I went to San Francisco last week, primarily for the Jazz Festival, and while I was there I thought I'd take the opportunity to rent a Harley and see if I could live the American dream for a while (and if I couldn't I thought I'd just be evil biker scum and go round frightening old people).

On the Monday I picked up a Harley from Sam at San Francisco Bay Area Motorcycles (http://www.harleymc.com) and headed out of town.  I chose a Super Glide Sport, because it was black and mean and because it was alleged to be "very fast".  I thought that the 883 models looked a bit puny and that the Electra Glide and Road King looked too big for the kind of riding I was going to do.  It came down to the Fat Boy and the SGS, and the only thing that clinched it was that I didn't like the look of the foot*boards* on the Fat Boy.

I drove fairly aimlessly for a good while, taking in lots of different kinds of roads and just looking around, getting used to the bike, remembering US traffic laws and all that stuff.  Late in the afternoon I headed for Sonoma, and went to the tourist information centre to find a hotel.  Because it was out of season I got a good deal at the nicest place in town (http://www.macarthurplace.com) and after I'd checked in I went to the town and bought a novel and went to the pub for a pint.  Would you Adam and Eve it, but the pub had a West Ham scarf hanging in there.  Splendid.  Then it was back to my hotel for a bit of quality tucker and a flagon of local wine.

The next morning it was raining, but I didn't let that deter me.  I wisited Buena Vista vineyard, which is the oldest vineyard in California.  It was quite interesting, but as I couldn't taste and couldn't buy stuff I didn't hang around.

I went down Russian River Road to the coast and as I hit Highway 1 the rain and the fog really set in.  I could see almost nothing, and was riding down narrow, hilly, winding roads that I didn't know on a bike that really doesn't handle too well.  But I suprised myself that I was in fact having a whale of a time.  I kept looking down at my gloveless hands, which were getting wrinkled as though I'd fallen asleep in the bath and feeling my face which was cold as stone and wondering why I was still grinning.  I got as far as Mendocino and decided that discretion was the better part of valour and bunked in for the night, at a place that looked like an old-style Western bar.

On Wednesday I headed back down to the city.  It was sunny and warm and the roads through the Anderson Valley (Highway 128) really suited the Harley and the mood.  It was just splendid, and at the end of it, I really didn't want to give the bike back.

There’s a lot that I would do differently, if I were doing it again – mainly in terms of the route.  Watch this space.