I head back to the coast on Highway 101, and then I’m on to Portland, and the last social contact on the United States’ West Coast: Stan Smith, a motorcycle man, and Judy Wise, whose sister I met while struggling from Nogales to Tucson. I arrive, and we picnic and meet locals.
Stan goes with me on Monday to the motorcycle shop and I get a free oil change, a new speedometer cable, and new rear shoe brake lining, the old lining from new bike having done 25,000 miles. I lost 500 miles on my speedometer reading. Not knowing distance and speed has been a bit of a worry.