Up and on the road shortly after sun up as I knew this is going to be a long day. In California the law allows bicycles and slow moving vehicles on I-8 in this area as there is no other route across the mountain. Cross the sand dunes west of Yuma and pick up 98 at Midway Well. From there its parallel Mexican boarder through the Imperial Valley into the Mountains at the San Diego County line. Then up through the Cleveland National Forest. When I crest a mountain 45 miles from San Diego, I feel it! Right on my face. Cool moist air. Having spent thousands of hours on the sea as a charter boat owner/operator, I know what it is. That’s a sea breeze blowing off the ocean. It is unmistakable. My mind turns to thoughts of the journeys end. It won’t be long now. Then out of the clear blue sky, BANG!! The sharp report of a rifle shot? What was that? Then, the fish tail. O’ heck! Been there. Done that. I know what I’ve got . Sure enough rear tire, flat as a tortilla shell. I hate repetition especially repetitious problems. The SLIME held fine. There was just a weak spot in the tire that just finally and suddenly gave way. The blow out left about a one inch hole in the tire. Even SLIME can’t help this. What to do now?

Unlike before, its less than a minute before Ed approached in a small blue Toyota pick-up. Alpine is a couple of minuets up the road. We lift Scoot into the bed of the truck. Go the short ride to town and unload at the circle K. I grab the phone book. Find the Yamaha dealer.

I call House of Motorcycles and get a pleasant voice of whom I ask who the owner is. "That would be Jerry" she replied. "May I speak with Jerry." Without trying to screen the call she says "one minute please" Shortly there is the cheerful voice. "Jerry" "Hay Jerry. This is Roger Rockwell". "Hi Roger" pause. I know he’s trying to figure out who is this and I’m I suppose to know him? I let him ponder for about 3 seconds then inform him that he doesn’t know me from Adam’s house cat but I’ve got a little Zuma and a big problem. He listens attentively then says "Now repeat. How did you get to Alpine?" The result. " No problem. I’ll be right there to pick you up."

While I wait, I go into the convenient store to fill my body with water. In a conversation with John I ask "how far to the coast from here." Without hesitation he replies "28 miles." If I could just get somewhere by going around that 28 mile marker, this trip would be a snap. 28 miles from Van Horn is when I blew the first tire. 28 miles from Douglas when attack by coyotes. Now 28 miles from the journey end a total failure of the tire again.

It takes about 30 minutes and Mark rolls up in his flat bed truck rigged for transporting motorcycles. Faster than I could get my stuff loaded into the cab Mark had Scoot loaded and ready for the ride to the shop. On the ride in, I ask Mark how’s this Jerry guy? "Great", he says. "I wouldn’t have been working for him for 18 years if he wasn’t."

When we arrived everything went into motion like a well organized military operation. Mark took care of unloading Scoot and getting it to the service area. I went inside to meet Jerry. When I ask of his whereabouts. I got "he’s right back there behind the glass. You must be that guy on the Zuma." Well, I was not disappointed by Jerry. Mr. personality. Friendly and outgoing. He was seated at a desk facing the glass wall looking onto the show room. He had the computer screen to his left and a telephone to his ear. In less than 5 minuets, he must have handled 10 phone calls and questions from staff. He looked like a stock broker working a bull market just before the bell. In between calls he talked to me and we got the low down on each other. He is 48 and been in the family business for, you guess, 28 years.

After a few minutes, Mark came in and asked if I wanted anything. "Coffee, soda, water." On this trip I never turn down water. So he got me a nice cold bottle of Spring Water. On his return, Jerry dispatched him to make another pick-up. I went over to the service department where I met Steve, the service manager, four counter people and eight technicians. Everyone going 90 miles to nothing.

No Zuma tire in stock. Called everywhere to locate one. In a conversation with one of the mechanics I ask about how much work they do on the Zuma. They reply was "I don’t think I’ve ever seen one worked on here. We all the time prep new ones when they’re sold. Just did one yesterday. But other than that, nothing." Jerry popped in to see how things were going. When he learned of the lack of a tire. He immediately had the solution. Go get a new one out of the create and take the tire off of it. About 20 minutes later I was on the road again. To Jerry, Mark, Steve, Mindy and all the folks at the House of Motorcycles, 4904 El Cajon Blvd, San Diego. Thanks a bunch!!

Now another decision. Alpine, where I had the flat, is about 20 miles East. Do I go back there to pickup or do I continue from here. Well what the heck. I don’t like to have any gaps. So, I head East to the spot of the flat, make a U -turn an come back again.

I get to my final destination at Cabrillo National Monument just in time for a setting sun. This seems appropriate.... I started at sun up on day one and ended at sun down on day ten. The only problem is there is no beach access at Cabrillo. So I had to go just North to Ocean Beach Park where I put Scoots nose in the sand of the Pacific Ocean. I poured out half of the sand collected from the Atlantic and collected some from the Pacific. Then shook them up to blend into one. I guess there is some kind of symbolic intent there.

Total trip 2996 miles with wrong turns and side trips. I’ll have to compute gas used and expenses later. Of the $20.00 cash. I’ve got $18.00. Spent $1.68 for ice cream and lost the change. Can not count the number of fine folks I’ve met and miles and miles of scenic beauty I’ve experienced.

What’s next? I don’t know. I know where Key West is. I wonder where is the end of the last road in ALASKA !!!! Or maybe if you get a boat across the Bearing Sea there are probably roads that could get you all the way around..... Just a wild thought. Probably couldn’t be done. Or... maybe it could.