My Motorcycle Tales: September 2026

"Not all who wander are lost.”—J. R. Tolkien

"Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain
or spend a week in the woods." —JOHN MUIR

The sweeping views along the Green Valley Road stop me in my tracks. It is calm and peaceful. Somewhere below is the Cabrillo Highway, and I’ll be there soon enough. Moments like this anchor me to better understand myself and my relationship with nature. I stop, reflect, and appreciate the scene before me.

Priceless.

There is a warm breeze, and a tad on the hot side as I descend down the mountain towards Cambria, CA. The temperature gauge on my 2019 Indian Springfield confirms what I feel—100 degrees! Normally, the temperature is in the 60’s on the cool side.

Oak trees grace the rolling hills.

The park ranger at the San Simeon State Park warmly greets me as I pull off my helmet. She immediately comments, “Today is a warm one. I see you have reserved a campsite for two nights at Washburn.”

I have camped here many times before because it’s quiet, and you can hear the soothing ocean waves in the distance. There are several hiking trails that offer pristine views of the rolling valleys and hills.

I stop by the Campground Host to buy a bundle of firewood. He said that he rides a H-D as he fondly looks over my Indian. “How far on a tank of gas?” was his first of many questions. I love these seemingly small interactions, but that’s what bikers instinctively do. “220-250 miles,” I reply. I sense that he would rather be riding his Harley than selling firewood.

I rarely pack a tent, preferring to sleep on the ground, but I have one for this trip. There is a breeze as I begin to set up the tent. It’s been so long that I’ve had a tent that I am fighting with the poles. The wind picks up, and I’m losing the battle. Finally, I managed to claim victory, but it was work.

I hoped no one saw me.

Washburn campsite.

REI Peak dinner tonight.

My 2019 Indian Springfield.

The breeze stops, and the quiet of the night takes its place. There are a billion stars glancing down at me. Coyotes howl in the distance as the fire begins to dance. Personally, these peaceful moments rejuvenate me. I search for the moon, but it is sleeping.

The fire dances.

In the morning, I’ll ride towards Morro Bay after stopping at the best breakfast spot in town—Cambria Mimosas Steak and Seafood, where they speak friendly.

A hardy breakfast at Cambria Mimosas Steak and Seafood.

Highway 1 is my favorite. I’ll pass colorful names—Harmony, Villa Creek, San Geronimo, Estero Bluffs, Cayucos. The temperature gets abruptly warmer after leaving Cambria. The ocean waves are mesmerizing—I stop, close my eyes, and listen to the waves. In the distance, Morro Rock dominates the horizon. On this journey, the ocean is my anchor.

My first glimpse of Morro Rock along Highway 1.

Morro Bay is scenic and peaceful.

I’ll stop briefly in Morro Bay before heading to my favorite spot, Los Osos State Park, where I intend to hike the Bluff Trail.

Views from the Bluff Trail are stunning. Morro Rock can be seen in the distance.

As I connect with nature, a sense of calmness takes over—“breathe in life, exhale gratitude.”

It’s warm as I drop my Kevlar jeans and boots for more comfortable shorts and sandals.

The Bluff Trail hugs the cliffs with the Pacific Ocean below. After a few minutes along the trail, there is a lady looking into the brush. She spotted a big buck panting heavily from the heat. I had never seen a deer on this trail, which I’ve hiked numerous times.

The Los Osos & Baywood Park Visitor Center offers a glimpse into the history of the area.

On the way back to my campsite in Cambria, I reflect on 9/11, which is the purpose of my coastal ride. A few years ago, I celebrated a motorcycle ride sponsored by the White Heart Foundation and documented my story for American Rider, Ride to the Flags—Remembering 9/11 and Honoring a Wounded Warrior.

Today, I really don’t know how to celebrate this national moment as a solo rider—25th anniversary of 9/11.

Then I see the perfect spot along Main Street in Cambria, which is lined with American flags at the American Legion Veterans Memorial. There are no ceremonies yet, but I stop for my moment of silence to remember.