Getting some traction with a motorcycle and enjoying the sunrise

23/4 - Finally. Some traction.

24/5 - I wrote the two sentences above more than a month ago.

Since those two sentences came into being, I have not had the desire to write; the fire just isn't there.

It's smoldering, as if a bucket of water were thrown over a campfire.

There have been reasons to write, sure.

• I have a part time job now that I don't hate.
• I found myself in the newsroom of the Sacramento Bee, in a one-on-one meeting with a frizzy-haired and foul-mouthed editor of the newspaper. The collar of his shirt wasn't buttoned, and neither was mine (though the rest of my suit was flawless). 
• I had a job interview at a local credit union, and I showed up 15 minutes early prepared with two copies of my resume, dressed in a suit and shook the manager's hand firmly.
• I skipped rocks in the American River with good friends. 
• I completed a road trip to San Luis Obispo to visit a former coworker and be the designated driver. 

But, I don't want to write. 

No more for tonight, at least.

16/7 - To celebrate being rejected for yet another job, I rented a motorcycle for 24 hours this past weekend in Sacramento and headed into the mountains with a fellow motorcycling friend.

The last time I rented a bike, of course, was during those five glorious days in England back in 2015. This time, I saddled up a 2014 Honda VFR800 sport touring machine. It was similar to the Suzuki SV650S I rode in England, but this bike had more power. It also came with two saddle bags, in which I stored my sleeping bag, water and a pair of shoes. It cost approximately $200 to rent the Honda for 24 hours, and that includes the insurance and rental of other equipment such as Snell-approved helmet and gloves.

The Honda VFR800 is the white bike. We parked our bikes off the road and behind a tree for the night. No one bothered the bikes or us.

Riding a motorcycle is an intense activity, one that requires constant concentration. It's mentally and physically taxing because there are so many factors that need your attention. All four of your limbs have to operate a different lever (shifting, front brake, back brake and throttle), you have to pay attention to imperfections in the road, and you have to ride defensively. After a time, though, you become more connected to the machine and every action takes less thought. Riding plants a permanent grin on my face and sometimes forces me to giggle and whoop inside my helmet which no one else but me can hear or experience.

Being in the saddle of these machines is the greatest high I can think of, one that is healthy for the soul. During my trip to Glasgow, Scotland a few years ago in a car with several other people and a dog, we found a quote on a shop window that was easy to miss, but it applies to this adventure:

"Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul."

For 24 hours this weekend, the two wheels of the Honda moved my soul. If only for a short time, my issues and troubles melted away, ditched in the valley where they had no chance to follow (or keep up).

There was no destination in mind for this adventure. My buddy and I met on Madison Avenue in Sacramento, so we headed east on I-80 into Auburn and turned down Highway 49. We went through Cool and turned onto Highway 193 and rolled into Georgetown, where there was a large group of old, grizzled bikers with wild, gray beards outside of a bar, dressed all in black.

We turned onto Wentworth Springs Road and left most of the traffic behind, though we were still blessed with smooth, curvy roads. After a period of impressive views through patches of burned-out forest, we then turned onto Ice House Rode and eventually found our place for the night: Loon Lake. We parked our bikes on a turnoff right after the dam and found a spot on top of a rocky outcrop directly above the road on which to lay our sleeping bags.

We set up camp after all light had faded the night before. Tentless camping was a positive experience.

There were thunderheads in the area the night we arrived. I heard raindrops during the night, but it was short.

This act marked a first for me: Before this weekend, I had never slept under the stars without a tent. Both of us laid our pads on the unforgiving rock below us and placed our sleeping bags on top.

Surprisingly, I did not have issues with mosquitoes considering how close we were to the lake. Sleep came easily around 10 p.m., but not before I admired the bright crescent moon and the countless stars in the black sky, surrounding the Milky Way. I woke up at Dawn, greeted by the silent landscape of the still lake and dark, surrounding peaks like a loving partner would do in bed.

We had the fortune of watching a sunrise over the lake, and we saw how much it developed, changing by the second. Sunrays exploded every direction in slow motion, placing a spotlight on clouds far out to the west. The orange-reddish color of the early morning sun mixed with the purple and blue of the surrounding water and sky, and it set fire to the clouds closest to it.

This was taken with my iPhone 5. Sadly, cameras can not do scenes like this justice.

All we had to do was sit back, sip some instant coffee and enjoy the show.

It was a weekend filled with joy, peppered with bouts of giggling and a pinch of wonder. Twice I enjoyed skinny dipping and once I dropped the bike onto its side. And once, I made it back to the century mark on the speedometer somewhere in the area of Pollock Pines on Highway 50; the world travels by quickly at that speed, and nothing else matters besides the loud whine of the hard-charging engine and the feeling of a wide smile refusing to vacate my face.

Satisfying wanderlust in Death Valley National Park

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move. - Robert Louis Stevenson

When someone asks me why I traveled somewhere, my answer is usually the same vague, oversimplified question in response: why not?

I recently completed a 1,200-mile road trip to Death Valley National Park for the sole reason of satisfying my inner (chronic) wanderlust. I had originally thought something about the desert was calling me there because I had been thinking about it since June, but it was simply the desire to travel; The need to explore a new place on a long, solo road trip was overwhelming.

Golden Canyon offers a short three-mile round trip hike.

It's amazing how much a solo road trip makes me happy, how much I enjoy camping out of my car under the light of a full moon, of being outside of cell phone coverage in complete silence and going a few days between showers, accumulating the stink of cattle, dogs, sand and sweat. This is essentially a story of how a regular dude travels, as all of you already know.. I didn't pay for accommodation and spent very little on food (a big thanks to my friends and family down there in Tulare County).

According to legend, Death Valley got its name in the winter of 1849 when a group of pioneers climbed out of Panamint Valley, turned around while standing on top of the overlooking mountain and said, "Goodbye, Death Valley." One member of the group had already passed away there.

Earth is home to many hot places, but Death Valley holds the record for hottest temperature ever recorded, at 134 degrees in 1913 at Furnace Creek. I drove through Furnace Creek during my visit, and it's a small oasis surrounded by desolate, barren and rocky terrain. It's as if the environment is constantly baked under extreme temperatures in the summer and melts in the withering heat. As a result, only rock, sand and a few wispy shrubs exist in the hottest areas.

Close to Furnace Creek, home of the hottest temperature ever recorded on Earth.

There is a park entrance fee of $20 and various signs along major roads point to where visitors can pay this fee. But upon my short time in the park, it seems to be based on an honor system because at no time was I specifically asked to pay the fee or actually stop the car to pay it.

The park consists of several mountain ranges and valleys, but Death Valley itself boasts the lowest point in elevation in the Western Hemisphere: 282 feet below sea level at Badwater Basin. This is a massive salt flat which got its name when an explorer riding a donkey couldn't get his animal to drink the water in the small, murky ditch near the edge of the mountain overlooking the plain. He wrote about the "bad water" and the name had stuck to the area.

Above the parking lot and along the reddish-brown rocky cliffside sits a large sign that reads "sea level." I had arrived at this parking lot at Badwater Basin at 5 a.m. and found solitude reading the information signs under the moonlight and light of my tactical flashlight.

The salt in Badwater forms in different shapes, and there is so much of it that the ground looks as if there is a layer of snow. It tastes exactly like the table salt all of us use to season our food at home, and it literally crunches under foot. The salt forms when water rushes down the barren mountainous slopes in flash floods and brings different minerals with it; it's the perfect environment for these salt crystals to grow.

Veins of salt snake around endlessly in Badwater Basin.

Shortly after I arrived, a small group of photographers showed up clutching tripods and cameras presumably to shoot the quickly approaching sunrise over the mountains and salt flat; I eventually followed with my own equipment, thinking that this had to be a convenient coincidence.

During my trek into the basin the sun began to provide light, and I was fortunate enough to see plenty of cloud formations which provided stunning displays of pink, red and purple; it was like the morning sun set the clouds on fire. I was lucky enough to witness this scene in a spot such as this, and was thrilled with the opportunity; the show did not disappoint.

Badwater Basin is a good place for a sunrise photoshoot.

I spent only one night in the park after witnessing the sunset from the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes. After hiking out of the sand pit in twilight, I drove on into the night. 

Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes provided a nice setting for an evening meal and show.

Having driven for only about 10 minutes, I came across a dirt road leading to Salt Creek where I parked by myself for the night. Salt Creek is a small stream system which flows into the valley floor from the mountains and like most other water sources in the desert, the water is salty. There is a boardwalk which leads visitors on a half-mile loop throughout the creek and provides information about the area. 

I had the boardwalk to myself in the middle of the night under the light of the full moon. Along with the gentle trickle of water and the groan of the boards under my footsteps, I found myself in total silence in the cool darkness. I took that time to focus on my breathing and enjoy being at that place at that moment. 

The desert is so beautiful, and yet there's something sad, melancholy and lonely about it. The word "beautiful" is a bit vague and highly subjective, but perhaps I enjoyed the desert so much because it reflected my inner feelings since I returned from France.

But this is another reminder that the act of travel truly makes me happy. I get my inspiration to write from travel, and operating a camera is much more enjoyable while on the road. Travel (and perhaps riding motorcycles) is the one thing I must be able to do in my life.

Shall I become a truck driver then?

Road tripping in France and Switzerland with a familiar face

19/4 - It was around this time six months ago that I moved to France.

Six months in France.

So, to celebrate, I went on a road trip with my old friend Danny and his dog, Rocky over the Easter weekend. This was our third such road trip together, but this time we took a somewhat familiar route by driving south through France and ending in Basel, Switzerland.

It had been almost two years since the two of us drove north to Loch Ness, Scotland from Bournemouth, England, and exactly two years since we drove south to Italy, a distance of 2,200 miles. This time, I met him in Calais, after taking a train from Cherbourg and meeting total strangers in Caen to carpool four hours to Calais.

Though the trips were separated by two years, I noticed things haven't changed much with either of us. My emotions, the cause of so much anger and stress during my time in Milan and Genova, Italy, are still there. I'm still prone to submitting to moments of anger and annoyance, though this time they were much less noteworthy.

While my travel partner relies on his phone's GPS to a fault at times, there were moments when it seriously helped on this trip. Though there are many tolls throughout the major motorways of France, it helped us navigate in such a way where we avoided all tolls on our way back north by using smaller roadways, windy paths through damp and cloudy mountains, and one-lane roads through sleepy villages. It also helped us avoid the €50 toll at the Swiss border by simply leaving the highway and driving through the city streets of Saint-Louis, France to cross the border into Switzerland.

Both of us have accomplished a little bit since leaving Bournemouth University. We've grown into different people and collected vastly different experiences and stories, but we're still great friends. Though we do get along, there are times when we royally piss each other off like that couple who nitpick every aspect of each other.

The biggest difference now, though, is the newfound interest in photography for both of us. Danny uses a Nikon D5100 and I have the Pentax K-30, both DSLR cameras but with different capabilities, especially in regards to lenses.

I practiced with Danny's Nikon D5100.

The last time we pounded the open road, I didn't have the desire to stop every hour or so to take a picture. This time, however, I've been known to stop in random places and snap shots, such as when I waded into a field of yellow rapeseed flowers near Strasbourg, under a stormy sky. My pants got wet, my socks became soggy and my shirt attracted tiny yellow debris, but I snagged a cool picture or two.

This was a better idea in my head, and I never noticed the water droplets on my lense.

I didn't know the rapeseed flowers would be wet.

During the last road trip, I didn't have a child-like wonder of the sky. During this trip, the several hours driving in the general area of Nancy gave us a view of a spectacle in the sky, something that distracted me from my driving duties. The rays of the sun found ways around the clouds and down to the ground providing a natural spotlight for the ground below, like fingers from the sky curiously touching an unknown substance. It was incredible, and I was itching to pull the car over on the side of the road and put the camera to work.

Colmar - taken through the bars of a fence.

There was one point, just after sunset, when we drove along a long, straightaway road, next to several wind turbines in an open, green field. There were no trees. It would have been the perfect spot to shoot the sunset, but we were an hour late so the only thing breaking the black sky was some dark purple clouds on the horizon.

21/4 - It's also just about two years since Danny and I took that road trip from Bournemouth all the way down to Italy. For the past week, we've been driving, and driving...and driving. Or to put it more accurately, I've been driving because of Danny's lack of skill with the manual transmission.

Mont St. Michel is swamped with tourists during warm weather, but it's always fun to visit.

I've shown Danny the World War II sites in Normandy such as Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, Normandy American Cemetery, Pointe du Hoc and other tiny villages in the area. I showed him Mont St. Michel; it was my third time here and it was the warmest visit yet, despite the place crawling with tourists. However, that was Danny's birthday! Just like when my parents were here, it was fun to see the reactions of a person visiting for the first time. 

I've taken other photos of Les Braves, but not with the added benefit of a good camera!

When we arrived back in Cherbourg that evening, we witnessed the sunset from the top of the hill overlooking the city. It was magnificent, like when I looked upon Big Ben in London, in 2014, for the first time in a couple of years. From the wide angle, the thin clouds crisscrossed the light-blue sky, which eventually turned to pink, orange and red on the horizon. But from a closer view, the sky was nothing but orange and red. This 135mm lens makes all the difference because it can zoom in.

Taken from the top of Cherbourg at sunset.

There were many stops during the week: Strasbourg, Colmar, Basel, Kayserberg, castle ruins, and a bird show. There were big cities, touristy villages and opportunities to explore the area alone.  But the best part was having the opportunity to show a good friend my newest home.

Chateau de Kintzheim, once a castle, is now a bird sanctuary.

Kayserberg is a village nestled between two hills. There is a winery on the southern hill. 

There are castle ruins in Kayserberg, but I stumbled upon hiking trails which led me to this view. 

It also showed me that both of us admire what the other is doing. Danny is working in England and commutes to London once per week. He's supporting himself while traveling to many different places with his dog. He's ambitious with many business opportunities in his head and stays disciplined enough to steadily complete them. I, of course, have spent the past six months living in France, in near solitude, learning a new language and aspects of myself (and doing a little bit of travel). We each have respect for what the other is up to.

I also saw how Spanish is still a part of me, because I could understand the conversation between Danny and his mother. It reminded me that this has become a forgotten skill, one that needs attention. This will be something to work on over the summer.

22/4 - Danny left Cherbourg.

It was a blast showing my home to another friend. But as with most of my activities during my time here, I'm suddenly on the other side of it, looking back and reflecting. This is the temporary moment when I'm not quite sure what to do with myself, possibly because I feel melancholy that another adventure has passed. But I'm not sad that those road trips are finished.

As with everything so far, I'm just happy I was able to experience them.

There are other adventures on the horizon for me; until next time. 

Epiphanies, meeting an old friend and San Francisco

1/3 - I learned something about myself this weekend; it was an epiphany, if you will.

When it comes to traveling, I don't overthink anything. I book the plane tickets and figure out where I'll stay just a few days before, if not the same day. It's the spontaneity I love about that. In fact, I underthink traveling sometimes, but my adventures have pretty much always turned out memorable and successful. I don't care how safe that area is. I don't care about every single noteworthy spot. I hate to plan every step of the way; just being there is the thrill for me, and a great story always seems to come out of it.

When it comes to women, I overthink every step of the way which is why I've had minimal success with the opposite sex throughout my life. I overanalyze and care too much. Now, if only I could adopt the travel mindset when talking to women or asking them out for a date. That would (theoretically, in my head) make it easier on me. There's never spontaneity with women. I always end up hanging back and thinking too much, psyching myself out of talking to females. I don't relate to them, nor do I completely understand them, but I'm attracted to women. If anything that comes from this, it's this:

Overthinking murders spontaneity.

I spent the weekend in the Bay Area because Danny was visiting from the United Kingdom for work. This is the guy with whom I went on two epic road trips and we've seen each other at our worst, so it was good to hang out with him, even if it was only for a few hours in Mountain View.

We spent a few hours catching up and talking about old times in England at Bournemouth. While I do miss seeing my friends from there, living in the dorm and traveling everywhere, I'm at peace with the fact I moved back to California. I've said this many times before, but I took total and complete advantage of that year abroad; I have no regrets.

We drove around in his brand new Camaro convertible and visited the Google headquarters. The campus is neat because there are bicycles for employee use called "Google bikes." It seemed like a great place to work, though we never saw the inside of the building.

And after Danny had to leave for work, I drove a bit farther north to South San Francisco where I screwed around in the San Bruno Mountain State Park, where I did a bit of walking and shooting pictures with the GoPro. It's always such a thrill to get out in nature, to a place where you can hear yourself think and shirk all adult responsibility if only for a few hours. The mountain I hiked overlooked San Francisco and Daly City. It was a clear day, except for the fog that shrouded the Bay Bridge.

Later, I took BART into the city to have lunch with a friend. San Francisco is always fun to visit, to wander around on foot. It's very colorful, like Dublin is, and one of the most fun things to do in the city is to sit back and people-watch (there's no shortage of characters in San Francisco).

The short encounter with Danny and the trek into San Francisco made me realize something else: I could be doing a lot better in terms of work and the way I present myself. Perhaps I'm too comfortable in this spot. I haven't set any goals for myself in the near future, and that's part of the reason why my Coast Guard application is still very much unfinished. It's also why I haven't applied to anywhere else for work, or even explored openings. It's also the reason I show up to work in a T-shirt, jeans, ratty shoes and a beard that has grown out of control.

I'm cheating myself, all because I've fallen into a routine that is comfortable. I'm not shooting for more, which is unfortunate...

In other news, my trip to Chicago is booked. I'll only be there for three nights, but it should be a great time. I've heard nothing but good things about that city.