Saturday, August 8: Returning

Spending all day in planes and airports ... at kiosks waiting for espresso, in black lounge chairs as the iPod tries to grab a free wireless signal.

The woman next to me on the plane is going to Cornell. She's a Structural Engineer from Palo Alto going to a conference on Physics. I ask her if she's presenting a paper and she says, "Nah, I'm just there to learn."

Funny, I was doing the same thing in California just last week.

To instantly conjure up feelings of this adventure, I put together an iPod playlist.

1. El Paso - Marty Robbins
2. California Dreamin' - Mamas and the Papas
3. Crystal - New Order
4. My Funny Valentine - Elvis Costello
5. Warm Ways - Fleetwood Mac
6. Only a Fool Would Say That - Steely Dan
7. One and One Make Five - Pet Shop Boys
8. Ugali - Tony Benson Sextet
9. Little Lies - Fleetwood Mac
10. Love is a Sign - The Go-Betweens
11. Lemon Tree - Peter, Paul and Mary
12. Mesmerizing - Liz Phair
13. Dream a Little Dream of Me - Cass Eliot
14. Three Flowers - McCoy Tyner
15. Gin and Juice - Snoop Dogg
16. Raspberry Beret - Prince and the Revolution

As always, thank you for riding along!

Friday, August 7: One Last Ride

A local goes down the line of cameras one by one, snapping the group picture onto everyone's camera. We're all fidgety like kids holding for their class picture.

We pile into breakfast and Doug says, "How late were out last night, young man?"

"Just 2:00," I replied. No headache this time. I made good choices.

As I'm eating my customary raisin bran breakfast, I discuss Forensic Accounting one more time. The whole week I've made up stuff, and the job gets more interesting as I go. I'm finding terrorists and drug dealers laundering money, corporations misrepresenting their earnings ... it's a blast! And I think for a moment, could I actually do this for a living?

Perhaps. It's right my alley - tracing problems back to their source. Some programmers are better at that than actual programming, and I think I'm one of them. There are online degrees in Forensic Accounting, but you must have a solid accounting background. Well, anyway. If you had told me 3 years ago I'd ride a bike 200 miles through California with people I don't know, I would've thought you were nuts. So in 3 years, changing my career is not out of the question.

Our last leg is 20 miles through the Russian River valley. There are more vinyards than wineries here, very agricultural and tucked away from the expensive tourists. The country is beautiful and familiar by now. I'm pretty sure I won't forget it.

The bike trip official ends at the General Store in Jimtown, California. Raleigh Andrea, Sherry and I are the first to make it in, and we grab some sandwiches and sit out on the porch. About a million bikers passed by in groups of two or three, many of them locals or up from San Francisco. They can bike this valley whenever they want, and I'm jealous.

The VBT van arrives with celebratory Root Beer floats. It is a wonderful thing. Boston Geoff is chasing his down with a beer, and I look at the bottle. Racer X. "Go easy on that stuff, my friend," I warn him.

"Why? You drank it and found $85 in your pocket!" he replied. True. But ...

We hug and say our goodbyes, and the mood is a little somber. But there's also this sense of accomplishment. It sounds contrary to the purposes of a vacation to be goal-oriented. It sounds too much like work. Yet, it feels like we earned all this good food and wine and conversation and scenery.

VBT has rented us two vehicles to bring us back to 'Frisco. I get to ride in the stretch limo - a first for me! Travellin' Tom finds the champagne flute-sized cup holders fit his butt like a glove.
I drink bottled water and watch the scenery go by. Cars pull alongside and their occupants try to peep in through the smoked glass.

Sorry, no. We're not movie stars. But it kinda feels like it.

Thursday, August 6: The Golden Wrench

I wake up in my room, still dressed in my clothes from the night before. There is a sharp, sour taste in my mouth. I'm vaguely nauseous and my head hurts. Uh oh. But then I pull myself out of bed, and feel something in my pocket.

A wad of cash. I pull it out and count it. $85. How did that get there?

I remember the night before, and how I didn't have enough money to pay for a $45 dinner and used my credit card. Oh man. How did that $85 get there?

Breakfast is at 8:00 and I'm about 10 minutes late already. I very quickly change into my bike clothes (the least smelly ones - I haven't had time to wash them) and go downstairs to breakfast. Everyone is at the tables. Doug asks, "Just where have you been, young man?"

I hesitate. The whole room of VBT bikers are looking at me. "There's some things I remember and some things I don't. Like how did this $85 get in my pocket?"

General laughter. Boston Elaine observes, "Most of the time, wild people lose money."

Yeah, well, that makes this all the more weird. I pour myself my soon-to-be-patented hangover remedy: lots and lots of Raisin Bran and glasses of water. I'm actually not feeling too bad. The California morning air is soft and invigorating. And I look forward to getting out on the bike.

"You sure you don't want to ride in the van?" Doug asks. I assure him no. "Well, keep yourself hydrated, then" he warns.

(right: Raleigh Andrea, Travellin' Tom, Unknown blue bird.)

I put some lemon wedges in my water bottle, and seek out Raleigh Andrea and Sherry. If anyone can pull me through, it's them. They will keep me so intent on pedaling that I will forget the little bit of nausea left.

We are reading to the Redwoods today for a picnic. Mile-wise, it's the toughest riding day - about 48 miles. But the terrain is easy and after about an hour, I'm back to my old self again.

We reach the town of Rio Nido well ahead of everyone else. A coffee shop on the corner beckons to me, and we all stop inside to collect our thoughts. As I am waiting for my espresso, I feel a woman's eyes on me. I take a quick look back. She is checking me out! Wow! OK, so now my ego is in overdrive. I get my espresso, turn around and give her a big smile. She smiles back. At this point, I am feeling really, really good.

Raleigh Andrea says, "We could do this Mays Canyon option. It's 6 miles." I say, "Hell yeah!" we're on a roll. The Mays Canyon option turns out to be very pretty. Very woodsy and shady. The whole first half is slightly uphill, then all of a sudden there's a huge cliff upwards. It's the Hess Option all over again. I kick down to 1st gear and puff myself up to the top.

A minute later, there comes million-year-old Arve. This guy is unstoppable! I'm waiting for the rest of the contingent, and say to him, "Boy, that was a real ball-buster!"

"Yeah, I guess," he says non-chalantly. Lordy!

So Raleigh Andrea and Sherry and I head back down. It's a treacherous trip down the 3 mile hill - there are potholes intermixed with shadows and it's impossible to tell the difference. But we get by without mishaps and pedal on over to Armstrong Woods for lunch.

The forest feels like a porch. The redwood trees are so large and the leaf cover so high, that you can't hear the wind stirring the leaves. It is dead silent. We talk very quietly to one another because the acoustics are too perfect. Lunch is waiting for us on the grates in the middle of the park - hamburgers, hot dogs and portobello mushrooms. Salad made of tomatoes from the Sonoma Farmers Market. And the signature dish of Peanut M&M's.


The sunburn on my legs is beginning to blister. People ask me if it hurts and proposing remedies: aloe, vinegar, first aid cream. But I don't really feel it. When your mind is engrossed in something like the forest or biking, it's hard to keep your mind on it. Or anything outside the valley, for that matter.

We come back to Madrona Manor on the opposite side of Dry Creek (which is not very dry - it's actually bigger and wetter than the Napa River.) Doug says it's the most beautiful part of the ride, and I agree. The roads are narrow and traffic-less, and I drink it all in.

There's a nagging feeling in the back of my head. In less than a day, the bike ride will be over. I try not to let it spoil the view. The only way to preserve this feeling and scenery is to memorize it, roll it over in my mind a few times, and call it back to make sure it's intact.

I sleep a few hours when we get back to the Inn, as has become my custom. Tonight's the night of the big Farewell Dinner, so I get out the ironing board and give my polo shirt a quick pressing. And then I can't take down the ironing board. It is mechanically beyond me. I could probably call Doug or Dan to do it, but I decide to ease myself back in the real world ... a world where Doug and Dan aren't there to get you out of a jam. I toss the ironing board in front of the fireplace.

The Farewell Dinner is exquisite. Organic Field Greens, very local and fresh. A risotto that's so delicate and complex that it requires you to close your eyes with every bite. Perfect local wines paired with each course, including an outstanding Merlot.

Yes, Merlot! Evidently the movie Sideways (an especially the line "I'm not drinking f***ing Merlot!") caused merlot sales to plummet and pinot noir sales to go higher. So the merlot people are trying very hard to restore its reputation by ... well, making some damn great merlot! It is my favorite glass of wine on the trip. So remember that. Wines that get no respect, especially Zinfindel and Merlot, are worth re-checking.

Doug makes some remarks about how great we are. Which is true. I have bounced between dicsussions with Atlanta Jean on my right and Boston Elaine on my left, and Houston Harry across the table. And it dawns on me. These people are so great because bike tours attract that kind of people. They are not lazy. They are not afraid to try something new. They are very outgoing. I love them all. There is not one of them I wouldn't ride with ... any time, anywhere.

And then Doug introduces the Golden Wrench award - an Allen Wrench spray painted gold. "For bicycling above and beyond the call of duty ... through wicked sunburn and hangovers and staying out until all hours of the night ... this tour's award goes to Craig Riecke."

And lemme tell you, I was elated! I mean, imagine this. I re-took up biking only 3 years ago. And in that time I have become more healthy and outgoing. The Golden Wrench reminds me of how much I've changed.

People call for a speech. Mine is two sentences long. "There's Karaoke down at the Bear Republic in half an hour! Who's with me?"

So I'm a little wiser this time - keeping my high-alcohol-content beer consumption in check. The waitress I proposed to the night before walks by, and I slump down in my chair. Then Karaoke starts. The stage is invaded by a group of kid baseball players, there for some after game shenanigans. And after a few songs, people start dancing. It's weird. I have been to Karaoke nights before, but this is the first time I see people dancing. A local named Sharon gets me out on the floor and teaches me some East Coast Swing moves. (Yes, I learned West Coast Swing on the East Coast and East Coast Swing on the West Coast.) It's a blast!

There is one transcendent moment. A college-age Russian woman goes to the microphone and with a no-note introduction to California Dreamin', warbles "All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray!" She is loud and way off key. Some of her friends join her and sing harmony, and the rest of us are bobbing on the dance floor, eyes closed, hands in the air. We are from all over the country, and we are locals, and we have all fallen in love with California.

It's sounds goopy and over-the-top. It may be the love of a tourist. But at 2:00 AM, walking back the Inn, it's as real and enveloping as anything I've ever felt.

Wednesday, August 5: The Lost Wednesday

(Hoston Caryn, Travellin' Tom, Harry)

R & D Day. "Recovery and Discovery Day". Our ride was only 13 miles, after which we'd be picked up by a shuttle and taken to our night's stay at Healdsburg.

I'm beginning to see patterns. The day always starts cool, foggy, and overcast. By 10 AM or so, it's sunny and the breeze picks up. But we're still experiencing mid-70's highs every day. I'm afraid of getting used to this.

Houston Caryn is suffering a bit through the trip. First her shoulder is killing her. She sometimes stops pedalling and rides with her arm straight up in the air, her fist at the heavens. Internally, she says, "Owww! Owww!" But she looks like she's thinking, "Bring on the hills! Bring on the headwinds! I will kick your asses!" She looks like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. It's a little discomforting, and yet a little inspirational.

We stop in at Figone's Olive Oil in the little village of Glen Allen. After chugging wine the last few days, it's kind of cool sipping little tasting cups of olive oil. It is very fragrant, very flavorful. And it's all Extra Virgin. The manager tells us Extra Virgin means a certain level of acidity and the taste of disinterested standards bodies ... not just that it's the first pressing of the olives. They actually do press the olive once and use the rest as fertilizer. It's decadent, yet frugal.

The gardens around Figone's are exquisite. It's another pattern among wineries here on the Sonoma side. They are shady and varied and very colorful. The background of brown patchy desert grass just makes them more spectacular.

Raleigh Andrea and Sherry and I are becoming a pattern too. They are clearly the athletes of the pack, and they go at a pace that's comfortable for me. They climb the hills with ease. Raleigh Andrea is more focused on getting from point A to point B, and she memorizes the cue sheet before heading out. I let her out in front, and never look at my own cue sheet. Raleigh Andrea is a photographer, and the phys ed instructor, but she's more leisurely. She knows she could blow us both over, but chooses to hang in the back looking for interesting things. They are two cool women, and if this were a bike club, they would be my consistent riding mates.

We arrive at Chateau Ste. Jean winery for a guided tasting. The steward breaks out a bottle of Zinfadel that blows us all away. It's the first tasting I've been at so far where the verdict is unanimous, and I think we all hit a new level in our relationship. A shared hate may bond, but a shared love is something more sublime, more timeless, and more mysterious. I look at my bike mates. It is here that we go from "people who will shake hands when we part" to "people who will hug when we part." We will look at each other's pictures and smile.

Amazing what a good bottle of wine can do, isn't it?

We eat lunch and then climb on into the vans to head to Healdsburg's Madrona Manor. The ride is about 20 miles of really crummy road, and not good biking terrain. This is one time being on a seasoned VBT tour is so cool. If this were just random people planning a loop, we'd have biked this leg and had a miserable time.

But now I get back to the hotel room and find this incredible balcony right outside of my room. And I spend the next 4 hours sleeping on the deck chair. My Official Recovery. I feel incredibly relaxed.

The van takes us to downtown Healdsburg. It's not a very big town, and no matter how our 20-person group splinters, the smaller groups seem to find each other within minutes and trade members. I end up at Willi's Raw Seafood Bar with Houston Harry and Caryn plus Boston Mark and Heidi.

It soon turns into the best meal ever. Willi's specializes in tapas, so we order plates and pass them around. I order a Cumcuber Martini, and it's so refreshing and fabulous, I order another. We partake of Rare Tuna with Coconut Milk, Hanger Steak Kabobs with Chimichura Sauce, Grilled Asparagus, Sauteed Spinach with Lemon Marmalade, Carmelized Salmon with Miso Vinaigrette, Roasted Shrimp and Chiles, Hamachi Seviche ... mmmmmm. Everything is heavenly, and we taste enough to be infatuated with each dish, but not enough to become complacent with anything. It is the perfect meal for people getting to know each other. (Although I keep lying about my Forensic Accounting career ... at least it's becoming more comfortable for me to lie about!)

My part of the bill comes to $45. I go through my wallet and pockets and find only $30, so throw in my credit card instead. Note this well. It'll become an important fact in just a few hours.

The rest of my compatriots decide to go back to the hotel, but I stay downtown. Healdburg doesn't have many bars, as I find when stroll around. I duck into one bar and see a bunch of wine bottles in back. I ask what they have besides wine. "Coffee and soda," was the answer. I excuse myself and leave. Wine country has become stale for me.

I end up in Bear Republic Brewery. Here there is wine and beer. The beers are microbrewed and on tap, and have their alcohol contents written next to them on a black board. Remember I have been drinking 80 proof Dewars all week. So the Racer X, listed at 20 proof (more than twice the alcohol of regular beer) looked pretty much up my alley. I ordered one.

Hoo, boy, was it good! It tastes like orange juice, very hoppy and yet no trace of bitterness. It was beautiful. I watch ESPN and order another. Then another.

And another. And this is where it starts getting blurry. I remember a few things, but there a few unsettling blanks. I remember asking for a cab. And I remember proposing to Janice the waitress I had met a minute ago. I remember her laughing like ... OK, dude, you are not serious! But I don't remember actually getting into the cab or finding my way to the room. I have no idea what time it was.

Racer X has pretty much undid any recovery in R & D day ... as I would find out soon enough.

Tuesday, August 4: The Hess Option

It is the morning ride overview, and Doug is pointing at a 6 mile loop on the map. "It's a really beautiful winery, but the roads to get there are really steep. That's why it's an option."

Raleigh Andrea asked, "Like on a scale of 1 to 10, how steep is it?"

Doug thought a second. "7," he said. Then he immediately backpedalled, "but my 7 may be different than your 7." He thought a second more. "Let's put it this way. If you all started up the hill, I think 3/4 of you would need to walk your bike part of the way But the good news is ... if you do this, then I can use it as a barometer for all the rest of the climbs this week. It's like 'It's worse than Hess' or 'It's easier than Hess.' You know."

(Left to right: Travellin' Tom, Me, Houston Caryn and Harry, Philly Arve and Connie, Boston Elaine and Geoff).

So more than half of us take the option. We start pedalling up the hill and it's pretty simple at first. Then the hills start appearing. We get to the top of one, only to find it's a false summit and continues on beyond - maybe around a curve or after an extremely short plateau. I start out behind Philly Arve, the million-year old guy who worried me the first day. About halfway to the top, I pass him up. "He'll never make it," I said to myself.

On the last hill, I'm in absolute first gear (1st gear in front, 1st in back) wheezing and whsipering, "Mommy!" under my breath. I move slowly but steadily. There is no shame in using the Granny Gear - there is only shame in stopping. Finally I make it to the top, and I practically fall off the bike in exhaustion. Woo hoo! I am one of the 25%!

And then, I turn around and see Philly Arve puffing up the hill. He pedals into the bike rack of Hess Winery and says, "Well, that was hard." I pick my jaw off the ground. Holy crap! This guy is healthy for a guy any age, much less in his 70's. Boston Geoff tells me Philly Arve works out with a trainer every day. Wow! All I can say is ... I hope I'm that buff when I'm his age. I have a newfound respect for him.

The 7 of us in the picture above make it, in addition to Raleigh Andrea and Sherry, who get there far ahead of us. That's close to 50% of the people making it without walking. Doug had underestimated us!

The Hess winery has a unique, stunning 3-floor collection of modern art. One of the pieces, a flaming typewriter with real flame, holds me transfixed for minutes. Another, a video portrait of 4 rocks displayed through grainy red-filtered film, hypnotizes me. A lot of people find modern art sterile and incomprehensible, and a few of my compatriots agree. But I find myself with emotions and impressions that only modern art can hoist to the surface. Add some really tasty wine to that, and you have the stuff of memories.

For lunch we meet at the Chateau La Fleur winery and have Doug and Dan's homemade Chinese Chicken Salad. It's fantastic! After the Hess option, we were famished and ate everything in sight. It's the beautiful thing about a bike tour. Eat all you want - you just burn it off later!

We get on the road again and start plowing through a different kind of country: forest-y and deep sided. We scrape the sides of the hills. I marvel at the contrasts between different patches of groundin the valley.

Houston Harry calls out, "I hear wild turkeys!"

I go, "Where?" Two seconds later KA-POW - I'm in the ditch. The front gear teeth dig into my calf. Y'owch! But a minute later, I'm back on the road and forging ahead. And really, what's a bike tour without injuries? How does anyone know you've been riding unless you have marks to prove it?

We end the day's 30+ mile long ride in Sonoma, California. The beautiful town square is lined with shops and an espresso bar, where I park myself for a doppio. People are setting up for the farmer's market and I watch them.

The Zucchini Races are split into three divisions: small, medium and large. Kids take Zucchini, add wheels and decoration, then let them go down the track. Prizes are given for the fastest and the prettiest in each class. (Basically, whatever is not the fastest is designated the prettiest, so everyone gets a prize.)

I love the crowd here, and I walk around eating a carton of pad thai and surveying everything Kids congregate in their school cliques around the duck pond. Families are spread out on blankets enjoying whatever they've found at the stands. There's wine, of course. A kid of about 3 pulls down his pants in the middle of the grass and pees on the lawn, moving back and forth to create a sprinkler effect as his mother is busting a gut laughing. Yep. This is California. The rules are a little different here.

After seven-layer bar ice cream at Ben and Jerry's, I end up at Murphy's Irish Pub for the after-market party. A sign says, "We don't have Bud ... don't ask!" Mad Dog is playing acoustic guitar on the patio. He plays every Mississippi John Hurt song ever recorded, and pretty well I might add! Mad Dog is a brewer by trade, and offers everyone in the crowd one pint of his signature IPA. (I decline, sticking to Dewars all night. I have sponsors to appease.) During his break, I talk to him about the Deep South and Delta Blues.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the back parking lot as a guy sucks toke after toke on a joint. This is Calfornia. I feel the culture start to sink into my bones and heal old wounds. For the first time, I understand why people move here. And stay.

Monday, August 3: Swank-kay!

(From Left: Chicago Diane, Chicago Terry, Travellin' om, LA Caroline)

The morning is cloudy and nippy. I'm confused. Isn't California supposed to be bright and sunny? I bought flip-flops and shorts back in Lincoln just for this climate, and I had damn well better use them!

I meet up with LA Caroline at breakfast where we discuss Scooter Libby and the TV show Monk. She asks me about forensic accounting. I find it impossible to lie to her, and spill my guts immediately. I'm just a lowly Software Architect, not the exciting Forensic Account who busts the Bernie Madoff's of this world.

Houston Harry and Houston Caryn sit at our table. Houston Harry asks me about forensic accounting. LA Caroline giggles a little bit, I suppose waiting to spill my guts again. I don't. I go on a lying rampage. I invent colleagues, research projects, a Curriculum Vitae, courses to teach, and a current obsession with Enron. Houston Harry said he hates regulation, and I tell him that forensic accountants don't want any new laws. They are too busy enforcing the laws already on the books. I pull this all out of my ass, and Caroline is looking rather shocked.

Well lying through my teeth is fun, but biking is even more fun. Here's how it works on our tour. Each morning we get a cue sheet for the main route. There are little side trips mapped out as well - you can do something simple like visit a winery, or more complex and challenging like tackling a hill. Sometimes a winery sits on a huge hill and you do both. There are a few break points where we can get snacks, and we're counted to make sure we're not lost. (All of us have cell phones so we can make a call). We all meet up for lunch, then diverge again.

Lemme tell you - this is swanky! At a rest stop you get off your bike, grab a snack at the snack table (often they're homemade, like the granola bar+peanut butter+banana+chocolate one). By the time you get back to your bike, they have filled up your water bottle. Ahhhhh!

And they have solutions for every problem. Too tired? Just call the van and they'll pick you up. Flat tire? Well, that's not very likely with their thorn-resistant tires and sealant, but if it happens, they just replace the whole wheel.

We start off riding, and accidentally I get in with a slow pack. I find myself pedaling while braking, just to look like I'm busy but not boastful. It gives me time to notice the scenery. It is breathtaking! There are vast hills on the east and west sides of us, filled with brown grass and trees - kind of desert-y. The grapevines, however, are lush and green. Huge windmills, like the one you see to the left, blow any frost off at night.

The sky clears to a bright blue, the sun is pounding, yet the air is a perfect 68 degrees - dry and yet soft. Later one of my hotel mates says, "It's like this every day." I always think that'd be boring, but now I wonder. There's so many microclimates and terrains all squished together ... it's like getting lots of variety every day. And that's at least as good as getting variety over the year.

Our first rest stop is at Mumm Napa Valley where they make Champagne. And yes, we can call it that. By treaty, all countries of the world agree to only allow sparkling wine from France's Champagne region to be called Champagne. But the U.S. didn't sign that treaty. It was drawn up in the 1920's, when Prohibition still ruled the land.

After the tour, I rode out with Raleigh Sherry and Andrea. They are much faster than my previous contingent, but not outrageously so. I have a good feeling about them ... that they and I will do a lot of cycling together over the next week. We get to St. Helena for lunch first, and go to a local deli. The vinaigrette they put on Sandwiches, according to Andrea, was to die for. She was about ready to lick it off the sandwich and suck it out of the bread.

In the St. Helena park, I talked with the mother-and-daughter team of Atlanta Jean and Laura. They have taken a lot of vacations together, all over the country. Laura is color blind. Yeah, I thought the same thing - doesn't the color blindness gene appear only on the male chromosome? But this is a different kind - she actually sees colors, but they're incorrect and blurred together.

Atlanta Jean and Laura feel most like the Midwesterners I just left behind. No BS. People you could hug immediately and not embarass them at all.

While the others are milling around time, I'm kinda restless. So I take the 17 mile option to Calistoga, up one side of the Napa River and down the other. It was a nice jaunt, more like the ones I take at home on weekends. I pass the Old Faithful Geyser (in small print: "of California"). Doug tells me, "It's so phony, not even the tourists stop there." Meanwhile, I feel my legs starting to burn. It was so cold and cloudy in the morning, I didn't put on any sun screen. Uh oh.

In the afternoon, Chicago Diane and Terry and LA Caroline and I loaf around the wineries. We go to Beringers, which is huge. I do my first actual wine tasting there and get some good picks. Their reserve Cabernet is fantastic. We visit the Grapevine Wreath Company where ... as you might expect, they make all kinds of art out of dried grapevines. All in all it was a very lazy, strolling kind of afternoon.

At dinner, Boston Geoff and Elaine sit across from me. Boston Geoff tells how he got a heart attack at 38 years old. That's a life-changing thing, of course. I think it accounts for the couple's unusually strong bond. He dropped his chronic smoking and stress, concentrating his vices into one: swearing. He's really good at it. For some people, four letter words are carelessly used, but he uses the f-word as a well-placed exclamation point.

Boston Elaine wants to know which of my statements is a lie. What does a forensic account do? What brand of cigarettes did I smoke? What book did I write? What kind of dance lessons did I take?

She finally runs out of questions, sits back, and concludes, "You're a serial killer."

It is the crowning accomplishment for the day!

Sunday August 2: Haight, Ashbury, Pillar 299

"Hey Grandma, you're so young.
Your old man's just a boy!"

I have Moby Grape on my brain as I stand at the legendary Haight-Ashbury intersection. The band was formed as a shotgun marriage, they made one incredibly brilliant album in 1967, then suffered mishap after mishap. Their most brilliant songrwriter, Skip Spence, was institutionalized not soon after, they made some half-hearted attempts at a comeback, but it never gelled again.

See, that's the thing. Brilliance is often a flash but the shadows remain etched in the buildings, and though they are seen by a few people at a time, they are no less deep. I feel that way about all of 'Frisco this morning.

Mark and Steph and I sit down at a restaurant down the street. I'm famished from dancing, and consume a big pile of scrambled eggs, mushrooms and feta. The espresso is molasses-thick.

They drive me to the SFO airport where I am to catch the shuttle to Yountville. They drop me off at Pillar 299 and I give them a hug. It was a great introduction to California, and I'm very glad they had me there.

As I wait for the Evan Shuttle, a few people show up at Pillar 299. I look at their luggage and see the yellow Vermont Bike Tour luggage tags. I first meet Patricia and Richard, then Diane and Terry. Patricia and Diane are sisters, and you can tell. They are all from Chicago, and we talk about our brief adventures in San Francisco so far. Over on the bench, Harry and Caryn from Houston are wolfing down sandwiches. The shuttle arrives, we get on, and pick up Heidi and Mark from Philly at the International Terminal. Heidi and Mark sit in back, and Heidi talks on her cell phone about some funeral she had attended that morning. She is a little worried and upset. Terry is playing with his iPhone, and will for the entire trip.

And right now, you're saying, "Who are all these people? This is like War and Peace!" So I'm going to give each a first name after their home city. So far we have the following couples:

• Chicago Diane and Terry - Terry plays with iPhone
• Houston Harry and Caryn
  
• Chicago Patricia and Richard - Chicago Patricia and Chicago Diane are sisters.
  
• Philly Mark and Heidi - Heidi just came from a funeral

That's about half of the 20-person contingent on this shuttle. I'm a little worried about Houston Harry and Houston Caryn. They look like they're purposely shunning people. I wonder if this group is going to gel.

We arrive at the Yountville Inn, and our trip leaders Doug and Dan meet us. They are both buff, young bike fanatics, and I'm sure they're going to push us beyond all endurance. I look around me. Most of the contingent is older than I am, and I'm releieved. At least I won't be the first one to poop out. Doug and Dan get us all our custom VBT bikes, adjusting the pedals and the seat and the rest. They go through the proper operation of the shifters and brakes, review the week's route, go over safety rules and we're all ready for action.

We take a 6 mile spin through town, getting used to the VBT cue sheets and maps. (A cue sheet is a list of turns and mileage stops that bikers use). Chicago Terry has introduced me to his sister Carolyn from LA. It turns out LA Carolyn and I are the only "singles" on the tour, although we are both married. Her husband and son are off on a Scouting trip this week. She is short and has her hair tied back like a librarian. I find an immediate connection with her - LA Carolyn is one of those people who has lots of interesting things to say, very thoughtful, and it's nice to be in listening mode. She rhapsodizes about LA, which is the first time I've ever heard praised from within.

Then I go to my room and .... yee gods! It's huge! It has a fireplace. The bathroom is actually three separate rooms: one for the sink, one for the shower, one for the toilet. All with doors. This is already feeling very decadent.

I prowl out onto the pool area. From Raleigh, Andrea and Sherry are discussing real estate. It becomes clear that they both live in the same house, and I think they're a couple. It's not clear yet. Meanwhile, from Boston, Geoff sits on the beach chair while Elaine dangles her toes in the pool. She chews him out for leaving their swimming suits at home. But they trade these little glances at one another. I find it a bit eerie. There's some kind of transcendental connection between them.

We meet for dinner at the Yountville Grille. The walls of the dining room have blackboards, and Dan and Doug pass out colored chalk, but no one writes anything. It's still too early. I have the Trout, which is crispy and spicy, and a flight of three Napa wines. I tell them to pick out the three wines and surprise me. This will lead to one of two outcomes: (1) they pick the three bottles that are almost empty (2) they pick three bottles that they adore, and want to tell the world. I taste all three, and it's definitely (2) all the way. They have suprising little flavor twists.

I sit beside Arve and Connie, also from Philadelphia. I worry about Arve. He's in his 70's, hunched over, and seems to mumble about everything. I am pretty sure he won't be able to make the trip. We have the van, though. Dan reveals someone once went on a VBT trip and ended up riding the bike only 2 miles, opting to spend the rest of the week in the van. I wonder if Arve will make it that far.

Then comes "Two Truths and a Lie." We are to go around the room, tell our name and hometown, then make three statements about ourselves - two of which are true, one of which is a lie. We are not obligated to reveal which one is the lie. Ever. So I pick:

• I wrote a book to finance dance lessons
  
• I smoked a pack and half of ciagrettes a day before quitting
  
• I am a professor of Forensic Accounting at Syracuse University

Some people make their lie fairly clear. Others have tittery spouses who blow their cover. But me? I'm surprisingly cool about my lie. Almost too cool. And yet, I have no problem sleeping like a baby. My conscience is clear ... or at least my conscience seems so dwarfed by the size of the room, it doesn't matter.

Saturday, August 1: You Should Feel What I Feel, You Should Take What I Take

There's an old ritual among guest lodgers: don't get up before your host does. So I lay in my cot listening to the white noise machine, half-aware of my surroundings. You don't quite believe you're here. But you don't clearly remember your life from a week ago, when there were no such things as cactus burritos. Steph gets up, then I do and find all the Crown Royal has worn away.

We prowl down to the strip mall, and I go for some espresso and cinammon rolls while Steph gets her bangs trimmed at SuperCuts. On Tuesday she'll be off to India, and who knows what kind of haircuts they have there? Steph traded in her Burning Man tickets this year for a two-month stint as a volunteer near Calcutta. She'll be plucking kids off the streets, outfitting with some clothes and a good meal, and giving them a little temporary reprieve from the spirit-crushing life. Unlike younger people, Stephanie is very realistic about what she can do there. No matter how much you want to accomplish, you can only profoundly affect people on a comparatively small scale. But she is determined to do it anyway. With short bangs.

Mark joins us and we make tracks for Frisco, stopping to eat at In-And-Out Burger, a legendary fast-food restaurant. There are only a few things on the menu, but they're all done perfectly, without flash, and inexpensively. After that, we park our bags at The Good Hotel in downtown. It's an eco-friendly hotel where all the furniture is made of recycled goods and the shampoo comes in a dispenser, not a bottle. It's a really cool, new place, and very inexpensive, though it's not likely to stay that way. People will figure it out.

We do a very abbreviated tour of downtown: Fisherman's Wharf, Pier 39 (the piers are numbered, most of which are commercial, and a few are tourist destinations). The sea lions are all sacked out on pallets floating in the harbor ... the life we all dream of, I suppose. Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge are covered in relatively cold fog.

I find some sunglasses and coconut M&M's (which I've been seeking out for a long time) at a Walgreen's. We duck into the legendary Buena Vista restaurant for some Irish Coffees. This is where Irish Coffee was introduced in America, and the bartender pours of line of 25 at a time: first a pot of coffee divided among the mugs, then Bushmills, then a dollop of heavy, homemade cream sauce. People order these things as fast as they are made, and I see why. They are very warm and welcome on a day like this, in the 60's and a little dampish.

For dinner, we hit the Tonga Room, a Hawaiian themed restaurant built in the old swimming pool room of a hotel. It's high-end kitsch. We sit under thatched-roof huts and every half-hour comes thunder,lightning, then rain. It creates a monsoon-like atmosphere. At 8:00 a band floats out on a little barge on the swimming pool and plays bad 70's music. As the drummer slams the skins, the barge rocks a little bit, making you marvel at their dexerity. I have a pot of fish stew over rice, washed down with a signature Tonga Itch (rum, gin, and fruit juices). I need all the strength I can get.

And then The 1015 Folsum. Friggin' wow! Three floors of pulsating techno and hip-hop, wild flowing alcohol and people dancing their patooties off. That night the crowd is mostly Asian and Russian, from 10 PM onwards in constant motion. I am right there with them. The DJ's are expert psychological manipulators - working the crowd into a frenzy and then sending rib-rattling beats to set us all in motion. It's a constant struggle between tension and release, and you feel yourself pulled into it.

In between floors, people pass you lighted reefers and invite you in. Without incriminating myself, let's just say this ... no one is interested in busting anybody. I start feeling chummy with the inhabitants of the third floor, where there are sectional couches and people zonked out on various things. I talk with everyone - the people left at this hour are clearly music fiends. A couple from the east coast recommends NYC clubs to me. This California live-and-let-live vibe is starting to take me over. It's wonderful and refreshing and so very unlike my daily grind. I see why people move here in droves.

I stumble into my room at 3 AM. My ears are buzzing and leaking a little fluid. I am happier than I have been in years.

Friday, July 31: Big Trees and Mysteries

So thanks for your patience, y'all! I'm back in town, in front of a decent computer, with hundreds of slips of note-filled hotel stationery. I will now serialize the rest of my trip, one entry per day.

My parents wave me off at 6:00 this morning. It was a great trip ... Lincoln has really changed since I left in '89, but one thing remains: the people are still cool. And my father is the only one (besides me) who can make Travellin' Tom talk to others.

I touch down in Santa Cruz later that afternoon, and Stephanie Matt is there to meet me. Steph is the sister of my buddy-and-co-worker Jessica Matt. Steph has one year left on her Psych degree at UC-Santa Cruz.

If you know the Matts at all, you know some things are burned into their DNA. That infamous shoulder-shrug-with-eye-roll that says "Hee hee, I'm a bad girl." A love of kareoke. Their great sense of humor. And the punctutation of "Yay!" throughout a conversation. Steph has all that, just as the next generation of Matts (Jessica's daughter Rhiannon) do.

Steph and I begin by surveying the coast, and getting a freakin' huge burrito at the local taquaraita. I had a cactus one. It was excellent! The green strips of cactus, which looked like french-cut green beans were tasty, and (fortunately) fileted of all spikes beforehand. I washed it down with a Squirt grapefruit soda. Ahhhh! My love of California has begun.

It's impossible to describe the enormity of a redwood, so Travellin' Tom will serve as a reference point. (See right). Evidently the redwood is thousands of years older too. These trees have personality. Some are very linear, others have knobbed, curly, warted bases and trunks that branch out like petals. Most were scarred with moss or lightning strikes.

I am awed, but Steph is all ho-hum. She is much more excited by her clever plan to park in the free lot, saving the $7 fee by jumping a couple of fences and train couplers. "Stick it to the man! I go where where I want!" becomes her constant motto. She is the consummate Californian, no matter where her life will take her next.

Next stop (cue fanfare) : The Mystery Spot! We are full of anticipation. What is the mystery? What secrets will it yield? And would life become merely anti-climactic afterwards?

Thankfully no. The Mystery Spot was a shack built diagonally into a hill ... as if the shack had slid down in a mudslide and stopped halfway. Inside the shack, things looked a little off-center. You could stand on the edge of a table and lean out over the floor without falling. You could push a suspended pendulum forward but not backward. You could line up a group of people from smallest to largest, then reverse their order and they look the same height. Our tour guide gave us three possible explanations: Aliens, CO2, or Magnets. (Optical illusions? No. That would actually make sense.)

Does this sound like The Cosmos in the Black Hills (http://www.cosmosmysteryarea.com/)? Hmmmmmm? But no! It is the Mystery Spot! And we blame everything unexpected on it. Suddenly the universe made sense.

Stephanie's love interest, Mark, joins us for mojitos and fusion cuisine at El Palomar. The mojitos there have so much mint, they look like a tree submerged upside down in rum and lime juice. Mmmmm.

We hit the Boardwalk, where they have free Friday night concerts all summer long. Ray Parker Juinor is that night. Right now you're thinking, "Who You Gonna Call? Ghostbusters!" and he does close his set with that. But I remember him in the band Raydio - "You Can't Change That", "The Other Woman," and "Jack and Jill." He's an excellent guitarist, and his backing band was stellar, including Ollie Brown on the drums. I sit on the beach with Steph and Mark, squishing the sand between our toes, and passing between us a water bottle of Crown Royal and sugar free ginger ale.

We go to the Red Room, where I drink Dewars (one of the sponsors for my vacation ... it would seem). The place is packed with beautiful people, and it feels oddly amazingly wonderful to be close to them. Steph likes to people-watch, and I am starting to like it too. The truth is ... I had never really liked crowds until the last few years. Now I can feel energy it. Very Californian. Energy flows through everything.

We end the day at 1:30 with Crown Royal cocktails, and I fall asleep on a nice comfortable cot as the breeze wafts over an expensive Santa Cruz balcony.

Time Delay

Unlike most kids these days, i can't text an entire dissertation on a thumb sized keyboard. After about 30 minutes of typing a post, that became pretty clear. So I'm going to be writing longhand until I can get to a standard pc.

Rest assured I am having a friggin' ball! I haven't crashed my bike or drank too much vino yet. And just in case you saw a red-headed guy on the new Bikers Gone Wild video ... I swear it's not me.