On a trip to San Francisco earlier this summer, a friend—knowing my predilection for fine whiskies took me to the Nihon Whiskey Lounge. It was a comfortable, even cozy, atmosphere which, I must admit I didn’t really notice until much later in the evening. My full attention was riveted on the unbelievable selection of whiskies on display. I thought I knew whiskey, but I didn’t recognize half the bottles in front of me.
My friend ordered a Suntory Yamazaki whiskey, neat. Not wanting to appear a total rube (but thoroughly intimidated by the massive selection), I fell back on my standard cocktail, a perfect Knob Creek Manhattan, up with a twist.
The bartender was not impressed. “Ever try a rye with your Manhattan?”
I hadn’t. I’d always considered myself a bourbon man. I’d been a single malt scotch drinker when I was younger, but the ones I preferred—Macallan and Laphroig—had priced themselves beyond just the occasional indulgence.
BOBILU. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? What vague memories does it stir? I have this sense that it might have had something to do with the I Love Lucy show. Was it a song? Not sure I ever watched it...except maybe on Nick at Night when I was in college. In any event, there is a Bobilu shopping center in Oxnard, just across the street from the Best Western where Heidi and I parked the bikes last night after a sometimes grueling, but often exhilarating ride up Pacific Coast Highway from Costa Mesa. The first part of the ride was great, offering many California beach views, though with the June Gloom and chilly temps, not a lot of bikini clad beauties. Just as well. I had all I could do in learning to ride the Stelvio without being distracted. My bike at home is a Triumph Bonneville SE, and while it's not exactly a scooter, it was a slightly intimidating feeling jumping on a 1200 CC monster. The Stelvio has a different seating arrangement and it is definitely a different feeling having that massive engine idling beneath me. The first few blocks were shaky, then, when we hit the highway, major bliss and ear to ear smiles.
On June 8 I'll be taking a Go Road trip on a Moto Guzzi Stelvio from Orange County to Calistoga in California. This will be Go's first experiment in Twittering while on a road trip. Some of these tweets will include links to more entries in my editor's travel blog, (which will include highly professional iPhone photos). 
What was our problem? It wasn’t financial. We had accumulated mileage for flights, and the hotels were within our means. Neither of us was in any immediate danger of losing our jobs. Even if there were pink slips waiting when we returned, we knew we could survive a few months before making a career change and enrolling in classes for refrigerator repair.
My cab dropped me off in front of the W Hotel on the East Side, and I immediately saw I was going to have trouble. A mob three or four deep was pressed around the entrance to the hotel. It was clearly a celebrity scrum, judging by the look of the jostling and the number of eight-by-tens, posters, and autograph books being waved in the air. And because it was an all-male mob, the object of the idolatry had to be a sports star.