Day 57 - Poking into Lompoc

I had to pinch Donny in the AM of Day 57 to see if he was real. He was! His skin looked extra brown against the bleached surroundings. (Naturally brown from swimming, mind you - he does not "lay out" as he is sometimes accused; that's just what they look like in Mediterranea). I tried to control my controlling nature by relaxing a bit that morning, not being so pushy-out-the-door. I had been a lone wolf for 56 days, with no one to answer to, so now i had to cater. A little.

Not that Donny wasn't flexible. We had previously compromised (or, rather, i had gotten him to agree) that i was the Boss of Us for the next few days. I'd been doing this for a while, and he was to be Beta. I packed our shit and we moved to the main house for breakfast - again, not as plentiful as i was used to but fresh. We chatted with the other guests, and i was caught up on the political moment of Sarah Palin indulgently quitting her job as Governess. I was very aware for the first time that i had left the Land of Red and was chatting with like-minded lefties. Not that San Luis County is strictly Democratic (and we were headed for Lompoc later on). But it was nice to come out of my blank-faced non-partisan shell during breakfast and not have to worry about offending or being gunned down.

The sky was warm and shining as we left but thickened with the Pacific pall as we headed south and west towards Pismo Beach, me loaded down with our belongings and Donny free to fend off predators in his Yellow Jacket superhero costume. Wikipedia says that pismo is the Chumash word for tar, in case you were wondering. Back in LA, Donny had been been cycling quite a bit but never really more than 40 miles in one day, so his 60-mile cherry was gonna get popped. He is much faster than i am, especially on hills, but because i had the map and i was Alpha Dog, i led the way. After Pismo was Grover Beach and then the over-simply named Oceano (is it Ocean-Oh, or the more hoity-toity O-See-On-Oh?). We're on Highway 1 for a big chunk of this, and will remain so, on and off, for the rest of the trip.
We stop for a brief photo shoot at the Santa Barbara County line (can you fuckin' believe how close?) and rolled through the sleepy town of Guadalupe, location of the first Cecil B. DeMille movie of The Ten Commandments. With its shuttered bars and rundown Deco buildings reminiscent of that bygone era, Guadalupe seems to regret that the Charlton Heston version was not filmed here. Farmland and increased winds greet us on the other side of Guadalupe and we stop to eat our mushy sandwich leftovers from the previous day at mile 38. Donny tells me the wind will knock my bike over the way i've left it. I scoff and roll my eyes: amateur! Ten seconds later Whitey is lying in the dirt, and bless him, Donny is not smug at least outwardly. After all, we've only been reunited for 24 hours.

Only 24 miles to Lompoc from the windy luncheon spot- breeze of a day. According to the Pacific Coast Section 4 map, Harris Grade Road looks like it's going to be a bitch of a hill, the only one between us and Lompoc (which is Lompoke, not Lompock - i found out at some point). As we begin the climb, we agree that if Donny feels the need, he can pass me up, as i am lugging the much heavier Whitey Jackson. (We have now ditched Rupert Stiltskin as Donny's bike's name and have settled upon Delia Darrow who is a way bigger bad-ass anyway). Donny on Delia is a much defter combo - speed and weight. Donny comments on the scenery, "It's so beautiful." My memory chips measure the deserted dry and crunchy California hillocks against some of the unbelievable natural glory I've recently experienced, and I stop myself from saying something to the effect of "this ain't nothin'" (not wanting to be a superior dick). But this area just reminds me of the Santa Monica Mountains and the hills near Glendale which are "beautfiul" when you live in a concrete jungle. Donny needs to get out in nature more, i decide privately.

Harris Grade is not hard for Donny. I don't know if it's hard for me because being able to chat and spend time with your Best Guy while doing this makes it go down much more of a treat. We coast down the other side entering Vandenberg Air Force Base which is what Lompoc is all about. "My dad was in the Air Force," I remind Donny in the rushing wind. "WHAT?" Oh, never mind. It's just the reason why i have such cheap car insurance.

Once in Lompoc, which welcomes us with a ton of chain restaurants and big box stores (LA, i can smell ya now!), we seek the best hotel deal and after visiting a few choices on the cleverly named "N. H St", we call Best Western on the southern end of town. It's the best deal and it turns out to be kinda nice for us two and our steeds. The Parker Poseyesque customer service rep sings the the praises of the hotel's made-to-order complimentary breakfast and slides us a sleeve of free DVDs to choose from in case we wanted to catch a film. We choose "Lakeside Terrace" (or is it "Lakeview Terrace"?) - something with Sam Jackson as a cop as bent and twisted as a paperclip but way more deadly wreaking havoc on a nice mixed race civilian couple that moves in next door. The room seems like luxury to me and Donny is satisfied especially as i indulge him with this shtick i always do when we go to a hotel- sing-song humming as i set up house a la Marge Simpson.

We peel off the superhero costumes, shower and crash on the bed for some getting reacquainted, the details of which don't make sense to share when it isn't fictional. Donny regards my extra-lean form as a "new toy" which, after 10 years of being together, is not something you hear every day. I blush from the way he's looking at me and at my own pride and self-confidence. And i leave it at that.

CUT to dinner at a vinyl-coated diner which could have been in Missouri or Nevada or Kentucky (ok, not Kentucky) for how bland and canned everything is. The trip wouldn't be worth it if Donny didn't get to experience one veggie-less night. Try to bike a mile in my shoes, mister! The hennaed waitress is nicer than our food and we go next door to Foster's Freeze for a high fructose corn syrup sundae and long-spoon it down on the short walk back to the room. "Lakeside/view Terrace" is an anxious treat and pulls us both down down down into slumber.