PROLOGUE
It was Mid-April 2010 and Deborah and I had been visiting some friends in Pt. Reyes Station. We decided it would be fun to return via “The 1″ or as it is commonly known, the Pacific Coast Hghway. It was an amazing drive through some of the most scenic places I had ever been, and I was immediately preoccupied with the notion that I had to do the trip by bicycle. I scanned Deb’s horse show calendar and saw that she had a show scheduled for late June in Palo Alto. The map showed that directly West of Palo Alto was Half Moon Bay…a spot listed in my newly acquired book, “Bicycling The Pacific Coast”. A plan was born.Now you would think that in the weeks leading up to a 5 day 330 mile bicycle tour, a cyclist would be doing a great deal of preparation, especially spending time in the saddle. While ideal, that was not to be the case for me. A short trip to NJ was extended by our plan to pickup and drive back to CA a recently purchased motorhome. Our return found us both sick as dogs; it seemed a nasty case of bronchitis had hitched a ride with us somewhere on our road trip. It had been almost a month and I had ridden 14 miles on a beach cruiser at the Jersey Shore and done one short, slow tour at work. Work these days has been with Santa Barbara Wine Country Cycling Tours. I was in pretty bad cycling shape to say the least! Nonetheless, I made the trip to Palo Alto, and subsequently caught a ride to Half Moon Bay with Deborah’s Mom. In typical motherly fashion, she told me I wasn’t well enough to do the ride, and in typical too dumb to listen to a mother fashion, my journey began.
DAY ONE: HALF MOON BAY TO NEW BRIGHTON STATE BEACH
It was foggy and cool as I started the wheels rolling along the PCH. Nothing could dampen my spirits though, and I’m sure I was smiling ridiculously. Here I was, headed into the somewhat unknown, with nothing more than a bicycle and the 30 or so pounds of gear I was carrying. It was pretty scary/exciting.I passed a few North-bound riders along the way; one of them had a trailer he was towing behind his bike. You would expect to see tents, sleeping bags, or other camping gear loaded in the trailer. Not for this guy…his two large Pit Bulls occupied the space. Tongues and tails wagged as they rolled happily along behind their owner, their slave for the day. Almost more remarkable to me (closet tech-geek), I saw a “Google car” pass by! By Google car I mean one of the cars that they had equipped with a 360 degree camera that was used to develop the “street view” feature in the popular Google Maps. I was waving frantically in hopes of being one of those dipshits who winds up forever enshrined in Google Maps Street View. Look for me!! Along the way I met a few other touring cyclists. Daniel, Molly, Justin, and their name-unknown friend were from San Francisco and were on the final day of a short 2 day trip to Santa Cruz. I rode with them for a spell before continuing on alone.Otherwise the trip was uneventful so far. I made a short stop at Ano Nuevo Reserve before continuing towards Santa Cruz. It crossed my mind to turn left on Bonny Doon Rd and follow the route the recent Tour of California had taken up and over the winding mountain roads. I listened to the little voice however, who was urging me to skip the climb and continue South. On the outskirts of Santa Cruz I headed towards the sea and Natural Bridges State Park. Most of the bridges had eroded away some time ago, but it was still a beautiful spot. From there I made my way South along Cliff Dr, a road through a residential area set on gorgeous sea cliffs. The views were amazing and the funky vibe of this little seaside town took hold of me.As I entered the town of Santa Cruz a cafe on the boardwalk caught my eye and I headed over for lunch. With my bike locked to a fence, I ate a huge salad and sipped on a celebratory Pale Ale. The scene was almost surreal. It was every beach movie I had ever seen being played out right before my eyes. Muscled lifeguards flirted with bikini-clad volley ball playing girls. All walks of life passed by on the boardwalk. Surfers bobbed offshore, and skateboarders cruised along hell-bent on questioning authority. With a full belly I continued on to the park to set up for my first night of camping. All the campgrounds I had planned to visit had what are known as “hiker/biker” sites. Primitive sites that are home for 5 bucks a night. Thankfully they can’t turn you away from these sites, so even when the campground is full, a touring cyclist has a place to rest for the night. I met a German guy, whose name I forget, but I will call him “Ditmar”. A retired engineer, he was living out a lifelong dream touring the USA by bicycle. His journey began in Altlanta, GA and took him into FL, across the Gulf states, through TX, into the Southwest and to San Diego, CA. From there he was making the difficult trip to San Francisco. 7 weeks and 3,300 miles into his affair, he made my short trip seem so much easier than I had previously thought.After setting up my tent, I took a trip back into the quaint town of Capitola, which was just South of Santa Cruz. This town was a hidden gem along the coast, and a place I’d like to return to someday. I stocked up on some groceries and headed back to camp. Once there, I sought out some firewood and wound up missing the sale deadline by 20 minutes. My attempt at convincing the camp host to sell me some wood was futile, as he informed me “We stop selling at 8pm. I have places to be.” Jackass. Him or me, I’m not certain, but someone needed to be one.I sat for a while in the dark campfire-free setting. The solitude was enjoyable as I watched the fog come up over the cliff where I could hear the roar of the ocean far below. It was a pleasant evening for my first night of camping. Daniel and his crew arrived and I lent some light to assist them in setting up camp. I crawled into my tent for the evening. Here I was, a touring cyclist.
DAY TWO: NEW BRIGHTON STATE BEACH TO VETERAN’S MEMORIAL PARK
The morning was cool and foggy, something I would need to get used to. I left Santa Cruz in search of some hot breakfast and a place to charge some electronics. I stumbled upon a small local coffee shop in Aptos, The Aptos Coffee Roasting Co. Not only did it have hot drinks and a place to plug in my phone and Garmin, but also a great selection of vegetarian breakfast foods. Did I mention I have been following a vegetarian diet?! I munched on a Potato & Lentil Samosa that was as good as anything I had ever eaten! The place was abuzz with victory; not the victory earlier that morning of the Team USA in World Cup Soccer, but last night’s victory at the local Barista competition, where one of their own had taken the grand prize. Nursing my tea as long as possible in order to juice up my cell phone, I waited to see if the fog would burn off. It didn’t appear likely, so I got back on the bike to head further South.Today was going to be a short ride, 40 miles to Monterey, CA where I planned on kayaking for a few hours in the afternoon. The quiet roads turned inland for a bit and rolled through Monterey Peninsula farmlands. The flat terrain allowed me to see a large group of cyclists in the distance. I eventually caught them and learned it was a group of 30 riders, all Boy scouts and their respective Dads. Their pace was a little less than I was wanting to keep, but for the time being the company was worth more to me than a faster pace. after a few miles a decent climb splintered that bunch and as they stopped to regroup I continued ahead. More farms before the route turned to the West. For the first time on my trip the wind was in my face as I headed towards the ocean. Not a nasty headwind, but somewhat annoying! How I missed that exit I’m not quite sure, but sure enough I did. Apparently the highway had become a freeway and it was not legal for bicyclists to be on this section. This was all explained to me by the California Highway Patrol officer who ‘pulled me over’ for my rebellious riding. He kindly gave me directions on how to get back on the correct road and off I went, unticketed, but feeling just a bit more like an outlaw. The road gave way to an amazing bike path that ran along the dunes of Monterey and took me all the way into the downtown and “Cannery Row” areas. Once there, I found Adventures By The Sea, a great shop where I rented my kayak for the afternoon. I spent some time that afternoon peacefully paddling Monterey bay and getting a unique view of what used to be a huge sardine fishing and packaging operation. The touristy area of Cannery Row is all shiny and pretty these days, but the view from the bay is anything but. Pretty run-down looking and in need of a face lift. Hope they do something about that soon.After my kayak trip and lesson learned about kayaking with your only (used to be) dry camp shoes, I headed uphill towards Veteran’s Memorial Park, my campground for the night. And then I headed uphill some more. And then some more. It was a long steep climb from the ocean up to the park, and on the way up the first time, I lamented the fact that I had no provisions for dinner that night. yes, this meant I would have to go back down and ultimately back up this hill. I paid my fee, set up camp and rolled back to town for some Chinese take out to bring back to camp.The cycle touring culture is an odd one. It differs dramatically from the spandex wearing weight weenie racer boi world of racing in so many ways. It’s a simple fact that the needs are different, and the equipment choices reflect that difference. Practicality is king. Despite the differences, like almost any genre of cycling, an instant community is born. Nowhere was this more apparent than at Veteran’s Memorial Park. There was the insurance guy (I’ll call him Bill) who took off 2 months each Summer to tour the country by bicycle. Susan, the quasi-homeless campfire singing woman who made her way from park to park by bus. The college kid from Elkhart, IN whose bright-eyed enthusiasm for touring was contagious, the brother & sister from Sheffield, England whose final destination was Argentina, and Tim, a former Dallasite whose chosen lifestyle as a wander-by-bike Rasta suited him perfectly. A career bike guy, his stories sprinkled with his philosophies captivated us as we listend by the glow of the fire. A damp and drizzly night, our community was formed around the heat of a few burning logs. A guy who was traveling with his Harley Davidson walked over to the hiker/biker site, and it turns out I had met him 12 or 13 years ago while we were both doing some work for the New Mexico Scorpions hoceky team in Albuquerque, NM. I love a good small world story!
DAY THREE: VETERAN’S MEMORIAL PARK TO KIRK CREEK CAMPGROUND
The morning in Monterey was a chilly, wet one and I rolled out with not much dry to wear. The day started with a climb and then a white-knuckled ride on some of the busiest roads I had encountered thus far. I passed through Carmel and descended steeply on a narrow-shouldered heavily-traveled road in the morning mist. At the bottom I turned into a shopping center for morning coffee and a visit to Safeway to stock up on some food. This place was familiar from a previous trip to the area and for a short time I felt comfortable in knowing where I was. I also knew that the steep roads of Big Sur lie ahead, and there was some uncertainty as to how the trip would progress.Full of coffee, stocked up on food, with charged electronics, I continued South. Deborah had sent me a message and I replied with a message the included “Don’t reply”. At this point I had checked in a bunch and just needed to keep pedaling and not mess with my phone. Turns out this was a mistake. The road took me past Point Lobos State Preserve, where I stopped briefly, and then onward to Big Sur. This was probably the most scenic road I had ever ridden a bicycle on!! I had passed through by car just a few months earlier, but this time was even more amazing. When you are up close with the scenery in the way a bicycle allows, everything takes on a new perspective. Including the steep drops to the ocean….you can’t help but think that if a car were to bump you, you might easily sail over the edge and plummet to the rocky shore below!! Now areas this remote and beautiful offer so many things that city life can’t—with the exception of cell phone service. Not only did I discover that my phone had no service, but the battery had pretty much discharged as the phone constantly searched for a signal. I was ok with this, after all I was out on the bike communing with Nature and soaking up the moments. No phone pretty much completed the experience. The folks back home didn’t see it the same way, and I can certainly understand why!I traveled along the rocky coast which had taken on a mystical quality as marine layer fog crept over the mountains. Beautiful canyons and creeks were crossed by bridges built in the 1930’s - a time when the thought of crossing a bridge by bicycle was obviously not a consideration! These narrow passages were best handled by sprinting furiously across their windy expanse. Ahead was the iconic Bixby Bridge, often depicted in photos and paintings of the Big Sur Coast. Just South of that I passed through Hurricane Point. I didn’t at all question the name as the winds blew ferociously. After a short steep climb with the stiffest headwind I have ever encountered, I reached the sign for Hurricane Point and then the road turned to the South. The crosswinds were so strong at this point that I almost got off and walked my bike, as I feared I would be blown into passing traffic. I hung on for dear life through this section and it took everything I had to get me through safely. Well named are you, Hurricane Point! The road then headed inland and the temperatures began to soar. For the first time on my trip I shed the leg warmers, vest, and arm warmers as things heated up. The Sun finally appeared as well and the ride was pleasant as I wandered through rolling hills and patches of Redwood forest. I stopped in Big Sur for a quick lunch and the usual chargefest, but my desire to move on left me with not much time for the latter. The roads through Big Sur are dotted with a few pretty big peaks, and I gradually made my ascent. The knees were feeling the stress of carrying all the extra weight, so I just tried to find a comfortable groove and block out the pain. After summiting the first climb I heard a horrible squealing sound from my rear hub on the descent. I stopped immediately to inpsect the situation. Not much I could do I decided. I assumed that the extra weight was stressing the hub along with my knees. I was on the only leg of my journey that did not have access to a bike shop, so my only option was to ignore it and move on! Up another climb, this one even bigger, as the road headed back towards the coast. Breathtaking scenery and perfect weather was on tap for the afternoon. At one point I was beginning a descent on a narrow ribbon of road when a large bird caught my eye. Looking to the right I saw an enormous California Condor soaring effortlessly high above the rocks below. He seemed to hover at what was then my eye-level and then drifted away as I continued down the road. It was an amazing sight!Nearing the end of the ride for the day, I came upon a fellow touring cyclist on the side of the road. Asking if he was doing ok, he let me know he was just taking a break. His bike loaded with panniers and pulling a trailer that looked like it held a small car, I could understand why. Steve was his name, a retired city worker from Lafayette, LA who was a part-time college professor when he wasn’t chasing dreams across the country on his bike. He became known as “The Professor”. We talked for a bit before I moved on ahead of him. The weight of his rig hindered his pace, but I knew I would see more of him at the campground that night. So on I went to the tiny town of Lucia to stock up on food and such. Only 4 miles from that night’s camp, it was the only game in town and they knew it. Prices were at least 4 times what you would expect anywhere else!! A litre of water would set you back almost $4.00 and a 6′er of beer was $14.00! I supplemented my food and picked up an obscenely overpriced bottle of wine. The only option would be to go without, and I decided at that point that wasn’t going to be an option! The Professor rolled into town and was treated to the same sticker-shock. I rode the short distance to the camp with him and we made our way to the bike site. Friendly folks were everywhere at this gem of a campground that was set in a Eucalyptus grove overlooking the ocean. Firewood was procured and we were soon joined by Ben, a young kid from Vancouver on his way to Mexico. He was early to bed and early to rise, so I never heard much of his story. The sunset was great that night and campers were lined up to witness the spectacle. Later I listened to the Professor’s stories of being on the road as we stayed warm with wine and the campfire.
DAY FOUR: KIRK CREEK CAMPGROUND TO MORRO BAY STATE PARK
The next morning I was off agan and headed to Morro Bay. The day started off very cool and foggy as I followed the road towards Ragged Point. A quick stop in the miniscule town of Gorda, CA for the morning ritual. Caffeine, food, and a quick electronics charge. I didn’t stay long though as I was eager to get through Ragged Point. Maybe one of the most scenic areas of the entire ride, the road was twisty and narrow as it made it’s way up and down, hugging the steep cliffs. Everywhere there were incredible views down to the crashing waves almost 1,000 feet below. Two pretty significant climbs were on the menu, but they seemed tempered by the amazing beauty of the area. Traffic was light in this area and the ride was everything I had hoped it would be. I soon came bombing down into the small town of Ragged Point, where again I stopped for a bite to eat and some charging. Still no cell service, but I knew ‘civilization’ wasn’t far off. It didn’t bother me to be disconnected, in fact I think it enhanced the entire experience, but I knew others would worry. The roads flattened out quite a bit after Ragged Point, and I found myself cruising along the plains on my way to San Simeon. The tailwind was amazing and it helped propel me almost effortlessly. Big ring, easy effort, 25+ mph, stopping only for a brief moment to watch the Elephant Seals as they flopped around on the beach outside of San Simeon.Somewhere along this section of the ride I reappeared on ‘the grid’ and my cell phone made a wide array of noises as the past 36 hours worth of emails, messages, and calls were all delivered simultaneously. I stopped to check in and as expected, the National Guard was only minutes from being notified of my absence!! Deborah, her Mom, and my Mom were all glad to hear from me and the pending search party was not going to be needed!Past the enormous Hearst Castle high upon the hill in San Simeon, I found my way to Cambria. This was a place I had visited before and I decided it would be a good place for lunch. Fueled up and rested, I got back on the PCH headed South. There was a rider just ahead and after a short while I caught up to him. He was a guy from Orange County who had made a trip up to San Francisco to see a girl and was riding back home. His set up (including the exact same bike as me) was extremely light, and I learned that he was staying in hotels every night. Although a cozy bed and warm shower were appealing, I didn’t think it was the way I would want to do the trip. His freedom was pretty limited–he had reservations along the way and really no ability to stray from his plan. There was also the obvious expense associated with eating only in restaurants and paying for lodging. Not to mention no campfires and interesting characters. We pulled into the charming surfside town of Cayucos, his destination for the night. We wished each other luck as I continued on to Morro Bay State Park.The temperatures had dropped quite a bit, and although I was getting further South, this was the coldest day so far. Needing some clean, dry clothes, I stopped at a laundromat in town. Reluctantly, I pumped $2.25 worth of quarters into a machine and left to explore. Liquor store across from the laundromat — coincidence? I think not. I grabbed bottle of Sierra Nevada’s latest Harvest beer and headed to the campground. Knowing it would be cold that night, I made my first order of business finding firewood. Luckily the Camp Host was right near my site and well-stocked so I loaded up. As I set up my tent, Jesse rolled in. Jesse was a young ex-Marine from Nebraska who had endured a bit of bad luck. According to him he had lost his job and his cat got run over so he packed up his bike and was headed to Denver. He was hoping to find work in the ski resorts that Winter, but for now his home was on the road. As expected he had spent time on the ride or at camp with several of the others I had encountered. He had also been run off the road a few days prior and both his bike and his body had been bruised up a bit. He had stayed in Cambria a couple days while he got his bike straiightened out and was now Denver-bound, via Tijuana.I returned to town, switched my clothes to the dryer and hit the grocery store. Stocked up on the necessities I made a quick stop to retrieve my clothes before returning to camp. As dark approached we lit a fire and spent the next couple hours enjoying the wamrth. I settled into my tent for the last time this trip and must have been getting used to the hard ground, as I had the best night’s sleep of the entire trip.
DAY FIVE: MORRO BAY STATE PARK TO HOME SWEET HOME
Up early, I packed my goods one more time in the cool fog of Morro Bay. After bidding farewell I departed, following the roads as they wound around the bay. Today was going to be the longest day of the journey. 90 miles of road lay between me and home. My legs were pretty drained and my saddle was wreaking havoc on my nether regions. Although I had a ‘buffer day’ built in which would have allowed me to split the day in two, the camping options were limited and not very appealing. I was homeward bound.San Luis Obispo would be my stop for the morning ritual. The biggest town I had seen in several days, I had everything I could need at my disposal. I fueled up a bit and refreshed my head to face the next 60 or 70 miles. The routes had become much different again. No more dramatic coastline - the golden hills and agricultural farms reappeared as the route wandered inland before heading back to the coast. Through Pismo Beach, Grover Beach, past the Pismo Dunes, and inland towards Guadalupe I continued with increased suffering every mile. I saw several large groups of riders who were doing the “Whole Enchilada”, the trip from Vancouver to Tijuana. I rode with several of them for a bit until stops splintered the groups. After a refuel in Guadalupe, a place I couldn’t leave soon enough, I pedaled towards Orcutt. Arriving in Orcutt I was getting antsy, as things were more and more familiar. No longer did I feel a long way from home. I was close physically even though mentally it seemed like a destination never to be reached. Straight flat roads were welcome as I left Orcutt for Los Alamos. Once in Los Alamos I felt a second wind. Less than 20 miles from home, the roads were the same ones I rode almost daily. No more maps, no more new scenery, just a few miles to go. The afternoon Sun was hot and the winds from the West kicked up to challenge my finish. Los Olivos was never a more welcome sight as I forged on, a scant few miles from home. As I made the turn towards the West on the 246, I had a full-on headwind for a short distance. It couldn’t break my spirit — I had traveled around 325 miles and had less than 3 to go. I would probably have ridden home on a flat tire at this point. Two if that’s what it took. The trip down Meadowlark Road was sweeter than ever and at long last I found home. I checked in with everyone and collapsed in the cool grass for a while. Although the journey was over, the reflection was just beginning. 5 days on the Pacific Coast Highway had not only provided me with lifelong memories, it had inspired me to start thinking about the next adventure. A touring cyclist had been born.
