Highway 1, LA and the hot trip to Vegas

I left San Fransisco in a kind of refreshed way. I was heading east towards Yosemite National Park, as everyone had been raving about it. I arrived there in the late afternoon to be met with so much traffic it was quite unbelievable for a national park. I drove in and headed for the main attraction being the valley where the famous mountains and waterfall is situated. Would you believe it but I actually found myself stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of the park which was a pretty big disappointment as you can only image the number of people that were also there.
The park itself is very impressive, and if I could have afforded it then it would have been an excellent place to try my hand at rock climbing, but along with the large number of tourists came a high price to do anything at all.
I arrived at a campsite which seemed to house the only wildlife stupid enough to hang around, being hundreds of squirrels. The were forever trying to get in and out of everything, if only the militant park rangers would allow people like me to eat them I would have had a feast that night, but for some reason the rangers would have none of it.
The campsite was actually OK, and had a great view of the valleys sheer walls, i was camping near some young American couple who it seemed had brought everything they owned with them... I even thought I saw some form of sink, not sure if it was a kitchen one though! They were very friendly, and after asking me what I was up to, they found it interesting enough to ply me with ice cold beer from their travel fridge. Very nice indeed.
I left the next day as I could stand it no more, and in actual fact the park wasn't as amazing as everyone had made it out to be. I'm afraid my vote still lies with North Alaska. I headed back west to meet with Highway 1 and head towards an area called Big Sur. The trip to the coast wasn't very exciting, but when I reached the coastal road the views were spectacular. I would definitely say that the stretch of H1 from San Fran to Santa Barbara is the nicest, and far nicer than the section north of San Fran. The sea seems to be much bluer, and the cliffs far more dramatic, and certain points the road hangs onto the cliff so close to the edge that all you can see is a sheer drop to the bottom. This however is not a motorcyclists biggest concern, the main concern for me, once again was the tourists in their cars feeling it was fine to drive on either side of the road as long as the were looking at the view, but what with the laws in this country, maybe that is OK. Who knows?
I arrived on the section know as Big Sur, named after a tiny settlement. This area is pretty empty of towns and is therefore very expensive indeed. I passed a place I had been told about called the Eselan Institute whilst looking for a hedge to camp in. Camping was impossible for free but I had heard that the natural hot springs at this institute were amazing and only $20 if you go between 1 and 3 am, rather than the many hundreds of dollars you must pay for any other time. Therefore I thought this a good way to spend the night, and I was lucky enough to get a space.
I rode on and to my surprise managed to find a cheap ish camp ground, so pitched up and slept to prep myself for my night excursion.
Now I need to brief you with a bit of history about the Eselan Institute before I go on. It was founded back when free love was still free, HIV was still just a bad case of the Flu and new age healing apparently worked. During this period some wealthy hippy healer decided he would invest in a healing retreat to 'find yourself' and thus this pricey escape was founded, and to rich people who follow this stuff it is apparently very famous.
So at 1am I arrived at the place, well actually at the lay by next to it , as us peasants were not allowing to drive in. It was very surreal and I was worried I may have ended up at some local wife swapping hang out as other cars began to gather. These people were in fact fairly normal, and were also there for the hot springs. We were met by an employee and taken down in the pitch black to the springs. In actual fact this old skeptic was quite impressed, it was really rather nice. The sky was totally clear and no moon, so without sounding too batty about it all, you could see some very nice shooting stars etc. The hot springs were built onto the cliff edge so directly below was the sea crashing against the rocks. All very nice. The only thing that I was slightly taken aback by was all the new age types insist on getting butt naked to aid the calmer or something, so I had to adopt the old saying 'if you cant beat them, join them.' So here I was butt naked in a hot spring with a load of people who were talking about the cosmos. Normally I would feel like vomiting at having to listen to this tripe, but actually I was quite content. It must have been the sulphur or something! I leave this little story with one last point. Why is it that every person who is happy to peel off their clothes in these instances are never in the slightest bit easy on the eye, instead they look like they have just been dredged from the local swamp and released into the community. Oh well, life isn't perfect I suppose.
The next day I relaxed at the same campsite, and even hauled my carcass down the cliff for a little stroll, during which I managed to burn my back to a crisp in the hot sun. My plan was to continue the day after to Santa Barbara via an Elephant Seal colony and Hearst Castle.
I woke up in good time and rode on the short trip to both sites. I arrived at the Seal Colony and was most impressed at a/ how smelly there were, and b/how bloody fat there were. You were able to get really close, and get a real good whiff as well. Lovely. But in actual fact they were very cool, and I recon given a wash and a bit of a diet would have made interesting guard-seals, training would obviously be needed but by crikey they had bad attitudes and seemed to be always up for a fight with each other.
After checking out the bad-arsed seals I moved on just 3 miles to Hearst Castle. I was more than prepared to be really disappointed like I am with most museums in the USA, but I hate to admit it but I was really quite taken aback. Lucky for me I arrived early enough to avoid the blimps and their motor homes. I payed the extortionate fee for the 1st or the 4 tours they offer... yes 4 bloody tours, money grabbing gits! So off I went on the bus up the drive.
Mr Hearst was bloody loaded. He was a media tycoon who had a taste for the posh life, and as with all Americans he was obsessed with having a bit of 'history'. I feel I must briefly digress to point out how obsessed the American population is about having some form of history. They label everything as a point of historical interest. The other day I went over a reinforced concrete bridge which pointed out it was a US historical piece. The fact it was only 40 years old seemed to be beside the point. Seriously, you will drive into a small town which will have a sign pointing to the local Waffle House eatery, the sign will say, 'site of historical interest', you will then walk in to be met with another sign pointing towards the nicotine stains on the walls, as well as the aging waitress, and the sign will say 'point of historical interest It really is that bad. I'm starting to think the only reason why the Americans will only grant a Visa for 3 months in their country for us tourists, is that if we stayed any longer, we would become points of historical interest, and thus they would have to invest in a small brown sign to point towards us. Crazy. Anyway I shall get back to the story. So here was mega rich Mr Hearst who after buying up half of California decided to build a holiday home. Basically he got a building made out of what else but reinforced concrete, and then once again did what all wealthy Americans love to do, he went to Europe and bought all our cast-offs with which he transformed the concrete blocks into an amazing Mediterranean style mansion.
This place was epic. It had the most amazing rooms which were furnished with amazing (mostly religious) artifacts from Europe and the far east. It was crossed between a Gothic cathedral and a stately home. Very impressive. The cherry on the top for me, and I think my friends Ru and Maritsa who recently visited the place as well, had to be the swimming pool. This was as 'bling' as it gets. Overall I was happy with the tour and came out for once not feeling disappointed.
I headed on to Santa Barbara and managed to find the only hostel in the town. I met some people there who were good fun. A few from Denmark and the first two people I had met traveling who came from the UK. Small world syndrome clearly kicked in as one of them lives about 10 miles down the road from me in the UK. Strange hey. The choice of hols for these people seems to be Californian road trips, and they all seemed to be enjoying it.  The hostel on the other hand was crap. Nothing worked, they threatened to call the police as I was having a bottle of beer with my food (no beer so I was informed, whoops) and the rooms were stinking. But with no choice of where to stay we all had to make do.
Santa Babs is very nice. The nicest town I had come across on my trip down the coast. With nice comes wealth, and basically it was rammed with lots of very rich types. The bars were good fun, and after two nights of going out with the guys I had met I decided this was a good place. The beach was pretty nice as well.
The next mission was to take on LA. I rode down H1 and arrived at Santa Monica, a posh part of the city. All the hostels were fully booked in the area so I went to a motel. It was really hot by now and I was feeling stressed out about the traffic. I asked the woman at the Motel who quoted me $250 for a room!!! Clearly I said no, so she gave me a card of one for $90 up the road. I went there, and that was my first mistake. The next part of this story, I must stress is exactly how it happened...
I arrived at the motel, it looked really shabby but I rode in and went to check in. The man told me it was $90, so, feeling worried I wouldn't find anything else I agreed and paid without checking the room. (mistake number 2) After paying he pointed out the 'NO REFUNDS' sign. I shrugged it off and went to my room, weaving round all the 50 cent wanna-bees. I opened my door, and the first thing that struck me was the stench. It really smelt like someone had died in there. Remembering the no refund policy I unloaded the bike and went it. This place was hagging. I have staying in some bad places in my time, but this took the biscuit. The beds were covered in what I can only say were probably crack cocaine burns as no one is that careless with a cigarette! Also the beds were covering in dirt and dust, I then worried I would catch some nasty parasite from these beds, so ended up sleeping in my sleeping bag on the floor with clean sheets that I requested.
After unpacking etc, I had to leave the room as the stench was too much, so I thought I would head to the beach and have a look around. here comes the crowning moment..... I left my room to be greeted by a gaggle of paramedics and fire men who had got into the room opposite me, and were proceeding to remove what seriously looked like a dead man! I cannot say for sure that he was dead, but there really were in no hurry to get him to hospital, and from what I saw, which wasn't too much was that he looked pretty lifeless. So I left the motel cursing the fact that I had payed so much money for such a hovel of a place. The only redeeming feature (if there was one) is that maybe there wont be so many burns in the sheets from now on if the resident crack addict had taken a trip to the pearly gates. We shall never know, and in fact I don't intend to find out, I was just mighty relieved that I survived the night.
During that day, mainly to keep away from my motel I wondered areas of LA, and I can really say it struck me as the saddest city I have ever been to. I am trying to find a good way to describe it, and I'm sure it is lovely if you are loaded and live in Beverly hills, but most of us are not that loaded and just walking around gave me a real sense of depression for so many of the residence. I walked along the length of Venice beach where I have never seen so many freaks. They are all there trying to offer some form of entertainment, or just looking sad. It struck me that so many of these people looked as if they had come to LA to seek some illusive fame and fortune which never came their way, so instead they all head to Venice beach to waste away the days. All very lame, and in fact it wasn't just that area of the city, the quantity of bums in the area was unreal, all looking for their next hit of special brew.
The next day I rode round all the places one should see in the city, and saw everything that I was 'supposed to see', but still my views on LA did not change. The only reason that I could tell anyone visits this city is to witness extreme wealth or extreme poverty. All the famous sites looked run down and nothing like you imagined they would look from the movies. Oh well, I couldn't get out of LA fast enough. This of course is my opinion and I'm sure many of my friends who have been there as well liked the place, but as I say thats what I thought.
I left LA yesterday and slept the night in the area where the start of  Jurassic park was filmed at the edge of the Mojave desert. The sandstone structures were very nice indeed but it was painfully hot at 42 degrees C. I am currently killing time in Barstow waiting for night to fall when I can avoid the current 45 degrees and hopefully make it to Vegas without smelling like roast pork.
Next stop Vegas, hoover dam and maybe monument valley then its off to meet my friend Rups and to learn how to fly....Right I'm now off to see if it really is possible to fry an egg on the road.