The Serendipity of Travel

Flying backwards in a newly configured 767 was an interesting experience. The seating is configured 2-2-2 across the plane with each pair of seats alternating direction. Within the module one had a large video screen with remote control, built-in table, lumbar support which automatically inflated/deflated and considerable space to stretch. The seats could be made to recline or lie completely flat, making a surprisingly comfortable bed.

Chicago was briefly visible (above) as we queued up to land at O'Hare, changing planes for Charles de Gaulle. The transatlantic 767 was configured the same way, only we faced forward for that flight.

One never knows who might appear in the course of travel. In the Red Carpet Club in SFO, we saw two friends whom we had not seen in years. One came out of retirement and is traveling extensively, and the other consults on the road nearly every week. It was good to catch up briefly and affirm that we will all try to get together more often. I hope that comes to pass.

In Paris we were hosted by Francois and his father Daniel for a delightful lunch in the Marais district. I met Francois when riding motos with Molly on Mount Tamalpais back in February. Exchanging email resulted in us actually meeting. The white asparagus was in season and rivaled the flavor of spargel in Bavaria. Who knew a chance meeting on the side of a road overlooking Marin in the fog would lead to a new international friendship?

The TGV (train grande vitesse, or train of great speed) moved us at up to 320 km/hr (192 mph) from Paris to Aix-en-Provence. I had to laugh at the contrast between the transportation and the station. On the one hand, we enjoyed one of the most efficient, safe and environmentally friendly means of transport on the planet. Yet when we arrived in Aix, there was 1 working elevator to move passengers from the platform up to the skybridge which led to the station. Thus a 9-car train emptied hundreds of passengers on to a platform and the single, humble elevator moved 6-8 at a time to the station. One would have to wonder why the excellent design principles of the train were not carried through to the stations as well.

Travel with your intuition and instincts turned on full blast to savor the uniqueness which awaits.

A Timless Brasserie

Bofinger (bow-fahn-zhay) near the Place de la Bastille in Paris is one of the few remaining 19th century Brasseries. The decor is authentic, down to the scratches in the wood trim, the massive mirrors, even the ancient half-wall urinals with elaborate porcelain details. We made a reservation for Friday evening, but were told that there were no tables left on the main level beneath the beautiful stained glass ceiling. Upon arrival, the maitre d'hotel could not find our reservation on his list. Remaining calm paid off: he seated us near the center of the sought-after dining room.

The escargots (snails) were perfectly prepared with just enough garlic butter to clog an artery. Thinly sliced artichoke, offered in the style of "carpaccio", was an exceptional starter in flavor and artistic display. Being allergic to red wine posed a problem when ordering our main course because both of us ordered beef (Entrcote and Chateaubriand) and the tuxedoed waiter expected us to order a traditionally compatible wine. Our exchange (in French) went something like this:

"We would like a half bottle of the Sancerre from the Loire, and a half bottle of the Reisling from the Alsace".

He paused, and through a politely crumpled face he observed, "But you have ordered two white wines." His point was clear: how could one possibly consider eating beef and drinking white wine during the same meal.

"We have allergies", I explained. Without hesitation he suggested an alternate approach and even offered us un gout (a taste) just in case we might change our minds. I politely declined and he fetched the two half bottles and put them on ice in a bucket between the narrowly spaced tables.

The beef was delicious, grilled to perfection and accompanied by green beans, frites and tomatoes. Yes, two orders of creme brulee confirmed that Bonfinger retains the top rating of 10 for that amazing dessert. Whether it was serendipity or lack of maintenance, we both enjoyed noticing that the clock in the dining room displayed 7:05 on its unmoving hands, as if time has truly stopped in this unique and special place. Indeed, Bonfinger is timeless.

We will continue to enjoy Paris by following our stomachs and intuition.

Harley and Me

In front of Rosie's Bench, Volcano, California.

There are communities within communities. While the brotherhood of bikers (all genders included) is universal, bikes of a feather do flock together. Never was this more apparent than on Saturday's ride through the Gold rush foothills of Amador County, CA. Seven riders from our moto club at work showed up for the ride: 6 were on Harley Davidson Motorcycles, including the matching jackets, bandannas, and even special tiny bells hung on the underside of the bike to ward off highway gremlins. There is so much I do not know about the customs and protocols of this very friendly gang.

Like the bellows of an accordion, the gap between riders in formation expands and contracts to maintain the safe zigzag pattern as the traffic and road conditions change. As the only sport bike, and foreign to boot, I felt like an F-15 fighter among a posse of Boeing 747s. We rode through ghost towns like Plymouth, Drytown, Jackson, Fiddletown and Volcano. It is not an exaggeration to say that nearly 100 motorcycles were parked in front of the boardwalk hosting the historic Rosie's Bench. Every single bike but mine was a Harley. It reminded me of Sesame Street when the puppets sang, "One of these things doesn't belong, one of these things is not like the other..." It wasn't hard to find the outlier.



I have never been a member of a gang, but this group of gentle riders earned my respect and undying gratitude for letting me join the club, if only for the day.

Travel Details

Miles ridden: 253
Duration (actual saddle time): 5 hrs 9 minutes
Average mpg: 49
Average speed: 48 mph
Maximum speed: 92 mph (very briefly to reform the 7-bike zigzag on I-80 when 2 cars separated the group)

Poppies by the Bay

Sunday afternoon provided a warm, calm day which made the hills come alive with vigorous blooms. I noticed the poppies are abundant this year, especially after the so-called "normal" rainfall we have enjoyed for the past several weeks. I rode the Shiver up Reliez Valley toward Pacheco, then turned toward Orinda which takes one along the Bear Valley Road. This road is frequented by bicyclists and motorcycles, and everyone shares the road to play nicely. I noticed the poppies (above) along the berms by the bike lane and I could not resist stopping.

After reaching the San Pablo Reservoir, I turned south toward Orinda, taking the Fish Ranch Road top of Grizzly Peak. Many magnificent views are offered from this road on the ridge. The flat light of afternoon and the sun's glare on the Bay made the entire City a surreal monochrome. What a stark contrast to the green hills and blossoms just a few miles away.

My last discovery was a splendid off-leash dog park near the Caldecott tunnel. Apparently, the "Old Tunnel Road" has been converted into a Park where one can walk man's best friend off leash. Roman and I will have to return and investigate further.

Fog? What fog?

Joy gave me a book of moto rides in California for Christmas 2008. (Yeah, I'm slow). One of the easy-to-access recommended destinations is Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. Anyway, today Molly and I took advantage of a break in the welcome rain storms and we sought the summit. The road poses far more interesting terrain than my straight-line commute. Ascending to the summit involves following a tightly coiled 2-lane road with many blind corners, magnificent views and the opportunity to share the lane safely with brave folks on bicycles.

Molly made textbook perfect turns on the unfamiliar road, braking before the turn, and then maintaining speed or accelerating through it. I like following her because we are of like mind: to arrive safely and have fun. As we rose above the mist and low fog, we enjoyed glimpses of the Pacific Ocean, the foothills in Marin and even San Francisco. The summit had limited sight lines and was really a parking lot providing access to trails which cover the park. Part way down, we paused at a remarkable overlook and met a delightful French tourist from Dijon. He graciously took our picture and tolerated my Belgian accent.


We ate lunch on the deck of the Mountain Inn overlooking spectacular estates in Mill Valley. I recommend the pulled pork sandwich, yet I'm confident Molly enjoyed her heuvos rancheros. This outing was a very peaceful and beautiful experience, and it's definitely worth doing again.

The Sutro Tower in SFO as seen above the fog on Mt. Tamalpais


Total distance travelled: 103 miles

Average Fuel economy: 45 mpg

Total saddle time: 3 hours 5 minutes

Number of bridge crossings: 4

Highest gear used on Mt. Tamalpais: 2nd

Parking is Such Sweet Sorrow

I avoid crowds, like the ones you might expect Christmas shopping on a Saturday afternoon in Walnut Creek's Broadway Plaza. While I do enjoy seeing the decorations and sensing the joys of the season, too many people are, well, just plain cranky. The best display of this attitude is in parking lots where, for reasons I do not understand, ordinary people become filled with wrath.

So I rode ma moto to Walnut Creek, knowing that there are dedicated motorcycle parking places in the multi-story structure near Crate & Barrel. I did not gloat (visibly) as I passed a line of impatient drivers held up because someone far, far ahead was waiting for a vehicle to back out of their space. "Why was this particular space sought after?", I wondered. Anyway, I visited L'Occitane, Nordstrom and the Ecco shoe store, making purchases in all three. With my goods safely packed into my long and flexible backpack, I returned to find my bike one of 3 in the motorcycle area. "Nice ride" was written on a business card and stuck in my instrument cluster. I guess that's a compliment.

Leaving Walnut Creek, I noticed the drivers were beyond impatient, navigating erratically which is dangerous for those of us with less "buffer" to protect our bodies. So I took the back roads home, greeted by a wagging Roman in the front yard. We got inside just as the rain showers began. It was a very satisfying ride, especially the parking.

Snow on the Mountain

Mount Diablo often has a dusting of snow, but not to such low elevations as during last night's storm. Roman loved greeting all the people (especially the kids) who had the same idea we did: take a photo from the Dinosaur Park overlook off Taylor Boulevard.

We parked in the bike lane with everyone else and scurried up the hill while there was still some sunlight on the mountain. The array of camera equipment represented a pretty good cross section of photographers, from amateur to professional. Tripods and light meters abounded, but we just did some quick "point and shoots" to capture the moment. A nice gentleman took our photo, but couldn't get the horizon level, so I rotated the photo above.

During Christmas, we plan to document Roman's first encounter with snow...the climate he was bred for.