Those bastards. The only food I had was wrapped in their original packaging and (I thought) should have been free of scavenger-attracting odors and zipped up in my bags, but those beastly raccoons actually manipulated (claw-nipulated?) the zippers on my panniers and stole my Clif bars and some instant oatmeal packages. No big loss, but I'm no longer shedding tears over their dead cousins that I pass on the shoulder of the road many times a day.
I rolled out slow this morning and remained rolling slow for a while. Do pardon me while I wax excretory, but it's one thing to bike when one needs to urinate. It happens all the time, especially when one is constantly drinking water from a three liter reservoir strapped on one's back. But when there are "other matters to attend to" it is impossible to cycle efficiently. With few other options with in the first 15 miles, I had to tough it out and labour through the rolling hills. Not just rolling hills, but what other cyclists referred to as the "California corners," a seemingly endless series of rapid, winding descents into a cove along the coast that sweep around a tight corner (180 degrees of more) at the bottom and right into a not-so-rapid, winding ascent. What sucks most about the "California corners" is that at the bottom, the corner is so tight that you have to brake hard and you lose most of your downhill momentum which would have given you an edge on starting the climb. Suck ass. After a lot of this, I hit the town of Jenner and found a restroom in the "welcome center." I can only imagine that I left it a little less welcoming after my visit.
From there it was relatively smooth, despite a dozen or more corners to deal with, and I made it to Bodega Bay, which my friend Kat reminded me was where Hitchcock shot "the Birds." The visitor's center was lousy with memorabilia and stuffed birds. Lovely. I did my laundry, and took it easy for a while.
Rolling again, Route 1 cuts inland into rolling hills across the [dry] grassy plains of southern Sonoma/northern Marin counties. It was fine for a while until I turned to the southwest and faced a brutal headwind. After an hour or more of this I could only imagine what Samuel L. Jackson would say (emphasis added): "That is IT! I have HAD IT, with these MOTHERFUCKIN' HEADWINDS, across these MOTHERFUCKIN' PLAINS!" Incidentally, I feel like at random moments of despair along this trip, I've channeled Samuel L. Jackson in my internal dialogue. At another stop for instance, I could not find my bag of trail mix, and all I could say (to nobody, again empahsis added) was: "I am going to ask you ONE MORE time, where in the HELL is my MOTHERFUCKIN' SNACK MIX?!" In defence of one who thinks this is an over-reaction, I wasn't just looking for any trail mix, I was looking for one of many bags I'd consumed along this trip of King Henry's brand Aloha Trail Mix. Dried pineapples, mangos, raisins, peanuts, coconut flakes, banana chips, peanuts and almonds in just the right proportion. I haven't seen Kind Henry in Chicago. I think it must be a Pacific northwest thing, but I'm certain that you can also find it in every decorative candy dish on every cocktail table in heaven. So good.
The headwinds calmed down by as Route 1 hugged the Tomales Bay. I stopped for supper in a town called Marshall at the general store/restaurant and enjoyed some great coffee and some baked brie. Nice place. They were playing some great be-bop courtesy of satellite radio.
From there it was only 15 miles to Samuel P. Taylor State Park, which would bring me to only 26 miles outside of San Francisco. The hiker biker site was close to full, and I found one of two spots left. I met my neighbor, who looked like he would have gotten along quite well with Frannie and Dusty. I quickly invented a reason to move to the other site. (It's a good thing too, as even from a distance, I could hear him talking loudly in his sleep. I didn't get a full story from it, but I'm sure what I heard were the excerpts he would have put on the jacket liner.) Up and away from him, I met some other riders: Bob and Rita, a retired couple from the Seattle area, and Harold and Cynthia, a younger couple from Oregon. They weren't riding together per se, but they had camped by chance, at the last few campsites together and both couples were ending their respective tours in SF the next day.
I'm looking forward to being in city tomorrow, if only for a day. I think I'm going to cash in that "extra day" that I earned and spend the night in a motel in the city if I can find one on the cheap. It's a holiday weekend so who knows. My friend Amberleigh from Brooklyn, and her former roommate Anna Maria, who now lives in Chicago are meeting in San Francisco for the holiday. I'm hoping I can meet up with them for a spell. I've no cell service right now though, so we'll have to see. Also, some friends of the family (what my family has friends?) Joe and Kathy live in Palo Alto, and I'm hoping to meet up with them sometime along the way. Curse you T-Mobile and your lack of reception in the redwoods. To sleep.
For the day:
Rolling time: 5:22:31
Distance: 67.17 miles
Avg speed: 12.49 mph
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