Motorcyclists from the East Coast, and in particular motorcyclists from the northern states, have heard a great deal about the great Highway One, the road that runs along the Pacific Coast. They've seen it as background in movies and in many motorcycling magazines. When this particular East coaster, Sam, moved to the West Coast, one of his first bike trips was from San Francisco to the famous Big Sur. The problem was, he brought all his East Coast biases and expectations with him.

It took six months of living in California before he developed enough courage to attempt West Coast motorcycling. He spent that time appalled at the gross disregard motorists had for anyone else on the roadways. The major shocks were the waste of money Californians blow on directional signals that go unused and their compulsion for lane jumping. Drivers who just changed lanes with apparent impunity, alacrity and complete disregard for others, intimidated Sam. Even law enforcement, truckers and other professional drivers ignored or were unfamiliar with the term, courtesy.

After the first months, realizing that this new motoring culture wasn't about to improve, he began to adapt. A slow learner, Sam mumbled. He realized he had to jettison the expectations he arrived with in California and had to develop new strategies for road survival. He reasoned that, since there were so many bikers in the state, there had to be ways around the population's abominable driving practices. Enter Sam's "Zero Expectations" program.

Once he understood not to expect anything from other people using the roadways, he became comfortable and bought a motorcycle. After a few short familiarization rides testing the new found strategy, he was ready for his first overnight ride.

But, Sam still had heaps to learn. Although he realized that there were loads of microclimates around the Bay Area and up and down the coast, he had to learn the hard way how to deal with them. He was skeptical about advice from died-in-the-wool local bikers who warned him about coastal weather.

In the interim, he met Ann. It was two up for Big Sur. Brave girl.

Ann and Sam left San Francisco about nine on a sunny July morning and very soon were in a Pacifica diner sipping hot coffee to warm up and recover from a chilly dense fog. The fog and mist had glazed over the windshield, helmet visors and their spirits. It never occurred to Sam to bring winter gloves with him in July.

"Should we make a one-eighty for home, Ann?"

She held her cup with both hands up in front of her face. She stared into the coffee and blew the steam towards Sam, as if a psychic, looking into the future for answers.

"We've only been gone a half hour or so. That's hardly a reasonable attempt at a ride. I'll be defrosted in a few minutes and I'm sure we'll be out of this misty fog a little further down the coast. I'm game to give it another hour. If it warms up, let's continue."

"Done." Sam sipped his decaf as his hands returned to normal color. He wondered if Ann thought him to be a dumb ass.

They were in sunshine within twenty minutes south of the Pacifica fog bank. Sam’s hands functioned again in his summer gloves. Ann and Sam unzipped their leather jackets and enjoyed the summer Pacific Coast breezes.

Sam knew Ann spent significant bucks on her jacket and boots for the trip. Very feminine. He felt imbued with pride having a looker ensconced on his passenger seat. He could see in the rear view mirrors, her long blonde braid snapping back and forth in the vortices when she leaned against the sissy bar.

He found his concentration would break when she'd encircle his waist with her arms as they zipped through the sweepers and sharp curves. He found himself increasing speed a bit so she would press herself against him. But survival demanded complete attention to the ride so he soon relinquished his subterfuge for the higher ideal.

It was sunny and warm in Santa Cruz. "Perfect for a lunch break," Ann said.

"But look at the fog bank on the horizon. It looks like a high gray protective wall."

"That's normal for this time of the year," Ann said. "It bops onshore and back out, depending on the winds. Let’s do lunch out on that long pier."

"And how about that amusement park. Feel like a Ferris Wheel ride?"

Back on the coast route, they soon arrived in Monterey Bay and cruised through the town.

"This coast is beautiful. I hate spending so little time in each location," Ann said.

"We'll just have to come back and spend more time."

"I'm beginning to think you planned this whole scenery scenario to illustrate that, you sneak. You're as subtle as a club."

Sam shrugged and grinned a bit.

"Look at all those stores. This is a shopper’s paradise."

"Oh, dear," Sam said.

"Oh, Sam, don't jump to those sexist conclusions. We can be on our way whenever you want."

"If you think this is a shopper’s haven, wait till you see the next town, Carmel. Now that's a shopper's paradise. At least that's what I'm told. I've not been there."

"Okay, let’s get on our way. When we return we’ll see Steinbeck's Cannery Row and that new aquarium."

"Perhaps,” Sam said. I've not planned that far ahead. Just taking things as they come."

"I'm trying my best to believe that, Sam."

In Carmel, Sam and Ann walked hand in hand through the tourist town.

"This is a marketing extravaganza," Sam said. "There are more art shops here than sidewalk displays in Greenwich Village, New York, during Art Week. All very up-scale, clean and proper. Classy stuff."

"I'll say," Ann added. "Wow. To a shopping zealot, this place could be a near religious experience. The whole town seems dedicated to the shopper."

They both looked at each other and laughed. "Let’s ride," Sam said. Ann nodded in agreement. "I'm gonna skip Pebble Beach and the Seventeen Mile Scenic Tour. I hear they're not motorcycle friendly. I'm gonna take an interior road for a while and check out the hills. And warm up."

They rode inland where the heat, brighter sun and the wealthy with their estates were perched on hilltops.

"Whoopee," Ann shouted. "Look at all those huge houses. Veritable castles. People actually live on their own mountaintop and command a view all the way to the horizon. Nifty."

"Dead brown, treeless mountains," Sam said. "Mind boggling what money can do. Enough of this. We're heading back to Route One."

"It’s just too beautiful to believe," Ann said. "How could I ever describe this coastline, the breakers, the superb weather and everything else to my girlfriends and folks back east. Where the mountains meet the surf. Just gorgeous."

"And that sun is slipping down towards the ocean. I hope the fog doesn't goof up the sunset."

"It can only make it more spectacular, I'd guess," Ann said.

"Yeah. Route One is playing out it's magic all right. One fantastic vista after the other. A visual overload, over flowing the brain with a loop of endless, changing vistas. Quite shocking, so striking. Concentrating on the ride is tough, the distractions are so strong. I'm tripping out on this trip, you might say."

"Awesome, Sam. It's understandable...something you just have to experience."

Their timing was perfect. The sun was descending behind their right shoulders, warming their backs and showing off its setting colors. And the surf. The emerald surf crashed

onto the rocks in the shallow water. And all the shades of blue? The deeper waters test one's ability to describe the breadth of all the blue hues. And white foamy seawater

glistening in the sunlight after smashing into the rocks off shore, pummeling the cliffs just off the road, blasting twenty-five feet up into the breeze.

“Extraordinary,” Sam said. "My mind's thesaurus of superlatives is too paltry to handle this, Ann."

"I hear you, oh humbled one. Looks as if the further south we ride, the further out that wall of fog gets."

"I sure hope so. I'd rather sweat than shiver."

"I'm impressed with this whole experience, as you have probably guessed, Sam. Even the road is super. And my complements on your biking by the way. But I'm a bit concerned about a few things."

"Such as?"

"Well, for example, I've been looking at all the boulders perched on top of the edges of the cliffs to our left, all along this stretch of the road. They look about to roll down in front of us at any moment. When this road was cut, why didn't they roll those bad boys down then?"

Sam moved his head from side to side. "Ya got me."

"I wouldn't have mentioned it, but we keep passing signs warning of rock slide areas. Kinda disconcerting. I think ole mom nature is playing shock the senses games."

"Yeah. Monster boulders vs. tiny vehicles. I've taken precautions when I see signs like, Caution Loose Gravel.

Anathema to bikers. You see, Ann, nothing can be absolutely perfect. I've often thought that, along with any beauty, comes risk."

As soon as he said that, Sam felt the strain of his size eight boot in his mouth.

"Wow. I'm riding with a philosopher biker." Ann patted the top of Sam's helmet.

"I mean, you can tell from all the repair patches in the road that chunks of the mountain have slid down onto it. Winter rains bring mudslides. And I guess because the cliffs climb from the surf so sharply, stuff rolls down."

They rode in quiet nature appreciation for many miles.

"So this is the Big Sur. It certainly is everything that is said about it, Sam."

"You're right about that."

"Aren't you gonna stop?"

"I can't. I'm on automatic pilot. I want to see what's beyond the next outcropping of coastline. And the next one beyond that."

"Well, Mr. Iron Butt. I'm a bit beat. And that motel we passed a little while ago had a no vacancy sign lit up.

And I haven't seen any other places to stay. What's your plan?"

Sam made a U-turn and headed back up the road into the setting sun. Ann patted his helmet. Sam pulled into the motel lot.

"That's why I missed the place. The town, Lucia, is right on the crease of my map. An easy spot to miss, both on the road and on the map." They dismounted and walked toward the office.

"I'll say. One mighty tiny place. What about the no vacancy sign, Sam?"

Sam stopped her, put his arms around her and kissed her. "I've got a reservation."

She kissed him back. And once more, with feeling.

After dinner in a rustic restaurant a few miles south, they walked the craggy rocks around the bend in the road by the motel and the adjacent cabins. They made their way out onto a point that jutted into the breaking surf where theirs and several other small cabins were bathed in rich orange.

The sun went down behind the fog bank. Wisps of brilliant pinks, oranges and reds inflamed the sky over the blackish ocean like a static aurora in an artistic farewell salute. The sky, enriched from a weak blue overhead became a near deep purple black over the Coastal Mountains inland, and beyond. The first evening stars hinted their arrival as a brisk evening breeze whipped onshore on cool, moist salty air.

With the exception of the close thumps of the crashing surf, the entire surrounding environment went unnoticed.

The early morning was a typical coastal beauty. The sun, well hidden behind discrete, swift running horizontal rows of murky vapor blown onshore on soaking cold breezes, teased the coast. Dank fog traveled over the invisible raucous surf, enshrouded the nearby motel and climbed over the mountain beyond Route One in rapid, distinct elongated clouds. A layer of beaded moisture covered everything.

Ann peaked out from behind the cabin door.

"Sam. We're fogged in. How the hell do we get out of here on a bike?"

"Fear not, m'dear. 'Tis only morning fog. San Francisco is often like this. The mantra is, 'sun by one' or 'blue by two'. Come back to bed."

"One o'clock won't make it in Lucia, Sam. According to this old brittle sign on the back of the door, checkout time is eleven. And that gray stuff looks like a classic

London fog. Not that I've ever seen one, but I've heard stories.

"Nah. It'll be blown away soon. Look, it's getting brighter already."

"Yes. The occasional sudden shaft of bright sun does encourage one," Ann said. "Goofy coastal weather. Looks like

the locals know it is going to be another beautiful day. They're in shorts already and I'm in goose bumps."

Ann closed the door and jumped under the covers. "Okay Sam, warm me up. We have 'till eleven."

"Love this California weather," Sam murmured.