I got up before most of the others and packed up camp quickly and quietly. I then set to the task of repairing the spoke, which I was now able to inspect in the light. Again it wasn't the drive side, so I was able to replace it. By the time I left, most of the others had gotten up and I said my farewells. Again it was quite foggy, but not so cold, but I did want to get a cup of coffee to start the day off. Pedalling seemed harder than usual, and it wasn't until I had gone about ten miles to a gas station (sadly the source of my first cup of the day some days) I noticed that my back wheel was terribly warped, and that with each revolution of the wheel I was making contact with the brake pads for about 1/8 of the revolution. This explained the difficulty pedaling and displayed my limited knowledge of replacing spokes. I had tightened the new spoke or spokes too much and thrown the whole wheel out of whack. So for the next half hour I sat outside with my gas station coffee (made only slightly better by the grace of some International Delights® French Vanilla creamer) and [sort of] trued the wheel. By the time I was done it still had a little wiggle in it, but it was almost straight and most importantly it was off the brake pads. I rule.
The route cut inland to a town called Guadeloupe, a quaint little farming town which seemed strangely bright and cheerful. I don't know why, but I always get a sort of desperate, hopelessness when I'm out in farm fields, even when just driving or riding by. It's something about the seemingly endless expanse of low, often dusty land and the sense that the work, the honest sweat-evoking work, is unending each season as the seasons are unending. In my imagination, Sisyphus drives a John Deere. Anyway, Guadeloupe and it's surrounding fields seemed for some reason less dreary to me despite it's agrarian nature. Perhaps it was merely an effect of having been along the foggy coast for so long, that the sun and warmth along with their associated colours now that I was inland picked me up a bit. And it finally was really warm, maybe even hot. I was officially in southern California. I stopped along the road and changed into my sleeveless journey as a desperate last measure to counteract 17 days of a short-sleeve tan line.
Today I would encounter my two last big climbs for the trip, both nearly 1000 feet, but both also very long climbs. The first was stretched out over 4 miles, and pretty gradual, but still quite steep at times. Just over the first climb I descended into the town of Lompoc, a flat, but wide town with tons of grocery stores and restaurants and car dealerships. I stopped at a supermarket and stocked up on food for the day/evening. There I met an older gentleman who struck up a conversation with me as I ate some rice cakes outside the market. He introduced himself with his full name, a series of three or four Spanish names pronounced with the added flourish of his native accent that sounded more like a song than a formal address, after which he winked and told me I could call him Frank. We talked initially about biking and directions, as I've found people LOVE to volunteer directions, which is nice, but typically unnecessary. He then went into talking about his faith and then politics. He was a proper Christian and a proper Republican, that is to say he's a Christian who doesn't compromise his want for peace, Republican that is upset with the current administration's irresponsible handling of the economy. I only wish there were more like him. He seemed to be something of a local celebrity, having worked behind the scenes in local and state politics for decades (he bragged that he had once driven Ronald Reagan to an event in his now aging Lincoln Continental) and as we stood outside talking he seemed to know everyone going in and out of the store. He also knew all the names of the young workers at the supermarket explaining to me how he wants to know them and talk to them because if they don't have his good influence they'll get in trouble and start smoking. Frank is a treasure.
Outside of Lompoc, was the next and last big hill of my trip. Again nearly 1000 ft. climb, but over 13 miles, so while I knew I was going uphill, it was so gradual, that I could still get a bit of speed going up and I wasn't wiped out by the time I got to the top. Before I got to the top however I got my second flat of the trip. It was my front tire, which is easier to fix, and I'm pretty good at changing tubes at this point so I repaired the flat, casually enjoyed an apple, and was rolling again in under 15 minutes. Sadly with the last big climb of the trip, I met what would be my last long fast downhill of the trip. Unlike the climb, the descent was much more steep and it always feels good to go 40 mph with no effort.
After the downhill, I took the last 11 miles to my campsite. It wasn't too late, maybe 6:00 and I had enough energy to go a bit further, but I was only about 15 outside of Santa Barbara at this point and the next campsite wouldn't be until another 10 miles past, so I had little choice but to stop. It would mean that I would have a very long tomorrow (110 miles) if I wanted to get into L.A. that night. I was getting nervous as to whether I could get there in time, especially considering my ordeal of biking in a panicked darkness two nights ago. I called Beau that night asking all manner of paranoid questions as to where the street-lights began leading into L.A. I planned on getting up early so as not to find myself in a spot the next day. If worst came to worst, there was a campground 30 miles outside of L.A. where I could stay giving me a short last day, but the promise of a proper bed and hot meal and many beers would be worth a longer ride.
For the Day:
Rolling Time: 6:12:47
Distance: 79.48 miles
Avg Speed: 12.47 mph
06 September 2006
Day seventeen - Gorda,CA to Pismo Beach,CA
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.)
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.)
Day sixteen - Monterey,CA to Gorda,CA
The same automated horn also plays reveille at 7:00AM, which uncoincidentally is when I woke up. It seeed much warmer in the morning than the previous night, and I was able to get going quickly, and out by 8:15.
It was slowgoing throughout the first part of the day, and after just a few small hills I was properly exhausted. I have sort of a warm-up time during which I get reacclimated to the activity, but it could also have to do with the time it takes for my body to absorb breakfast. I'm going to try to eat first thing tomorrow to test theories of mine.
Made it to Carmel by the Sea and did my shopping for the day at a Safeway supermarket that had just opened three days ago. Everything was so sparkling and new, even the employees who all seemed rather "gruntled." There I met a couple from Washington state who were riding a tandem from San Francisco down to Big Sur. It's hard to imagine that I'd ever want to ride tandem with anyone for that long of a time, nor would anyone want to ride tandem with me as I would insist on steering and all the soy protein in the Clif bars tend to make me gassy.
Leaving Carmel I was informed of what my day would be like in the form of a road sign that indicates winding roads with the added note: "next 74 miles." But what a stunning 74 miles they were (though I only saw 60 or so of them today). There were many climbs along sheer cliffs but with a turnout or vista point every 1/4 mile or so, I had plenty to look at and frequent chances to take a quick break and appreciate them.
Throughout the day, I kept running into a family from Quebec--mother, father and their teenaged daughter--who were driving, but stopping frequently while the father would take photos with a very fancy camera. We met at one vista point and talked a bit and he snapped a shot or two of me and told me he'd email them to me when he got back home. Their frequent stops meant that we'd play leapfrog and pass each other over and over again. After quite a few times it was apparent that the other two were beginning to get frustrated with the father's want for more photos in that the next time I saw them, the daughter was driving and the father was in the backseat with the window down and camera in hand soa as not to miss a shot despite the mutiny.
I stopped for lunch at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. I sat and rested for a while when a guy started talking with me about biking and asked where I was headed. As I'm asked this question frequently, I tend to answer on the side of humility with my destination for that particular day instead of saying "L.A." So I tell the guy that I'm going down to Plasket Creek (just outside of Gorda) and he goes on to talk abou how he's done the ride down there dozens of times. He asks about the rest of my trip and then describes how he has biked cross-country twice, and not in the way one would add to a conversation or contribute in solidarity with a fellow biker, but clearly so as to out-do me. Mind you, he was not cycling at the time, but was driving in a rented convertable. Then he asks me how many miles I cover each day and I tell him that I average about 75 miles (which really is on the high end of a comfortable tour, and I would prefer it to be less, but haven't the time.) He then bragged about how he averaged about 90-100 miles a day. To this I almost called him out on being either a bullshitter or an asshole if not both, and refrained from asking him: "So do you have to keep the seat on your bike really high to prevent your enormous dick from getting caught in the chain?" I think he's just one of those people.
After a lovely afternoon of biking, I got into my camp around 5:30 which gave me plenty of time to relax before it got dark. Unfortunately , this campsite didn't have showers so I had to splash cold soapy water on myself to wash up. This combined with the fact that it was well shaded left me feeling pretty cold. Fortunately, it was only a short walk to a nearby beach, so I headed over to the coast where the sun could keep me warm, and I could read until sunset. It was still kind of cool with the ocean breeze, but I found a seat with my back against a rocky cliff which had spent the day absorbing the sun's heat and it felt so good to lean against something so warm. The view of the rocky sea and pelicans, and the sounds and smell of the sea were all quite distracting and kept me from reading; so I just sat there staring and listening until the sun went down behind some low clouds on the horizon.
Walking back to camp, the fog had already formed among the mountains and was glwing a pinkish orange as it was high enough to still be hit by the sun. It was lovely.
For the day:
Rolling time: 5:14:25
Distance: 66.82 miles
Avg speed: 12.75 mph
It was slowgoing throughout the first part of the day, and after just a few small hills I was properly exhausted. I have sort of a warm-up time during which I get reacclimated to the activity, but it could also have to do with the time it takes for my body to absorb breakfast. I'm going to try to eat first thing tomorrow to test theories of mine.
Made it to Carmel by the Sea and did my shopping for the day at a Safeway supermarket that had just opened three days ago. Everything was so sparkling and new, even the employees who all seemed rather "gruntled." There I met a couple from Washington state who were riding a tandem from San Francisco down to Big Sur. It's hard to imagine that I'd ever want to ride tandem with anyone for that long of a time, nor would anyone want to ride tandem with me as I would insist on steering and all the soy protein in the Clif bars tend to make me gassy.
Leaving Carmel I was informed of what my day would be like in the form of a road sign that indicates winding roads with the added note: "next 74 miles." But what a stunning 74 miles they were (though I only saw 60 or so of them today). There were many climbs along sheer cliffs but with a turnout or vista point every 1/4 mile or so, I had plenty to look at and frequent chances to take a quick break and appreciate them.
Throughout the day, I kept running into a family from Quebec--mother, father and their teenaged daughter--who were driving, but stopping frequently while the father would take photos with a very fancy camera. We met at one vista point and talked a bit and he snapped a shot or two of me and told me he'd email them to me when he got back home. Their frequent stops meant that we'd play leapfrog and pass each other over and over again. After quite a few times it was apparent that the other two were beginning to get frustrated with the father's want for more photos in that the next time I saw them, the daughter was driving and the father was in the backseat with the window down and camera in hand soa as not to miss a shot despite the mutiny.
I stopped for lunch at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. I sat and rested for a while when a guy started talking with me about biking and asked where I was headed. As I'm asked this question frequently, I tend to answer on the side of humility with my destination for that particular day instead of saying "L.A." So I tell the guy that I'm going down to Plasket Creek (just outside of Gorda) and he goes on to talk abou how he's done the ride down there dozens of times. He asks about the rest of my trip and then describes how he has biked cross-country twice, and not in the way one would add to a conversation or contribute in solidarity with a fellow biker, but clearly so as to out-do me. Mind you, he was not cycling at the time, but was driving in a rented convertable. Then he asks me how many miles I cover each day and I tell him that I average about 75 miles (which really is on the high end of a comfortable tour, and I would prefer it to be less, but haven't the time.) He then bragged about how he averaged about 90-100 miles a day. To this I almost called him out on being either a bullshitter or an asshole if not both, and refrained from asking him: "So do you have to keep the seat on your bike really high to prevent your enormous dick from getting caught in the chain?" I think he's just one of those people.
After a lovely afternoon of biking, I got into my camp around 5:30 which gave me plenty of time to relax before it got dark. Unfortunately , this campsite didn't have showers so I had to splash cold soapy water on myself to wash up. This combined with the fact that it was well shaded left me feeling pretty cold. Fortunately, it was only a short walk to a nearby beach, so I headed over to the coast where the sun could keep me warm, and I could read until sunset. It was still kind of cool with the ocean breeze, but I found a seat with my back against a rocky cliff which had spent the day absorbing the sun's heat and it felt so good to lean against something so warm. The view of the rocky sea and pelicans, and the sounds and smell of the sea were all quite distracting and kept me from reading; so I just sat there staring and listening until the sun went down behind some low clouds on the horizon.
Walking back to camp, the fog had already formed among the mountains and was glwing a pinkish orange as it was high enough to still be hit by the sun. It was lovely.
For the day:
Rolling time: 5:14:25
Distance: 66.82 miles
Avg speed: 12.75 mph
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