I got up the next morning and used the gps on my new phone to find Alice’s Restaurant. I was suspicious when it said it was only 15 minutes away, but somehow decided to blindly follow technology. 15 minutes later I arrived at Alice’s -Cafe- in the middle of San Francisco. I googled Alice’s Restaurant on my phone to get the real address…which was another 45 minutes away. I called Dwayne to let him know what happened and hit the highway South to the correct destination.
I while later I felt moisture on my leg and smelled fuel. I pulled over.
DAMMIT. I thought I just paid to get this fixed?!
I decided the side of the freeway was a bad place to stop and got back on the bike to find a real exit. At the next exit, the leak had stopped and the bike still had fuel. Okaaaayyyy…
Well fine then, I’ll just go to Alice’s.
I finally met up with Dwayne (and his lovely beemer) and rode the gorgeous, twisty, tree shaded roads to the famous biker pilgrimage site.
I had a Suzuki burger!
We rode the twisty roads. I was still shaken from my spill in Washington and took it easy while Dwayne zipped ahead.
Strange straw maze. I should have gone in…
The roads were a lot of fun and it was great to see Dwayne again. He wished me well on the rest of my trip and told me he’d bought me a ticket to Moto GP at Laguna Seca that weekend! WOW!
I got back to San Francisco as the sun was setting. When I parked again my bike started leaking fuel. I was annoyed, but glad it let me have my day of riding. I turned the fuel off and called it a night.
The next day I turned the bike on to take it back to Werkstatt. It didn’t want to idle and was positively -gushing- fuel. I stopped at a light, revving the engine so it wouldn’t stall, with a little waterfall coming from my bike when a motorcycle cop came up next to me. He smiled and gave me a little wave, then his gaze fell to the small lake I was creating and his eyes got large.
“I know! I’m on my way to the shop!” He wished me luck and zoomed off. Luckily it wasn’t far.
Werkstatt admitted they messed up and apologized profusely that they would need my bike over the weekend to order parts and repair the carb. I took the Bart back to Anoakie’s apartment and moped around the house while he was at work. I had been enjoying San Francisco, but I was tiring of the feeling I was delaying the inevitable back home and I was finally ready to return.
Anoakie got back from a miserable day at work and the two of us decided we needed to get outside. We snuck into this fancy hotel with glass elevators and rode one to the the top where there was a fantastic view.
A homeless man had the same idea and we all marveled aloud at how beautiful it was and that the best things in life are free.
When we left, we heard a man over a megaphone yelling and wandered over to check it out. We thought it was a protest, but it ended up being free hugs. We got our free hugs and then gave free hugs to passersby. We both felt much better by the end of the night.
Since my bike was in the shop, I borrowed Anoakie’s car to go to MotoGP that weekend. I had foolishly opted not to bring my camera and just take pictures with my phone. My battery was all but dead by the time I got there and I only got a couple shots.
It was a very cool event though. I was mesmerized by their speed and lean angles.
Leaving the track, I missed my bike more than ever. I crawled back in bumper to bumper traffic while the bikes zipped up the white line. I should have just brought my helmet and hitchhiked down and back…
We spent Sunday exploring the city some more. And eating even more.
Yeah we ate all this.
a boutique of tasty Japanese treats.
San Francisco has the best murals…
The next day I could pick up my bike and finally ride the Pacific Coast Highway…