My travels had me departing Los Angeles and heading north. There is an advantage in departing from Los Angeles, the city's immense size and congested freeways makes the open road all the more pleasant. To leave the City of Angels is always a relief. My trek up the state had me entering Sequoia National Park just as the sun was setting. The Park Ranger at the west entrance assured me there was plenty of camping available—which was good to hear since it was getting dark and I had a tinted shield on. In short order the Ranger's reassurance was proving to be erroneous. I was tiptoeing the BMW R 1200 GS through the 2nd campground where virtually every camping spot was occupied. As I made my way around the campground service road, wondering what I was going to do, my headlight illumed a large Scandinavian-looking gentleman, his hand raised to stop me. When I flipped up my shield he said, "You won't find any spaces, so why don't you share our site." I looked at him and said, "You're a biker." He nodded, pointed at the GS, and said, "I have one of these back home in Holland." Such is the unspoken camaraderie shared by GS riders; a global brotherhood courtesy of Bavarian metal. You see, as a motorcycle rider, you're never really alone. I'm not sure that kind of thing doesn't happen among Buick owners.