Leaving Thousand Oaks at 6:30 a.m., sent off by our hosts after we finished the wash we started last night, we headed into the most frightening part of the trip so far: LA freeways during rush hour (sort of a vehicular version of roller derby with unannounced changing of lanes, whiplash accelerations and bumper polishing from follwing so close). We felt like the grandfathers we are. We were usually the slowest in our lane, which I am sure must have puzzled and frustrated these commuter warriors. We did discover why there are so few motorcyclists in LA. They don't live long in the land where "lane-splitting" is legal (if incredibly foolish at speeds of 2 or 3 times that of the sluggish morning coffee sippers). One slightly too slow reaction and your helmet (still attached) would carom down the tarmac bouncing off cars as it went.
While slower than the Californians, we nonetheless made it to the border town suburb of San Diego called San Ysidro. We attracted more than a few quizzical looks as we pulled a "Jim" (Goertz would drive anywhere to get his bike in a picture llast year on the cross Canada trip), and drove up the sidewalk to the Post Office sign for the obligatory photo at Corner #2.
Then for a short visit and lunch with son Jordan (currently interning as a hyberbaric chamber technician at San Diego Center for Hyperbaric Therapy - thanks Jenifer and Kreig for the tour. See http://www.sandiegocenterforhyperbarictherapy.com).
It was a long and very hot ride to Yuma. While the day had started off overcast and even a spatter of mist on the visor, it was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit (42 Celcius) as we traversed tundra covered hills adjacent to the "Mexican Fence" (both of which went on for miles). We found ourselves asking, "Why is there a Yuma Arizona?". The locals don't seem to know (besides gaurding the border).
A nap, a meal, washing the bikes (Ian, the microfibre cloth works great - use it every day) and then off to bed for an early start tomorrow to beat at least some heat.