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Tag: taco

One Night in Durango
I was riding my BMW F700GS across the country along with my dear man on his Yamaha FJ-09. We left from our home (at the time) in Dayton, Nevada with various destinations in Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina on the radar. We didn’t have a strict agenda, necessarily. There was a need to be in the southeast for particular events but we’d given ourselves enough buffer to have a leisurely ride there.
We don’t make reservations for trips like this. We’re well aware that moto travel is far too unpredictable for that. Plus we like having the flexibility to change course if we want. So one late afternoon as we were figuring out our end-game for that day, it was clear that Durango, Colorado would be our resting place for the night.
Riding in Colorado
Tacos to the rescue
We didn’t realize that it was the weekend of the Durango Cowboy Poetry Gathering. The town was packed with well-dressed folk attending the event and hotel rooms were in short supply. By the time we rolled into town, we were lucky to get a passable room at all, much less one a walkable distance from downtown to be able to enjoy some good grub and cocktails.
It was later in the day than we would normally have stopped and we were starving after a vigorous day in the saddles. There was no time to shower before walking to town. We needed food quickly. Tacos were in order and I knew just the place, having been through Durango a few times before.
With a quick change out of our moto gear and bit of a freshen up, off we went for tacos, sans showers. J followed my lead, trusting my taco judgement. Nini’s Taqueria fit the bill for our weary traveling souls. We devoured dinner with all the gusto of people running on far too few calories for the day.
These tacos didn’t stand a chance after a vigorous day of riding.
Happy hour shenanigans
Now we needed Manhattans, our go-to happy hour cocktail. Again, I knew the place and led J to the The Diamond Belle Saloon. We found it full of revelers decked out in their western finery. It was a sight for sure. And we were certainly out of place in our casual clothes and unwashed helmet hair.
We hovered at the end of the bar, jostling between the comings and goings of the other patrons and hoping to snag a space. Our patience paid off a short time later. We settled into the two stools at the end of the bar a short time later. We savored our well-deserved Manhattans, reliving a great day of riding.
A proper Manhattan is a fitting end to a day of travel and adventure.
Eventually J stepped away for a personal break. Before leaving he asked, “Do I need to leave you with a weapon?” I laughed, of course. His query was mostly facetious. Not that he had anything usable as one anyway, but I understood he wanted me to elevate my situational awareness while he was gone.
I ordered a beer from the bartender and began checking in with the world on my phone after a day mostly offline. You know, the usual BS—email, social media, etc. A few moments after J left his seat, with his cocktail on the bar and his coat still on the stool, a group of four men commandeered the end of the bar.
They were clearly many drinks into the evening. And they certainly weren’t there for the poetry festival, dressed in preppy casual clothes. Hardly the rugged cowboy look.
The bartender approached to deliver my beer and see if we needed anything else. Just then one of the men asked what I was drinking. Without looking up from my phone, I picked up my beer and tilted the label slightly towards them with a healthy dose of leave-me-the-fuck-alone attitude.
He didn’t get the message. His next comment came quickly. “Kinda light, don’t ya think?” I whipped my head his direction, Exorcist-style, and gave him a look that could not be mistaken for anything but pure, unadulterated malice.
“Are you dissing my fucking drink, dude?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a bemused grin emerge on the bartender’s face as he stepped back to lean on the bar behind him. He folded his arms on his chest, looking like he wished he had a bowl of popcorn for the show that was about to start.
The offending man took a slight step back. It was clearly not the reaction he was expecting. He doubled down on his poor behavior, though, and continued his intrusive commentary on my drink choice.
“I mean, beer isn’t exactly a real drink.”
I was a bit taken aback by the absurdity of this man-child so I didn’t respond immediately. All I could think at first was that I was being punked. This had to be a joke. No, there were no cameras around, this guy was seriously saying this shit to me.
Before I could begin to excoriate him with profound pleasure, J returned. I saw his face over the shoulders of the wall of very large men between us, blocking the path back to his seat in the crowded bar. They didn’t pick up on the fact that I wasn’t looking at them but past them.
I got a little grin on my face thinking of the question J asked me just before he left. I let out a little ironic chuckle that he was right about the weapon. Understanding I wasn’t in distress, he stood back and watched for a moment, waiting for a cue from me. I simply glared at the clueless men and growled “You’re in the fucking way,” as I gestured behind them.
Startled back into reality, they turned to find J looking, shall we say, quite unamused. They parted so he could get by and one of them asked him if he was my husband. “No. I’m her fucking bodyguard,” he replied sternly as he resumed his seat.
After a bunch of sputtering gibberish pseudo-apologies—mostly to J and not to me, mind you—they settled into their own conversations again. I was intent on not letting the brief encounter ruin our evening. So I returned to my beer and my conversation with J, ramping down from Defcon 1 and my plans to rip this guy a new asshole.
The old timey piano music added to the standoff atmosphere in the saloon.
A grown-up in the mix
One of the men, by far the oldest in the group, eventually spoke to both of us again. He made a sincere apology for his young friend’s behavior. He was a nice enough guy and seemed pretty embarrassed.
After some chatting, he put together that we weren’t there for the poetry festival either. He’d traveled from Pennsylvania with his son and his son’s friends for a golf weekend. The preppy look suddenly made sense.
J looked at me, not knowing how much conversation had passed while he was gone and asked “Did you tell them what you did today?”
“No, didn’t get around to that” I said casually as I sipped my apparently inadequate-for-twenty-something-assholes beer.
J proceeded to explain our cross-country motorcycle trip and that today was just one of many 300-plus-mile days of carving mountain twisties on the bikes.
“Oh,” the man said with a look of admiration and a healthy dose of intimidation. “We got in some good curves today. On the… golf carts,” he said with stilted hesitation. He laughed and we chatted a bit more.
He had a lot of questions about our motorcycle adventures. His young companions listened silently and with increasing sheepishness about choosing me as the target of their manipulative, juvenile antics.
After some time they drifted away to other parts of the saloon as the conversation wound down. I never got around to deflating them further by mentioning that just a couple of weeks before I’d been riding in camel races.
Have fun in your golf carts, boys. Try to keep up.
Epilogue
I later learned that the tactic this asshole was using on me was called “negging.” It’s an actual thing – a manipulation technique designed to get someone (often women) to engage by undermining their self-confidence and self-esteem to seek approval from the person delivering the comment.
This has been around for awhile but it was news to me. I have no idea if this guy targeted me because he couldn’t tell I was considerably older in the dim light of the saloon. Or maybe because he noticed I’m older, thought I was alone, and figured I was some desperate cougar. I have no idea.
All I can hope is that the dad gave them some proper guidance once the jerks sobered up.
February 28, 2021
For the Love of Taco Trucks
We had angered the taco gods. Now they were withholding their beneficence. We believed that the last taco truck we had passed would be the last taco truck that we would see.
We were dehydrated and it was affecting our ability to make decisions. The afternoon heat was more than we had expected for the day’s ride. Especially after nearly perfect riding weather as we crossed the Sierra that morning. But the conditions deteriorated as we descended from Carson Pass, across the Sacramento River Delta, and into the foothills north of San Francisco Bay.
And now the insidious creep of dehydration had caught up to us. It’s an asshole. It inches in, little by little, chipping away at your fine-motor skills and decision-making ability. Until you don’t even realize you’re not making sense.
You pass a taco truck parked on the side of the road. You tell yourself it came up quickly, that there wasn’t time to make the turn safely.
Then you pass another. Wait… what?!? How did we miss that one?
And yet another. And another. What’s going on? Why do we keep missing taco trucks, block after block? We need a break. And tacos will fix all that ails us.
We’ll stop at the next one, we say. We’re both alert to the failure now. We confess our errors to the taco gods. We’ll do better. Our humility is renewed. We will no longer take taco trucks for granted.
But it was too late. After giving us ample opportunity to worship at the taco altar, there was nothing. Not another taco truck parked along the road, in spite of our renewed attentiveness.
Panic began to set in. Had we missed all of them? Ok, let’s stop for fuel and to regroup. We’ll search out a taco truck with the power contained in our smartphones. We may have to backtrack in the heat and traffic but we’re willing to pay that price for our folly.
We finally find a gas station on our side of the road offering easy access to and from the congested suburban streets of Lodi.
And parked at the side of the station? A food truck. Not a taco truck exactly. But a marisco tostada truck. That’ll do.
Two luscious, cool, spicy shrimp ceviche tostadas set all right in our world again. And the taco gods, while showing mercy, made their power known. The refreshing tostadas were delicious but we’d have to do better on our ongoing taco safari if we wanted a true taco truck.
The taco gods demand penance. We must reprove our piety. Because a life without taco trucks is no life at all.
All hail the taco gods for delivering us mercy in our time of need.

September 21, 2018
April Escape: The Solo Ride
I did it! I was off on my first solo motorcycle trip in over two years. I thought my grin would split my helmet in half as I turned onto Highway 50 from my neighborhood. Relief was a small part of the equation, to be sure. Packing and getting out the door had its challenges. But really it was the pure joy of motorcycle travel that coursed through my body. I basked in the motorcycle traveler’s equivalent of “runner’s high” as I opened Evie up and felt her thrust forward underneath me. Ahead lay endless open road. Looking at the expanse stretching out in front of me, all I saw was possibility.
The solo ride
As I talked about in the first part of this series, it took some orchestration to put this trip together. Timing, weather, and logistics were not as straightforward as I would have liked. But once on the road everything fell into place. Other than a general direction for the first night and knowing I had about eight days to explore, I didn’t have a plan. That’s the beauty of the coddiwomple.
With no plan though, what did I know that shaped the trip you see on the map?
- I’d be working around challenging wind and temperatures the entire trip.
- I needed to be prepared to have a day off the bike. Depending on how the forecast shaped up, I knew I might have to wait out disagreeable and potentially unsafe riding conditions.
- At some point, I’d meet up with my dear man.
- I wanted to renew my motorcycle camping skills.
In the end, those factors led me to a sort of circumnavigation of the southern Sierra. Only 1,132 miles but they were glorious. Revisiting some familiar roads and exploring some new ones made for a pleasant mix of comfort and excitement. (PS – the map is interactive if you want to take a closer look. I’ve dropped pins on points of interest. Zoom in to see those.)
Map fun
Here’s the breakdown and highlights by day with some recommendations if you find yourself in these areas.
Day 1
Day 1 – Dayton, NV to Bishop, CA
Miles: 191
Route: US 50, US 95A, NV 339, NV 208, NV 338, US 395
My experience: I headed south towards Bishop, California with the intent of finding a campsite somewhere along the way. I watched the weather shape up through the day. The overnight temperatures in the higher-elevation Forest Service sites along US 395 were going to be a little lower than I was prepared for. With some reluctance I pushed into Bishop and set up shop at an agreeable county park. Still chilly but manageable. It wouldn’t have the peace and quiet I was hoping for but it gained me a few perks like easy access to water.
Getting my moto-camping skills reinvigorated that first night was a bit of a goat rodeo. I’d made a good choice on camp though. A developed front-country site made the transition easier. Fortunately a lot came back to me quickly and I had camp set up in fairly short order. I got reacquainted with my equipment, feeling like a beginner. Things like remembering how to run my camp stove, set up my cot, and how to store my moto gear in my tiny tent.
Access to electricity was a nice bonus. Working at my little computer while bats hunted overhead in the evening was exquisite. I could feel the off-kilter things in my life resetting as I pecked away at my tasks and watched their winged acrobatics, sometimes even feeling them swoop within a few inches of my head.
Cool stuff:
- Mono Lake Vista on US 395: If you’re in the area, be sure to stop at the overlook. The view over the lake is spectacular. If you’re approaching from the north, you’ll get a jaw-dropping eyeful of the lake as the view opens up around a big downhill curve.
- Browns Millpond Campground: This is a nice little county campground, especially if you need amenities like water, electricity, and showers.
My first moto camp in years!

The view over Mono Lake is well worth a stop. It’s breathtaking.

Being welcomed to camp by bats is a groovy experience.
Day 2
Day 2 – Bishop, CA to Lone Pine, CA
Miles: 68
Route: US 395
My experience: Yep, a very low-mileage day; the lowest of the whole trip. I was relaxed and reveling in my solitude. Dusting off my solo motorcycle travel and camping skills felt amazing. I took the time for a leisurely working breakfast, a stop to refuel, a beef jerky run, and a trip to the auto parts store to pick up a new headlight bulb for Evie.
In between all of these stops, I watched the winds to decide what to take on for Day 2. It was not a favorable day for motorcycling. I’m well aware of what wind speeds I can handle, as well as the limits on the fun factor when gusts are high. Being able to handle the winds and enjoying the ride are two distinctly different aspects of a motorcycle trip.
So I mosied south though Big Pine to Lone Pine, stopping at places I normally blast through on my way to other destinations. I took a long break at the Bristlecone Pine Information Center, waffling greatly (ok, maybe epically) about riding the rough, twisty road up to the forest. And I almost decided to go for it after chatting with a couple who was heading up. They promised they’d have my back if shit went bad for me. I took one last look at the wind reports and opted for prudence. Riding an unfamiliar and challenging road alone in high winds on a heavily loaded motorcycle seemed to cross the line from adventure into unnecessary risk. Really, it was only a postponement in hopes the winds would subside in the next day or two and I could ride it then.
Instead, I wandered into Lone Pine and spent some time at the Lone Pine Film History Museum I’d always passed by but never visited. I’m not a film buff by any means but the whole point of this trip was to travel slowly and dig a little deeper, knowing that there are surprises in expected places. In addition to honoring the vision for this trip an hour or so respite from the wind did me good.
By the time I finished up at the museum that afternoon I had a better idea of timing, location, and weather to meet up with my dear man. We initially thought that would be on Day 4, given the weather forecast. But he was anxious to get on the road and the winds were proving to be tolerable for a short ride on Day 3. That meant I would stay the night in Lone Pine and head back north the next day to meet him.
That gave me a motel night to shower, get some work done, maintain my physical therapy routine, and be out of the wind for a spell. Chatting with a fellow rider at the motel had me tempted to leave my load in the room and ride some dirt in the Alabama Hills less encumbered with heavy gear. Again, prudence won out. Dust filled the air from the heavy winds. Visibility was abysmal. The wind gusts were bone rattling. An evening walk through town to dinner at a taco truck was a better choice.
Cool stuff:
- Jack’s Restaurant: Great little stop to eat in Bishop.
- Mahogany Meats: Great sandwiches and all kinds of yummy jerky. I typically stock up here for snacks on the road.
- The Roosevelt Tree: Located at the Bristlecone Pine Forest Information Kiosk at the intersection of US 395 and CA 168 in Big Pine.
- Lone Pine Film History Museum: The Lone Pine area is home to the Alabama Hills, a popular filming location mainly for westerns but some sci-fi productions as well. It’s a small museum that you can enjoy in about an hour.
- Castro’s Taco truck: If you like to add a taco safari to your travels like I do, this is a great stop. Lovely people, great food, and budget friendly.
- Dow Villa Motel: Groovy historic hotel in Lone Pine.
Mission accomplished?
The solo adventure portion of this trip only encompassed two nights instead of four. Is that ok? I’m happy with it. I did what I needed to do for myself and that’s just how it played out. Will I arrange more solo travel and camping? You betcha. It’s an extraordinary experience to be self-sufficient.
Next up in the April Escape saga: orchestrating a rendezvous with my dear man in horrendous winds.
Adventure on, friends!

The April Escape Series
June 26, 2018