Wednesday, 27. August 2008.
Ukiah is a relatively big place, so I find a Safeway and buy a pack of croissants. I even manage to find Nutella, so that's my breakfast. Unfortunately, as in most Safeways, they only sell Croissants in boxes of 4, and since I try to carry as little stuff as possible, I push myself a bit and finish them off. I'm ready to hit the road.
I'm on 101 for quite a while. All of a sudden I hear a loud voice behind myself: "Get off the highway!"
I turn around and see a police car. I move even more to the side when I hear: "Get off the highway NOW!!"
I get off the bike. The police officer gets out of his car. Apparently, I've been biking for so long that I didn't notice when highway became a freeway. He's convinced I must've seen signs saying bikes are prohibited on the highway, but I haven't. I would have had if I had gotten off the highway and tried to get back on it, but I've been biking for hours.
He's pretty pissed off, but in the end he tells me which roads to take and I take the Old Redwoods Highway all the way to Santa Rosa.The scenery along the road is beautiful. Lots of vineyards and nice hills that remind of Tuscany. I stop to get some cherries from a fruit stand. Can you believe it? It's 27th of August and you can still buy cherries in California. Impressive.
I get to Santa Rosa and stay with Danae and her girlfriend Danielle. We go shopping for some food and then off to the movie theater to watch The Traitor. The movie isn't nearly as bad as I would have expected. Actually, it was pretty good.



No, it's not a scene from Star Wars. This is the bicycle parking lot in Santa Rosa, CA.


We get back home and play Scattegories until super late at night. I manage to win the second round, although Danielle is incredibly good at this game and beats us in the first round with no problem.

Thursday, 28. August 2008.
I wake up before everybody else, wash the dishes and get on the road.
Today I have to be in san Francisco for a Strike Anywhere concert. When I heard they're playing San Francisco on 28th I e-mailed my friend Matt, the guitar player, and asked him to get me on the guest list. He kindly did so I made sure I'm in San Francisco on that date.
It's a hot sunny day and I get to Oakland around 5 pm. My host, Hae is in a gallery on San Pablo avenue. The gallery is also a concert venue and a practice place. It looks like different European squats I've been to but in particular reminds me of Ungdomshuset (RIP).
Hae is helping her girlfriend build up the gallery and she gives me a quick tour of the place. Then she puts my bike on her car and we go to her place.



My bike and Hae's car in a perfect symbiosis.


Hae is very talkative and explains to me why she likes Oakland so much. We spend a couple of hours at her place, then I leave for San Francisco to check Strike Anywhere out.
I get the bike on the Bart (SF underground system) and then ride towards the venue. It's still early so I get a burrito from a taqueria around the corner.
When I finally get to the venue there's quite a line in front of it. What I didn't realize is that there'll be security at the door who will check if you have any dangerous or forbidden objects with you. And yes, my pepper spray is in my pocket and that's certainly something they wouldn't want inside the venue.
But I realize that only when I'm standing in front of the security guard who feels something in my pocket, exactly the one I'm having the pepper spray in.
"What do you have here?", he asks.
I reach into my pocket and next to the pepper spray there's my flashlight I have just taken off the bicycle, in order to not have it stolen while I'm at the show and the bike is parked in front of that taqueria. I take the flashlight out and show it to the guard.
Now he touches that same pocket again and, indeed, he feels the pepper spray inside.
He asks again: "What is this?"
I try not to panic and instead of reaching inside my front pocket I reach inside my side pocket and pull my Tom Tom out. I say: "I'm riding a bike and I took these things off my bike while it's parked". I point to my helmet hanging off my belt and he thinks he figured it out. He doesn't realize I reached into a completely different pocket and that I still have my pepper spray there. He lets me in.
I sigh with relief and get in. I wonder what would have happened had he found the pepper spray. I don't even want to think about it.
So I get in and find my friend Lisa who's standing behind a vegan info stand, next to bands' merchandise stands. We chat for a while until Mike Park starts playing.
Mike Park is the man behind Asian Man records (early Alkaline Trio records are on that label) and he used to play in Chinkees, a Ska Punk band from the Bay Area. Now he performs solo, a guitar and voice solo act, playing a mix of his own songs as well as some covers. I'm particularly impressed with the song "Tobi Vail Is Amazing" that is about Bikini Kill or better, about their drummer in particular.
He plays "New England" by Billy Bragg and that brings a few memories to mind. But the highlight of his show is actually the very last song. He takes the mike stand down into the pit, comes down and plays "The Crowd" by Operation Ivy in the middle of a few hundred kids who all sing the chorus together. Man, this feels like 1988. I first heard Operation Ivy in the summer of 1988 when a fellow zinemaker from Sarajevo came to my birthtown Split on vacation and brought a tape with the "Turn It Around" compilation on it. I've loved this band ever since.
Mike Park does a great job with this song and everyone is super happy.



Mike Park in the pit playing "The Crowd" by Operation Ivy.


Next on stage is Strike Anywhere. This band is probably the last band I really got excited about and that was some 7 years ago, after their first album came out.
I thought they sounded so fresh and original and instantly became my favorites. And they still are to this day.
For some reason, I've always liked their studio albums better than their live performances, and so is the case this time. They start with quite unbalanced sound that puts the drumming way too much under the spotlight. With time their sounds gets better and better, but I still don't enjoy their show as much as I enjoy their records. I'm quite positive that they'd sound much better is a small venue, but I take what I get, keep the criticism aside and enjoy Strike Anywhere tonight.



Strike Anywhere are always a band to check out.


I chat with their guitarist Matt for a little while before Hot Water Music hits the stage. They're solid, maybe even better than I thought, but still their kind of gruffy anthemic Punk Rock doesn't really do it for me. So I watch a few songs, then get back to the stands and chat some more with Lisa, who is going to follow Strike Anywhere on their small tour through California for the next 3 days.
I get one of their old t-shirts, unsold from their European tour, and take off to catch the last Bart to Oakland.
I get to the Bart station a couple of minutes before the closure and manage to get on the last train. A bit of biking through Oakland and I'm at Hae's place.
I have the keys, so I get in through the backdoor and go to sleep. Everybody else is asleep already.

Friday, 29. August 2008.
Today is the day of Critical Mass, San Francisco. I'll get to that later, let's first see what happens in the morning.
I take Hae out for a breakfast. We are supposed to go to some nearby place with the other two roommates (his name is Adam, her name escapes me at the moment) but halfway there they drive past us telling us they can't make it on time so we change the destination and walk for about half an hour to Emeryville to a place called Rudie Can't Fail Cafè.

They build some weird houses in Emeryville. Off the topic: what famous Punk label was located in Emeryville, CA?

Well, the name promises a lot (for the uninformed or those who have lived the last 30 years on Mars, Rudie Can't Fail is a Clash song from their third album London Calling) and we patiently wait some 20 or so minutes to be seated.
While we're waiting I check the two panels full of photos hanging off the walls and who do I see, my friend Willia from the Dutch band Bambix! They must have had a show in San Francisco and came here to eat something. Bambix is a band I got into around 1991 and in 1994 I organized a two week tour through Italy, Croatia and Slovenia, travelling with them in a van. Then together with 3 friends I visited them in 1995 on our European cruise in an old Renault 5 and even older Renault 4. Fast forward 12 years: in May 2007 I ran into them in Berlin. They even had the same roadie, Bart, with them. Good, good times!
Anyway, we get seated, get our breakfast and then split ways. Hae has to return to the gallery, while I plan to check out a few record shops, namely Amoeba and Rasputin in Berkeley. I'm by bike, so it takes me 20 minutes to get there.
Around 5 pm I hop on the Bart and get into town. I stop the first person on a bike and get directions to the Critical Mass, SF.
What the hell is a Critical Mass? Again, for Martians and those on desert islands, Critical Mass is (usually) a monthly gathering of bikers where they get on the streets and take full possession of them. The cars are outnumbered and have to stay behind the mass of bikes. The amount of bikers range from a few dozens to several thousands. In Rome, we're usually about 300-400, except this May when the "interplanetary" Critical Mass happened and had almost 5,000 participants!!
Today in San Francisco we're over a thousand, I believe.
The inspiration and the name "Critical Mass" comes from China. Apparently in China there aren't many traffic lights, so when a biker has to cross the street full of cars, he/she waits until there's a big number of bikers waiting and they cross the street all together. At that point, when the "critical mass" is reached, the cars have to stop to let the mass cross the street. Apparently, in some places, this is the only way to cross.
There are about 25-30 cops on motorcycles to follow the river of bicycles.

Yup, they're here as well.




Here we go. The start.


The mass weaves through San Francisco. Climbs up hills, rolls down hills, cruise along the sea and through the city. The people cheer and clap their hands. Some people join us. A guy stops me asking if this is the Critical Mass San Francisco. When I confirm, he says he's a part of Critical Mass Portland, Oregon.
A couple of people are riding with sound systems on the back of their bikes. Everyone is happy.












The family. ___________________________ The Bay Bridge.

There are a couple of incidents with drivers. Fortunately, nobody's hurt. Cops are of no use at all. I don't think they're having fun, but they're not helpful either.
Finally, the mass stops near the Union Square. Everyone lifts their bikes in the air.
I take photos. : )

The final act. The liberation. The joy.


My phone runs out of battery. I wander around a little longer and then head back to Oakland, via Bart. When I get back, everyone's asleep. As usual.

Saturday, 30. August 2008.
I have to keep biking down south if I want to be on schedule. So I pack my things, get them on the bike, and leave Oakland in the late morning.
I promised Michelle we'd meet when I'm in the area so I check out with her where she works so I can drop by on my way out of San Francisco.
It must've been over 17 years that Michelle and I have known each other. In 1991 I booked the first Agent 86 European tour through Italy and Slovenia. The war was already showing its ugly face on the Balkans. In 1992, I booked another tour for them. Michelle was the bass player in that band. Then we lost touch for about 6 years. But when in 1999 my old band This Side Up toured the United States, we stayed with Michelle in Seattle and she came with us as the merch girl to the shows in Seattle, Bellingham, Corvallis and Roseburg. In 2005, when I was in the States again, I stayed with her in Fresno and so it was of no question to see an old friend even if it meant taking the Bart to San Francisco rather than biking along the Bay direction south.
When I get to the big organic festival she works at, a brief look at the queue in front of her company's stand make me understand she's under pressure. There must be at least 30-40 people queuing to get their food.
She uses the excuse of moving the bosses car to a proper parking spot, so we manage to chat a bit.
I can see the pressure so we make it brief and promise to update via internet. It's always good to see old friends, no matter how short.
I get to South Van Ness, turn right onto Mission and then stay on 82 (El Camino Real) that takes me all the way to San Jose.
The ride is pleasant and goes through a bunch of different towns (San Bruno, San Matteo, San Carlos, Redwood City,...) where it's hard to realize where one ends and the other starts.
In Redwood City I find an optician's shop bearing my family name!! I wonder if we're related.


Distant relatives perhaps?


A few miles down the road I stop in a record shop (where else?). The owner is convinced his shop is hot stuff and tells me people come from all over the world to visit it. My enthusiasm goes down drastically when I see that his 3 "Punk" boxes contain mainly Gary Numan 7" and some cheap 90's Punk compilations. Not to have the feeling I've wasted my time, I pick up 4 7"s, believing I'll probably be spending some 10 dollars total. The guy asks for $ 50! He tells me some of this stuff is hard to find, as if I don't know what we're talking about here. He probably thinks I'm some easily convinced idiot on a bicycle who doesn't even know Gary Numan is as Punk as Swiss chocolate. I thank him with a "No thanx." and get back on my bike.
Right before San Jose I stop at a nice Thai restaurant and get some energy for the rest of my biking trip today.
I bike an hour or so more and by the time I get to Los Gatos it's pretty dark already.
I've never really heard of Los Gatos, so when I get to the first motel and they ask me $ 100 for the night I think that's outrageously expensive. But only until I've crossed the street to the other Los Gatos motel. This one's 150 dollars!
But I don't seem to have many options because the next town in the direction of Santa Cruz is almost as far as Santa Cruz itself and that's a few hours ride.
The ladies working at the front desk are super nice and we chat a bit. They suggest me to try to get the AAA discount from the first motel and get in for cheaper. I go back to the first place and get the room for 89 dollars. And there's a breakfast in the morning. Well, that's been unheard of so far. The place is full of business people and everybody's hanging out. The place is fairly nice for a change and not some sketchy motel in a shady neighbourhood. I'm sure I'll sleep well.

Sunday, 31. August 2008.
I wake up just in time for breakfast, which is actually next to the front desk. The internet connection is down, so I can't use the PC in the lobby, but the receptionist kindly prints out a local map for me.
I'm still having breakfast in the lobby when my phone rings. It's Kyle. He's going home to Santa Cruz and wondering if I'd like to visit him there this evening. I explain to him that I'm a bit behind the schedule and that I should get to Monterrey today if I want to make it to LA on time. He understands and gives me a few tips for crossing the Santa Cruz mountains and getting over to the coast. He's biked in this area a lot and knows the roads.
My Tom Tom has been dead (battery) since yesterday evening so the directions are really useful.
I finish my breakfast and get on the road. The first part of the trip is a bike path. It takes me up to a reservoir (a very dry one, I must add) and then I get on a road that I hope will get me around it and onto Summit Road. I somehow manage to get there, figure out the right direction and in about an hour I'm on Summit Road.
The mountains are pretty and they have a lot of houses owned by, I'd imagine, rich people. There's not much traffic here, but I meet odd bikers every now and then.
Shortly after I hit Summit Road I see a nice supermarket on the left hand side. It's probably the only supermarket in miles, so I park my bike and do some shopping there.
There are tables in front of the supermarket, so I take the lunch break there.
Recharged and refueled I face the road again, but it turns out it's pretty much downhill from there on. In fact, I get to the town called Soquel, just south of Santa Cruz, in about 45 minutes of an easy downhill ride first on Summit Road and then on the Old San Jose Road. Nice!
It's one of the nicest rides of the trip as it's not steep at all and you get to make almost 20 kilometers in about 45 minutes.
Kyle mentioned a cafè in Soquel called Broken Mug, so I stop there for hot chocolate and internet. Some people in the cafè point me to a nearby bike shop to get directions to Monterrey.
The owner or the bike shop is really nice and he prints out the directions for me. However, after just a few miles I get a bit uncertain about the way to proceed and a fellow biker draws me a map and points me to a shorter route to Monterrey.
The ride is nice and the weather is perfect. I pass next to immense strawberry fields. For miles and miles there's only strawberries. Nothing else, I swear. They literally grow them all the way to the road, so I jump off my bike and get a few strawberries. You bet they taste better than from the supermarket. : )
I've been biking a lot today and it's already late afternoon when I get to Castroville. It looks very "Mexican" in a way, but despite all the Mexican options I end up getting a sandwich at Subway. Cheap, I know. But the good thing is that they have free refills, so I can fill my water bottles with Sprite or else. ; )
From Castroville there's a bike path all the way to Monterrey and that's a considerable distance. The path itself is about 25 kilometers long. The temperature has dropped down a bit and I'm having the wind against me.
I ride next to the Dole plant (I wonder if it's their headquarters) and from the town of Marina the path gets pretty nice. It goes along the sand dunes and it's really pretty.


Monterrey at sunset. The lights to the left are very low streetlights set along the bike path. Nice!


When I get to Monterrey it's already dark. I see people having bonfires on the beach and partying. I check my mobile phone and there's message from Xana, my host. There's a barbecue with lots of veggie options and she's inviting me to join.
I find the hostel she works at and we invade the kitchen. There's plenty of vegetarian food and a dessert as well.
I have a chat with her colleagues David and Mark until it's time to go home.
Xana's couch is the smallest couch I've slept on. Actually, I have to correct myself. I've tried to sleep on it, but I ended up sleeping on the floor. The couch was just way too small.

Monday, 1. September 2008.
It's September already! I wake up first (now that's a novelty!) and get ready before Xana managed to wake up somehow. Her hamster didn't make much noise during the night so we both slept pretty well.
She explains to me how to get on the 17 Mile Drive and we part ways.
That 17 Mile Drive road is something residents of Monterrey, Pacific Grove and Carmel are quite proud of. It's a scenic road that goes through golf fields, next to beaches and through pine groves. The cars are charged a certain amount of money to take that road, while for bicycles it's free.
17 Mile Drive gets me onto Highway 1 and right before the houses make place to some stunning nature I find a mall with a big supermarket and do my daily food shopping.
Four croissants and Nutella with chocolate milk sound like a routine by now. I get myself a melon, a few juices, a package of tofurkey and some fake chicken nuggets for later. And off I go into the pure nature.


The coast, right outside Carmel.


As I said, for hours all I see are cliffs and wild beaches. The view is excellent and I often stop to take photos. There are many so called "vista points" where you can park your car and take a walk, stretch your legs and take some photos. At one of those there is a group of 4 boys, probably about 18 years old and most probably on a summer road trip to Big Sur. One of them sees me from a far, approaches the road and gives me a high five. He yells "You're great. I love you man." which isn't a love declaration but way to express support and encouragement. These random acts of encouragement really mean a lot and help your spirits. I remember the old lady at the rest area near Laytonville a few days ago that walked by and said "I really admire you." Things like that just make you feel good about all this energy spent on pushing your bike.




I may as well be running out of words here.


By 6 pm I finally reach Big Sur, but I feel I should bike some more or tomorrow I won't be able to make it to San Luis Obispo. I take a rest, finally buy some postcards to send to friends and family and ask a ranger about the next camping site. He says it's quite far, some 40+ kilometers to go on a windy road. He suggests me to be careful if I want to continue as I'll be getting there after dark. I decide to keep on going.
The road is constantly going up and down. For the first couple of hours it was fine, but once it got dark it just doesn't feel like fun at all.
Unfortunately, between the Big Sur campground and the next "town" called Lucia (it's on the map like a town, but in reality I think the population count is 10 people - pretty much 1 house and a restaurant/motel) there's nothing at all.


It's getting dark and I still have miles to go.


I'm really tired by the time I get to Lucia. It's been dark for almost two hours and I can't wait to hit the hay. I knock on the door of the restaurant/motel only to hear that they've just hired the last available room. The girl who works there tells me that my best chances are the two campgrounds that are 6 and 10 kilometers away, respectively, so I go for those.
The first campground is closed when I get there. Sure, all the luck is with me today, isn't it? So I get back on the road and get to the second one. This one's open and fortunately has the hikers/bikers option, meaning that it's only going to cost me 5 dollars.
It's extremely difficulty to figure your way around a campground if you get there at night, so I knock on host's trailer and get the directions. The camp is pretty basic. No hot water. No lights in the bathrooms. No showers. Well, when you're paying 5 dollars I guess you can't complain. I set my tent, wash myself with cold water and try to sleep the best I can.

Tuesday, 2. September 2008.
Last night, when hopping on the bike I tore my shorts, so I get my spare pair of shorts and throw the torn ones into the garbage. Neither these ones are in the greatest shape, but I hope they can last the next two weeks until my flight home.


My little campsite for the night.


I get my stuff one the bike and get back on Highway 1. Today I'm supposed to be in San Luis Obispo and that's some 140 kilometers from here.
I start quite early for my own standards. Before 10 am. I get to the next "town" (we're talking here of places with 15-20 inhabitants at most) quite soon and stop to get some food.
The first supermarket has no prices exposed. Does it mean everything is free? No, it means depending on how stupid you look the owner can rip you off as he pleases.
Indeed, I ask for prices for drinks and everything is super expensive. I get a bottle of juice and check out the next shop. This one does have the prices so at least you can see everything is outrageously expensive.
I still have some fake chicken nuggets so I have those. Next to me there's a group of a zillion Italians from somewhere in Tuscany who have been travelling the States for a month and are returning home from LA tomorrow. LA is only about 5 hours from here. To me, it translates 5 days.
Anyway, back on the road I notice the hills are less steep than those yesterday. In fact, a couple of hours down the road the hills disappear and the terrain becomes flat.


Sometimes the road just seems neverending.


To my right there's the Pacific Ocean. I see sea lions sunbathing on the beach. There are dozens of them. Of course, there's also dozens of tourists taking photos of them. Typical.
I pass by the town called San Simeon. Up the hill there's the famous Hearst Castle. I have to be in San Luis Obispo by the evening and going up the hill to the castle would take me at least an hour. This means going there, visiting the castle and going back would take me about 3 hours. Hmmm, I don't feel like it. Especially since the battery on my camera has died just some 20 minutes ago while I was taking photos of some kite surfers next to the beach.
In the distance I see a bike along the road. I don't see any panniers on the side, so it may just be some local biker. Anyhow, I decide to speed up to see if I can get any closer.
Apparently, I'm much faster than the bike before me, so I get closer easily and see that in fact there are no panniers but there is a little trailer behind the bike. So, it is a long ride biker like me.
I reach him in 20 minutes or so. His name is Brant. He's been travelling from Missoula, Montana (a nice place in the middle of mountains where my band played a show several years ago) with the final destination San Luis Obispo.
We decide to bike together. After all, when you are on your own on the road, it's always nice to be able to chat with someone. The time goes way, way quicker.
The next town we hit is Cayucos. It's a decent sized town with several shops, restaurants and gas stations, so we decide to stop to get some water. I feel like getting some energy for the trip so we get back to a nice little cafè we saw down the road. A couple of muffins and a hot chocolate later we're on the road again.
The next is Morro Bay. It is peculiar for the Morro Rock, a dark rock in the middle of the bay that has volcanic origins. I manage to squeeze the very last photo out of my camera and then the battery dies definitely.
We turn inland towards San Luis Obispo. Brant studies there and works in a cafè called Linnaea's. I have a couch again through CouchSurfing and right before we hit the town I get a message from my host, Deidre, that she'll be at a birthday party and I should get directly there.
Brant and I ride to the address she gave me and then split ways. I meet Diedre and join the party.
I feel a little awkward because I haven't showered for a couple of days and I can tell my clothes is getting stinky, but nobody seems to care.
It's an interesting group of people. There are about 15 people at the party and I immediately meet everyone. They all want to hear about my trip so I get swamped with questions and food.
When the rhythm slows down a bit I sit down with Deidre and Dov and we have a long and interesting conversation for quite a while.
I really enjoy this group of people because they just make you feel at home, I'm not even sure how. But I have an awesome time and by the time Deidre and I get to her place I feel sorry I don't meet people like this more often.
I finally have the shower I longed for and I hit the bed, or rather the couch.

Wednesday, 3. September 2008.
Diedre has to go to get her fingerprints taken in order to be able to teach in San Luis Obispo, so we quickly get the breakfast, take a couple of photos and split ways.


We looked normal, even cute, just a few seconds ago.



What happened?


She tells me how to get to the library in town, as I still have to check my mail and figure out where I'm staying the next couple of days.
The library only allows me to use internet for half an hour. You'd think, fine, after you're done you ask for half an hour more, but this is half an hour a day. That means that I could get another half an hour, but tomorrow.
So I cross the street and go to the County Law library. Here you're supposed to do research that has something to do with legal issues, and all I want to do is to check my e-mail. So the librarian just tells me to pretend that I'm researching legal issues and as long as I'm not doing anything illegal I can check my mail. Works well with me.
While I'm in the library I get a message from Deidre asking if I was still around, in town. She offers to ride with me for a little while. That's super nice of her.
We meet at Linnaea's at 12:30 and hit the road towards Pismo Beach.
She's all geared up with biking T-shirt, spandex, clip on shoes and all that, plus she's got a road bike that could probably leave my hybrid to suck the dust. The clip on shoes make her ducky walk look incredibly sexy, but all I'm hoping for is that she doesn't think I'm up for some racing down to Pismo Beach.
Fortunately, she seems well aware of the weight I'm carrying so we have a pleasant ride across the hills and onto the coastline.
While the sun was shining bright on the eastern part of the hills, once on the coast the weather changes completely. There's lots of wind and it's very cloudy. It looks it could rain anytime.
We get to Pismo Beach and since it definitely doesn't look like a day for going to the beach and sunbathing I suggest a Mexican restaurant.
The Mexican food is good and chatting with Deidre even better. It sucks to say goodbye but the road is long and I should get going.
I don't know if it's the weather or the food, but I don't feel very well. I bike almost automatically while my body is feeling sick. I'm trying to understand what's wrong, but I can't figure it out. I'm in the complete state of dizziness.
However, I still manage to bike without problem. Fortunately, the road is quite flat.
I'm near a NASA center when I get a message from Shyra from Lompoc. This morning in San Luis Obispo's library I found a total of two couchsurfers in Lompoc (which I figured would be a decent amount of biking from San Luis Obispo in direction of LA) and I sent them both a request to surf their respective couches. Shyra was one of them.
I'm maybe half an hour from Lompoc so the timing is perfect. I find Shyra's place thanx to my Tom Tom and by 8 pm Shyra and I are chatting like old buddies in her living room.
It turns out she also knows Kevin Seconds (of 7 Seconds) so we have a little Punk Rock chat, especially after she said she was dating the singer of Amber Inn for four years. I ask her if she knows Kent (McKlard, Ebullition records) who released all their records and she says she's been there (to Goleta, the Ebullition records headquarters) once to pick up some Amber Inn records with Scott, her then fiance.
We go to the supermarket to get some food and once again I have the chance to show my (lack of) culinary skills, this time in Shyra's kitchen. The dinner is on me, and I try my best to impress my host with some cold pasta (or popularly also called pasta salad) this time. Olives, spinach, sunflower seeds, cheese, olive oil, pepper, ... probably some more ingredients too. I'm not 100% sure what I'm doing, but it turns out quite well.
We chat until late at night. Shyra tells me she's got to be up at 7 am, so we decide to call it a day.
I hit the couch and fall asleep like a baby.

Thursday, 4. September 2008.
I open my eyes and everything is totally quiet. I check the time and it's past 9 am. I figure out Shyra is still asleep and late for work.
No way. There's nobody home and I must have slept like a stone since I didn't hear her leave the apartment.
To my utter surprise, there's a box of croissants a jar of Nutella and a carton of chocolate milk on the counter. I think: "When did all this make it in here?".
Not only I didn't hear her leave the apartment, but I didn't hear her come in and out of the apartment.
I get the message on my mobile phone - the food on the counter is my breakfast and it's to thank me for the fabulous dinner yesterday night.
The thing is that at a certain point yesterday night we were talking about the differences between the American and Italian breakfast. I mentioned what we normally have for breakfast over here and Shyra must have remembered it word by word, hence that box of croissants, the jar of Nutella and the chocolate milk carton in her kitchen. They weren't there yesterday. I
'm seriously flattered that she'd do that for me.
I send a thank you message and ask for instructions on how to lock the apartment. I let the cat in and get out to the warm summer morning in Lompoc, California.
Today I have another long ride. This time to Oxnard.
Even though a good friend of mine, Fred, lives there, I didn't bother him about hosting me since he lives with his mom. Instead, through CouchSurfing I found an interesting young lady of Chinese origin. More about her later.
The first few hours of biking are pretty hard. There's nowhere to hide from the sun and there are several hills to pass on the way towards the coast.
But once I hit the coast the road becomes flat and straight.
There aren't many towns on the first stretch of the ride. The first bigger place I run into is Goleta and that's exactly where I leave the Highway 101. I get on Hollister Avenue and it takes me through the town.
I pass by a supermarket with a big parking lot on the right hand side of the street and I immediately recognize the place. I turn to my left and see the place I saw the Ebullition festival in 1996! Memories come to my mind. The day following the festival was one of my fondest memories of the trip to the US I did in 1996. I went to the national park called Red Rocks with Kent McKlard who organized the festival and about 20 other visitors from all over the world. I remember there was someone from Switzerland, a band from Canada, Marco Valzel from Germany who at that time used to publish "Speak So That I May See You" fanzine and later on went on being the head honcho behind "Join The Teamplayer" record label, Lisa and Leslie of Heartattack, the guys from Hellbender (one of them later joined Milemarker) my friend Nishone from San Pedro, and so on. We parked our cars and then after some hour of walking we arrived to this tiny lake surrounded by trees and rocks. There were big ropes hanging off the trees and we spent the day hanging off these ropes and jumping into the water. Late in the afternoon we all returned to Goleta and then went to some Chinese restaurant to fill our stomachs. I had so much fun that day that I'll always remember it.
So down the road from that once community center where the festival took place, there are Ebullition records headquarters. I'm always amazed how I seem to remember to take the right turns and get there in one try.
Kent has taken the day off. There's only Lisa in the office and it takes her a while to recognize me. We chat for a while, I tell her to send my best to Kent and I get on the road again.
I'm soon in Santa Barbara. The town of Santa Barbara looks just like you imagine it to look like. Palm trees, fresh cut grass, bicyclists cycling along the shore, lots of tourists and shops that cater to them,...

Santa Barbara, where else?

At a certain point my Tom Tom gets confused, so an older lady on a bike draws me a little map of the area and explains to me how to get to Oxnard. I must say her directions worked out well and with the last rays of daylight I get to Ventura, the last town before Oxnard.

Somewhere on the Ventura Highway.

I turn my lights on and get my last ounces of energy to work and get me to Oxnard. And just when it seems I should have found my destination I look around and see some super fancy residential area. There are no street names, no signs and no chance a couchsurfer would live in such an area, so I figure I got lost.
I call my host, Cindy, to get the directions to the place, but as incredible as it seems I am at the right place. She says she sees me from her window and tells me where to turn.
Her place is, like, "wow!". Definitely not a student apartment. I'm getting my own room with queen size bed, my own bathroom that looks like some 5 star hotel suite bathroom and I just can't stop wondering.
But enough of that. My host Cindy is super friendly and great fun. She gets some Chinese rice based dish ready while I shower and then we both talk to her boyfriend on Skype.
Sure, why would I talk to her boyfriend, right? People usually want some privacy when they talk online. Well, it turns out he's from Rome and he grew up with my first neighbours and he and his group of friends used to hang out right in front of my building. Who knows how many times I sent them a juicy "vaffanculo" because of being loud and playing football at the parking lot at 1 am at night. Well, probably never, because I'm usually not at home at that hour anyway, but I'm sure my neighbours did.
Cindy shows me some photos of them in Rome and... surprise, surprise,... he used to play basketball at the same court I used to play basketball. We must have run into each other before.
After the Skype session, Cindy gets back to the drawings for her exam and I get to check my e-mail. We chat until the talk gets to croissants and such. Then, at 2 am we get the great idea of going to some croissant/donut shop in Oxnard and of course that's exactly what we do.
We get ready, hop into her car and drive to the pastry shop. At 2 am, of course we're the only customers there. Oxnard is not like Rome where you get to "cornettaro" and wait in line for 15 minutes because everybody and their mother have had the same idea as you. But in Oxnard it feels more like an adventure though, so it gives it an extra touch.

Friday, 5. September 2008.
Today is going to be quite complicated, so pay attention.
I'm in Oxnard at Cindy's, but in the afternoon I'm supposed to be in West LA to meet my friend Carrie, dismantle and pack my bike into her Toyota and go camping to Lake Arrowhead, near San Bernardino.
The next day I'm supposed to ride back to LA with Carrie, get my bike together again and then bike to Aliso Viejo in Orange County, where my friend Pero lives and which is the last stop of my biking trip.
So Cindy and I go to West LA, but we first have to stop at her hairdresser's because in 3 days she's flying to Toronto to meet her man and boy does she want to be pretty for her.
And at hairdresser's we stop. The lady is quite fast, so we stop for merely a half an hour. However, starring at myself in the mirror at hairdresser's I realize I must have lost at least 7-8 kilos on this trip because I look really skinny. Now I realize when a couple of people on this trip told me "You look somewhat different from your photos." Of course I do, I haven't weighed this little ever since I was in highschool. So I get up, leave the hairdresser's and get myself some food. I need calories and this is the place to be. The US I mean. ; )

This is Cindy and I in Culver City (which is part of what we usually call Los Angeles).

We're in West LA (technically Culver City) by the early afternoon. Her sister is flying to San Francisco, so we chill out at her apartment and goof around walking dogs and taking pictures. Cindy and I say our goodbyes and I bike to the intersection with the highway 10 to meet Carrie who's driving from San Diego.
How do I know Carrie? That's kind of a long story. I kind of know Carrie through Kim, although we have never met before. Kim came on a trip across Europe with her friend Mike and we met in Rome a few times. Kim is a cool cat who has an awesome Verbal Assault tattoo on her lower back. Whoever has the "Trial" LP by Verbal Assault knows the Seventh Seal scene on the back cover. Kim has that scene on her lower back. Besides that, her hardcore creds are playing with Nerve Agents for a few shows and sharing apartment with most of The Hope Conspiracy guys in Alston, MA. Who needs all these nerdy details anyway? ; )
So, in 2002 I visited Kim on my way back across the US. I had previously been touring the US with a couple of college buddies of mine, travelling across the US and visiting national parks. Because they only had 3 weeks' vacation (and I had 2 months) we made the deal where I'd drop them off at LAX and then drive the car back to New York City where we had rented it. This option was still cheaper than dropping the car off in LA, because the drop-off charge was something ridiculous (several hundred dollars) so we shared the costs and I took the car back.
On the way back I stopped in Boston. I remember my first day there. The weather was shitty and it was raining on and off the whole day. The students were just back in town for the start of the fall semester and since Kim was in Wisconsin visiting her dad I slept in the car the first night.
I remember washing myself in the restroom of some hipster bar/restaurant in Cambridge and shopping for records at a real good record store called Second Action (or something along those lines). I woke up in my car early in the morning when some sort of a parking attendant tried to put a ticket on the car. I drove off and checked some more of the city and eventually Kim shoved up and I spent the last two days of my vacation at hers (the Hope Conspiracy apartment mentioned earlier).
By the last day I had my last $ 60 in the pocket and was contemplating whether to go to NYC before my flight the next day in order to try to get a pair of vegan Oldskool Vans that they only used to sell at this store called 99X in Manhattan (thanx to Derek of Trial/Himsa for the info!).
Knowing how much it means to me, Kim encouraged me to wake up earlier and go to NYC in order to get those shoes. My flight was around 5 pm in the afternoon so I had all the time to get to the city, get the shoes, get to the JFK airport and drop off the car and get on my flight. And that's what I did. Or better, attempted to do.
Kim left for work around 8 am. I slept until half past ten, then took a shower and left for NYC. The ride was pleasant and the day was lovely, but as I was getting to NYC some doomy feeling was growing on me. I didn't know what, but I just had the feeling something would go wrong. I thought I'd either get stuck in the traffic or crash the car. And the closer I was getting the NYC the stronger the feeling was.
Finally, around 2.30 I parked in front of 99X in the East Village. I got in the store, found the shoes, the color and the size and happy as a little kid walked out of the store with my new shoes in the bag. I got to my car and because I had 3 backpacks full of stuff (my favorite clothes, records, gifts for my parents, my niece, my brother,... just tons of different stuff) I chose not to open the trunk where everything was but to throw the bag with the shoes on the back seat. Happier than happy I check the parkmeter next to my car. It was 2:45 and I had some 15 minutes left on it. I decide to go grab a bottle of coke and then drive straight to the airport.
It took me 10 minutes to get the coke and get back. I checked the parkmeter and I still had a few minutes left. As I was approaching my car I saw that a delivery vehicle (similar to those that postmen use to deliver post - without doors next to the driver) is blocking my exit to the street. However, there was a guy reading a newspaper at the wheel, so I just thought I'd get in the car, honk him and he'll move the van. I haven't felt less worrisome in my life. I had wanted those shoes for months and months and finally I got them. With a smile on my face I entered the car, put the coke on the cupholder and turned around to check my great sneakers again.
I turned right, but couldn't see them. I turned left, still nothing. I leaned back and looked between the back seat and the front row of seats, yet the shoes weren't there.
I was puzzled. Did I put them in the trunk at last? I guess I must've been losing my mind.
I got out of the car and approached the trunk. The delivery vehicle was gone by then. I opened the trunk and it was - E.M.P.T.Y. !
I just couldn't believe my eyes. There was nothing in it. I checked if that's my car I'm looking at and indeed it was. I felt as if someone took away my guts. I couldn't believe this was happening. I looked around and start stopping people on the street asking them if they saw anything. Nothing.
I entered all the surrounding shops, one by one, and no one had seen anyone or anything.
Finally, at a Chinese restaurant they let me call the police.
The police came in 10-15 minutes. They saw the car was broken into from passenger's side. That's exactly where the delivery vehicle was parked. The thieves broke into the car from there and then opened the trunk and took everything out. I had probably missed them by a little and that delivery vehicle was where my stuff was taken to.
They found no fingerprints and told me there were no security cameras on the street so they had no clue who to look for. It took me an hour to fill the claim.
By the time I got to the airport to drop the car off, it was already past 5 pm. My flight was gone and I was at the JFK airport without a jacket, without any baggage and moreover without any money. I had about $ 10 in my pocket and 5 items inside a little plastic shopping bag: a gift for a friend of mine (Psycho) that the thiefs didn't take as it was in the glove compartment, a roll of film that was in the car doors, a fanzine by my friend Mike (remember, the guy who travelled across Europe with Kim) a copy of Maximumrocknroll and a book on national parks. Me and a little plastic bag, like a total bum at the JFK airport.
I got to the check in and explained my situation. I told them what happened and that I only had 10 dollars with me, so I couldn't pay any additions or fines if there were any. They put me on a waiting list and in only 3 hours I was flying to Paris to catch my connection.
I was flying first class, for the first (and so far only) time in my life, but I was miserable. I had just lost everything I had with me and I had no one to talk to. I tried to sleep, thinking the world will change when I wake up. Well, it didn't.
I got to Paris in the morning. My connection was gone, so I went to the check-in to explain my situation, but this is what I got: "We're sorry, but there's a strike and the flights will start again regularly in two days."
In two days?!? I had 10 dollars in my pocket and I'm supposed to stay here for 2 days?!? I wanted to disappear, I swear.
Out of desperation I asked them if there's anywhere they can send me where I could get to Rome somehow. They said there was a flight to Zurich, Switzerland in the evening and maybe there I could find something for Rome.
I was desperate, poor and had nothing to lose. And Zurich it was.
However, I had to wait the whole day at the airport.
What was I to do? I took the 10 dollar bill out of my pocket and looked at it. I could get some food given I have to be on the road for the whole day at least or...
The food at the airports is overpriced anyway, so I got a phone card.
I left a message on my mom's answering machine. I just said everything was OK and that I would contact her when I'm back.
But I was burning inside. I had been robbed and I haven't spoken to anyone since. I needed to hear a voice. I needed someone to tell me how much it sucks to be robbed and how much they're sorry. I called my best friend in Rome.
She answered the phone. I said "Hey, I've got some bad news to tell." and then she said "I have some bad news, too".
That's where it hit me. That's where I saw everything clearly and where it wasn't "poor me" anymore. That's where I realized I only lost some physical possessions and as much as it sucks, that's all it was - physical possessions.
When she said she had bad news I knew what it was. Her father had died. I could only say how much I was sorry. And then she asked me what had happened to me. "Nothing" I said.
Two months later, I went to the post office where I have my PO box before work to pick up my mail. It was late October, just a few days before my birthday. I run a record label so back in 1993 I opened a PO box at the local post office. And even though I had moved 2 times since I have always kept the PO box.
I had gotten up shortly and was still quite sleepy when I opened the PO box and took the mail that was in it. Amongst other things, there was a decent size package without sender's address on it. And it was different from packages with records or CDs I usually get. This one was quite narrow and fairly light.
It's exciting to get a package in the mail, let alone a package you don't know who it is from.
So I walked a few steps towards the gate and opening the package while walking. Then I stopped.
The box contained my shoes. The same shoes that got stolen in New York.
I found a little note next to them and started to cry. I was the happiest person on Earth again. And I was crying not because of the shoes, but because of the note.
My friend Kim, when she heard what happened, called that store in New York. They still remembered me, most probably because of the police coming to the store to question them, and remembered what type, color and size shoes I bought. Kim ordered them using a credit card and then waited 2 months to send them over, so I could have them for my birthday. To this day, this is the nicest and most unexpected thing someone has done for me. And I still get goose bumps when I tell this story.
That's Kim.
So back to the present. I'm in West LA, heading towards San Bernardino on Highway 10 with Carrie.
Carrie used to live around the corner from Kim, but when I was in Boston she wasn't around. I met several Kim's friends (Mike, Julie, the guys from Garrison...) but not Carrie. So we kind of got befriended on Frindster. After Friendster came MySpace and so on. She was always Kim's friend I hadn't met, but none the less we kept in touch. So even though today we've met for the first time, it feels as if we're old friends.
So of course, on the way to San Bernardino we're stuck in the proverbial LA traffic and we call Kim. And surprise, surprise, just like 6 years ago, she's visiting her dad in Wisconsin. But fortunately, the mankind has invented the cell phone so we chat for a while and reminisce the old times.
The traffic clears up and we get to San Bernardino around 8 pm. Del Taco sounds like a decent option for a funky diehard vegan and vegetarian couple and we fill our stomachs before continuing towards the campsite.
On the way to the campsite, off the highway, my Tom Tom gets nuts and shows us streets that don't exist, tells us to turn where no road is laid down and pretty much drives us to a point where we both say "Fuck you Tom Tom!". We find the first campsite quite easily. It's full, so they send us to the second one.
20 more minutes of windy narrow road and we get to the second campsite. The host claims nobody has called him from the first campsite (I mean, we were next to the people who called to check out the availability of the campsite so either the guy's confused or his wife didn't pass the message to him) but he's got 1 spot and he'll let us camp there. Fine.
Since it's already dark, we set up the tent with the aid of my torch, then light a campfire and chat next to it.

The campfire, Carrie and myself.

I swear we were talking quietly, since we were standing next to each other, but all of a sudden from the darkness about 15 yards from us a voice shouts: "Could you please stop being so loud?"
We look at each other thinking the voice can't be addressing us and we keep talking, but from the darkness the voice shouts even louder. "Do you mind stop being so loud?"
I point my torch towards the voice and see the host's wife in pajamas. I ask: "Are you talking to us?"
She says: "Yes. I can hear you all the way to my camper. People here want to sleep."
I look at her in disbelief and sit back next to the fire. Carrie looks at me puzzled as well.
As we stop talking the lady realizes it's not us and asks me to lend her the torch to go and get to the real source of noise. We watch her disappear in the darkness and seconds later she's yelling the same thing at someone else. Finally, a few minutes later everything's quiet and she comes back to give me the torch and apologize.
We watch the fire go off and get into the tent calling it a day.

Finally at the finish!!!

Saturday, 6. September 2008.
In the morning we see some smoke in the distance and figure out it must be burning somewhere not so far. We pack our stuff and drop by the host's wife who's even more apologetic than yesterday and offers us ice cold water and a piece of advice.
We haven't eaten anything since that Del Taco at 8 pm, so we're in search of some food. The first town doesn't look very promising. There's some Oktoberfest kind of thing going on full with men wearing those funny pants and white shirts and women that are even more funnily dressed and gallons of draft beer dripping from taps. Everything's very touristy and it seems hard to find some healthy food here.
We keep on driving and run into a restaurant. An hour later, our stomachs are full and we feel just as new again.
We take some photos and then hit the road. We ditch Tom Tom and opt for a good ole Rand McNally's road map. We drive to the coast to the sounds of Alkaline Trio. "Oh mercy me, god bless catastrophy. There's no way in hell you'll ever live to see through this..."
The day is slow and I guess we both wish the ride takes longer than it does, but there's no traffic today and we're by the beach in no time.
Out of the car and to the beach. The parking is kind of pricey so we aren't staying long. Just the time to grab a croissant and chat a bit.
Carrie is going back to San Diego and I'm biking to my final destination; my friend Pero's place in Aliso Viejo, Orange County, California.
We get back to the car and I put my bike together again. A goodbye hug with the hope to meet again soon and off we are. Carrie goes back onto Highway 5 and I head towards Aliso Viejo.
Pero and his wife Diana have just returned from the beach when I finally arrive to their apartment. It's been 3 years I haven't seen them, exactly since my last visit to the US in 2005.
We chat for a while and decide to take it easy and stay in today. It feels like home and at the same time it feels strange there's nowhere to bike tomorrow morning. I've finally made it to LA (actually, even a bit further than LA) all the way from Seattle in less than a month!

Sunday, 7. September 2008.
Waking up in friend's house and knowing there's nowhere to bike to today changes the whole pace of things. We're 15 minutes from Laguna Beach, so we decide to go to the beach. With towels in hands by noon we're down at the beach staring at some surfers trying to catch a wave sliding from a little sandy knoll. Some are quite good at it, so it's a pleasure to watch. We find a nice spot on the beach and get into the water right away. The water is not so cold and I guess this is my first real swim in the Pacific ever! I've tried to do it before, but it's always been too cold for swimming.
For a while we have fun with waves that push and shove and drag you around, and once we're
dry we go to a Mexican restaurant nearby.
The food is good and plenty, and the digestion is slow, so we don't do much in the afternoon. But in the evening we're after some food again, this time at a Thai restaurant near Pero's house.
Pero and Diana have been living in Aliso Viejo for 4 years now. Before that they were living in San Diego (where I visited as well) and before that Pero was attending Rice university in Houston for his PhD (and of course I paid him a visit there as well, back in 1996).
I've known Pero ever since I was 2 years old. Of course I don't remember meeting him that long ago, but apparently his mom has a video recording of us playing together at that tender age. What I do remember is going to the kindergarden with him from the age of 3 to the age of 6 and then to the elementary school until we were both 14.
At 14 we went to different highschools. He chose math, I chose chemistry, but even though our schools were different we kept hanging out all through those years.
At the age of 18 we both had to join the army for a year as the military service was mandatory at the time and once out of it he went to study in the Croatia's capital - Zagreb and I went to Rome, Italy.
Still, we'd hang out a lot when we were both in our birthtown and at one New year's Eve party he met his future wife - Diana. Of course he didn't know that then. What happened is that after that party I went out on a date with a girl, but to avoid the awkwardness she invited a friend and I invited a friend as well. You guess it; my friend was Pero and her friend was Diana. I dated that girl for several months and Pero and Diana started dating as well. A few years later, we both found ourselves at their wedding.
Soon after the wedding they moved to the US and have been living there ever since. And they're one of the very few married couples that I know that have been living their marriage happily. And while everyone around me seems to be getting divorced it's so refreshing to see someone sticking together for so long.

Monday, 8. September 2008.
Today I wake up really, really early (can't remember when I last woke up this early in my life, let alone on vacation) and leave with Pero who gives me a ride to the nearby train station. I'm riding a train to downtown Los Angeles in order to pick up a car that will take me all the way to the West Coast.
What's this car story? Well, there's a company that gives you a car for a certain amount of time (usually 7-10 days, depending on the destination) and during that time you can use this car for travel as long as you deliver it to the given destination. Sounds confusing, doesn't it?
OK, let's put it this way. Imagine you are moving house from West Coast to East Coast, let's say San Francisco to New York. You ship your belongings via a freight company, take a flight yourself, but what about your car? Well, you give your car to this company that offers you the cheapest delivery rate, because they don't put your car on a truck (even though this is possible too, but costs more) but give it to a person that then delivers it on their behalf. The person is usually someone (in this case me) that is travelling to that destination, likes driving and would rather save money for the car rental. You get the car completely for free (they even give you a full tank of gas that you're not obliged to give back) and only pay the gas needed to reach the destination. This way:
a) You save the money of the car rental
b) the delivery company saves on not having to pay a driver and not having to pay for gas
c) the owner of the car saves on the car transportation fee
Basically, it's a win win situation for everyone.
I used this service twice, back in 1996 and had no problems whatsoever. Drop me a line if you'd like to know more.
So around 8 am I'm at the train station catching my ride to downtown LA. By 10 am I'm at the
company's offices in downtown LA waiting to get my car.
It takes them forever and I wait for at least 2 hours before they finally send me to pick up the car. Once there I realize the car is full of junk. The lady that was moving (from LA to Baltimore) put tons of stuff into the car (Cherios, napkins, medicine, clothes, walnuts, toiletries,...) and there's absolutely no space in the trunk and at the back seat.
I have a bike to fit somewhere so I get back to the office telling them I'm unable to take the car because of all the stuff that is in it (by the way, prohibited by the company's rules). The guy that runs the company comes with me, realizes he may never find someone to drive the car across the country simply because there's no space for anything in the car and calls the lady asking for authorization to take out everything that is on the back seat.
We go back to the car and I help the guy go through all the stuff, selecting personal belongings from food and toiletries. He keeps the personal belongings in the car truck and moves the other stuff to another car. What he's going to do with that I have no clue.
So finally, at around 2 pm all the paperwork is done and the car is ready to go.
I first drive to Huntington Beach. There I find a bike shop that gives me a box to put my bike in and then I go record shopping at one of my favorite record stores in California - Vinyl Solution.
I find some good stuff. The store owner is even nice enough to give me a discount and a couple of 7"s for free, but my credit card refuses to cooperate. I manage to pay part of it in cash, but there's still about a hundred dollars of difference. The credit card swiper doesn't recognize my card. I try the ATM machine near the store, nothing. Finally I remember of Paypal and fortunately they both have a Paypal account and a computer with the internet connection in the store, so I manage to sort the things out. Happy like a little kid I get back on the highway and head towards Aliso Viejo.
By 7 pm I'm back at Pero and Dijana's. We get ready and drop by Native Foods, a vegan restaurant just about a hundred yards from their house.

You can eat good food at Native Foods in Aliso Viejo.

Pero and Dijana outside Native Foods in Aliso Viejo.

It's a nice little chain of 4 stores in Los Angeles and vicinity. They serve delicious vegan dishes and cakes and even have nice mugs with their logo on them. I buy one as a souvenir and we indulge in good vegan food. Pero is proud to admit their diet nowadays is mostly vegetarian and knows that'd make me happy, as I'm probably one of the most diehard vegetarians he knows.

The food is there. Yummy!

We finish in time to drop by Home Depot and choose a laptop for myself. The technology is so much cheaper in the States plus the exchange rate between the dollar and the euro is quite convenient for Europeans right now, although the rate isn't as good as at the beginning of my trip. So I get myself a nice 17" Toshiba for mere $ 500 (about 380 euros).
We get back to their apartment and chat the night away about his plans, business related and not, until sleep crushes us both.

Tuesday, 9. September 2008.
Pero wakes me up briefly before he leaves for work. We greet each other, probably for the next three years and I get back to sleep while he's going to work.
I wake up around 10 am and drop by a home improvements store in order to get a wrench to dismantle my bike. After a couple of attempts I finally get the right wrench and get back to the apartment to start working on it.
It's harder than I have thought. I even search for advice in the book Debra gave me at the beginning of this trip (Bicycle Maintenance And Repair - thanx again Debra!!) and finally an hour later my bike is all inside the box. With Diana I load the bike into the car behind the back seat
and the front row of seats, pack my stuff and get the car ready to go.
We get back into the apartment to have lunch together. I hug her goodbye and hit the road again, this time by car.
By 3 pm I'm somewhere north of LA pumping gas at a gas station. The traffic is shitty as usual and I doubt I'll be in Denver tonight.

Entering Las Vegas, Nevada.

I manage to get to Las Vegas just before sunset. There's still enough sunlight that Las Vegas doesn't have its usual glow like it does in the night time. It's night when I cross the Nevada - Arizona border first and Arizona - Utah border later and I'm headed North-East towards Colorado.
It's around 4 am when I decide to call it a day and take a couple of hours rest just a few miles before the Colorado border.

Wednesday, 10. September 2008.
When I wake up the sun's already out. I guess it's 7 am or something. I haven't slept much, but I feel much better.
I go to the restroom and wash my face. Since I'm at a rest stop, they have wireless internet here and I get my newly bought computer out to check my mail. I also send a couple of couch requests through Couchsurfing for a place to crash in Lawrence, Kansas, as I figure I may get that far tonight. It's about 13-14 hours drive from where I'm at.
I would have never heard of Lawrence, Kansas if it weren't for the book Salad Days by Charles Romalotti. Charles used to be in a Punk band (Fluorescent Condoms - I totally remember that band from a piece in Maximumrocknroll somewhere in the late 80's) and wrote this half-autobiographical book about a group of friends that forms a band in Lawrence, Kansas and their adventures. I took a few books on distro over here and of course kept one for myself. I don't think I've ever finished it, but the book piqued my curiosity about this place - Lawrence, Kansas.
So I get on the road as there's no time to waste. It's going to be a long, long ride and Kansas is not the most scenic place in the world to keep myself awake. But in turn Colorado is.

Western Colorado, just before the weather started turning bad.

I've travelled through Colorado several times and it's well etched in my memory. I particularly like the western side of the Rocky Mountains. The roads winds around and intermingles with the Eagle river. It goes underneath mountain slopes, crosses the flat areas then enters the woods and little by little proceeds across the Rockies.
The ride is nice and the weather is nice for a good part of the morning. By the time I hit Denver around lunchtime it's raining. I pump some gas and go to Target to get some groceries. I get myself some precooked risotto and it tastes OK even cold. Beggars can't be choosers, can they?
So I hit the road again and cross the remaining part of Colorado.
During the ride I get a call from Becca from Lawrence. She got my request on Couchsurfing and called in to see if I still need a couch. Of course I do. I tell her what time I should be in Lawrence and she figures out she'll still be at work at that time. But she gives me directions to her place and tells me to get into her place and just wait for her there. She's telling me to get in through the back door cos she'll leave it open so I can make myself comfortable at her place.
I'm amazed. That's putting a lot of trust into someone you haven't even met. I wonder if she's some psycho or something but her voice sounds nice and reassuring so I figure she must just be a really nice and trustful person.
In the early afternoon I cross the Colorado/Kansas border. I drive up until 4:30 pm and then park on the side of the road near a couple of silos and take a nap.

I think this picture gives you a good idea what Kansas is like. But where's Dorothy?

An hour later I wake up and already feel better. I hit the I-70 again and drive straight to Lawrence, stopping once again for gas.
I must have crossed the time zone from Colorado to Kansas because it's an hour later than my car's clock tells me. In fact, it's close to midnight when I get to Lawrence.
It's rainy and wet and dark too, so I don't really see much of the city, but it looks quite safe. At least that's the impression I get.
My Tom Tom helps me find Becca's place. I call her once again just to tell her I'm here and I'm willing to wait for her in front of her house, but she insists I should just go ahead and get myself comfortable in her place.
So I go in. The door is indeed unlocked and I get into a huge but completely empty room. I figure that's probably where I'm staying, so I put my things down on the floor.
There's not much furniture in the apartment anyway, but the rest of the apartment is more furnished. It looks as if someone has just moved in pretty recently. I decide to wait in that first room. I don't think it's nice to wander around somebody's apartment while that person's absent, also considering that I've never even met that person.
But some 15 minutes later Becca comes home. She's a smiley happy girl in her twenties, with a puppy in her lap. The puppy is destined to become a guide dog for a disabled person and Becca is only having it until it's grown up.
We try to talk while the puppy is keeping us busy with its attempts to pee on the carpet. Becca manages to get it out in time and tells me more about this program. She says a year is probably as long as she could commit to a pet, so this kind of program works perfectly for her.
She shows me my room which is nothing like the room I first came into. There's a proper queen size bed with linen and pillows and it feels like Sheraton after a couple of days of sleeping in the car. I fall asleep right away.

Thursday, 11.September 2008.
I wake up before Becka, so I take a shower and shave in the meantime. I finish packing my things and she's still asleep. I knock on the door and wake her up to say goodbye. She asks me to take a photos of the three of us (puppy included) so I do. We hug goodbye and by half past ten I'm on the road again.

This is Becka and her puppy in Becca's living room.

The weather kind of sucks. It's rainy, so the whole trip through Kansas, Missouri and the bottom of Illinois is kind of boring.
I drive through St. Louis and think of my colleague Allan, an American of Croatian origins, that I was supposed to share apartment with 3 years ago. He didn't have the papers so the landlord kind of freaked out and we had to give up that apartment. In hindsight I can't tell if was for better or for worse, because I found a way better and cheaper apartment, but definitely worse roommate. So I guess things evened out somehow. Anyway, Allan is from St. Louis and I've never actually been there, just drove through it on my very first trip to the US in 1996.
I don't stop in St. Louis this time either. I just get stuck in the traffic jam for a little while and then cross the border into Illinois.
Tonight I'm seeing Scott and Emily in Louisville, Kentucky.
Scott is the guy from the beginning of this story. I met him in New York City in a restaurant and figured out I had booked his band 12 years ago in Rome. Remember that part?
Emily is a girl I met in 1999 when my band played her apartment in Chicago. Emily and Annie lived in that apartment and set up that show. The next day the whole bunch of us went to Fireside Bowl, where our second Chicago show took place. It was also our last show with Fire Season, whom we shared the tour with, but that's another story.
I get to Louisville quite late. I think I lost another hour by crossing umpteenth time zone, so I get there around 10 pm.
Emily is at work until 12 pm. I have a couple addresses of record stores in Louisville, so I try to get there. In the process I call Scott and we arrange to meet in one of them. He lives nearby so it takes him 15 minutes to get there.
It's good to see a familiar face after a while. A pat on the back and we hop into my car and drive to some pub in the German part of the city. We run into several Scott's friends, order a few drinks (I try the Louisville's own Ale81, a soft drink similar to Ginger Ale. More info at www.ale8one.com) and have a good chat. One of his old buddies is there and he was in the band when they played Rome. Sometime between midnight and one am Emily joins us and we goof around and talk about music, politics, crushes on Punk Rock girls, Las Vegas, ex-girlfriends, and wild times in general.
















Scott, myself and Emily in Louisville, Kenntucky.











Around 2 am it's time to split. I drop Scott off by the record store and then follow Emily to her place.
She's got a pretty cool place all for herself. It's got one bedroom, a living room, a hall, a kitchen and a bathroom and it's quite big for one person. I'm amazed by her record collection. It ranges everywhere from Lookout bands to Dead Kennedys, from Clash to Los Crudos. She admits some of the records ended up in her collection after the split with a boyfriend. However, I go through her records while she's going through her photos.
She doesn't manage to find the photo of us in Chicago, but in turn she finds a highschool photo of my friend Kim Bae. Kim, for those who don't know her, was the columnist and photographer for one of the best Punk zines Punk Planet and we were roommates in Rome back in the summer of 1998 when I moved in with some friends in order to finish my university thesis and she moved in as well, right from Chicago.
I can't remember when I fell asleep, but Emily and I kept talking through the night (and probably kept the neighbours awake) until we could see first sunrays coming through the shades.

Friday, 12. September 2008.
We wake up quite late, although my plan was to leave during the morning in order to get to NYC this evening. I guess we get to a diner to get a breakfast around noon.
We're both extremely tired,although Emily can go back to bed when I leave and I have hours and hours of driving ahead of me.
Anyway, by 1 pm we say goodbye, I load my stuff into the car and head towards the big, rotten apple.
No luck with the weather today either. It's raining and it doesn't seem to have the intention of stopping.

View at downtown Cincinnati, Ohio.

I travel through Ohio, passing through Cincinnati and Columbus. Then I hit Pennsylvania and pass by Pittsburgh. I stop at a service station to get some junk food and drive away. It's getting dark and the rain isn't stopping.
I'm somewhere in the central Pennsylvania when the rain intensifies to the point I have to considerably slow down. Damn, I'm already behind the schedule; when will I get to New York?
The cars overtaking me to the left with all this rain make me a bit nervous. I'm even considering stopping. This just isn't the best scenario for driving through the night.

The weather was pretty bad most of the trip back. Somewhere in Central Pennsylvania.

All of a sudden, the car in front of me steers abruptly, hits the brakes, turns around itself... The headlight shine into my face. In that fraction of the second I think of the worst case scenario and fear for my own and his life. I keep the calm enough not to hit the brakes all of a sudden, but slow down gradually. Braking abruptly could be fatal in these conditions. The car in front of me hasn't stopped turning around. After I already had headlights in my face, the car turns around itself for the second time then hits the guardrail with the rear part, but it doesn't stop. The driver moves the car along the shoulder and stops.
By this time I've managed to slow my car to a reasonable speed so I move to the shoulder and stop right behind him. I get out of my car, at the same time while the driver of the car in front of me gets out of his. It's raining cats and dogs but there's no time to think about the rain.
"Sir, are you OK?" I ask him. I can see he's under shock, but he doesn't seem hurt.
He looks at his car then turns to me: "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for stopping though."
"It looked really bad. You're lucky if you're not hurt. Are you sure you're OK? Do you need anything?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you. The car is damaged, but I'm fine."
"OK, if you're sure. Drive carefully, you're under shock. The road is very slippery. Be safe!"
"I will. Thank you again for stopping and checking in."
I get back into my car, all soaked in water, start the engine and slowly and carefully get back on the highway. I haven't been scared so much on the road in a very long time. It's good everyone's OK.
I keep driving quite slowly thinking about the accident. I call my friend Peter Ka in NY. I tell him the story and he suggests me not to go to NYC and then to Baltimore the next day, but to go directly there and then come back on the Greyhound. I listen to his advice and turn down towards Baltimore.
But right when I switched onto I-70 from Pennsylvania Turnpike I find out that the I-70 is closed a few miles down the road because of an accident. The police officers are advising not to take the highway as we'd just get stuck a little bit further down. I stay in Breezewood trying to find a free Wi-Fi network, but I'm not having much luck. I'm trying to see if someone in DC has replied to my couch request. I finally manage to find a connection, but I don't find anything in DC. At this point travelling further towards DC and crashing in a hotel there or finding a room in Breezewood doesn't make much difference so I opt for the latter, especially since Breezewood seems to have quite nice rates. This is my last night in a motel/hotel in the US, so I decide to treat myself with the best looking motel in Breezewood which is still WAY cheaper than the one I had to stay in Los Gatos.
I take my computer with me and spend the evening surfing the internet and downloading some cool songs I heard on the radio earlier on this trip.