resistmuch.com

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:

I’m writing this during a power outage in a hotel in Santa Cruz.  Things have changed but I will try to keep this as in the moment that it refers to as possible.

From what I remember (as everyone else who has done this thing has already noted, things blur very rapidly,) this was a pretty routine morning.  I put my scattered gear back together in my bombed out room and waited for Gene to meet me at the appointed 7:30.  As I later realized, Gene really needs me for the route through the city.  We take off through Marin, mostly along well appointed bike paths and routes.  Bikes are everywhere.  An interesting thing about this part of the Bay Area is that even the spandexed roadies are mostly on cool steel bikes.  Not sure why, but part of it is probably that so many of the craftsmen who make them are here, the birthplace of the mountain bike.  Also, even though the roads are very bike-friendly, they can be bumpy, so maybe they just train on more durable steel.  Numerous organized rides pass us, one with three support vehicles in tow.  Wow.

Going through civilization is still somewhat of a sensory overload.  Even after my admittedly short time along the deserted coast, it is hard to resist the impulsive grab that the availability of calories and caffeine provides.  However, both of us have picked up the common habit of not stopping for any refreshment or nourishment until at least a decent chunk of miles has passed.  My morning miles have all been caffeine free but fueled by either a couple packets of oats or whatever junk carbs I had left over from the previous day or both.  We pass all the cool cafes and coffee shops without stopping and end up in Sausalito and the run up to the Golden Gate Bridge.

There are some amazing views.

After a quick pee in the bike-filled parking lot, we set off across the bikeway.  Here is Gene.

Note the circa twenty years ago Bell helmet, which probably has no protective value left.  He is travelling light on an insufficient hybrid type bike and he knows it.  He’s carrying a little tube shelter, a sleeping pad, and a really skimpy sleeping bad.  He had a lot of more appropriate stuff, but it somehow wasn’t in the right place when he started his trip up to the Canadian border to come down.  As such, isn’t prepared to camp multiple nights in a row the way the rest of the south bound bikers are.  It would have been fine in the summer, but not now, when camping nights are routinely below 40 fahrenheit.

Here is me.  I’m ready for everything except the shock of seeing my orange and brown face in the mirror whenever I finally stop for breakfast every morning.  Lindsay Lohan and the rest of you fake bakers, eat your hearts out.  I went orange naturally.

The ride across the bridge was routine and filled with bikes, even on this chilly morning.  I didn’t get a major sensation of height or danger.  It was just a roll across a generous bike path.  No major starting hill– if you’ve been across, you probably remember that it is pretty flat.  Nothing like the illegal climb up the Coronado Bridge for the frontrunners on SD Critical Mass.

After the bridgeway, the guidebook route took us up 28th street through a really nice residential neighborhood, and then through some Chinese neighborhoods to the way south out of the city.  Fairly hill free and pleasant, although cold and windy.  We zipped past the President’s Cup golf south of the city and finally stopped for breakfast across the county line in Daly City.  It was a struggle to find breakfast, and honestly, I would have been better served getting some kind of killer vegan breakfast in SF but that would have required a lot of research or assistance from the useless Chris Mosher, and I availed myself of neither.  The first stop for food was in a huge Asian-oriented center in Daly City which was anchored by a Ranch 99!  On a longer tour, that would have been a major food stop for me, but Gene wasn’t into it, and I had no real need to load up.  We eventually found a local diner, where I had my usual disappointing vegan roadside breakfast of dry toast and jelly and coffee.

We took an off-highway route through the west coast Levittown-looking Daly City and got back on the highway for the somewhat cramped climb up the Devil’s Slide which had no shoulder due to the ongoing tunnel construction.  A group of about 12 fixed-gear riders blew past us going uphill and I never saw them again.  More power to them and best wishes for their knees when they are my age.  I missed a great opportunity to add to my collection of roadkill photos when I didn’t stop to shoot a discarded porno DVD.  It just wasn’t safe to stop and start again without a shoulder.  I won’t print the title here to avoid unnecessary google hits.

I don’t really remember much of the rest of the ride down to Half Moon Bay except that it was fairly pleasant.  Riding with someone else is a completely different experience.  Time passes differently and not being alone with your thoughts creates a different cadence and pace.  The point of this segment is mostly getting through the Bay Area, which luckily for us was on a Sunday, and staging ourselves at Half Moon Bay for the next day, which is desolate and without services.  Much more on that later.

The city of Half Moon Bay is a relative metropolis for a city next to a hiker biker stop.  Every kind of food and service is available, which again, is overwhelming.  We grabbed what we needed and checked in to the camp ground without intending to come back out, even though it was less than a mile back to civilization.  At these stops, I usually grab a tub of salsa for cooking, some pretzelly carbs, some cookies, and some fruit.  I usually leave some of it in the hiker/biker bear box as road kharma for anyone following and have been gifted by some of the same from others.

My man B asked for some shots of camp life, so here they are.  The HB site at HMB was a bit ghetto, with only one firepit for all to share and no water spigot.

The location is nice, though, and for the just recently raised price of $7, it is tough to complain.  Also, by their nature, the HB sites are communal, which, for me, adds a nice vibe, as people travelling this way are rarely dicks.  More on that later, also.  One thing that was different and disconcerting about HMB for me was the day use traffic.  We set up camp around 4 or 5 and people from the day use areas and bike paths in the park were constantly winding through our camp and staring as if we were bears or some other attraction while they walked their Shitzus.

This is my tent at HMB.  I usually only use one vestibule and between that and the interior of my two person tent, I can secure all my stuff that isn’t on the bike.  If it is raining, I can quickly take everything off the bike and shelter it.

Lynne and Five Star, a couple of cool women from SF were bike camping for the weekend, with their homemade (I think) plastic container panniers.  While Gene made a bunch of phone calls back to the world, I talked to them for about a long time.  They shared the picnic table (essential to bike campers) next to the firepit and said they’d be stoked if I made a fire.  Gene seems less social with others in the HB zones, probably because of the age gap.

Inspired by Phoenix on sdbikecommuter.com, I strapped a load of wood on the LHT and brought it back to camp.

Here is my camp cooking setup.  The little MSR backpacking stove, which I’ve had for a while, is awesome.  Here, I am making rice with some dehydrated veggie chili mix and salsa.  Making rice on a camping stove is pretty sketchy and hard to get soft enough but I keep doing it anyway.  Most things taste great at the end of the day and with enough Sriracha sauce.

I got a fire going eventually and Gene and I hung out a while and then the women returned from town and hung out.  I left them the fire and crashed.  During the night, we were again raided by camp raccoons, and again, I lost some dried fruit which was in a pannier pocket and not in the bear (raccoon) box.  Whatever, they were there first anyway.

Here’s the track, which as usual, is missing miles because of user error:

Today was supposed to be a mellow day.  Just 40 miles to the last accessible campground above San Francisco to set up a Sunday dash across the city, the Golden Gate Bridge and into Half Moon Bay.  I took off fairly early and had a mediocre breakfast in a town I’ve already forgotten.  Shortly thereafter, I hooked up with Gene from the last two campgrounds.  We road together and occasionally were passed by or met up with the kids from Bodega Dunes.  Riding with someone else was different and a fun change of pace, especially on a fairly mellow day.  There was still some climbing, but 40 miles and good weather made for a relaxing day.  We went through a couple storybook little towns in Sonoma and Marin that probably fulfill any cliches you have in your mind about those places.  It was here that I saw my first sign for a teeter totter crossing:

We got to our intended campground around 1.  Way too early to stop.  Gene was travelling light and not really set up to camp as often as me, so we started on the next segment of the route knowing that we’d probably stop in a hotel.  I didn’t mind as I was a little sore and working on some major clothes funk.  Also, getting a head start on the miles to cross SF and the bridge looked like a really good idea.  A major Pacific storm is scheduled to hit sometime around Monday night and it could require laying up for a while, depending on the severity.  I’m thinking I’ll be somewhere around Santa Cruz then.  Gene doesn’t have “the book” (everyone else has the same guidebook for the Pacific Coast as I do and refers to it thusly) or the ACA maps and didn’t know that you bail off the 1 before it gets too trafficy and gnarly around the Bay.

Gene is a retired and soon to unretire school administrator.  We were talking about San Francisco and he said that he always stops at City Lights Bookstore.  We started talking about poetry and he said that he really liked a poet that some people don’t like.  Charles Bukowski.  We had a lot to talk about.  He had also just read the Monkey Wrench Gang.  Like I said, we had a lot to talk about.

Gene was telling me about how Abbey was discussed in the new Ken Burns thing about the National Parks when we bombed a major descent into urban Marin and had to stop talking because we were single file.  We saw this Mercedes about to make a left turn come all the way across the street and onto our shoulder.  We both had to brake and swerve right.  We gestured at the guy.  He pulled up next to us and started yelling.  His passenger was yelling too.  Up until this moment, I hadn’t had a car confrontation this whole trip, and neither had Gene, who started at the Canadian border.  Me and the driver exchanged fuck yous.  He stopped in the shoulder and started yelling some more.  I stopped to look back.  He got out of his car and walked up to where I was straddling my bike.  He said that I was “dead.”  I told him to chill and that I just wanted to ride my bike and I wasn’t going to fight him.  He was bigger than I am.  At 130, a lot of people are.  He bumped me with his chest.  His breath stunk of wine or something.  His female friend was screaming.  Two or three cars stopped and asked if I needed help.  One woman had a pen and we started writing down his license number.  She asked if I wanted to call the cops.  Just then, a CHP cruiser drove down the street and another person who had stopped waved him over.  Gene bailed.

This was all in the space of less than 3 minutes.  Asshole in the Mercedes starts to back up his car and the CHP makes him stop.  They already had a drunk driver in custody (4 pm on a Saturday) but I didn’t really get to meet her.  She seemed to be in a great mood, though.

I told the cop what happened and that the guy stunk of alcohol.

The investigating officer was a trainee and I think he saw me taking pictures.  He didn’t know what to do.  I never actually talked to him.

Shithead was given a sobriety test.  He failed and got hooked up in the cuffs.  Cuffed, he told me that he was going to sue me.  Cool.  The cops asked me if I wanted to press charges on the assault and battery (he threatened and touched me).  I told them that I was pretty amped and tired and that my witness testimony wouldn’t be that great, which was true.  I said as long as they had him on the 502, I was cool with that.  The cop said that yes, he was going down on the “deuce.”  While this was going on, most of last night’s hiker biker camp group rode by and stared.

His girlfriend thing kept moving around when the cops told her to sit still.  Just like on Cops.  It looked like she was going to be taken in as well.

After I gave my statement, they let me go.  To my surprise, Gene was waiting a block away.  We started riding again, hoping to find a hotel down the way.  After a couple blocks, we came upon Biketoberfest in Fairfax, Marin County.  This was a huge block party with bike vendors and microbrews and bands.  It looked insane.  I talked Gene into checking it out as he was really intent on finding a place to crash and going across the bridge.

At the first vendor I stopped at, a guy in the booth says “hey, I recognize that bag” pointing to my Rivendell Brand V vegan handlebar bag.  I look at his bikes and realize it is the Rivendell booth.  If you don’t recognize the name, this won’t mean much to you but Rivendell is basically the pinnacle of a certain kind of well-made American steel bikes.  Especially touring bikes.  Getting a look at a bunch of their product at once is a really big deal.  One of the guys held my bike for me while I got a picture.  He said, “that’s a really have load you’re carrying” and gave me a few copies of their in house publication, the Rivendell Reader.  Thanks.

Next to them were Calfee, who make bikes out of exotic things like crab fiber and bamboo.

Other cool manufactures like Soulcraft were there too.

People at the fair, recognizing our loaded bikes gave us tips on affordable places to stay and one guy even offered a floor.  I would have stayed, even though it was late, but Gene wanted to bail and he was depending on me for the off highway 1 route we were taking.  We were using Marin’s very cool bike route, which was even painted on the asphalt with special symbols.  We were around people, lots of them, which was very disconcerting and overloading after all those days on the Lost Coast.  Finally, we found the Budget Inn and they weren’t kidding.  This must be the only crack house in Marin County.  My room has a kitchen with a range without knobs.  I may sleep in my bag it is so scary.  Across the street was a mall with the Marin REI.  That could have been nirvanic, but neither of us need anything.  Instead, I bought everything in the Safeway.  I probably had a lot more to tell, but I need to sleep and my knees are achey.

Here’s the track: