Early on, my butt did hurt quite a bit--maybe for the first few days, but it has since been quite fine and has grown accustomed to its office. But now my ass is sore once again. This time from getting reemed by greedy asshole store-owners in Big Sur who think that since they are the only store for miles that they should charge 3-5 times what is reasonable for any item they sell. I'd have planned better had I known, but for my benefit if you're ever travelling through that area, do not patronize either town of Lucia or Gorda. Instead pay them a visit and walk around their stores and pick up one of the divided parts of a multi-pack which are even labelled "not for individual sale" and at a ridiculous mark-up, walk up to the clerk, point at the price and silently shake your head at them judgementally. Then leave. And if you think of it, also take a piss on their front steps.
I'm done. Forgvie me.
Got rolling just after 9AM this morning and paid way too much for a banana and 1/3 of a box of graham crackers with some peanut butter. It was cold and windy in the morning and I must say I'm almost used to it at this point. I do so look forward to a warm bed on a regular basis when this is done though.
I had two pretty big climbs, just before Ragged Point, which marked the last two big climbs for the Big Sur area, after which it gets pretty flat for a while. Looking at a map, I realized that I had somehow missed the Henry Miller Library. I must have passed it yesterday, and while I knew it was someplace in Big Sur, there were no signs on the road that clearly directed me toward it. Next time.
Past Ragged Point it was indeed flat and boring for a while with little to look at save for the Hearst Castle near San Simeon which is pretty impressive and can be ssen for miles. I didn't take the additional 1/2 mile climb up to the visitor's center, although I hear that instead of toilet paper, they have perforated strips of the San Francisco Chronicle.
Just as I pulled into a small coastal town called Cayucos, I heard a sharp "PING" from my back wheel. I knew what it was, but waited a 1/2 mile until I got to a nice resting place by the beach to inspect and confirm that I had in fact broken a spoke. Luckily, it wasn't on the drive side (which I could not have fixed without out two very specific tools that I failed to bring along, and which I neglected to learn how to use) and I had some extra spokes. As it turned out, only one of the three extra spokes I brought along were of the right size, and it's typical that when one spoke gives it means that more are likely to go soon after. With no extra spokes of the right size, this was an unnerving prospect. While I was making repairs, some skateboarder kids came by to talk and seemed genuinely interested and impressed with my journey. What amused me and surprised me the most was how the kids repeatedly and unironically used the word "gnarly." People from California actually do talk like that. I think I'm going to have to apply more value to my numerous accumulated stereotypes.
I got back on the road pretty quickly and went to the next big town called Morro Bay to find a bike shop and get some more spokes and of the right size(s) just in case. The shop there had none, but the owner referred me to another shop in the neighbouring town of Los Osos--a little out of the way, but I though it was a prudent side trip. I found the shop and snuck in just before they closed and got 5 more spokes. They're cheap and I'm paranoid. I also got my tires up to their ideal inflation. Whenever I see a bike shop, I tend to stop to use their floor pumps so I can actually get a decent inflation. It only takes a couple of minutes, the bike shop folks are always nice and it makes the ride a lot smoother.
As I was heading back through town I stopped for a while at a coffee shop to warm up and charge my phone. Outside were four police officers who were huddled together drinking their recently purchased coffees. I admit throughout my trip I've been a little bit cavalier about leaving my bike unlocked when going into places, mostly because I'm more than likely passing through a very small town, and also because short of throwing my bike into the back of a truck, she'd be hard to ride off with, or carry away. Anyway, I felt especially safe on this occaision with such an abundant display of constabulary. I thought I'd be cute at said to them something like "If someone tries to steal her, call the cops." Their silence didn't bother me--they had been standing, and drinking quietly all the while. What bothered me is that they just squinted at me quizzically, and I could sense them collectively sizing me up and judging me, putting me into that category they put guys who wear spandex: right along with the rest of the "fancy lads." And this from four guys, each of whose mustache was more Freddie Mercurial than the last.
It was nice to sit down for a while, although it was because of my want for leisure and rest that made the rest of my evening a frightful panic. The campground was still about 25 miles away and it was about 6 o'clock. I rode as fast as I could to race against the sun. Earlier this trip the sun set around 8:00, but that was nearly three weeks ago and quite a bit further north, so to my dismay, I found myself watching the sunset around 7:20 as I pedaled fast toward the goal. I hit the city of Pismo Beach (about 8 miles from the campsite) right at dusk and debated each motel I passed, but I'd spent too much money already and the 8 miles tonight would be 8 less miles from a longish day tomorrow, so I rode on. I have no headlight on my bike, but turned on my tail-light and donned my LED head lamp to let on-coming traffic see me. To add to my woes, I heard another spoke break on my rear wheel. I kept riding. It was pretty dark, but a well-lit intersection pointed me to my turn. Then though I was close I couldn't find the park. There are two Oceano State Beaches, and thankfully they are close to each other. One is a county park, the other is a state park. The county park I found, but there were no hiker/biker sites, and I didn't have the $25 on me for the full rate. The state park, as I found out was uninhabitable due to an especially high tide. I went back to the county park figuring that I could make nice with a ranger, or play dumb, but as I got to the registration board I noticed a sign that a couple of bikers posted inviting other cyclists to share their site. I finally found it through the maze in the dark and was greeted by 8 other cyclists who were equally screwed by the high tide.
It was well past dark, and I guess my arrival was the hilarious punch-line to an evening of more and more riders who kept joining the party. The first couple was from Montreal, there were two guys from Louisiana, two guys from Alaska, a guy from Banff, and a guy from France. They were all in their 20's and 30's and most were taking very long holidays, most starting in Canada, and some in Alaska. I don't know where they get the time. I was talking with the guy from Banff for a while (which has since replaced "Akron" as my preferred North American locale to shout in lieu of an expletive) who started in Banff and was heading to San Diego, after which he wasn't sure, and was thinking about biking to Florida. Where do they find the time?
I stayed up for a while chatting with the Alaskans then went to sleep, and I had a spoke to fix in the morning.
For the day:
Distance: ≈89 miles
(my computer got reset before I could get the rest. I would presume my average speed was 1 million miles an hour, and my mom says I'm the handsomest.)
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