TWO EPIC CALIFORNIA ROADS, ONE SOLO TRIP

My destination for the night was June Lake, California. I don’t usually book accommodations in advance when I’m on a motorcycle trip, but I knew I would be rolling in after dark, so I made sure to have a charming cabin waiting for me. As a female rider traveling solo, you are always trying to stay one step ahead of situations that can make you vulnerable on the road.

The small town of June Lake, also known as “California’s Switzerland,” offers a 16-mile scenic loop, with sweeping curves taking you around four beautiful alpine lakes. I actually ended up riding the loop twice. Somewhere near the beginning, I lost one of my gloves and figured it had to be on the side of the road. I never found it, but I did have a close encounter with a deer if that makes it any better, before making it back into town just in time for a burger and a beer.

I had planned to leave early the next morning to ride the 315-mile day ahead of me with ease, but not having my gloves on a low 50-degree morning pushed me back. Despite the cold, the sun was out, the skies were blue, and it was the perfect day for a ride. I found replacement gloves in Mammoth and stopped for breakfast. Something was telling me that would be my only meal for a long time.

I made sure to take a quick detour to check out the Alabama Hills. This is apparently Hollywood’s favorite outdoor set, where you can hike around a maze of sculpted rocks and feel like you’re on a different planet. But I had no time for hikes, so here’s me getting as far as my bike could take me: Nightmare Rock.

I kept heading south, riding alongside Death Valley and hoping the next gas station Google Maps showed actually existed. I spotted another rider ahead of me and made sure to stay within sight of him. Girl’s math: if I ran out of gas, at least someone would see me and stop. He probably thought I was crazy, but when I finally rolled into the gas station, we exchanged a wave and went our separate ways.

I made it to my friend’s house that afternoon, just in time to watch Brazil and Haiti in the World Cup and enjoy some homemade Brazilian food she had waiting for me.

The next morning, I saw hazy skies, palm trees, congested traffic, and heard horns everywhere. Yes, I had arrived in the city of Los Angeles. After sitting behind cars for a good minute trying to merge, I realized that I could be splitting lanes. Is there even another possible way for a motorcycle to get around in this city? I was very surprised by how safe it felt, though. Most drivers acknowledged me and made room for my bike to pass through.

Spending the first 70 miles splitting lanes wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start the day, but I knew what was waiting for me. The moment I reached Ventura, everything changed. I rode straight to the beach and felt like I had stepped into a California postcard. Surfers carrying their boards, lowriders cruising the streets, motorcycles everywhere, and the Pacific once again.

I had lunch and kept heading north until I realized there was no reason to rush. I decided to spend the night in San Simeon, with one last gas stop in Cambria. Making it a shorter day gave me time to slow down. I sat by the ocean for a while, and ended the evening with a great plate of pasta while watching the sun setting into the Pacific.

The next morning, I’d finally be riding Highway 1 through Big Sur.

My favorite was McWay Falls. I happened to pull in at the same time as a family of four, so I offered to take their picture. We chatted for a few minutes before going our separate ways. It’s one of the things I love most about traveling alone. People are curious, conversations happen naturally, and for a few minutes you become part of each other’s stories. I also stopped at the tiniest gas station, where I paid exactly $10.49 a gallon. I had to laugh. It was definitely the most expensive gas of the trip, but I would’ve paid it again without thinking twice.

As the sun burned through the fog and the roads started getting busy, I realized I’d just spent the last five hours riding through what felt like a little piece of paradise.

Eventually, I reached Monterey, and as much as I wanted to keep exploring, reality started to set in. I still had more than 300 miles to get home, so it was time to hop on I-80 and cover some ground.

After leaving the bigger cities behind, the familiar landscape of Northern California started to return. My energy came back with it, knowing I had one more stop to look forward to.

In Nevada City, I met up with my husband, Jesse, who was riding home from his own motorcycle trip through Oregon, so we could ride the last hundred miles back to Reno together.

We’d spent the last five days chasing different roads and collecting different stories, but somehow we both knew exactly what those moments meant to each other.