resistmuch.com

This is beyond words

Anyone who comes to this page probably already knows via other sources, and I thank everyone for their kind words on Facebook and elsewhere.  Leonard passed on Saturday night after a long, happy, and bizarre life.  He was a good boy and I miss him.

I took advantage of the metropolis and hotel last night, stocking up at the very groovy new New Leaf Community Market (the co-op was way too far) in Santa Cruz.  Tons of vegan goodness and all in my tummy now.

Checking the news and weather sites was less heartening.  The major Pacific storm is supposed to bring up to 6 inches of rain and winds up and above 60 mph on the peaks.  I am hoping that it will blow over and let me ride again.  The rain isn’t the biggest problem though.  I am approaching the Big Sur portion of highway 1 and it is prone to slides and closures, especially after a bunch of rain at once.  It doesn’t look so good but I have had 11 nice days and there were only a few left.  I am only a 2 hour drive from my sister, so we are holding.

I am trying to keep my road mentality and not get too civilized, but it’s tough.  The urge to eat every calorie available is tough to break, even after as short a tour as mine.  As Phoenix over on sdbikecommuter.com said, you get “in it”– a bike touring mentality where your head is in a place that makes the road and your routine the only thing there is.  Getting it going again might be hard, I don’t know.

I’ve been thinking a lot about being “in it” and hopefully it hasn’t all leaked out while I dwell in comfort.  The first thing that I wanted to put down were my morning feelings.  That is the hardest time of day for me, and I suspect, for most bike tourers.  First is the chore of getting your gear organized and re-packed and getting underway.  I try to get as much of that done at night was possible, but you tend to be pretty blown and the time for bed just comes and you don’t argue.  By far the hardest part is the beginning miles, especially if their is any climbing.  Unless your everyday life is pretty intense, I doubt most of us are used to pedalling a heavy loaded bike day-after-day with no rest days.  The aches come, for me, mostly in the knees.  I”m sure it is just use soreness, but it still makes mornings a toil.

So as you pedal with soreness in the morning, doubts hit.  All thoughts of stopping that I’ve had have come during this period.  I just think of that time, later in the day, when everything starts to feel better again, and the mileage countdown gets close to camp and a meal.  That is what happens when you are “in it.”  At those times, and when I’m snug in my bag at night, I want to keep doing this as long as I can.

Another element is the fear of reaching the goal and not knowing what to do.  Some people, like Scott over at Powercycle.net, have allayed this by going of on a life’s journey.  My sister asked if this would be a bummer for me if I had to pull the plug now and come home.  I don’t know, this is my first little tour.  I do know, however, that I am not at all averse to planning the next one as a longer pull, especially with the minor knowledge that I’ve acquired so far.

I don’t want to get too philosophical about a potential journey’s end right now, though, because I don’t want to think that way unless it is over for sure.  Right now, it is awfully shitty up here– the power has been off most of the morning, but I have the resources to wait things out if that is what I decide.

The other thing is not taking all this too seriously.  I went to the laundromat this morning and Santa Cruz’s permanent “camping” population was there in numbers.  Those guys are living this type of life and they aren’t riding the storm out in a hotel.  This is just a game for me.  When I stop, I can walk into a store and buy what I want.  If I want to quit, I can call my sister a few minutes south, and she’ll come get me.  So while it has been quite an experience during my brief time out, it really is just a self-created game, no matter what reality my mind creates.  With that in mind, whatever happens, I am happy with the fun I’ve had.  If I find myself getting too serious about it, hopefully I will remember that and the guys in the laundromat.

All that said, I’m going to head out and find a really big burrito and hope for a big break in the weather.

Gene and I rolled up and got out of camp fairly early.  My morning is more complicated than his as I have to roll up a full tent, sleeping bag, tent footprint, and sleeping pad and pack them carefully in my panniers.  He just rolls up his tube shelter and puts a couple things in trash bags.  Because we knew that there were no services for the first 30 miles, against routine, we had breakfast before miles in HMB– dry toast, the same crappy Smucker’s tubs, and potatoes again.  Gene was surprised that I could ride after such a “small” breakfast, but for me, this is huge compared to my usual bowl of grains in the a.m.  I really would rather not feel full while I ride.  I actually don’t like the feeling at any time anymore which probably has a lot to do with why I don’t drink beer anymore.  Eating a big breakfast after 20 uphill miles is different, though.  It seems to burn as you eat it and isn’t a problem.

We’ve known all along that a major Pacific storm is on the way and is supposed to hit tonight (Monday) so the goal is to make it to Santa Cruz and stage in a hotel room.  The elevation profile for this part of the coast is fairly mellow and the miles are in the 40s or 50s, so it shouldn’t be too gnarly.  What we didn’t expect was the massive headwinds.  And massive sidewinds.  It felt like uphill riding even during minor descents.  At 20 to 25 miles per hour, I felt like I was being pushed back up the hill and with some effort, I could have track standed right on the slope facing down.  As we got somewhat close to Santa Cruz, the coastal riding became hillier, as headlands necessitated climbing.  When they turned to sidewinds, however, the shit got scary.  At some point, the winds rose above 20-25 and we were being pelted with sand and blown off the shoulder and into the road.  At some points, we had to walk.  On the beach, the swell was clearly rising as this storm was the remnants of a monsoon in Japan.  About 15 miles north of Santa Cruz and the first available lodging, the winds rose some more and the sky darkened, creating a real Wizard of Oz situation.  Gene and I discussed what we could do, but in no way, did it appear that we could make town before the real storm hit.

I half-heartedly tried to thumb down a few trucks without success.  Gene was stuck on principle and didn’t want a ride no matter what.  It didn’t look like anyone would stop.  The closer you are to civilization, the less helpful the populalace (oh FSM how I hate them) are.  We were pedalling for it.  I stopped and waited while Gene secured all of his stuff inside his panniers and in plastic bags.  We started riding again.

The little town of Davenport, the first services on the route was just ahead.  We had been planning on a stop there for sustenance and I thought we might find shelter or a ride there.  Just outside, I stopped to make sure that my panniers were secured against rain.  My bike fell over (I don’t use a kickstand) and when I got it upright, Gene was well ahead, pushing along.  Shortly thereafter, I got to Davenport, a one corner town with a store and some kind of tour bus stop.  I looked ahead and Gene was still pushing.  I briefly stopped at the store to explore possibilities but it was less than a minute and I didn’t buy anything.  When I looked ahead, dude was gone.  If you’ve read the road rage incident earlier in this account, you know that this is the second time.  A bunch of people have asked me about him bailing when a guy threatened to attack me (partially based on Gene’s actions as well) and I declined to comment, giving him the benefit of the doubt.  So this is twice.  I’m still not going to say anything about it because I don’t really want to shift to the negative right now but seriously–twice.

Seeing that getting a ride was unlikely, I pushed it.  It turned out that whatever disturbance that we had hit north of Santa Cruz was something before the main force hit and there was a relative calm before the storm.  Still, the next 10 miles into town were extremely tough, probably among the hardest of the trip.  It was still calm when I arrived in town and found a hotel, where I was very relieved and checked in to wait out the storm.

I only took two pictures, both of Pigeon Point Lighthouse.

Here is the somewhat incomplete (user error again) track: