A view from my backyard.
16 June 2007
14 March 2007
It's been a while
And I know it's been a while because Blogspot flagged my blog as SPAM and wants me to verify that I'm a somebody and not a robot programed to blog. What marvels--these inventions of the modern age.
So this post is an effort to prove them wrong.
And in case you're wondering, here's what my blog would look like if I were a robot:
01001000, 01100101, 01101100, 01101100, 01101111, 00101110, 00100000, 00100000, 01001101, 01111001, 00100000, 01101110, 01100001, 01101101, 01100101, 00100000, 01101001, 01110011, 00100000, 01001101, 01101001, 01101011, 01100101, 00101110, 00100000, 00100000, 01000001, 01101100, 01101100, 00100000, 01110100, 01101000, 01100101, 00100000, 01101100, 01100001, 01100100, 01101001, 01100101, 01110011, 00100000, 01101100, 01101111, 01110110, 01100101, 00100000, 01101101, 01100101, 00100000, 01100010, 01100101, 01100011, 01100001, 01110101, 01110011, 01100101, 00100000, 01001001, 00100000, 01100001, 01101101, 00100000, 01110011, 01101111, 00100000, 01100011, 01110010, 01100001, 01111010, 01111001, 00101101, 01110011, 01100101, 01111000, 01111001, 00101110
So this post is an effort to prove them wrong.
And in case you're wondering, here's what my blog would look like if I were a robot:
01001000, 01100101, 01101100, 01101100, 01101111, 00101110, 00100000, 00100000, 01001101, 01111001, 00100000, 01101110, 01100001, 01101101, 01100101, 00100000, 01101001, 01110011, 00100000, 01001101, 01101001, 01101011, 01100101, 00101110, 00100000, 00100000, 01000001, 01101100, 01101100, 00100000, 01110100, 01101000, 01100101, 00100000, 01101100, 01100001, 01100100, 01101001, 01100101, 01110011, 00100000, 01101100, 01101111, 01110110, 01100101, 00100000, 01101101, 01100101, 00100000, 01100010, 01100101, 01100011, 01100001, 01110101, 01110011, 01100101, 00100000, 01001001, 00100000, 01100001, 01101101, 00100000, 01110011, 01101111, 00100000, 01100011, 01110010, 01100001, 01111010, 01111001, 00101101, 01110011, 01100101, 01111000, 01111001, 00101110
09 October 2006
I made some pictures...
It's been a long couple of weeks, but I've been keeping myself busy working on a show with my dear friends at Serendipity Theatre Company. I made the video projections. It's called "Voices Underwater" and it just opened this weekend. It's a really pretty show that features the work of many of my more talented friends. So if you're in Chicago, you should check it out. If you want to see it but you are poor, drop me a line and I should be able to hook you up with a comp or 2-for-1 or some jazz.
(One more week until my jaw is unbroken. I'm going to eat the shit out of some solid food.)
(One more week until my jaw is unbroken. I'm going to eat the shit out of some solid food.)
22 September 2006
Photos
I've finally uploaded some photos. Looking back, I didn't take all that many snaps, as I was more often biking than balanced enough to take a picture. All the same, here's what I've got. I'm also hoping to scan the x-rays of my mandible for a later post. Here's a fancy flickr slideshow: (click on the large image for description)
20 September 2006
update (in case anyone is still reading this tripe)
Hello all or anyone. I took a week off to recover, but finally filled in the details of the last few days of my trip, and what a wonderful, rewarding, successful and above-all injury-free trip it was. As for my brief stay in L.A., I cannot say the same. I arrived on a Thursday evening and was looking forward to a couple days of leisure before flying back at the weekend. Friday afternoon, not even 24 hours after getting into town, fate saw to it that I should be safe on my bike, but not in the sea. While bogie boarding at an L.A. beach, an activity I've little experience with (and likely will not pursue further) I managed to get caught up in a healthy-sized wave near the shallows and landed chin-first against the ground or the board or something hard enough to break my jaw in three places. Yes, ouch. A six-hour visit to the emergency room left me in quite a bit of pain and ready to fly home on Saturday holding my jaw in place until I could get it wired shut on Monday. Crap, crap, crappity.
Anyhow, my jaw is now firmly fixed in place and will be for 4 to 6 weeks. Hot stuff. I'm still going to get around to posting some photos, but the codeine has made me quite lazy.
Anyhow, my jaw is now firmly fixed in place and will be for 4 to 6 weeks. Hot stuff. I'm still going to get around to posting some photos, but the codeine has made me quite lazy.
07 September 2006
Day nineteen - El Capitan SB to Los Angeles, CA
Hot Damn!
I started the morning at 8AM on the nose and got up to speed pretty quickly, assisted by some light tailwinds which blew through the misty morning. By 10AM I had gotten my first 30 miles and was on the opposite side of Santa Barbara where I stopped for coffee and some powerbars. Santa Barbara is lovely (so I imagine from only breezing through). I regret not having more time to spend here, or most anywhere really along the way, but it's necessity now that drives me and not tourism.
If I kept the current pace, I'd be good. Two hours on at 15 mph, then one hour off to rest. I was on pace to keep this up, when I hit Ventura and the road diverts and shuffles bicycles onto a city bike path. As a road cyclist, I sincerely hate bike paths. They tend to be poorly maintained, filled with people who ride too slow or even worse with rollerbladers. In fact, the only close calls I've had on this trip have occurred on bike paths and not roads. It's not uncommon to find sudden patches of loose gravel or sand under which bike tires love to slide. Anyway, it slowed me down a bit to be on this bike path, and then there was a huge gap in the path which I hit hard and got a flat. I was far enough into town that I was able to fill my tire and ride a mile to a bike shop, A) to get more tubes, as I had only one left (and I hate patching) and B) to save time by using their air pump. Despite the unexpected stop, I was still keeping my average speed, and resolved to just take a shorter break later on.
I was feeling good about getting to L.A. on time, enjoying the tailwind and the level flat road, and mostly a very nice view of the ocean. Most of southern California is beautiful, with the notable exception of the city of Oxnard. It is the ormolu rectum of the golden state. It's a little piece of New Jersey on the Pacific. Nothing bad happened to me there, and I didn't even stop there, but it just smelled bad and was ugly and the air blowing across it's sewage treatment plants and foundries literally left a bad taste in my mouth. I had to chew some gum. As an tangential note, throughout this trip I would always make sure to have a pack of gum, typically Orbit White, in my handlebar bag. When I was either tired or had a tough time of things I would chew a couple and referred to them as "awesome pills," chewing them when I needed a little boost of awesome, or alternately as celebratory "awesome pills" for having accomplished something that required a little awesome. I've spent a lot of time by myself, and may have gone a bit mad. Awesome.
Outside of Oxnard is Port Hueneme, is the Point Mugu Naval Air Station, a big chunk of government property that is gated off with ample signage indicating that it is U.S. property and not for me to use or enjoy. Along the highway, they have some fighter jets on display and there (on government property and presumably with permission) was a photo shoot set up with an old Cadillac convertible filled with bikini-clad boobie-girls. I'm glad that the rules for access to the premises can be excepted in the case of boobie-girls. God bless America. I couldn't figure out the tie-in, though of having an old convertible with the jet aircraft. I feel like it should be one or the other. Instead of voicing my conceptual doubts, I instead shouted, yes, "God Bless America!" cuing the boobie-girls to wave at me and blow kisses. I think they like me. I totally could have gotten some of that.
Past the air base, Route 1 clings to the coast for the next 15 miles with gorgeous views of the ocean on the right and the Santa Monica Mountains on the left. With a nice tailwind, I was made great time through this stretch and by 3:30 I was in L.A. county and only 30 miles outside of the city, and most of that 30 miles was the city of Malibu, which is nearly 30 miles of coastline. The last stretch of which was quite a nervous bit with four-lane, undivided, shoulderless traffic made up of manic city-drivers. But after a few miles of this and by 5:30 I found myself within the city limits of Los Angeles. Hot Damn. I doed it. I was able to get off of Pacific Coast Highway and get onto the L.A. bike path. While it was a bike path, I didn't mind being away from bat-shit crazy city drivers, and I had done it, so I could be leisurely and take my time. Found my way to Santa Monica pier, and cut inland to my friends Beau and Erick's place by 6:00PM. So my longest day at 115 miles was done, and well before sundown. Having psyched myself up for it, it was as if my previous 18 days were training for this last century plus ride.
For the Day:
Rolling Time: 7:46:03
Distance: 114.85 miles
Avg Speed: 14.78 mph
06 September 2006
Day eighteen - Pismo Beach,CA to El Capitan State Beach,CA
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
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
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
03 September 2006
Day fifteen: Capitola, CA to Monterey, CA
I slept so well, a welcomed relief from the constant waking and readjustment within the tent. Mike and Diane had already been awake for a while by the time I rolled downstairs around 8AM. Mike fixed us breakfast (he's a terrific cook) and we chatted a bit before we both set off in the direction of Monterey, me to continue my trek, and they to watch a tournament at Pebble Beach.
I had a short day today, but it felt surpisingly difficult to ride. I was rounding Monterey Bay so the wind was no longer at my back and was frequently strong and head on. I stopped quite a few times along the way at the many beaches and fruit/vegetable markets that are along the bay. There are a lot of artichoke fields out here. In fact, I went through Castroville which is the artichoke capitol of the world. Bet you didn't know that shit.
Rolled into Monterey around three and toured the fisherman's wharf and a few miles of the 17 mile drive. Then I found a coffeeshop with a computer to catch up on "the world of events," take care of some banking, blogging and such, but most importantly to catch up on my caffeine intake. Sweet Christ, but do I LOVE coffee.
Headed up to Veteran's Memorial Park which is at the top of a steep mile long climb in the center of Monterey. I found a grocery store and grabbed my supper and treated myself to a Sunday paper as I was in town early enough to read before sleeping. I grabbed the San Francisco Chronicle which has two Sunday crosswords! But both were pretty easy and I finished them in about an hour. I miss you Will Shortz.
It was really quite cold that night at the park and I had to duck into my tent to finish reading and stay warm. Some fellow camper was blaring music from his car stereo until a loud automated horn played taps to indicate the start of quiet hours at 10PM.
For the day:
Rolling time: 3:56:53
Distance: 46.12 miles
Avg speed: 11.68 mph
I had a short day today, but it felt surpisingly difficult to ride. I was rounding Monterey Bay so the wind was no longer at my back and was frequently strong and head on. I stopped quite a few times along the way at the many beaches and fruit/vegetable markets that are along the bay. There are a lot of artichoke fields out here. In fact, I went through Castroville which is the artichoke capitol of the world. Bet you didn't know that shit.
Rolled into Monterey around three and toured the fisherman's wharf and a few miles of the 17 mile drive. Then I found a coffeeshop with a computer to catch up on "the world of events," take care of some banking, blogging and such, but most importantly to catch up on my caffeine intake. Sweet Christ, but do I LOVE coffee.
Headed up to Veteran's Memorial Park which is at the top of a steep mile long climb in the center of Monterey. I found a grocery store and grabbed my supper and treated myself to a Sunday paper as I was in town early enough to read before sleeping. I grabbed the San Francisco Chronicle which has two Sunday crosswords! But both were pretty easy and I finished them in about an hour. I miss you Will Shortz.
It was really quite cold that night at the park and I had to duck into my tent to finish reading and stay warm. Some fellow camper was blaring music from his car stereo until a loud automated horn played taps to indicate the start of quiet hours at 10PM.
For the day:
Rolling time: 3:56:53
Distance: 46.12 miles
Avg speed: 11.68 mph
Day fourteen: San Francisco, CA to Capitola, CA
What a perfect day for riding. I got out of the motel by 9:15, after watching some cable news and drinking the motel coffee for an hour or so. The morning was foggy, but fair temperature wise, and I was afraid to deal with the hills that I had been walking on yesterday. So steep. I cut back up north to the bridge and went down the western side of the city, which had some hills, but nothing too bad, so that was a relief. And once I got out of the city, I only would have two pretty big hills for the rest of the day. One in Daly City, and then Devil's Slide. They were tough, but I felt rested and I swear the pancakes made a difference. I called my friend Joe to make plans and spoke with Kathy (I'm presuming it's with a "K," though I've never seen it spelled, I know you're reading it so you can let me know for sure) and made tentative plans to meet in Santa Cruz.
Once past the Devils Slide it flattened out, and good lord the tailwinds were amazing. I was cruising for most of the afternoon at over 20mph and it felt almost effortless. It was a long day, but just outside Davenport, I called Joe again and we planned to meet near Capitola (just on the other side of Santa Cruz, where my campsite would be). The plan was for me to set up camp, and then we'd head into town and grab dinner. Food is all I think about these days.
Got into Santa Cruz which is absolutely gorgeous. The natural bridges park along the coast is beautiful and I had to stop and watch the sun on the rocks and the water with pelicans floating in formation, held up by the wind which had driven me here. Then I followed West Cliff Drive for a long while to the boardwalk where they have an amusement park and endless attractions. I must come back and visit when I have more time. I got a little confused direction-wise around the harbor and some other cyclists gave me what must have been the scenic route around the harbor, but it added another 20 minutes to my trip to Capitola. Along the way, I got a call from Joe, suggesting that I not head straight to the campground, but instead meet him at the home of a friend who has a place in Capitola. Soon after, I was there, and it was such a welcomed surprise. Joe's friends Mike and Diane (though I think Mike prefers the Polish version of his name (and mine): Michal (imagine an oblique line through the "l") It's pronounced "MEE-how," and it's further proof that I need to respect my grandmother's wishes and find a good Polish girl who would sound like she's mewing like a cat everytime she speaks my name.
Mike designed and built his home in Capitola from scratch a number of years ago and there I was welcomed to Joe, Kathy, Diane, and Mike's cheering welcome. A hot shower later and I was treated to a fantastic meal. Turns out Joe caught them just in time at the store and they were able to prepare a meal for all of us. What a wonderful and totally unexpected treat. I hadn't had a homecooked meal in weeks. We chatted and caught up and had a wonderful time of it, followed by a walking tour of Capitola. There was a lot of activity in anticipation of the annual labor day bugonia festival, where people were creating floats for the next days parade. It smelled so wonderful.
It was great to see Joe and Kathy again, and I'm lucky to have caught them as they would be leaving shortly for a long sailing trip down the coast to Mexico. And Mike and Diane were so gracious as to put me up for the night. Many thanks to my terrific hosts.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:52:08
Distance: 92.16 miles
Avg speed: 13.41 mph
Once past the Devils Slide it flattened out, and good lord the tailwinds were amazing. I was cruising for most of the afternoon at over 20mph and it felt almost effortless. It was a long day, but just outside Davenport, I called Joe again and we planned to meet near Capitola (just on the other side of Santa Cruz, where my campsite would be). The plan was for me to set up camp, and then we'd head into town and grab dinner. Food is all I think about these days.
Got into Santa Cruz which is absolutely gorgeous. The natural bridges park along the coast is beautiful and I had to stop and watch the sun on the rocks and the water with pelicans floating in formation, held up by the wind which had driven me here. Then I followed West Cliff Drive for a long while to the boardwalk where they have an amusement park and endless attractions. I must come back and visit when I have more time. I got a little confused direction-wise around the harbor and some other cyclists gave me what must have been the scenic route around the harbor, but it added another 20 minutes to my trip to Capitola. Along the way, I got a call from Joe, suggesting that I not head straight to the campground, but instead meet him at the home of a friend who has a place in Capitola. Soon after, I was there, and it was such a welcomed surprise. Joe's friends Mike and Diane (though I think Mike prefers the Polish version of his name (and mine): Michal (imagine an oblique line through the "l") It's pronounced "MEE-how," and it's further proof that I need to respect my grandmother's wishes and find a good Polish girl who would sound like she's mewing like a cat everytime she speaks my name.
Mike designed and built his home in Capitola from scratch a number of years ago and there I was welcomed to Joe, Kathy, Diane, and Mike's cheering welcome. A hot shower later and I was treated to a fantastic meal. Turns out Joe caught them just in time at the store and they were able to prepare a meal for all of us. What a wonderful and totally unexpected treat. I hadn't had a homecooked meal in weeks. We chatted and caught up and had a wonderful time of it, followed by a walking tour of Capitola. There was a lot of activity in anticipation of the annual labor day bugonia festival, where people were creating floats for the next days parade. It smelled so wonderful.
It was great to see Joe and Kathy again, and I'm lucky to have caught them as they would be leaving shortly for a long sailing trip down the coast to Mexico. And Mike and Diane were so gracious as to put me up for the night. Many thanks to my terrific hosts.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:52:08
Distance: 92.16 miles
Avg speed: 13.41 mph
01 September 2006
Day thirteen - Samuel P Taylor State Park, CA to San Francisco, CA
I got rolling this morning after sleeping well, despite the external monologue of my new friend down the path. I rode without stopping to the bridge. Along the way I passed the two couples I met the previous evening, and waved my greetings. The roads down to Sausalito are quite confusing, and bikes aren't allowed on the major highways down there, so I was stopping frequently to check my map. At one point I was in or near a suburb called Lakspur and was trying to figure out my path when I saw four ladies cycling by and I asked for directions. They were heading the same way, so they told me to ride with them for a bit. They're all from the north side of the bay, and have been riding around the area together for some time, so they knew some sneaky routes that saved time and effort. Thanks ladies.
I climbed the steep hills of Sausalito that lead up to the bridge, which was lovely in the morning fog. I found myself on the southbound side of the bridge which I learned is closed to bikes and pedestrians until 3:30PM (due to wind?) and I had to take my bike down a long set of stairs, under the bridge and up a longer set of stairs to get to the northbound side's sidewalk. Son of a bitch that was awful, and probably the hardest part of my day. They need an elevator.
Crossing the bridge was fantastic and I stopped many times along the way to enjoy the view. I got across and made it into town by 11:30AM and tried to find a motel. There was no visitor's center near the bridge, and I was pointed to the visitor's center at the Presidio, where I met Ruth. I love Ruth. I was impatient and I felt like I had been misdirected to a Presidio-specific info booth, and wanted maps of the city and not just the Presidio. Ruth calmly and in a perfectly grandmotherly way told me that I didn't know it yet, but I will have all the answers I need. I love her. She did give me all the answers I needed. She even pointed me to the cheap motel district on Lombard street. Foxy grandma.
I stopped at the first place checked the rate. They wanted $130, which was more than I wanted to pay, and opted to shop around. The next place wanted only $75, so I assented, but when the gentleman behind the counter pointed to a sign saying that parking was limited and not guaranteed, I pointed to my bike. He then refused to let me stay there if I was to bring my bike in the room. Weird. He said it would mess up the carpets. Asshole. The next place wanted $90, but I talked her down to $80 and she was thrilled that I would be sharing the room with my bike. She even gave me the handicap accessible room so I didn't have to deal with the stairs. The designers of the Golden Gate bridge could learn a thing or two from this lady.
I got the room, showered and was out walking about within an hour. What a perfect day weather-wise. I got on the phone with Amberleigh and made plans to meet with her for dinner and had time to run around the city for the afternoon. My first goal was to find a Peet's coffee shop (the best coffee there is) and did so quickly and with great satisfaction. It was so nice to be on my feet instead of on wheels, and I must've walked about 5 or six miles all told. I started near the Presidio, and hoofed it along the wharf to pier 39 and got a sourdough baguette from Boudin (delicious) then went up to market street to Union Square and found the library at 8th and Market and checked my mail and blogged a bit in the 15 minute intervals that the library permitted. After 15 minutes you had to rejoin the queue, which never took very long. It was interesting though to see what people would do with their fifteen minutes while waiting. One guy was watching telenovellas via YouTube, and another older gentleman would load old black and white photos of pin-up girls and stare at them for maybe five minutes each. Good times.
Met up with Amberleigh and had coffee and then we met with Anna Maria and her step-brother Peter, with whom they were staying. He's the RA at a dorm for a University of Fine Arts. He keeps watch over the ballet students. Nice one. He knows the area well, and he took us to Japantown for sushi where we ate and drank so much and paid so little. I feel like we robbed them. Awesome. And the grilled squid was amazing. I'm still gearing up for some Tokyo Delve's once I hit L.A., so this was a nice tease.
He had to get back to his dorn by curfew though and to do a headcount, so Amberleigh and I hung out a bit longer, caught up and grabbed a late/early breakfast at IHOP. I love pancakes so much. It was a good day, but I wish I had more time to stay there, which can be said for so many of the places I've visited so far. Perhaps, I'll consider this a surveying mission for the next time I come out here to know at which places are worth spending time.
For the day: (half day)
Rolling time: 2:48:46
Distance: 31.18 miles
Avg speed: 11.08 mph
I climbed the steep hills of Sausalito that lead up to the bridge, which was lovely in the morning fog. I found myself on the southbound side of the bridge which I learned is closed to bikes and pedestrians until 3:30PM (due to wind?) and I had to take my bike down a long set of stairs, under the bridge and up a longer set of stairs to get to the northbound side's sidewalk. Son of a bitch that was awful, and probably the hardest part of my day. They need an elevator.
Crossing the bridge was fantastic and I stopped many times along the way to enjoy the view. I got across and made it into town by 11:30AM and tried to find a motel. There was no visitor's center near the bridge, and I was pointed to the visitor's center at the Presidio, where I met Ruth. I love Ruth. I was impatient and I felt like I had been misdirected to a Presidio-specific info booth, and wanted maps of the city and not just the Presidio. Ruth calmly and in a perfectly grandmotherly way told me that I didn't know it yet, but I will have all the answers I need. I love her. She did give me all the answers I needed. She even pointed me to the cheap motel district on Lombard street. Foxy grandma.
I stopped at the first place checked the rate. They wanted $130, which was more than I wanted to pay, and opted to shop around. The next place wanted only $75, so I assented, but when the gentleman behind the counter pointed to a sign saying that parking was limited and not guaranteed, I pointed to my bike. He then refused to let me stay there if I was to bring my bike in the room. Weird. He said it would mess up the carpets. Asshole. The next place wanted $90, but I talked her down to $80 and she was thrilled that I would be sharing the room with my bike. She even gave me the handicap accessible room so I didn't have to deal with the stairs. The designers of the Golden Gate bridge could learn a thing or two from this lady.
I got the room, showered and was out walking about within an hour. What a perfect day weather-wise. I got on the phone with Amberleigh and made plans to meet with her for dinner and had time to run around the city for the afternoon. My first goal was to find a Peet's coffee shop (the best coffee there is) and did so quickly and with great satisfaction. It was so nice to be on my feet instead of on wheels, and I must've walked about 5 or six miles all told. I started near the Presidio, and hoofed it along the wharf to pier 39 and got a sourdough baguette from Boudin (delicious) then went up to market street to Union Square and found the library at 8th and Market and checked my mail and blogged a bit in the 15 minute intervals that the library permitted. After 15 minutes you had to rejoin the queue, which never took very long. It was interesting though to see what people would do with their fifteen minutes while waiting. One guy was watching telenovellas via YouTube, and another older gentleman would load old black and white photos of pin-up girls and stare at them for maybe five minutes each. Good times.
Met up with Amberleigh and had coffee and then we met with Anna Maria and her step-brother Peter, with whom they were staying. He's the RA at a dorm for a University of Fine Arts. He keeps watch over the ballet students. Nice one. He knows the area well, and he took us to Japantown for sushi where we ate and drank so much and paid so little. I feel like we robbed them. Awesome. And the grilled squid was amazing. I'm still gearing up for some Tokyo Delve's once I hit L.A., so this was a nice tease.
He had to get back to his dorn by curfew though and to do a headcount, so Amberleigh and I hung out a bit longer, caught up and grabbed a late/early breakfast at IHOP. I love pancakes so much. It was a good day, but I wish I had more time to stay there, which can be said for so many of the places I've visited so far. Perhaps, I'll consider this a surveying mission for the next time I come out here to know at which places are worth spending time.
For the day: (half day)
Rolling time: 2:48:46
Distance: 31.18 miles
Avg speed: 11.08 mph
Day twelve - Salt Point State Park, CA to Samuel P Taylor State Park, CA
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
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
Day eleven - Cleone, CA to Salt Point State Park, CA
I stayed tucked in as long as I could this morning from such a cold night, but got out of my tent to find a pretty fair morning; and the sun was out despite my being close to the ocean. Things must be looking up.
I got rolling by 9:30 and went into the town of Fort Bragg for breakfast and to hit a bike shop. I saw a Denny's and was very tempted to stop there, but I wanted to get a taste of the local flavour, so I found the "Route 1 Restaurant" which had nothing but organic food and proud slogans slapped everywhere to back it up. I had some organic oatmeal with organically grown and dried raisins, and raw organic sugar. The was also organic. My only complaint about the place was that it was understaffed and it took a long time to get in and out.
Next to the bike shop. A great place (Ft. Bragg Cyclery, aptly enough). I needed a new pedal (pedals really, they're sold in pairs like shoes) as my last set had a plastic element which had given way under the power of my massive calves and amazing thighs. Also, they were cheap and poorly made. I got the new set (similar to the last pair, but with aluminum where the plastic had been on the last pair). They had a little workshop in the back for people to put on new parts and save the labour charge. It's a nice touch. I also finally got my tires up to a decent inflation using their fancy pump. My hand pump is hard to use and is really limitted in its output.
On the way out of town I hit a Safeway (they recognize my Dominic's card--so to them my name was also Aldo Mendoza) for some lunch/supper items and then hit the road for real by noon.
It was a beautiful day weather-wise, and scenery-wise. Sunny with a tailwind, and such great views of the coast. I would like to spend more time in southern Mendocino county when I get the chance, and have more time to enjoy it.
The day was good but long. I rolled into camp at 7:30 and was exhausted, but felt good knowing that I was only a day and half outside of San Francisco. I set up camp, ate, and started writing when I heard some raccoons who were interested in my bike. The campsites in California offer boxes for campers to put to their food, but all I had in my panniers were pre-wrapped powerbars and the like. I shooed them away, but I expect they'll be back. No bears to speak of yet, but as I said, I'm only a day and half outside of San Francisco.
For the day:
Rolling Time: 6:34:27
Distance: 86.70 miles
Avg speed: 13.18 mph
I got rolling by 9:30 and went into the town of Fort Bragg for breakfast and to hit a bike shop. I saw a Denny's and was very tempted to stop there, but I wanted to get a taste of the local flavour, so I found the "Route 1 Restaurant" which had nothing but organic food and proud slogans slapped everywhere to back it up. I had some organic oatmeal with organically grown and dried raisins, and raw organic sugar. The was also organic. My only complaint about the place was that it was understaffed and it took a long time to get in and out.
Next to the bike shop. A great place (Ft. Bragg Cyclery, aptly enough). I needed a new pedal (pedals really, they're sold in pairs like shoes) as my last set had a plastic element which had given way under the power of my massive calves and amazing thighs. Also, they were cheap and poorly made. I got the new set (similar to the last pair, but with aluminum where the plastic had been on the last pair). They had a little workshop in the back for people to put on new parts and save the labour charge. It's a nice touch. I also finally got my tires up to a decent inflation using their fancy pump. My hand pump is hard to use and is really limitted in its output.
On the way out of town I hit a Safeway (they recognize my Dominic's card--so to them my name was also Aldo Mendoza) for some lunch/supper items and then hit the road for real by noon.
It was a beautiful day weather-wise, and scenery-wise. Sunny with a tailwind, and such great views of the coast. I would like to spend more time in southern Mendocino county when I get the chance, and have more time to enjoy it.
The day was good but long. I rolled into camp at 7:30 and was exhausted, but felt good knowing that I was only a day and half outside of San Francisco. I set up camp, ate, and started writing when I heard some raccoons who were interested in my bike. The campsites in California offer boxes for campers to put to their food, but all I had in my panniers were pre-wrapped powerbars and the like. I shooed them away, but I expect they'll be back. No bears to speak of yet, but as I said, I'm only a day and half outside of San Francisco.
For the day:
Rolling Time: 6:34:27
Distance: 86.70 miles
Avg speed: 13.18 mph
Day ten - Myer's Flat, CA to Cleone, CA
Got up nice and early and out by 9AM. It had been warm last night and I could sleep with the fly off of my tent and see the stars. Very nice.
Rolled past Miranda, CA and into a town called Phillipsville, which had the most amazing little general store. It had terrific coffee and a nice old bearded man playing some 70's fusion jazz. I like these parts of California.
I left the redwoods and made my way to Leggett, the little town where U.S. 101 meets California's Rte. 1. And just past the town of Leggett is "Leggett Hill," which is the biggest "hill" on the coast climging to 2000 feet. I rested a while beforehand, and then pushed through it in about a half hour or so. It was quite a climb (over 4 miles in length) but it flattened at spells so it wasn't always that hard. The descent was amazing. I could really feel the difference the new tires made. I got up to 47 mph. Hot damn.
After the almost 6 mile downhill, I hit another pretty hearty climb, which I might have been harder than Leggett if only because I had put so much mental energy into the first "hill." I crawled up it and hit flat land, but had to race to get into my campsite by sundown. On the way, I went through a number of small towns, the most memorable of which was called Westport. There was one main center of business and culture which was the general store/ post office/ gas station. Outside there were a few locals driking "Mates" (which is coffee for hippies), and a group of guys playing various guitar instruments. One man I met had travelled on foot (his belongings in tow on a makeshift rickshaw sort of contraption) with his dog from Dallas, TX. He'd been on the road for over three years. Pretty crazy. I liked his spirit though.
Got to camp and endured a brutally cold night. I put on my jacket and zipped up my mummy bag all the way and only then could I get comfortable.
For the day:
Rolling Time: 6:57:53
Distance: 84.54 miles
Avg speed: 12.13 mph
Rolled past Miranda, CA and into a town called Phillipsville, which had the most amazing little general store. It had terrific coffee and a nice old bearded man playing some 70's fusion jazz. I like these parts of California.
I left the redwoods and made my way to Leggett, the little town where U.S. 101 meets California's Rte. 1. And just past the town of Leggett is "Leggett Hill," which is the biggest "hill" on the coast climging to 2000 feet. I rested a while beforehand, and then pushed through it in about a half hour or so. It was quite a climb (over 4 miles in length) but it flattened at spells so it wasn't always that hard. The descent was amazing. I could really feel the difference the new tires made. I got up to 47 mph. Hot damn.
After the almost 6 mile downhill, I hit another pretty hearty climb, which I might have been harder than Leggett if only because I had put so much mental energy into the first "hill." I crawled up it and hit flat land, but had to race to get into my campsite by sundown. On the way, I went through a number of small towns, the most memorable of which was called Westport. There was one main center of business and culture which was the general store/ post office/ gas station. Outside there were a few locals driking "Mates" (which is coffee for hippies), and a group of guys playing various guitar instruments. One man I met had travelled on foot (his belongings in tow on a makeshift rickshaw sort of contraption) with his dog from Dallas, TX. He'd been on the road for over three years. Pretty crazy. I liked his spirit though.
Got to camp and endured a brutally cold night. I put on my jacket and zipped up my mummy bag all the way and only then could I get comfortable.
For the day:
Rolling Time: 6:57:53
Distance: 84.54 miles
Avg speed: 12.13 mph
Day nine - Eureka, CA to Myer's Flat, CA
Slept in a bit this morning, at least as much as I could with a fully functioning lumber mill only a wood fence away. Bought coffee and limped up to the laundry room to warm up my clothes. Amazingly, once I got rolling again, my hell was fine. I'm somehow training my body against its pedestrian tendencies. Weird.
I found a bike shop in Eureka (pretty town by the way, lots of Victorian crap). I needed a new rear tire as the tread on my current one had been erased to nearly nothing and I was concerned that it might go. I had been running on hybrid tires, smooth in the middle for roads, but with some grip on the sides. I traded them in for some slicks, but slicks that are just as wide as my hybrid tires (700x32 for those out there geeky enought to know or care). I got them "to go" and planned on swaping them out later when I got to camp.
It remained cold and windy and damp by the coast and then as I went inland, it became gorgeous. In fact the weather was just about perfect right as I turned off U.S. 101 for "The Avenue of the Giants," a 32 mile stretch of scenic highway through the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Amazing.
Early on I ran into an Australian couple who were touring the entire coast, from Canada to Mexico. They rode with trailers (the first I'd seen so far, though they are quite popular with bike tourists according to online forums.) Nice folks.
Made it into camp after a leisurely ride down "the avenue" and set up camp among the redwoods. Changed out my tires adn gave them a test spin around the park. My bike felt so different without the extra 50lbs of panniers weighing her down, but I couldn't yet feel the difference of the slicks. I'm sure I'll notice tomorrow.
For the day:
Rolling time: 5:06:40
Distance: 62.62 miles
Avg speed: 12.25 mph
I found a bike shop in Eureka (pretty town by the way, lots of Victorian crap). I needed a new rear tire as the tread on my current one had been erased to nearly nothing and I was concerned that it might go. I had been running on hybrid tires, smooth in the middle for roads, but with some grip on the sides. I traded them in for some slicks, but slicks that are just as wide as my hybrid tires (700x32 for those out there geeky enought to know or care). I got them "to go" and planned on swaping them out later when I got to camp.
It remained cold and windy and damp by the coast and then as I went inland, it became gorgeous. In fact the weather was just about perfect right as I turned off U.S. 101 for "The Avenue of the Giants," a 32 mile stretch of scenic highway through the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Amazing.
Early on I ran into an Australian couple who were touring the entire coast, from Canada to Mexico. They rode with trailers (the first I'd seen so far, though they are quite popular with bike tourists according to online forums.) Nice folks.
Made it into camp after a leisurely ride down "the avenue" and set up camp among the redwoods. Changed out my tires adn gave them a test spin around the park. My bike felt so different without the extra 50lbs of panniers weighing her down, but I couldn't yet feel the difference of the slicks. I'm sure I'll notice tomorrow.
For the day:
Rolling time: 5:06:40
Distance: 62.62 miles
Avg speed: 12.25 mph
27 August 2006
Day Eight - Crescent City, CA to Eureka, CA
Got going early despite the late bed-time. I was treated to "Meet the Press" which was on at some weird Pacific time as I had some coffee and got ready to roll.
South of Crescent City are the "Crescent City Hills," which peak at over 1100 feet so I prefer to think of them as mountains. How midwest of me. They did however climb though the Del Norte Redwoods State Park which was stunning in the morning fog. Atop the third and final peak of the "hills" it had cleared up entirely and was warm and sunny, but as soon as I went down the back-side of the the hills, I descended into cold fog again. I stopped at a wayside to use the hot air dryers to warm up and dry my gloves. There a woman volunteered her opinion that I had "amazing thighs." I thanked her and wondered why everyone else always focuses on my amazing calves. I guess I don't always go around in the bike shorts. It's your loss.
Going inland a bit more, I hit the "Trees of Mystery," a roadside attraction which offers tours of the redwoods, a gift shop, and an enormous statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. As I pulled up there were some young children (maybe 8 years old), who were climing on Paul's feet and talking to him. They have some guy (presumably hidden behind the a curtain a la Oz) on a microphone who would talk to the kids. The loudspeaker was somewhere near Mr. Bunyan's mouth though his mouth didn't move. This didn't seem to bother anybody. Anyway, the kids would ask questions like "How old are you?" and "What do you do?" When Paul responded that he was a lumberjack, one of the children echoed back what he must have learned in school about ecology. He told Paul that lumberjacks were cutting down too many trees and how the earth was running out of oxygen as a result. Paul remained silent, instead letting the child's ostensibly embarrassed (but I'm sure inwardly proud)mother quiet her son's insurrection.
Past "Trees of Mystery," there was another short but steep climb, followed by a very long and gorgeous descent through the redwoods. This may have been my favourite moment on the trip thusfar. With little or no effort, I simply coasted at 8-10 mph for about 6 miles of amazing forest. Lovely.
Afterwards, I had to return to the coast, where it remained crappy and cold. To boot, I had to fight a terrible headwind. I toughed it out and those last 30 miles were probably the worst of the trip. So best and worst day.
Got into Eureka late and debated getting a motel, but went to the KOA as I had planned. What a crock that place is. I had to pay $20 for an afterthought of a campsite (the hiker/biker site was the ten feet of grass between the back of the camp office and teh 8ft wood fence that separated the KOA from a lumber mill. I was too tired to look elsewhere though and my heel (or my Achille's tendon, whatever) was killing me. I could barely walk up the stairs to the showers. I went through my options of what I could do or couldn't do if it wasn't marginally better by morning. I slept, and waited to see.
For the day:
Rolling time: 7:00:58
Distance: 81.43 miles
Avg speed: 11.6 mph
South of Crescent City are the "Crescent City Hills," which peak at over 1100 feet so I prefer to think of them as mountains. How midwest of me. They did however climb though the Del Norte Redwoods State Park which was stunning in the morning fog. Atop the third and final peak of the "hills" it had cleared up entirely and was warm and sunny, but as soon as I went down the back-side of the the hills, I descended into cold fog again. I stopped at a wayside to use the hot air dryers to warm up and dry my gloves. There a woman volunteered her opinion that I had "amazing thighs." I thanked her and wondered why everyone else always focuses on my amazing calves. I guess I don't always go around in the bike shorts. It's your loss.
Going inland a bit more, I hit the "Trees of Mystery," a roadside attraction which offers tours of the redwoods, a gift shop, and an enormous statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. As I pulled up there were some young children (maybe 8 years old), who were climing on Paul's feet and talking to him. They have some guy (presumably hidden behind the a curtain a la Oz) on a microphone who would talk to the kids. The loudspeaker was somewhere near Mr. Bunyan's mouth though his mouth didn't move. This didn't seem to bother anybody. Anyway, the kids would ask questions like "How old are you?" and "What do you do?" When Paul responded that he was a lumberjack, one of the children echoed back what he must have learned in school about ecology. He told Paul that lumberjacks were cutting down too many trees and how the earth was running out of oxygen as a result. Paul remained silent, instead letting the child's ostensibly embarrassed (but I'm sure inwardly proud)mother quiet her son's insurrection.
Past "Trees of Mystery," there was another short but steep climb, followed by a very long and gorgeous descent through the redwoods. This may have been my favourite moment on the trip thusfar. With little or no effort, I simply coasted at 8-10 mph for about 6 miles of amazing forest. Lovely.
Afterwards, I had to return to the coast, where it remained crappy and cold. To boot, I had to fight a terrible headwind. I toughed it out and those last 30 miles were probably the worst of the trip. So best and worst day.
Got into Eureka late and debated getting a motel, but went to the KOA as I had planned. What a crock that place is. I had to pay $20 for an afterthought of a campsite (the hiker/biker site was the ten feet of grass between the back of the camp office and teh 8ft wood fence that separated the KOA from a lumber mill. I was too tired to look elsewhere though and my heel (or my Achille's tendon, whatever) was killing me. I could barely walk up the stairs to the showers. I went through my options of what I could do or couldn't do if it wasn't marginally better by morning. I slept, and waited to see.
For the day:
Rolling time: 7:00:58
Distance: 81.43 miles
Avg speed: 11.6 mph
Day seven - Port Orford, OR to Crescent City, CA
Got up early and made coffee with my camp-stove. It has a fancy integrated French press option that works pretty well. Not pefect, but having something hot to drink in the morning makes a world of difference.
Once I hit the coast again and got away from the mountains I was greeted by the familiar cold and foggy weather that's been plaguing me this trip. I did laundry in Gold Beach and warmed up by the heat of Speed-Queen driers for a spell, but it stayed cold and damp all the way through Brookings (the southernmost town on the Oregon coast.) There I stopped at a restaurant for innumerable cups of coffee and a quick bite before heading into California. Just over the state line, it was still cold and misty, but at least there was a nice tailwind to me me along to Crescent City.
I promised myself that if I made it to Crescent City I'd get a motel and the first thing I saw was an Econolodge conveniently next to a supermarket and liquor store. I was golden. I checked in and showered and ran out to the store to get dinner and breakfast. Upon entering the supermarket, I was greeted to Wilson Phillips' "Hold On," which really picked up my spirits (and it may have to be my anthem for the rest of this journey--replacing Stan Bush's "You've Got the Touch", which had replaced Stan Bush's "Dare," which had replaced Stan Bush's "Never Surrender", which had replaced Stan Bush's "Fight to Survive." As a rule, if you need a good 80's "montage/you can do it" song you need look no further than Stan Bush. If you need an early 90's "montage/you can do it" song, I recommend Wilson Phillips. And so does Delilah. I've so very far digressed.
Got back to the motel with my supper of "French" bread, mustard and Jarlsburg cheese along with some Oregon microbrew. I stayed up way too late watching bad movies on the TV, the worst of which (and perhaps the worst I've ever seen) was called "Torque" from 2004. Imagine "The Fast and the Furious" on crotch-rockets with dialogue and acting lifted from professional wrestling, and edited like a music video. Yes. Awful. I also caught "The Hunt for Red October" and some informercials before falling asleep by 2AM. Not the best idea to stay up that late, but I'd been so starved of mindless media that I had to gorge for a while.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:29:01
Distance: 78.94 miles
Avg speed: 12.17 mph
Once I hit the coast again and got away from the mountains I was greeted by the familiar cold and foggy weather that's been plaguing me this trip. I did laundry in Gold Beach and warmed up by the heat of Speed-Queen driers for a spell, but it stayed cold and damp all the way through Brookings (the southernmost town on the Oregon coast.) There I stopped at a restaurant for innumerable cups of coffee and a quick bite before heading into California. Just over the state line, it was still cold and misty, but at least there was a nice tailwind to me me along to Crescent City.
I promised myself that if I made it to Crescent City I'd get a motel and the first thing I saw was an Econolodge conveniently next to a supermarket and liquor store. I was golden. I checked in and showered and ran out to the store to get dinner and breakfast. Upon entering the supermarket, I was greeted to Wilson Phillips' "Hold On," which really picked up my spirits (and it may have to be my anthem for the rest of this journey--replacing Stan Bush's "You've Got the Touch", which had replaced Stan Bush's "Dare," which had replaced Stan Bush's "Never Surrender", which had replaced Stan Bush's "Fight to Survive." As a rule, if you need a good 80's "montage/you can do it" song you need look no further than Stan Bush. If you need an early 90's "montage/you can do it" song, I recommend Wilson Phillips. And so does Delilah. I've so very far digressed.
Got back to the motel with my supper of "French" bread, mustard and Jarlsburg cheese along with some Oregon microbrew. I stayed up way too late watching bad movies on the TV, the worst of which (and perhaps the worst I've ever seen) was called "Torque" from 2004. Imagine "The Fast and the Furious" on crotch-rockets with dialogue and acting lifted from professional wrestling, and edited like a music video. Yes. Awful. I also caught "The Hunt for Red October" and some informercials before falling asleep by 2AM. Not the best idea to stay up that late, but I'd been so starved of mindless media that I had to gorge for a while.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:29:01
Distance: 78.94 miles
Avg speed: 12.17 mph
26 August 2006
Day six - Winchester Bay, OR to Port Orford, OR
So, as I left my campsite in the morning, I saw another couple leaving the site with their bikes, said hey, and continued to pack up my gear. About twenty miles later, I ran into the guy in North Bend, but he was alone. I didn't ask where his friend was, but talked for a bit with him before he rode on and I rested for a spell.
Just past North Bend there is a big climb and a ton of short but steep rolling hills on a stretch called "Seven Devils' Road," (though I think there were more than seven and each successive devil seemed to be more pissed at me.) It was especially tough because it was very foggy/misty and where I knew there would be an amazing overlook, I could see nothing but a wall of fog. Lots of work climbing for no pay-off. It's like Mother Nature's little prick tease.
So, up on 7 devils road, I ran into that guy again (whose name, I learned was John). It didn't stand out to me when I last spoke to him (though we were stopped at the time) how ill prepared he was for riding. He had on long pants and a sweatshirt, no helmet, and grocery-type panniers on his rack. He said that he and his "partner" (like he's a cop or something) were going to meet up in the next town because they rode at different paces. I thought it was weird, but whatever. After about of mile of riding with him, he nearly crashed when he lost all his bags on a bump. I asked if he needed help, but he said to keep riding so I did. A bit later, my chain slipped and I stopped for a bit and he caught up and we rode together again for a while. Not long after that we pass a property with barking dogs and a gate to keep them in. I notice a largish dog (turns out it was a pit-bull, er Staffordshire Terrier) cut through some trees and around the gate and so I book it and tell John to do the same. But he didn't know what was happening and ended up getting bitten on the leg and losing his bags again. Lucky for him, as soon as he stopped, the dog turned back to go home. I stopped just up the road and brandished the only weapon I had which was my bike lock. I stuck around to help him out for a spell and we ride on. Later up the road at an intersection, we found his "partner" who was a woman who looked like she was wearing a costume: boots up to the knees over tights, a turtleneck, down vest and rainbow suspenders. Strange, especially for the touring cyclist. I found out that he was from NYC and she was from San Francisco. I didn't get much of the details of their relationship (partnership?) other than that they had planned to meet up in Seattle and then bike from Astoria, OR to Arcata, CA. I presume it was some sort of weird craigslist hook-up.
Just past Port Orford, I camped at Humbug Mountain State Park and met a guy named Tory who was biking down to San Diego. He's just finishing school in Olympia and he's studying audio, so we hit it off nicely. We stayed up chatting and he said he's talking about visiting Chicago next spring, so I told him to drop me line if he does. In hindsight, I should have extended that offer to Dusty and Frannie while I was at it.
It was finally a warm(ish)evening and it was comforting to hear critters running around in the woods as I slept, save for the posted warning at the registration booth that the last bear sighting occurred only 5 days before. I saw Grizzly Man. All I have to do is touch a bear's poop and we'll be lifelong friends.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:42:09
Distance: 83.77 miles
Avg speed: 12.49 mph
Just past North Bend there is a big climb and a ton of short but steep rolling hills on a stretch called "Seven Devils' Road," (though I think there were more than seven and each successive devil seemed to be more pissed at me.) It was especially tough because it was very foggy/misty and where I knew there would be an amazing overlook, I could see nothing but a wall of fog. Lots of work climbing for no pay-off. It's like Mother Nature's little prick tease.
So, up on 7 devils road, I ran into that guy again (whose name, I learned was John). It didn't stand out to me when I last spoke to him (though we were stopped at the time) how ill prepared he was for riding. He had on long pants and a sweatshirt, no helmet, and grocery-type panniers on his rack. He said that he and his "partner" (like he's a cop or something) were going to meet up in the next town because they rode at different paces. I thought it was weird, but whatever. After about of mile of riding with him, he nearly crashed when he lost all his bags on a bump. I asked if he needed help, but he said to keep riding so I did. A bit later, my chain slipped and I stopped for a bit and he caught up and we rode together again for a while. Not long after that we pass a property with barking dogs and a gate to keep them in. I notice a largish dog (turns out it was a pit-bull, er Staffordshire Terrier) cut through some trees and around the gate and so I book it and tell John to do the same. But he didn't know what was happening and ended up getting bitten on the leg and losing his bags again. Lucky for him, as soon as he stopped, the dog turned back to go home. I stopped just up the road and brandished the only weapon I had which was my bike lock. I stuck around to help him out for a spell and we ride on. Later up the road at an intersection, we found his "partner" who was a woman who looked like she was wearing a costume: boots up to the knees over tights, a turtleneck, down vest and rainbow suspenders. Strange, especially for the touring cyclist. I found out that he was from NYC and she was from San Francisco. I didn't get much of the details of their relationship (partnership?) other than that they had planned to meet up in Seattle and then bike from Astoria, OR to Arcata, CA. I presume it was some sort of weird craigslist hook-up.
Just past Port Orford, I camped at Humbug Mountain State Park and met a guy named Tory who was biking down to San Diego. He's just finishing school in Olympia and he's studying audio, so we hit it off nicely. We stayed up chatting and he said he's talking about visiting Chicago next spring, so I told him to drop me line if he does. In hindsight, I should have extended that offer to Dusty and Frannie while I was at it.
It was finally a warm(ish)evening and it was comforting to hear critters running around in the woods as I slept, save for the posted warning at the registration booth that the last bear sighting occurred only 5 days before. I saw Grizzly Man. All I have to do is touch a bear's poop and we'll be lifelong friends.
For the day:
Rolling time: 6:42:09
Distance: 83.77 miles
Avg speed: 12.49 mph
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