SCOOTIN & PADDLING AT MORRO BAY

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Last week we drug Albatross out of storage, gave it a bath, and loaded up for a long weekend at Morro Bay State Park. This is a gem of a park in a beautiful setting. This was our second visit, and as last year it was with the Yahoo West LazyDazers. 27 rigs were in attendance, which is way up from last year. We also got to spend time with Keith and Gloria who showed up in their SOB Class A, sporting Cal decals all over the back. Keith and I went to high school together in Modesto, and we hadn’t seen them in quite a while. According to the camp host, who’s been there for five months, we lucked into the first weekend of good weather. We made good use of it. The kayak got its maiden voyage! First step is to unbag it and roll it out. That’s the footpump to the right.

Next, you find a willing foot.

There’s bound to be one handy. :)

A few minutes and a distaff charleyhorse later . . .

It’s just light enough for the two of us to carry, but the cord handholds get pretty uncomfortable after a while, so we’ll have to rig up some handles to fit over them. We lugged it over to the boat harbor to launch, attracting quite a ghoulish following along the way who no doubt had visions of punctures, swamping, and general mayhem. Larry and Renee effortlessly wheeled their carbon fiber kayaks over on little carts. Hmmm. They know the estuary and harbor well, had actually researched the tides (say, what?), and kindly kept tabs on us newbies. Disappointing the assembled camera-wielding masses, the launch went off without a hitch. I tested the stability by rocking side to side and got a whack with the paddle from the rear seat. No more testing. The tide was slack, the wind was calm, and off we went, looking quite coordinated thank you very much. That lasted until we hit the first current. Now, as in canoes, the back seater is the helmsperson and is responsible for keeping the straight course by dragging the paddle to the left or right side as necessary. Well, that’s the theory. And, after about a half hour of gentle reminders, terse directions, and silent epithets, el pilota got it into practice. Next time, we’ll be exchanging seats. We paddled north into the harbor area of the city of Morro Bay. Everything from gorgeous yachts to derelict cement barges was anchored there, and the resident sea lion left his feeding spot by a restaurant pier to dive around Larry’s kayak. Flocks of seabirds were skimming the surface and a couple of otters were trolling along. It was a beautiful paddle. The Sea Eagle isn’t as directionally stable, nor as fast as the hard kayaks, but it will serve us just fine for the casual poking about on lakes and streams. It’s rated for Class III rapids, but we’ll just have to take their word for it. After two hours of paddling, we dragged our dead arms out and walked 50 feet to the Bayside Cafe for clam chowder and a wedge of carrot cake the size of Manhattan. Home made. Oh, yeah. The previous evening we ate there and I had the best seafood pasta I’ve ever eaten, along with a warm boysenberry cobbler (with heavy cream to pour over). Two Lipitor, please. Did I mention my taster is much improved? :p

The next day we noticed a classic Vespa on a trailer a couple of campsites over. When the owner came out to get ready to take it out, I went over to admire and smooze. He said he’d seen ours the night before and assumed we were there for “the ride.” Ride? What ride? Turns out the San Luis Obispo Scooter Club was sponsoring one of the main scooter events on the West Coast, a 114 mile ride along the bay and back into the wine country, starting in just 30 minutes from SLO, about 15 miles away. We had been all set to go hiking with the LDers at Montano De Oro State Park, which we had done last year, but we couldn’t resist a mass scooter ride through wine country. The guy left us the turn-by-turn route instructions, then took off to make the start. We had to get ourselves ready, so we didn’t make the start, but intercepted the pack about ten miles into the rallye, at Los Osos Valley Road and Turri Road, if anyone’s tracking. Quite a sight to see 80-85 scooters strung out down the road. We jumped in towards the end of the line and had a blast for the next four or five hours. The Central Coast area is especially green right now after all the rains we’ve had, and the two-lane back roads are all curves, dips, and hills. We kept up just fine, thank you.

We had to bail out before the very end, which was at a park in SLO where they were to have a barbeque and raffle for a classic Vespa. We had to get back to Morro for the Saturday potluck and Loni had some cooking to do. As usual, the dishes were varied and tasty and no one went home hungry.

Sunday we packed up and went to load the scoot on the rack. One of the other LDers wanted to take a few photos of the process, and three guys at the adjacent campsite were observing as well. So, of course, I blew it. Done this dozens of times without a hitch. 37th time is the charm. We load the thing by firing it up and gently (key word) throttling it up the ramp and onto the rack while I walk beside and below it, holding on to the grips and throttle. As it was just making the transition from the ramp to the track, I made a misstep, stumbled, and opened the throttle. The scoot did a wheelie, jumped the stop at the end of the track, flew up into the air, swan dived the 3 or 4 feet to the ground, all the while with me holding on for dear life. It and I both ended up on our sides, the scoot with a nice dent in the left sidepod, an me with the mother of all subdural hematomas on my right tricep. Not sure what hit it, but the rack ripped the pocket off my jeans as the final indignity. Sigh. All I needed was an audience. The scoot still runs straight and I’m still upright. Fortunately for what’s left of my ego, the guy taking pictures stopped when things went haywire, so there are no photos of the launch.

Indignity needs drowning, and we took off for SLO to have dinner with my fraternity bro, Paul. Paul personally knows every winemaker in the Central Coast, and has a very well-stocked wine cabinet and cooks a mean roast beef (with Yorkshire pudding!). There were seven at dinner, and we managed to polish off a minor portion of his stock. We had the champagnes with local artisan cheeses. The magnum of Marlstone and the Justin Isosceles were incredible with the beef, and the Zin Port was served with homemade chocolate truffles. Paul, you da man! After all that, there was nothing left but to go home.