Sholeh has shown me how to upload photos now so I will try and add some photos of my sister's house in Hayward. I also want to write the story of my second week in California before I get on a Lufthansa flight to Heathrow, UK via Munich.
For my second weekend here, Jackie decided we would all go on motorcycles to Mokelumne Hill, an old gold-mining area inland. Jackie and Shapour each have a bike, and the plan was for me to ride on the back of Shapour's bike. His bike is very large, has leather fringes on the handlebars and panniers, and shiney blue and white swirls on the fuel tank. The passenger seat also has a backrest. Jackie's bike is smaller and neater but her black helmet is covered in white designs that look like they were customised for a bikie gang. She bought it cheaply in a garage sale. Jackie found me a plain black helmet and fitted a perspex visor so my head was entirely enclosed. For my test run around the block a few days before we set off, the helmet helped me to go into that space in my head that allows me to give over control to another person and relax. But I still felt very vulnerable on the freeways with so many cars around. I also had trouble understanding the street signs. I intuitively read the signs on cross streets as referring to the street we were on and being on the wrong side of the road didn't help.
One of my friends, Pauline, who rode with a biker for many years, emailed me from Australia to say, "Remember, Jo, if you feel panic, close your eyes and you will automatically lean the right way - with the bike." Shapour coached me about how to get on, "You wait until I say, I am ready, and then you put one hand on my shoulder, one on the back of the seat, one foot on the pedal and slide the other over the seat." It sounded like a game of twister, so I stayed with that idea of a fun game and found myself sitting in relaxed mode on the back of the bike. As soon as we set off, Shapour made the bike do a kind of wiggle and I knew he was testing me out so I resolutely sat like a sack of potatoes. As we went round the block, I ignored all the cars driving on the wrong side of the road and turning right whenever they felt like it in spite of red traffic lights. And I passed the test!
We set off on Saturday. My nephew, Sharokh, arrived at my sister's house to look after the dogs, cats, bird, goldfish and turtle. Jackie gave me the instructions she had downloaded and assigned me the navigating role since Shapour was to be the lead rider. We had planned the route so that we didn't have to go on any freeways which I think would have been beyond my fear threshold at that stage. I was still having trouble working out what street we were actually on but Shapour said that he knew the first part of the route so off we went. The first part was through a winding foothills road and I was starting to think I could learn to enjoy this experience. I started to look at road signs and even read the map and instructions whilst sitting on the back. That's when I started to realise we were actually on the wrong road in the wrong canyon. So we decided to stop for coffee and work out where we were.
Bikers have codes and ways of letting each other know what they are doing. You casually raise a hand to acknowledge another passing biker. When we stop at traffic lights, Jackie sometimes comes up alongside and if she wants to say something she raises her visor. I was starting to understand something of the social pleasure that bikers get from riding in a group. As soon as we parked the bikes, we were hailed by two more people who rode bikes and were happy to give us directions for getting back onto our route. After that, I took on the navigating role in earnest and was able to get us through Stockton and onto the right road through to Mokelumne Hill. We rode through fruit orchards and vineyards and then climbed to our village.
We stayed at Legers hotel - very old with wide verandahs, sloping wooden floors, some of the original mirrors and baths. The hotel has a reputation for being haunted and we found a ghostbusters club setting up their equipment next to our rooms. They called themselves a paranormal society and they had video cameras, computers and miles of cable running along the wide creaking corridors. They were very keen to show us all their gear and to hear Jackie's ghost experience from her previous visit.
Mokelumne Hill has some substantial buildings on the main street including the old courthouse next to the hotel. There was also a brothel opposite the hotel and the cellars are linked by tunnels going under the street so that the judges had easy access to their pleasures.
There is also a library and book shop operating on an honour system. I walked around the back streets in the evening and again in the morning and there is a strange mixture of derelict old buildings and old houses that are occupied and being renovated. In one overgrown driveway there was an ancient ford ute that obviously hadn't been moved for decades. I also walked up Mokelumne Hill itself that had a sign saying "Historic Park". When I got to the top, I found it was a baseball park.
Some local teenagers were having a birthday party at the hotel's pool with karaoke. We had a swim and a beer before dinner. At dinner, another family birthday was in full swing, this time the birthday girl was a woman in her 80s with several great grandchildren. We followed that with a few games of pool and played the juke box. The bar was crowded for the live rhythm and blues band that came on at 9.00pm but by then we were ready for bed and the ear plugs thoughtfully provided by the hotel.
When I got back from my walk on Sunday morning, Shapour was deep in conversation with three Harley-Davidson bikers who were on a trip from New Mexico where they ran a bike shop. When they were ready to go, they threw their luggage down from the top verandah and loaded up with swags. They were talking about a bicycle helmet that had been sitting all night in the bar and they were worried about the rider who had disappeared and left it there. With profound embarrassment, I realised it was mine and I had completely forgotten it.
On the trip home we rode along beside a lake and into Lockeford where there is a famous sausage shop that we had to visit to stock up with a massive range of sausages. After that we rode straight through including some distance on the freeway. At my sister's house, Sharokh, my nephew, had acquired an additional huge dog to look after for his girlfriend and three tiny black kittens that he was finding homes for.
I am running out of time before my flight to Heathrow and want to add some photos here so will stop rather abruptly and do some reflecting in my next post from England.
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