Margaret and Paul and I settled down to a delicious breakfast of sour dough pancakes after scanning over the declaration of independence on a printed silk scarf she had placed on the dining room table. The bike was fully laden and true to form I was escorted onto the winding road that led me to Pescadero beach, where we went the day before and on up highway one to god knows where. I clutched Margaret’s hand, without being sentimental, I felt a real wrench when we waved goodbye The highway one goes up he coastline hugging along through cliffs and redwood forests, creeks, meadows and looping writhing twisties which I sailed along in may armchair-like position. The mist came and went and it was hard to know if I should wear my bike jacket or ride in my t shirt. Before I hit the road, I shared a coffee with some bikers out for the day on the peculiar Wednesday that is the 4th of July. On past wooden houses usually with a stars and stripes hanging outside the porch, I swooped round and under buzzards flying in fours and fives, even startling an American eagle with its white collar, swooping up vertically to get away from me.

Around 12 I reached a town, not sure what name bought some petrol and went into a bar with 8 shiny Harleys outside. It did not take long before I was surrounded by guffawing flabby bikers and they were asking where I was going why what etc. I had a beer and they asked me if I wanted to go and eat barbecued oysters so I agreed and 4 of us tore off 5 miles up the road. First we stopped at an oyster farm alongside 2 hundred-odd Japanese were busily cooking their lunch; there was no way we had the means to cook our oysters so on up highway one to an oyster bar where we ate clam chowder and our oysters.

“I know” one of them said: “lets drink and driiiive yeah!” I naturally bowed out, said my farewells and let them roar off before I clambered aboard the old Kwacker.

The rest of the afternoon was 30-40 mph dawdling along the coast road up to Mendocino where I decided at 6pm to find a supermarket and then a campsite. The evening was sunny and fresh and quiet. The site I found was quiet enough, a Mexican family of 10 people were all gathered together eating their dinner around grey wooden picnic tables.

I fed the bike with her daily pint of oil, just about tolerable for a bike of this age. Really she needs new rings and a reconditioned head as the oil consumption is worryingly high. I was told by one of the bikers following me on the way to the oysters that he could definitely smell burning oil but could not see it!

I do hope t holds out for the trip, I will not thrash it and will give it an oil change when I get to Seattle.