I visited every pier on the west coast on a motorcycle; over 100 of them. Passing within feet of gigantic aircraft carriers, I crossed incredible bridges that launched the bike airborne; beheld beautiful castles in the sky and slept serenely on Crystal Pier as the ocean rushed beneath me. Historically, piers embraced great sailing ships, welcoming goods and people from exotic lands. Whether bearing silks of China or rum from the Caribbean, this was its Ports O'Call. Those days are long gone yet the memories echo on and it's still somewhere close to far away. Standing at the end of a pier high above an azure sea, a cool breeze blows by. The rumbling surf pounds the shoreline with bubbling fists and I am riding. The whole of the Pacific Ocean is racing toward me and I am riding on it.