A heavily tattooed Harley Davidson rider.

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Morro Bay, 04-11-2002, morning.



Leaving my tent early in the morning the first thing I do is checking out the owl that roosts in the tree behind my tent.

Yes, he's still there opening a sleepy eye while I look up at him.

I'm actually quite surprised he's still around since the huge leopard frog population that has been plaquiing the campground each night since my arrival, mating and f*rnicating like there was no tomorrow, keeping me out of my well deserved sleep with their nighttime s*xual activities, was totally gone when I returned in the pitch darkness of a californian night from my little excursion to San Luis Obispo yesterday.

Maybe there mating season has come to an end and they are now busy looking for a safe haven to give birth to countless offspring.

I've heard once that these frogs are capable of spontaneous sex changes so judging from what has been going on the last few nights on this campground.....well, lets say they must be all well and truely pregnant now.

After breakfast I cycle north for another day excursion...to Cayucos. It's not far from Morro Bay but the road is hilly and I get overtaken regularly by expensive cars like italian Ferraries and american Harley Davidson motor-cycles. This part of the world must be really rich if I can judge from passing traffic.

One Harley Davidson rider even slows down to say hello. A big fellow sporting a huge beer belly and dressed in greasy blue jeans and a black leather body warmer. His arms are heavily tattooed with Harley Davidson slogans.

The Harley Davidson company must be the only company in the world with customers that advertise their brand name on their own bodies free of charge, talking about satisfied customers indeed!!!

One tattooed hairy arm disappears under his black body warmer bringing into my view a half liter can of Budweiser beer. The condence is still on the aluminium can when I take it from his massive hand, he must have bought it just minutes before.

"You look like you need this beer matie" , a voice raspy due, no doubt, to heavy chain smoking, tells me before he is off again.

There is no sound in the world that comes anywhere close to that of a Harly Davidson's engine running.

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Photos

Morro Rock
at Morro Bay.