bounce, bounce

Chris: “… then we’ll take a lap at speed.”

Me:  “Wahooooyeehaaaaaaa!”

Chris:  [continues to give instruction]

Me:  [continues to hop and whoop senselessly]

I joyously leap on the back of the BMW S1000RR (provided, I think, by Iron Horse Motorcycles).  I’m an expert pillion, but, but… the seat is the size of a basil leaf (maybe) and perched waaaaay up high.    And there’s nothing, I repeat, NOTHING to hold on to.   We take off and hit the long straightaway.

“Yaaaaaahoooooyoooowwwwwwwfffffast!!”  (Wasn’t this going to be the slow lap?)

Brake hard at the end of the straightaway in preparation for the first turn.  The pegs fold up under my feet.  Now I’ve got nuthin’ ‘cept the gas tank to brace against.

“UMMMPH!”

And through 21 turns and all the straights in between, with my head being practically blown off my neck:

“WheeeeeeeUMPHwooooooooGARUMPHyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaBUMP”

Second lap.  Oh.  I see.  That WAS the slow lap.  This one is much, much faster.

“Yoooooowheeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaabababbababbb!!”

Apologies to Chris for screaming in his ear.

Here I am, trying (and failing)  to "be cool" before hopping aboard.

Yes, this was the thrill ride of a lifetime on a two-wheeled rocket ship.  And as crazy fun-terrifying as it was (think high-dive or roller coaster, then multiply both thrill and fear factors by ten thousand), there wasn’t a lot of learning going on when you are busy hooting and hollering.  I did have the presence of mind to ask if we could go on a “Paula-Speed” lap as well, and Chris obliged.  The point being, that while I understand the concepts we had been learning about, I needed to see how they could be applied at my pace.  So we went for two actual slow laps where he patiently talked through each turn for me.

I knew my non-motorcycle riding friends would ask me, so I made a point to find out.  (Riders know that the last thing you’re doing while riding at the track is looking at your speedo.)  How fast did we go? Well, Chris wasn’t riding his actual racing bike, so it was just a piddling 160 mph or so.  Yawn, right?

After my ride, it took a good 45 minutes of recovery time before my heart stopped pounding and my legs stopped wobbling and I could consider getting back on my own bike.  Let me point out here that there were plenty of fast riders out there that said “No. Way.” when presented with this opportunity.  Just sayin’.

Teacher and me!

Some of the skills we worked on were the “lines” (the exact path around each corner), body position (hanging your body off the side of the bike when cornering), being either on the gas or on the brakes at all times (never in between), and trail braking all the way into the apex of the turns.  The first three concepts I pretty much get.  I mean, not at 160mph, but I can do them at my own level.  But braking all the way to the apex of the turn?  Yo, yo, THAT was new and crazy for me.  I was taught to brake until you begin to turn, then hit the throttle.  But today’s sport bikes are even more agile when the front wheel is carrying some extra weight, an effect easily created with a touch of your front brake.  I’ve got some learning to do.

We enjoyed dinner in the kitchen I showed to you in my last track post.  Simple, hearty and good – barbecued chicken (our chef for the evening gets two thumbs up for having the good sense to use dark meat), corn on the cob, rolls, beans, salsa and a cold beer or two.  (The beer only comes out after the bikes are safely put away.)




* As before, gratitude to every single person there for making me feel welcome in a pack way beyond my skill level.  It was a fantastic learning environment, and again, I came away feeling good about my riding ability, despite the advanced company I was keeping.  Respect to all the excellent riders I met.

**Well, there were some impediments for some folks.  “Get offs” (aka crashes) do happen, and there were three over the course of the two days.  Two riders got away with a few curse words and banged up bikes, but my friend managed to do in six ribs, his pelvis, clavicle and scapula.  All in good fun, right?  (???)  Oy, crashing is for boys.  I think I'm going to bring him some croissants.  He needs some fattening up, anyway.

The Twelve Days of Christmas (L'Atelier Robuchon Review)

Day Six (Evening): Shining Stars of Another Kind
Christmas Dinner 
After glorious days of riding across magnificent vistas and camping under shooting stars and lunar eclipses, cruising down “The Strip” in Las Vegas is the “re-entry” to beat all.  Startlingly disconcerting doesn’t begin to describe it.  But it’s a phenomenon, admittedly of a different sort, that should not be missed if one happens to be in the area.  This would be a great spot for urban geocaching, and I had planned to do just that, but I think the lights affected my brain.  I completely forgot.  In any case, the Vegas Strip is one of this planet’s most bizarre and curious places, but also one of the best places to eat bar none.

Christmas in Vegas.  Weirdest. Christmas. Ever.

So, on Christmas Day, finding herself in the midst of  the Vegas hubbub, what’s a girl to do for dinner?  Why, have a nine course meal at a Michelin  starred restaurant, that’s what!

The Michelin Red Guide, as opposed to the Green Guide which is a different beast, is the original touring and eating manual.  The first edition was published in 1900 as a way to convince people to burn through their car’s (if they had one) Michelin tires in search of fine food while touring France.   These days you can buy a red guide to some twenty or more cities around the world, including Las Vegas.  Although some say it’s biased to “fancy” (ie ungodly expensive) restaurants, I wouldn’t drop big bucks  on dinner without consulting one first.  Zagat’s guide or the equivalent US rating of AAA Diamonds just don’t match up when it comes to deciding where I’m going to plunk down a week’s pay for dinner.  It’s one of the few restaurant guides that is truly anonymous with its  “expert” reviewers (admittedly a vague description) rather than any old customer who might give two thumbs up just because the table cloth was clean and the service hoity-toity.  Chefs live and die (quite literally in one tragic case) by their star designations.  The New Yorker magazine (November 2009) has a fascinating (to me, anyway) undercover interview with a Michelin “inspector” which you can read here.

Las Vegas has a statistically decadent concentration of Michelin starred restaurants.  I wanted to be fed by the man with the most Michelin stars of any chef worldwide: Joel Robuchon.  His three star Vegas kitchen in the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino (“exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey,”  the highest Michelin designation) was booked for weeks, and definitely wouldn’t look too highly upon our dirty touring outfits (new riding jacket not withstanding), but “L'Atelier Robuchon” (one star - “very good cuisine in its category,”  and right next door) was willing to take (lots of) our money for dinner on Christmas (or any other evening).  “Very good cuisine in its category” doesn’t really begin to describe it.  These are really, really good eats.  I’ll let the photos below do the talking.  And yes, the food tasted even better than it looked.

I’m breaking my rule again, using photographs not taken by my own hand (well I stretch that for photos of me, although many of those I've taken myself as well), but it was nice to have someone else do the work while I was enjoying dinner.  Plus a meal this expensive should be photographed with the most expensive camera available to you at the time.

The best seats offered a peek into the kitchen.

 

Roses everywhere.  Hundreds of 'em.

Thank goodness we had the presence of mind not to fill up on bread.  It would have been easy to do.

Foie gras parfait with port wine and parmesan foam.  Or, as we called it, a "meat shake." Yum.

Lobster on a turnip slice with a (the only one I've ever liked) sweet and sour sauce.  Turnips never tasted so good.

Sea scallop cooked in the shell with chive oil.  Our favorite course, although it was a tough decision.

White onion tart with smoked bacon, asparagus and black truffle oil.  I decided the asparagus should have been cooked about 10 seconds longer.  Perhaps that's why this place has only one measly star.

Dover sole (the real thing - usually it isn't) with baby leeks and ginger.  Also a strong contender for first place, in my opinion.

Lamb shoulder confit with sweet spices, couscous and black truffle.  Or you could have had venison with black truffle and poivrade sauce.  Between the two of us, we had both.  But this photo was the better of the two.

 

 

Why not cleanse your palate with a fresh mint white rum granite with lychee fruit?  Fun!

 

Hazelnut dacquoise, light mascarpone mousse  (dessert and cheese course in one, I suppose) flavored with almond liquor.

A little coffee wraps things up.

  

If you’ve been counting carefully, you are correct.  There are only photographs of eight courses (bread doesn’t count).  We forgot to photograph course five, the egg cocotte topped with a light Jerusalem artichoke cream.  Oh well.  We decided it was our least favorite, anyway.  Not that we were complaining.

Motorcyclists are everywhere.  It’s like a secret society.  One was masquerading as our bartender (we ate at the bar – some bar food, eh?).  He gave us a great tip - Red Rock Canyon Conservation Area.  (He got a good tip, too.)  We camped there that night (taking wrong turns and finally setting up in the wee hours, on what had become a cold and rainy night), and detoured the next morning via the Red Canyon Back Country Byway  before we carried on our way.

Here are a few photos snapped haphazardly from the back seat.

The rain of the night before gave way to cool clouds.  I'll bet that's a rare sight. I think I could have touched them if only I had had my 36" pasta rolling pin on board.  A bit much to tote on the moto, perhaps.

Our next meal couldn’t have been more different…

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Day Six:  Fire and Dams on Christmas Day
Lake Mead NRA, Valley of Fire State Park, Hoover Dam
Merry Christmas, Nevada!  Our day started with a ride down scenic Northshore Road (Nevada Hwy 169) in Lake Mead National Recreation Area, barely making it to the Circle K in Overton without running out of gas. (What is it with guys, anyway?)  Circle K was packed with people still wearing their pajamas.  I didn’t quite get that, but, yanno, “whatevs.”  Then a chat with fellow motorcyclists (they’re everywhere) sharing our thoughts about equipment, packing strategies and the like before we went our separate ways.

A view from Northshore Road near Lake Mead.  I admit it, I'm partial to a short depth of field these days.

Thanks to the park ranger who convinced us it was worth a stop (and the fact that you have to pay the entrance fee even if you are just passing through on the state road), we came across another trip highlight:  Valley of Fire State Park.

If memory serves, this is the Fire Canyon overlook.

 

Colors reminiscent of grocery store sherbet, non?

 

I took this whilst holding (rather tightly) a very expensive camera (not mine) over my head and blindly snapping away.

 

Petroglyphs on Atlatl Rock

On to the Hoover Dam and the newly constructed Callahan-Tillman Memorial Bridge, open for tours every day of the year except Thanksgiving and Christmas (go figure), yet completely mobbed on Christmas Day (weird, but I guess that includes us, so…).  Oh my, what a picture you could get of the newest wonder of the world, the Callahan Bridge, at sunset, with lights twinkly against the dusky sky.  If you were allowed to stop at that oh so perfect vantage point on the road, that is.  I saw a spectacular photo exhibit of the construction of the new bypass at the Etherton Gallery in Tucson.  You can view some of its photos here.  If you click on only one link in my entire blog, click on this one.  Who knew a construction site could be so stunningly beautiful?

If you have any doubt about the effects of the ever increasing population of the American West combined with recent drought (which, evidently, is more of a return to “normal” rather than actual drought), take a look at this picture of Lake Mead.  See that white stripe along the edge of the lake? That’s the world’s biggest bathtub ring.  Yup, the water level in both Lake Mead and its companion, Lake Powell, has dropped lower than ever in the past decade.  Make your own conclusions about our future.*

Hoover Dam at dusk.  Well not the dam itself, I guess.

A quieter corner of Lake Mead

 
And what did we have for Christmas Dinner?  Ahh, that’s worthy of its own posting...


*Just this moment I heard a news article on the radio stating that, thanks to heavy snow in the Rockies this winter, the lake level may rise up to 20 feet by this summer.  This will stave off our imminent water shortages for 1-3 years.  1-3 years?  I guess that's better than now, but it doesn't sound all that great.  This past summer, the lake was only at about 40% capacity, and at the time of these photos, it was at its lowest level ever.  This, despite all that rain we'd been circumventing on our trip.  Yikes.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Day Five: Christmas Eve Traffic on Historic Route 66
After gassing up in Quartzite, AZ (weirdest and largest RV community I’ve ever seen) we found ourselves passing by Parker Dam (deepest dam in the world), Davis Dam, and the many state parks that surround them.  From these sections of AZ 95 you can wave across the Colorado River to California.  I regret missing a photo opportunity of the area’s wet land scenes that are so foreign to Arizona eyes.   It’s hard sometimes to decide when to stop for a photo (which, when on motorcycle, takes longer than you’d think) and when to actually cover some distance.  That only gives me a good excuse to go back.

What next?  We happened upon a stretch of the original Route 66 (which has since been rerouted to avoid Sitgreaves Pass in the Black Hills).  This “Back Country Byway” turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip.  It featured not just more stunning AZ moonscapes, but a Santa Hat wearing Ducati  Moto Strada rider (?!) and some decorated creosote bushes.

Christmas in the desert.

Half way between Topock and Kingman we ran into this traffic jam in Oatman, AZ.  What a mess!

A closer look at this town's inhabitants.

It was easy to see why Route 66 was realigned to avoid Sitgreaves Pass in the Black Hills.  This road, rightly feared in earlier days, is as steep, narrow and twisty as you could hope for, and, on the day we traversed it, covered in generous heaps of treacherous gravel thanks to those recent news making rains that we had avoided earlier.  We were shamefully schooled by a FedEx delivery van hurrying through its Christmas Eve day deliveries.  Ouch.  That hurts the ego.

Tired, hungry and very, very cold, we reached Vegas Bay Campground at Lake Mead National Recreation Area well after dark.  Dining options?  It’s true, Chinese restaurants are open (and crowded) on Christmas Eve!

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Day Four: Desert Rain Cafe, Kofa National Wildlife Refuge

Go West, riders!  And so we did, feeling rather pleased with our strategy for avoiding the rain.  As always, victory soon gave way to growling stomachs.  I’ve mentioned the Desert Rain Cafe in Sells, AZ before, with good reason.  It’s a unique restaurant in many ways.  Located in the capital of the Tohono O’odham Nation, it serves up meals featuring local and traditional ingredients.  Think mesquite flour, prickly pear juice, cholla buds, tepary beans and the like.  Although this concept isn’t particularly rare, I think the skill with which it is executed at this establishment is.  It’s obvious they did their recipe development homework.

This restaurant gets my two thumbs up not just for its delicious food and interesting ingredients.  It also goes far to combat the stereotypes one sees in regards to Native American cuisine.  Surprise!, “Indian Fry Bread”  and “Indian Tacos” aren’t traditional fare.   Native Americans seem to be at greater than average risk for obesity and diabetes when exposed to modern America’s sedentary but super-sized lifestyle.  Traditional ways of eating are being lost the world over, thanks in part, not just to the worldwide proliferation of  fast food and the “Modern American Lifestyle”, but our acceptance of it.  I like to think that the Desert Rain Cafe not only provides delicious food to its community, but more importantly, preserves and continues the thread of its rich culinary culture.

Our lunch (which was, admittedly, supersized, since we wanted to try everything):
Prickly pear glazed pork ribs with brown tepary beans, salad and cornbread.  Also eaten but not shown: tepary bean and short rib stew, a “desert rain” quesadilla, tea and a mesquite oatmeal cookie.  Every last bite excellent, excellent.  You can peruse their current menu here.




After warming up a bit at Desert Dugs Pizza in Wellton, AZ (decent American style pizzeria, super nice owner), we planted our tent poles at Kofa National Wildlife Refuge that evening.   If you're wondering, and many people do, Kofa is an acronym for the nearby King Of Arizona gold mine.   We didn’t find any gold (we weren't really looking, I guess) nor did we see any of the Desert Bighorn Sheep that are refuged in the craggy mountains, but we did walk up to Palm Canyon before departing the next morning to see perhaps the only palm trees native to Arizona.   You probably could get a great picture of this narrow hidden canyon, if, like Indiana Jones, you were standing in just the right spot, at the exact time of day on the exact day of the year when the sun actually shone directly upon the trees, but, well, we weren’t.  Alternatively, I guess you could shoot in multiple exposures and compile them into one HDR (high dynamic range) photo.  I keep telling myself I’m going to try that one of these days.

Teddy Bear Chollas catch the morning light

I've always been curious about the strange silhouettes of the mountains in this part of the state.  I'm glad I got the chance to see some of them more closely.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Days Two and Three: Floods and Astronomical Phenomena
Chiricahua National Monument and Mount Graham

Well would you look who the cat dragged in? My touring partner of years past landed some work here in Tucson.  I learned to love motorcycles from the back seat of his two-wheeled BMW (since replaced by a KTM 990), and although I have my own bike now, you already know that I still enjoy being a passenger from time to time.  Even so, it's been a number of years since we've been on a proper tour together.   The timing could not have been better, since for the first time ever, I was staying home for the entirety of my Christmas break.  I just spent any money I would have used to fly back east on a monumental shopping spree.  Turns out, I was going to put my newly acquired motorcycle jacket and cold weather gear to use sooner rather than later.  We decided a tour was in order, after our work for the year was complete and, once again, it was unseasonably cold weather.  Not without some doubts, I decided to retake my role as pillion (passenger) and leave the Ducati at home.  It seemed like a good time to get its nagging little oil leak looked at, plus the days are short in December and you know I can't ride after dark.  In addition, the KTM's pilot put some real street wheels and tires on his machine (it's a dual-sport bike, meaning it's designed for both on and off road riding), and was eager to convince me that his KTM would be just as fun on the street as his BMW had been.  I am a very discriminating sport-touring passenger and to date, I've been less than awed by the KTM's value to this particular pillion in regards to the sporting end of sport touring.   I must be fair and add that it is, without question, a great motorcycle for its particular owner.

Our goal was Death Valley National Park.  And though it's known for its extreme heat, it can get plenty cold there, too.  We needed to be prepared for subfreezing temperatures (good thing I just bought that EN tested zero degree sleeping bag, huh?).  Less common is rain.  Surprise!  All of southern California, including Death Valley, was under water, thanks to rains that were severe enough to make national news.  I'll ride in the rain if need be, but it seems silly to point yourself in the direction of bad weather on purpose.  Our strategy?  Go east (the only dry direction) until the bad weather reached us there, then go west!   Chiricahua National Monument, here we come!

We found ourselves at the lovely Massai Point for the simultaneous astronomical trifecta of a complete lunar eclipse and the Ursid meteor shower, both occurring on the  the winter solstice.  How many people can say that?  I'll tell you.  Two.


Oh celestial enchantment!  Silvery, shimmery, liquid moonlight gently spooned by angels over earth, trees and rocks, over motorcycle tires, faces, and yes, even my heart - crisper and sweeter than a caramel coating, softer and dreamier than any meringue found here on our humble earth.  Now, a dark chocolate shadow melting across the moon, unstoppable, dimming its sugary light - do not despair!  Stars appear, ever more numerous, twinkling salt crystals on the tongue,  gasp!, chile pepper hot! - one obliges to streak across the sky.

 
Despite all the wonderful experiences I have shared with you, the year 2010 was a painful one on so many fronts.  I'll take this lifetime event in the sky as a convenient sign that 2011 will be better.  Why not?

We watched the entire show in the sky, and took a little nighttime photography, too.  I like to use my own photos on my blog, but when one of you has a digi point and shoot (my Canon G11 is nice and little more complicated than that, but...) and the other an expensive dSLR (Canon EOS 7D), and there is only one tri-pod between the two of you, guess which camera gets priority?  I can at least say some of the photos were to a certain extent, a joint effort.  "What if you shine the light more here, instead of there?  What if you change this setting to that?"  And so on.

The next day, a hike amongst the "hoodoos."

The the plan for the evening?  Ride to Bisbee, AZ (it's only 50 or so miles, right?) and check out Cafe Roka (about which I've been curious.)  Note to self:  it's more like 90 miles each way,  and Cafe Roka (along with practically every thing else in Bisbee) is closed on Tuesday nights.  The burger at Bisbee Grill was fine, I guess (most burgers are, especially when you're as hungry as I was), but not particularly notable.  The ride back to Bonita Canyon Campground was... cold.  Incidentally, if you find yourself really, really cold and you think absolutely nothing will warm you up, you can always push a 600lb motorcycle around a parking lot while wearing your awkward riding gear.  It's surprisingly effective, even for me.  We resorted to this tactic more than once over the week.

By the next day, we knew the aforementioned weather was approaching, so it was time to head west, via one night at home in Tucson.  But first, some playtime on the Mount Graham Swift Trail Parkway and a surprise drop dead run for your camera sunset like I've never seen in my life (as if the sky didn't serve up a five course dinner the previous evening).  We didn't quite get to the cameras in time, but other than that, our timing for the day was good.   The road up Mount Graham is closed in winter, and we may have been the very last up there for the season.  Not only was it the first official day of winter, but just as we reached the bottom, it started to rain just a bit.  No doubt that rain was snow higher up.

And how did the KTM fare in my estimation?  It earned a star, but...  Well, like I said, I'm very discriminating.   More on stars later.

In California! (On a Kawasaki)

So, yeah, my last blog post? That was me sitting on my bike, holding one of the offending bolts. And the background? We're not in Tucson anymore. (Not everyone caught all the significant points of that photo.)

Yes, I made it to California! San Diego, to be specific. Not the extended trip I had originally planned, and not on my Ducati, but... Kawasaki, meet the Pacific Ocean!

I arrived a bit ahead of schedule, so while awaiting my good friend and host, soprano extraordinaire Stephanie Sabin, I enjoyed a turkey pesto panini, espresso, and tasty macaroon at Twiggs Bakery and Coffeehouse. It felt good to kick back after a 465 mile ride!

The next morning I took on the role of pillion, or motorcycle passenger, something I enjoy almost as much as doing the driving myself. My Most Excellent Tour Guide (or METG, as I shall now refer to him) was none other than the Ducati Instigator himself, guilty of alerting me to the availability of Ducati Monsters on Craig's List. He picked me up bright and early on his... his... Honda Goldwing! This is a different beast than any bike I had ever been on before, and, to use his own words, is sometimes referred to as a "geriatric" model. This is a seriously big bike, and as comfy and luxurious as they get. A couch on wheels! (Actually, it's safe to say it's quite a bit larger than my couch.) Here's the thing neither of us expected: I, uhhh.... don't know how to get on the thing! It's so big that I can't do the "swing the leg over the back" maneuver. I never did find a good way to do it, much to my pilot's (and my!) embarrassment. I think the running start was my best attempt. But once in my seat, I felt like Queen Cleopatra floating down the Nile. And despite its "geriatric" label, it had more "get up and go" than I would have guessed. I know all you sport bikers are guffawing, and I suppose I would be too, but I did indeed have a surprisingly fine time aboard this well appointed machine. Any ride with two wheels is a good ride!

We grabbed some coffee and crepes at Babbo Grande (what's up with their goofy seating restriction at 7 am? They're not THAT good.) and hit the road.

First stop, Julian, CA, just in time for its annual "Apple Days." The pie wasn't pretty, but it sure tasted fine!

Next stop, Henshaw Lake and Palomar Mountain. The Goldwing performed admirably, but roads that twisty call out for my Ducati. I admit I found myself missing it. No surprise there, my METG warned me I would.

I snapped this one from the back of the (moving) bike. Not bad!

Then on to Callaway Vineyards and Winery, where my METG is a member. Nice perk! I got to taste five wines followed by a port with an accompanying bite chocolate. My votes went to their "Dolcetta" and red Zinfandel. (Let me just point out here that six tastes are the equivalent of one glass of wine, and we were there several hours... you do the math. We were fine.)

And then over the Ortega Highway to Laguna Beach for a little picnic snack. (Sunset not shown.)







All and all a lovely day!


The next morning, Stephanie, her parents and I had breakfast at the aforementioned Twiggs, (Oh the choices - these people can seriously bake!) and then hit the Hillcrest Farmers Market. She had an agenda and schedule, and I was tripping gaily behind her, snapping photos, trying not to hold her up too long.









Quiz: What are these?

Then on to the Mission Bay area, to document the bike, the bolt, the water...



and La Jolla, too.




Next to St. Paul's Cathedral, to hear Stephanie sing her cleverly conceived concert, "Plaisir d'Amour." She'll be singing it again this spring... in Paris!

And finally, excellent Carnitas Tacos with Chipotle Black Beans at the after concert celebration of "Mexican Soul Food" at Barrio Star, courtesy of Stephanie's generous parents.

The following morning, the long ride home. How do you suppose the Kawasaki will fare? (Yes, that's a hint that this story isn't quite over...)