Mill Valley, CA. 5227 miles.

Halfway. Maybe. I really thought 5000 miles would feel like something but now I just want to see what’s around the next curve.

Worried about weekend tourist traffic on the 101 and PCH, I left Crescent City early straight into a northern California fog. Within minutes I was in the middle of Redwood and the combination of the early morning sun cutting through the massive trunks filtered through the ocean fog was something that I don’t think any camera could ever capture appropriately.

From there the morning ride was a bit rough. After the first run through the forest the fog thickened and the temperature dropped into the 40’s. By the time I was through Eureka I was thoroughly frozen and the wash of grey was getting to me. The riding had been cold to freezing since I crossed into western Washington and all I could think about was getting south to warm up. I pushed through as the 101 cut inland and soon the sun cut through the fog and before I knew it I was sweating in my layers.

I stopped in Garberville for gas to find that the Redwood Run had been this weekend and the town was overrun with bikers. A group of Harleys at the Shell station seemed particularly amused by the NY license plate and proceeded to give me a slew of route advice I couldn’t even keep up with.

Somehow between the daze of freezing and thawing I missed the turnoff to the start of the PCH and didn’t realize until I was 30 miles south in Willits. I stopped for lunch and the bikers from Redwood were still everywhere. After fielding more questions about the NY plate and yes, it’s a Triumph, a couple guys told me to cut west across RT 20 through Jackson Forest to catch up to the PCH at Ft. Bragg. While not the largest of the redwoods I saw today, Jackson was far and away the most dense. At times the canopy was so thick it completely blocked out the sun and it might as well have been midnight. It was beautiful, but the road itself was a monster of hairpin twists. Just as I was feeling confident in my mountain riding, this route definitely gave me a couple moments of clenching. If you’re ever feeling a little cocky, 40 miles through this forest will put you in your place quickly.

As soon as I left the forest I was back at the coast and turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway for the first time. This road will take me all the way to Orange County and if this afternoon is any indication it will be a LONG trip.

Back by the ocean, the fog returned as well as the cold. Back on went the layers and heavy gloves and I set off through the insane twists and curves of the upper PCH.

Until Elk the road is a fun combination of slow twists and gorgeous straight aways through the inner farmlands. The fog give the whole country an eerie feel but after days of cloudless skies I was actually happy for a change. After Elk, though, the road gets serious very fast.

As the 1 cuts around the mountains on the coast it takes you literally to the edge of any number of 500 foot cliffs. No guard rails, no shoulder, just a white line and then a sheer drop. There are a million breathtakingly beautiful views but unfortunately they happen to be just where you know half a milimeter too much throttle will send you flying. I quickly abandoned every ounce of ego and took the bulk of the run at parking lot speed. It didn’t matter much because everyone else was doing the same.

Existential terror aside, it was a gorgeous ride, but an exhausting one. By the time I curved back around to the 101 for the last stretch towards San Francisco I had barely topped 400 miles on the day but a full 2/3 of them had been in either freezing cold, hairpin curves, or both. One last bout with SF traffic and I called it a day just north of the Golden Gate. Easily the most physically taxing day of the trip so far, but it is comforting to know the cold should be over from here on out. Ask me how I feel about that when I’m in Arizona, but for now I am thrilled.

Wyatt Neumann was a phenomenally talented photographer and director, a loving husband and father, and a passionate motorcyclist. On June 11th he was doing what he loved riding in Delaware when he suffered a brain aneurysm which caused him to lose control of his motorcycle. He died shortly after. Wyatt was instrumental in both inspiring this trip and planning many of its routes and logistics. The title of this site was unapologetically stolen from his series of photographs from his own travels. He leaves behind a wife and two young children. A memorial fund has been established to help his family in this very trying time. Please consider donating. Any amount will help. Thank you.