Sojourn In Sacramento April 2002

Five weeks after purchasing an S&S coupling tandem from Gateway Bicycles, Southwest's "Friends Fly Free" called our names. The tickets to Sacramento were incredibly cheap and there was the American River Trail waiting for us to ride. We had no choice but to go. Louie insisted on bringing his Neoprene and rain gear. "It's California. The sun is shining there," said Bec. "No way!," replied Louie. The rain gear came with us. We spent a few hours taking the tandem we call, "Huckleberry", apart into little bitsy pieces and got them and our clothes into three suitcases. Louie fussed over every single piece, packing them all gently in foam wrap. We had to fabricate a few items to keep the bags and rear dropouts from being crushed. Eventually everything was nestled snugly in the bags.

Greeting us in Sacramento were a gaggle of what Bec calls "travel angels". Wherever she goes they appear out of no where to make sure that she gets to the right places. Taking public transportation is an adventure. The first travel angel made sure we got off the bus at the right place to catch the light rail. The next one on the light rail stayed with us all the way to the end to make sure we caught our next bus in the right place. Then he got back on the train to go back the other way for his stop. On the last bus three of them made sure we found our hotel. Louie was getting apprehensive about Bec talking to so many strangers/strange people until she explained her 'travel angel' phenomenon.

After arriving at the Econo Lodge, Louie spent the next couple of hours reassembling the Huckleberry. We took it out on a shakedown cruise through the surrounding neighborhood. The sun was shining so brightly it hurt our eyes and the air was filled with the perfume of flowers and blooming trees. There were many bike lanes, but most people were riding on the sidewalks. The cars were polite, though some folks would roll down their windows and ask us where we were from as we sat in the turn lanes acting as a vehicle. "Most people don't ride out in traffic here," remarked Louie. Sacramento neighborhoods were well manicured and the area beside the roads extremely clean. We did not see any roadside litter anywhere we went. Too bad Portland is not more like that.

Saturday, was supposed to be reserved for riding with the Sacramento Bike club, but we arrived at the start of the ride eleven minutes too late. As it turned out, that was just fine because we took the time to ride at a leisurely pace all the way to Folsom Lake at the end of the trail. The river trail is absolutely wonderful. It doesn't cross any busy streets. It goes through a variety of areas of both forest and meadow. It is very quiet except for the birds singing to us and Bec's constant chatter. We stopped often to talk to the other cyclists. One, having found out we were from Portland, pointed up to the sky and said, "That bright light you see up there, well, it is the sun." He must have visited Portland. We stopped at a bike shop long enough for Bec to get in on a 40% off sale on a winter jersey. Bec enjoyed cycling past Folsom prison as Louie sang Johnny Cash songs, "Shot a man in Reno, just to watch rhim die." The ride was 75 miles long but our butt-o-meters thought it was more like 100 due to the fact there were few if any hills to get us up off the seats. In fact, the only real hill around had a sign loudly proclaiming, "Dismount. Walk your Bike." We did not even need granny to get up, but watched a few folks topple over trying to ride it. That hill certainly had nothing on "Danger Hill" in Silverton, Oregon. On the way back we crossed a bike bridge that was a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Sunday we went south on the trail to explore Old Town Sacramento. We spent a couple of hours walking around, taking a train ide, and getting a cartoon drawn of us. Continuing down the Sacramento River, the riding was not as scenic because the area was more industrial. Running out of time, we exited the trail. A lemon tree with huge lemons provided shade as we looked at the map for a way back to the motel. A man walked by and said we could pick one if we liked. Louie managed to reach one with the bike pump.

Back on the neighborhood streets again, we found a hill that was one city block long. We wound our way to Capital Mall where Louie walked around taking pictures while Bec lazed in the shade. Soon a bike cop rode up to talk to us about the Huckleberry, but then took off to aid a fellow officer who had stopped a car down the street. Louie found the Wells Fargo building and had to take pictures of the museum and stagecoach.

We continued our journey back to the motel, riding along in wonderful vacation bliss, enjoying the flowers, talking about how beautiful everything was and how nice all the people where in Sacramento when all at once, out of nowhere came a car. The man rolled down his window and hollered something obscene at us. Louie and I burst out laughing, having had our idyllic revelry broken by the very human nature of another human. We argued for at least a half an hour over whose turn it was to perform the deed. Louie said, "I'm not going to do it." Bec replied, "Well, I'm certainly not going to". Whatever caused that person to make that proclamation is beyond our ability to understand. It reminded us that no matter where we travel and no matter how beautiful things are, nothing is perfect and it is that very imperfection that gives us cause to laugh.

Our mini-vacation done, we repacked the Huckleberry. How can it happen that things never go back into containers the way they came out? We only had two extra items, but much difficulty packing things up again. There must be some irrefutable law of nature involved.

We give the American River Bike Trail a 4-blueberry rating. It is beautiful, shaded, green, by water, well engineered, and filled with families enjoying the outdoors. The people of Sacramento were friendly and helpful. Bike lanes abound. We had a great time.