Continue reading]]> In May 2017, the Mud Creek Slide came crashing down on Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) in California, turning an 80-mile section of highway with no exits into two separate 10-mile and 50-mile dead-ends. As bad as that sounds, the details made it even worse. Additional slides and a bridge failure isolated the tiny and beautiful village of Big Sur. Months later, after a flurry of construction and repair, all the damage on PCH except Mud Creek was repaired.

But in the midst of disaster was also opportunity. I realized that the closure would dramatically reduce vehicle traffic along the coast, making a potentially good situation for cyclists riding the area. But there was the matter of circumventing literally a million tons of earth burying the road 40 feet deep. Add the construction equipment and workers busy rebuilding the road, and it posed a formidable obstacle for a lone rider on a bicycle. I kept up with the situation online. Reports said cyclists crossed the slide at night, defying the closure and the law. While I wanted to ride the route, a midnight poach in the dark by myself was not for me. I found a local tour company called Central Coast Outdoors that shuttled cyclists around the closure. The price seemed steep, but it was way cheaper than Uber for the same thing. I thought about it for a few days and decided the opportunity to ride the coast with low traffic was worth it, so I began preparations.

I booked a flight on JetBlue to San Jose and planned to ship my bike to a nearby FedEx Office using bikeflights.com. I busted out my favorite bike ride planning site, ridewithgps.com, and began planning my routes for each day. I reserved a room for one night at the Radisson in Santa Maria with plans and gear to camp every other night of a 9-day, 8-night journey. I reserved a site at the only campground that needed it. All of my other camping would be at California State Park Hike-or-Bike sites, which were all first come / first served / no reservation sites. And finally, I reserved an Amtrak ride home that allowed people to bring their bikes on the train. BTW, I am not sponsored by anyone, but I do like to share resources I find useful for other riders or anyone else interested.

I bike toured PCH on a similar trip many years ago. While the trip was great, I realized afterward that I had focused on the distance and speed of my riding. That is one way to approach cycle touring, to be sure. But this time, I decided to focus instead on relaxing, sightseeing, and getting to know fellow travelers. So, as I planned each day’s ride for this trip, I reduced the mileage I rode each day compared to my first trip.

To be honest, I overprepared for the trip. I was so excited that I spent too many hours poring over routes and fine-tuning them, reading updates online, and anticipating the trip details. By overpreparing, I mean that I was a little burned out before I even started riding. I was beginning to doubt whether I would enjoy the ride at all. Plus there were the normal pre-ride jitters and worries. Would I get a cold just before or during the ride? What if my frame cracked? Would I forget something critical? Was I in good enough condition for such a ride?

Of course, I went ahead with the ride, starting on the Saturday the week before Memorial Day 2018 and riding through to the following Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. Day 1 presented me with more than its fair share of problems. But I overcame them all, found myself well able to handle the rigors of daily riding, and went on to have a great trip.

Actually, “great trip” does not begin to capture what the trip became. I had days of riding in idyllic conditions, met wonderful people with great stories to tell, and I “rode myself into shape,” as the expression goes, and felt stronger and stronger as the days passed.

What started as a trip where I worried I might quit early turned into a ride I was sad to see end. In the days after the ride, I felt like I was living in an afterglow, my mind drifting back to daydreams of the ride, already planning the next tour, and having a hard time focusing on my daily responsibilities.

As far as my blog goes, in the coming days and weeks I will post a blog for each day of the trip, documenting my route and experiences in more detail. I hope they will be helpful to others who ride the route. But I also hope to capture the experience for me forever, so I can recall the feelings of the ride and daydream about a once-in-a-lifetime experience over and over again.

Continue reading]]> Day one of my tour turned out to have many of the problems I was afraid it might have. But a defining trait of an adventurer is how you deal with the problems that will inevitably happen. If you react by wishing you had luxury accommodations, panicking, or giving up, you are probably not an adventurer. But if you keep your wits about you, fix the problems with whatever duct tape and baling wire you have available, and proceed as best you can with a good attitude, you’re on the right track. You show the traits of a true adventurous spirit, at least according to my not-so-humble opinion.

So where and when did the journey actually begin? It could have been when I stopped riding my touring bike as a commuter and started packing. It could have been before that, when I decided to do the ride. But for the sake of telling the story, let’s say it started in Long Beach, CA. My wife dropped me off at Long Beach Airport, a tiny international airport in the Los Angeles metro area. I had already shipped my bike: it was waiting for me in a box at a FedEx location near my flight destination in San Jose, hopefully not damaged or lost, despite what the tracking information told me. I was carrying a piece of bike luggage, a plastic bag of supplies, and I was wearing my travel/riding clothes and bike shoes. I did not want to deal with luggage, and my bike shoes with cleats were the only footwear I was bringing.

One item in my carry-on luggage was a CPAP machine. Without it, I don’t get deep sleep and eventually end up feeling like I have not been sleeping at all. I had hoped to use a substitute called Provent, which are fancy bandages to cover your nostrils. Carrying them instead of a big CPAP machine would have been a big win. But I tried the Provents before the ride, and they didn’t work for me like they used to. I was disappointed to have to carry the bulky machine and battery, but I had done it before on a bike tour. And I brought the Provents anyway.

But the problems that swirled around the CPAP machine had just started. After boarding the plane and getting comfortable, I mentally went over my checklist of what I had packed for the umpteenth time. I realized that I had forgotten one of the cables needed to run the CPAP machine. It was a small disaster. The pile of hardware I had packed to run the CPAP was useless without that cable. I started breaking down the situation. There was no way to buy the cable I needed. Maybe I could make a replacement cable myself. I looked for electronics supply stores along my route. There were lots of permanently closed Radio Shack locations. I found a Fry’s Electronics, but there was no guarantee they would have the parts I needed to fabricate a replacement cable even after shopping them online.

I tried to relax and take things one step at a time so I wouldn’t get into such a terrible mood that I couldn’t think clearly or enjoy whatever the trip turned into. The next point on the trip where I could do anything about this would be at the electronics store. I had done all I could for now. I managed to stop obsessing on the problem and enjoy the flight.

On the ground, I called a Lyft ride that turned out to be free after I applied the discount the airline gave me. My driver dropped me off at the FedEx location, where my undamaged bike was. The small victory improved my attitude.

I used the packing area as a bike assembly area. While there, a fellow rider introduced himself. He told me he was planning to bicycle tour across Cambodia, Thailand, Australia, and New Zealand. He noticed my CPAP and told me he had a friend who rode and needed to use one. Seeing me travel with a CPAP meant that he would not accept his friend’s excuse about not traveling with him because of his CPAP. did not go into detail about the issue I was having with my machine for both our sakes. It took me a while, but I was ready to go.

Another small issue cropped up as I pushed the bike across the store. had decided at the last minute to fit a water bottle cage and bottle on the bottom of my down tube. The problem is that only the smallest water bottles fit in that spot. The bottle I brought rubbed my front tire. After some consideration, I decided to throw the water bottle out. It was frustrating, but I was already dealing with enough issues, and the idea of packing a water bottle in my luggage to avoid throwing it out was too much to wrestle with at the moment.

But the problems just kept coming. stood over my bike, got started, and turned on the GPS to load my route for the day. scrolled through the list of routes I had carefully crafted for each day. They were all there, except for my route for that day. had made some small last-minute changes; I must have deleted it in my GPS without loading its replacement. And the day’s route was a tangle of interconnecting urban roads and paths, not a simple “ride down Highway 1.” But I had a backup plan: I used my phone as my GPS. The phone used a lot of battery power when in navigation mode, so I might have to charge it mid-day, but I could deal with that.

The electronics store was only a few blocks away. It took a while to find and select the odd parts. decided to wait until I was in the campground with everything unpacked to make the cable.

The weather was beautiful: sunny and cool. was excited by the first part of the ride because it was on a network of dedicated urban bike paths: Guadalupe River Trail and Los Gatos Creek Trail.

Navigating by phone was a bit of a pain. I did not have a good way to mount it where I could see it. would look at it to get the next few turns, ride that far, then look at it again. I made a few wrong turns that way but nothing terrible. On the main bike paths, I just followed the signed route.

While riding the bike paths, especially through San Jose, I was completely amazed at the pedestrian traffic. There was a lot of it, but the crazy part was phone usage. Being as rational as possible about it, I estimate that out of hundreds of pedestrians I saw in the congested sections of San Jose, 95% of them were walking with their eyes down, locked on their phones, and that includes individuals, groups, people with dogs on leashes, etc. They were completely unaware of my presence on a trail where bikes were legal; I had to swerve all over the place to avoid them, often off of the trail and on the grass. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and I suspect most were probably annoyed by the sun causing glare on their screens. We need to identify a thing called “distracted walking” on multi-use trails. It is dangerous and rude. It forces other trail users to deal with whatever random things a distracted walker is doing. It is hard to deal with because they don’t know what they are doing themselves. was happy to get out of the crowded section of San Jose.

My route took me along a dirt section of Las Gatos Creek Trail. Later, I realized I could have avoided much of it by riding the long way around a reservoir, but even my narrow 28c tires were OK there.

My failure to follow my GPS directions eventually led to a disastrous error. While riding a frontage road along Highway 17, I decided the directions said to enter Highway 17 south at Bear Creek Road. This was an error of epic proportions. Highway 17 is a freeway with no shoulder for much of it, is extremely narrow, has high-speed traffic, and has a concrete wall divider between the oncoming lanes. entered a section where I was climbing and moving slowly. I have ridden freeways before, even not-so-legal sections, but nothing like this. After riding for about a mile and a half with cars honking at me like crazy, I pulled into a turnout and looked at my GPS. In a word, I was screwed. couldn’t cross the road and go back the way I came because of the concrete wall and the sheer amount of traffic. could not go back the way I came because I would be riding head-on into oncoming traffic with no shoulder. There was no way out of the turnout I was in: no roads or trails led away from it. nd the route I wanted was back the way I came. Going forward would take me far off my route, even if I wanted to brave it, which I did not.

As I looked around the edges of the turnout for dirt paths and didn’t find one, I saw a highway patrol drive by. I slowly realized that they would be my only way out. waited a while for another one to show up, but no luck. I finally gave in and called for rescue. described my predicament to 911, and in relatively short order I met Officer Booker (that is her real name; I am honestly not making that up), who showed up in a large SUV with room for my bike, just as I had requested. After telling her how happy I was to see her and thanking her profusely, I told her that I just wanted off of that road; anywhere would do. also told her I really just wanted back on the other side of the road to pick up where I left off. left the turnout, and I expected her to take the next exit and wish me luck. But she made a pretty difficult U-turn on the road where the concrete wall had a gap and returned me to right where I said I wanted. I got no ticket for riding a bicycle on the freeway (they may have actually been legal there; the sign only said no pedestrians), no lectures about bicycle safety, none of that. She even posed for a picture. I pulled my bike out, unable to thank her enough, and continued on the correct route. Mostly anyway.

My route continued on Old Santa Cruz Highway, Summit Road, and Soquel Santa Cruz Road, which included a nice climb through coastal redwoods and a descent to the coast and my urban coastal campground destination, New Brighton State Beach. The few small wrong turns I made paled in comparison to my Highway 17 debacle. Due to my shenanigans, I had to cut the ride short. I had planned a loop around Santa Cruz. Maybe next time.

Once at the campground, I unpacked only what I needed so I could work on the CPAP cable with as much daylight as possible. But it wasn’t to be. The cheesy battery-powered soldering iron I bought could not generate enough heat to melt butter, let alone solder. As a test, I touched the battery wires to the plug I got to fit the CPAP to see if it would power it up anyway. But no luck. The plug I bought fit the CPAP, but it still wasn’t the right connector, which wasn’t surprising given the nature of medical equipment. I gave up on the idea of fixing the CPAP and decided to try the Provents one more night. If they didn’t work, I would ride back to Salinas, cut the trip short, and catch a train home from there. I did not want to ride for days with effectively no sleep; that would be too dangerous.

When I finally looked up from my CPAP project, Johan from Belgium greeted me and offered me some of his strawberries, which I happily accepted. I later offered Johan some sliced cucumber. I think I got the better end of the trade, but it was all I had to offer. Johan had flown into Los Angeles and was on his way to San Francisco, then on to Yosemite, the eastern Sierras, and many other great California destinations before returning to L.A. to fly home. I tried to talk him into adding Death Valley to his route; it would have been a good time of year, but the idea made him pretty uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to give up anything else on his already full schedule.

John was also at the Hike or Bike site. I did not see him until the next morning, but I should have gotten up to see him in the middle of the night. That night I tried sleeping with the Provents. I woke up with one no longer attached. R ther than give up and go back to “sleep” without it, I forced myself to get up and replace the one that fell off.  That improved things a lot for me. I slept so well that I barely woke up when the campsite was overrun by bright vehicle headlights and guys walking around talking and using what sounded like police radios.

The next morning, feeling well rested, I met John. He had a bloody gauze wrap on his knee. He had an accident with a car the night before that was his own fault. The police had come by the campground in the middle of the night to return his bike to him. J hn worked at Specialized bike company in nearby Morgan Hill, so naturally we talked about his accident, riding, and bikes for a long time.

New Brighton, like many urban campgrounds, has strict limits on hike-or-bike sites. You can only stay one night, and you have to leave by 9:00 am. This helps control the homeless problem. I support such measures; it allows the park to keep offering Hike or Bike sites. A homeless shelter is very different from a campground.

Because of all my carousing with the locals, I pushed a little past the 9:00 departure time. And sure enough, the very friendly camp host who was watching our schedules stopped by. But as I said, I support such efforts. Thankfully, I had the route for day 2 in my GPS, as expected, and a good night’s sleep behind me. Maybe this trip would work out OK after all.

Continue reading]]> Day two of my trip began with my resolve not to put my head down and hammer out a fast ride, but to take my time and stop to explore what I saw along the way. My first chance to exercise that was only a few miles in as I passed Seacliff State Beach. It featured a pier with a sunken ship at the end. It is a concrete ship that its owners intentionally sank at the end of the pier.

As I left the park, riders from an organized ride joined me. I asked what the event was called, but I couldn’t understand them. Was it the seven-something ride, maybe? I stayed with the ride for a long time. I rode slower than everyone else, which gave me the chance to meet many of them. A few recognized my bikepacking bags and touring setup and gave me a thumbs up or asked where I was going. Our paths finally diverged, and I still had a lot of riding left.

I loved the contrast between the rural farmland and the exotic coastline, with dunes and surf in the distance. My version of farmland comes from growing up in the Midwest, with flatlands and crops as far as the eye could see in all directions. Seeing farmland on the coast with an ocean breeze blowing and set among a hilly landscape was a mix of worlds that did not seem to fit together, yet there they were. Seeing those worlds juxtaposed never stopped amazing me.

I originally planned to make it to Cannery Row for lunch, but my stomach had other ideas, and I needed to eat much earlier. But endless farmland offered little in the way of places to eat.

I gave in and stopped at the first fruit stand/gas station I saw. They had a small supply of a lot of things, as markets in the middle of nowhere often do, including enough for lunch. The gas station offered a picnic table on the edge of the asphalt pad as the only place to have lunch. I refused to eat in a gas station parking lot, especially when my original plans were to eat somewhere nice. The nice woman at the counter told me there was a place with some picnic tables a few miles down the road.

I don’t know which place she meant, because a few miles down the road was the lovely city of Moss Landing, and it offered many scenic spots to enjoy lunch. Highway 1 returned to the coast in this area, where an ecosystem called a slough begins. Like a coastal swamp, it is a delightful meeting of dunes, ocean surf, inland waterways, unique foliage, and marine mammals. It has its very own distinct exotic beauty among the many places I saw on my ride. I found a place near a marina to pull over and eat lunch.

From Moss Landing, the bike route turned inland again, and the coastal winds picked up. Sometimes a little in my favor, sometimes a bit of a headwind, they were nearly always from the side. And when the route turned directly into them, my pace slowed quite a bit, but thankfully that didn’t happen much. The route into Monterey turned into a dedicated bike path starting way outside of town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, which was impressive and wonderful to ride.

The path turned from a remote coastal route into a heavily traveled urban trail pretty suddenly. And what a great route it was. It took me past all the main sights you might want to see in Monterey along the coast, including Cannery Row, the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and, of course, Light and Motion bicycle lighting company. I received no promotional fees for this blog. But I wouldn’t object if I did.

I decided not to cook, and I had a hankering for a big deli sandwich. After searching for delis, I decided on International Deli in Monterey. When I got there, I discovered it was an Iraqi deli, not the sandwich kind of deli I had in mind, but it had good reviews and looked wonderful, so I rolled with it. I ordered the chicken shawarma because it looked great. I could not help but laugh at myself for feeling like Ironman. I hate it when people make movie references I don’t know, so search for Avengers shawarma if you need to. Once again, I had crammed too much in the day, so I decided to trim the 17-mile drive from my schedule. I packed my shawarma away and made the big climb to Veteran’s Park so I could enjoy it at my campsite. If you do the ride, make sure you fit the 17-mile drive into your schedule. I have seen it before, so I was OK.

When I got to the campground, I saw lots of biker tents but no bikers. Some tents did have bikes next to them. It looked creepily abandoned. “Are they all homeless?” I mused to myself, but I knew better. I set up camp and enjoyed the chicken shawarma. I had asked for some extra veggies, and they had obliged. Even though it had gotten tossed around a lot on the way to the campground, it was still wonderful.

I settled in, and it got dark early in the heavy overcast weather. The only lights I traveled with were a headlamp and my phone. The headlamp had an unexpected effect: the eyes of any critters looking at you reflect at you eerily. But, being critters, they don’t realize this, and think they are being super stealthy and you can’t see them. While walking to the showers after dark, I had a creature of unknown species following me with its gaze for a while. It made me uncomfortable, and I even tried to shoo it away. After amusing myself with a series of strange noises, a good old raspberry noise finally vexed whatever was stalking me, and it scampered away.

I fell asleep hard before 9 pm. I heard some bikers arrive later, and once again my eye mask and earplugs were very helpful. I was hoping to meet them in the morning.

I woke up well rested and realized I was sleeping well with my CPAP substitute breathing aids. This was a great development. I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to sleep well with them and might even have to cut my ride short. But that morning I committed to completing the ride as planned.

It was damp and cold: so damp it looked like it may have rained in the night. But if it did, the noise of the rain on the tent was not enough to wake me. It always amazes me how warm a tent can keep you, even though it is only a couple of thin sheets of nylon. My tent was a lightweight model with very thin nylon, and it still kept me cozy. I stayed in the protection of my vestibule to make myself a cup of coffee while the morning fog cleared up.

All of us cyclists eventually came out of our tents to say hello. Alex was riding around the PCH closure via a route that included King City. I couldn’t talk him into splitting the shuttle around the mud slide with me. I later encountered him on Facebook. He continued to ride long after my one-week trip ended, posting real-time updates.

Michael was an eBike enthusiast and, in my own words, a semi-vagabond. He was touring on a utility bike that was his own custom eBike creation. I had experimented with making eBikes a long time ago. I was surprised how literate I still was. Mike and I talked a long time about the state of eBikes. When I told him that I was sleeping consistently without my CPAP machine, he gave me the idea to ship the CPAP back home. I would have probably figured it out myself, but he probably saved me a couple of days of hauling it around.

Thaddeus, a total vagabond by his own admission, also joined us but declined to have his pic taken. I wasn’t sure if Thaddeus was a nickname or not, but his off-the-grid lifestyle was fascinating. Tim, the park ranger, checked in, trying to figure out who hadn’t paid their $6 camp fee.

I had to tear myself away from the great conversation if I wanted a relaxed ride to Big Sur. I talked as I packed and wished everyone well as the conversations continued. Damp fog had given way to low clouds, and it looked like a great day for a ride.

Continue reading]]> Day three of my tour would be a relatively short ride from Monterey to Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. I liked that it would be a short ride so it would give me time to take lots of pictures of this very scenic area.

I got a late start because I spent time fraternizing with fellow riders at Veteran’s Park in Monterey. The ride into the park the night before was a nasty climb to the top of a hill. But the ride out of the park and back to Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) still managed to offer more climbing. I had skipped the scenic 17 Mile Drive the day before, but I did ride the last few miles of it that morning.

The two bananas I had at the campground wouldn’t sustain me for long. I stopped early in the day at the last plaza offering services until I arrived in Big Sur later that day. I stop at that plaza every time I pass by, no matter my mode of travel, be it by car, motorcycle, or bicycle. The road around it was under construction, and it made ingress and egress by bike a little interesting. I found a cute breakfast place where the host seated me near an outlet so I could charge all of my accessories while I ate. The solar panel I brought didn’t help much in the heavy cloud cover along the coast.

The useless solar panels made me realize that my attitude toward the weather had changed. My mood used to depend on it. If I did not get sunny, calm, temperate weather, I was disappointed. But on this trip, I ran into a lot of cloudy, damp weather, albeit no rain. And it did not put a damper on my spirits (pun intended). It was a very liberating change.

The local Post Office was close by, and I stopped to ship items I didn’t need back home, including my CPAP machine and an extra water bottle mount. You can read about the dramas associated with each of those items in earlier blogs. After a quick stop at a market, I continued south. Leaving that plaza is always a bit dramatic for me. I consider it an outpost, a last bastion of civilization, the beginning of the rugged section of Big Sur, even though you are still in Carmel for a short while and there are good places to get supplies along the coast.

PCH south of Carmel had less room on the road for bikes than I remember from my last trip. Signs label the road as a bike route. And California has a relatively new law requiring motorists to give cyclists a minimum of 3 feet as they pass. But I think most people are unaware of the law. And it only helps so much on PCH. California law does not allow drivers to cross the double yellow line to give cyclists that space; instead, it instructs drivers to slow down. On much of the coast, there is no room to give cyclists that much space in the lane; there is nearly always a double yellow line, and almost no one slows down. So it was pretty much business as usual, dicing it up with cars.

Traffic was light, but I had hoped the closure on PCH farther south would reduce traffic more than it did. The number of cars did taper off as I went, and I was thankful for it. By traveling before Memorial Day, the number of large recreational vehicles (RVs) was also very low. RVs on that road can be pretty exciting for cyclists.

I have traveled this coast many times by car, motorcycle, and bicycle. It has been captured countless times in photographs and every conceivable artistic medium. As I traveled along the road, I felt the surreal sensation of moving through a living painting or sculpture, becoming part of the art myself. I imagined the hills rendered in brush strokes, the road portrayed in stippling, or the ocean as a large glass sculpture. I pictured myself in the third person, portrayed in the same media as my surroundings: the structure of bridges becoming rough welded brass, captured in perfectly lit black-and-white photography, or made abstract in watercolor. I have never seen cyclists traveling this road rendered artistically: they are always portrayed with simple photographs. But there must be an art catalog of Big Sur cyclists somewhere.

The only other person in the Hike or Bike area was Shane. I had expected to meet fewer cyclists as I got closer to the PCH closure. Shane was going south and turning back. That was an option for him because he lived not far to the north, making it an out-and-back ride. When I think about living in an area I find so special, I have mixed feelings. Would easy access to great experiences turn the exotic into the mundane? Or would my life be elevated by having this kind of experience often? I expect the former, but given the chance I would take the risk that it would be the latter.

Shane was quiet, but we talked more as we got settled in. He was a very fit rider traveling with a two-wheel utility trailer and wanted to get bags for his bike instead. He had a lot of equipment questions, and I was happy to talk tech about our bikes and gear. My old titanium Airborne Carpe Diem bike and bikepacking style bags garner a lot of attention. I think they also give me some cred so people listen to my advice and usually ask more as I tell them more.

Shane was staying at the park for a couple of days, which seemed like a good idea. Of all the places I might spend extra time on the ride, Big Sur would be on the top of my list, but tied with a few others. I was already beginning to plan a return trip to the coast now that I felt confident in my gear and ability to accommodate my sleep apnea.

Big Sur was thankfully dry. The dampness of Monterey had much of my gear soaking wet. My tent dried out quickly; I set up a clothes line and took care of other housekeeping. My sleep kit and I were getting along well. I fell asleep early and slept hard and long, which I did pretty much every night of my ride. And that was good, because the next day’s ride to Kirk Creek Campground started with a relentless climb out of the valley. But more on that in the next blog.

Continue reading]]> My bicycle tour of the California coast continued into its 4th day on a Tuesday. That put me right in the heart of a work week, beyond the feeling of a mere three-day weekend, and firmly in a vacation-adventure frame of mind. My ride that day would take me from Pfeiffer Big Sur campground to Kirk Creek campground, which is a bit of a spoiler since I started the day not sure where I would end it.

I made breakfast in the vestibule of my tent, once again using its protection as a great way to get an early start without stepping out into the cold. The neighboring redwoods seemed to think their needles were a good accompaniment to any recipe, and I had to go to extra lengths to keep from including them as an ingredient in my omelet.

After breakfast, I went to the lodge and enjoyed a fancier cup of coffee, used the meager internet/cell service, and charged my electronics. Michael and Yvonne, the lodge staff, were wonderful. We talked about Big Sur history, cycling stories, plans for the area, coffee-making tips, etc. Michael knew a lot about the area’s history and how the land had changed over time. He took me on a tour of some of the pictures in the lobby, using them to explain how the bridge and road had changed over the years, how there used to be rooms in the lodge, and other great local trivia.

Back at the campsite, my bike touring neighbor Shane had changed his plan. Originally he was going to go for a hike that day. But instead he decided to do a local ride. He was traveling with a bike trailer and wanted to leave it behind for a day. His route took him in the same direction as I was going, then up the challenging Nacimiento-Fergusson Road, which was near the campground I ended up staying at that night. It was sort of implicit that we wouldn’t ride together; his pace was clearly faster than mine. For non-cyclists, this might seem a bit strange, but cyclists’ speeds can vary widely, and you don’t presume to ask another rider to crawl along at your pace.

I departed first, so I knew we would see each other out on the road. The ride out of the valley was a long, steady, steep grade.  I was looking for the new bridge, completed just a few months earlier after an existing span collapsed. Its failure made all roads into Big Sur Village impassable, isolating it and creating an emergency. There are many bridges on the road, each with a date marked on it. There was only one from the previous year, so I easily identified the new one. Construction was complete, and the area was clear of equipment and returned to normal, all amazingly quickly.

It was not long until Shane rode up effortlessly from behind. He was nice about it and slowed his pace to match mine for a while, and we talked. Unfortunately, because of the long climb, I couldn’t do much talking. I think Shane could have delivered a State Of The Nation speech. Eventually we said good-bye and hoped that our paths would cross again later that day, which they did ever so briefly as we passed each other going in opposite directions.

Traffic continued to taper as I went south, more as I passed each tourist destination. By the time I passed Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, traffic was getting downright sparse. The ride that day was pure, uninterrupted, classic foggy Big Sur coastal cliffs.

I wasn’t sure where to stay that night: Plaskett Creek or Kirk Creek campground. Plaskett Creek had running water and showers that Kirk Creek lacked. But Kirk Creek is the only campground on the ocean side of Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) in the Big Sur area, offering a more intimate relationship with the coastline as you camp. And you could buy water by the gallon there, enough to drink, cook, clean, and bathe.

I stopped at the little restaurant in Lucia, and I was pleased to see they had expanded their small market. [It has since burned and is currently out of operation. But the owners say they plan to rebuild.] I reduced my load by buying just enough food late in the day for that night and the next morning. Unaware of this well-stocked market, I stocked up at the Big Sur Deli near the beginning of the ride and carried my supplies with me all day. The market in the remote area is good news for cyclists and hikers. They had food, ice, and other vital necessities. Like a good wine selection.

I ended up deciding to camp where I always do: Kirk Creek. In the words of real estate agents everywhere: location, location, location.

While I set up camp, I met Tom and Michael. Tom was not a cyclist, but he was using the hike-or-bike area legally to get a first-come, first-served campsite the next day.  He was a sustainability engineer. I was very curious about what that meant, and he answered my questions. I learned a lot about his perspective and good stewardship of the environment even for big engineering projects.

Tom was meeting a group of other sustainability engineers who camped together at Kirk Creek every year. One of their college professors had started the annual event years ago. He had since passed, but the tradition carried on in his memory. During the trip, the professor used to catch fish from the ocean on the shore below the campground to feed everyone. That was no longer possible because the fish population in the area had declined. The location and its changes over just a couple of decades inspired Tom and his fellow engineers.

Michael was a gifted musician traveling by bike with his guitar. He arrived by descending the steep, twisty Nacimiento-Fergusson road and would continue north. He and Tom played guitar duets, we sang, I provided wine and whiskey, and we watched for whales breaching in the ocean. You know, your everyday chance meeting of strangers.

I got free internet from a guy traveling in his huge solar electric Mercedes Sprinter, with a Hughes Gen 5 Internet dish set up on a tripod outside. He had pitched a sign that said, “Internet Cafe.” I asked him how much, and he said it was free, and he gave me his WiFi password. The van was a beauty, and we talked about how it worked. He told me he had done an electric conversion on an old Chevy van, and when Mercedes saw it, they hired him to help develop a solar-electric Sprinter. The big beast was part of his compensation.

I went to prepare dinner that night, but the flame on my camp stove fizzled out. I worked around it by changing my menu. I presumed, mistakenly, that the butane canister for my stove was empty, even though I had only used it a few times. More details on that in the next blog. I asked a few other campers if they had an extra butane canister. No one did, but everyone I asked offered to lend me their stove, which was wonderful. I planned to stop in Cambria the next day and buy a new fuel canister. In the meantime, I threw out the canister I had, which I later realized was a mistake.

I climbed into my tent early as usual, falling asleep to the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs below. I slept well in the fog of the coast, surrounded by fellow adventurers.

Continue reading]]> I awoke Wednesday morning on day 5 of my 8 day bike tour of coastal central California, greeted by the sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs below my tent at Kirk Creek campground. The morning weather was very damp fog, classic Big Sur, so my gear was pretty wet but manageable.

I was on a schedule that day. I would ride up to the closure on Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) at Gorda, closed due to the Mud Creek slide, and meet a shuttle that would take me around the closure and drop me off on the other side. It would take me about an hour to ride to Gorda. The shuttle ride would take 3 hours, then I had 45 miles of riding to finish the day. It would be fast with a big descent followed by flat roads and a good tailwind. I needed to stop in the biggest town of the day, Cambria, for supplies. My schedule would be tight, but I refused to stress about it and just take it as it happened. I packed up and said good-bye to the few fellow campers who were awake that early, and I was on my way.

My shuttle passed me a couple of miles before Gorda. The driver, Mandy, recognized me from my description and pulled over. We introduced ourselves, and I had her drive ahead as I rode the rest of the way. I was not going to miss the chance to ride PCH as an abandoned road.

Mandy was a friendly and knowledgeable host. I tried to help as much as I could, but she insisted on lifting my bike onto the roof of her car, and she remarked on how light my touring bike was. She had shuttled many touring bikes as a tour guide, but she said mine was among the lightest. She probably says that to all the bikers. We agreed that we liked the lighter style better.

Whenever I stop in Gorda, I take a picture of gas prices at the pump for fun. I usually post it to Facebook and freak people out. It may be the highest gas price in the country, but I have no problem with it. Getting gas there would be expensive. And you don’t need to fill up. A few gallons will get you to a place with more affordable gas.

No one else signed up for the shuttle, so it was just Mandy and me. I learned that Mandy was in the process of stepping down from a leadership role in an environmental organization. I never got around to asking which organization; I was too interested in hearing her talk about the various birds, deer, and fish in the area, and the organization’s efforts to restore and protect wildlife.

We got delayed by the traffic at the “Lightning in a Bottle” music festival. Had I known that The Glitch Mob and Emancipator were there, I might have considered checking it out. Mandy eventually cut around the traffic backed up on the main road. But with the delay, the longish ride ahead of me, and the need to get supplies, I made the decision to have her drop me off in the lovely coastal town of Cambria rather than drive back up the coast to the other side of the slide. It cut out about 20 miles of riding, and my body was telling me that it needed an easy ride that day. The next day would be my longest day with the most climbing, and I didn’t want to push it. I missed part of PCH with low traffic, but I did not regret the decision to take it easy that day.

While in Cambria, I needed to find another fuel canister for my stove, and I wanted to stock up for dinner.  Mandy recommended where to get what I needed.

The food was easy. I got the biggest deli sandwich ever at Sandy’s Deli and stashed it away for later. The fuel was another matter. I needed an isobutane canister, which has many advantages, but finding replacements easily is not one of them. You pretty much have to go to a dedicated camping store. You might find one at a hardware store with a few camping supplies, like the Cambria True Value store.  It was a large canister, but I could hardly be choosy in my situation.

I came upon the tiny village of Harmony just a few miles down the road. I took Mandy’s advice and stopped there. I have passed it many times, laughing at the posted population of 18 and never thinking about stopping. It is worth it for the stunning glass shop alone. On a weekend, you could also check out the dairy and ice cream truck, a pottery shop, and a “visitors center” with free coffee.

I continued south. The scenery was rolling grassy hills and ocean views. Morro Rock was visible most of the time, and I featured it in many of my pictures.

Like Harmony, I had driven by Cayucos many times and not stopped. Staying with my plan, I pedaled slowly through the lovely little town. It had a pier, a beach, and a quaint downtown area. I stopped at the local liquor store. It can be hard to find the right size bottle of Jack Daniel’s when you are riding, but Paul’s Liquor Store, while simply named, had what I needed.

Morro Strand was an interesting campground. It didn’t have Hike or Bike sites, so I reserved a tent site at full price. The spot I selected was as close to the ocean as I could get, with just a low bluff between me and the bay.  It gave me awesome scenery, but it wasn’t without issues. My campsite was 100% sand.  So it was hard to pitch my tent and keep my gear clean. Many people thought it was a nice view, including the neighborhood only a few hundred yards away, perched above the campground. They looked over the campground as part of their ocean view. Many of the homes had windows on the side facing us. I just pretended they weren’t there. The campground had no showers, but they did have an enclosed bathroom with flush toilets and sinks. Omitting showers seemed odd. The campground seemed designed for RVs, with tent sites as an afterthought.

After setting up camp, I rode around the area for yet more supplies and sightseeing. The summer days were long, and I found myself going down with the sun. I fell asleep early and slept well once again, ready for the next day of my tour.

Continue reading]]> Day 5 of my 8-day tour would be a long ride through a wide variety of California terrain, but it started with me fixing my kitchen. Quick backstory: I thought my fuel canister was empty after very little use, so I pitched it and bought a new one. I was pretty excited to cook bacon for breakfast, so I set up the stove with a new, full canister. But to my dismay, I still got no flame. Not much could go wrong with my simple little titanium camping stove. After turning it on and off a few times, I blew air through the small tube that goes from the canister to the stove. That fixed it. The canister that I threw away probably still had a lot of fuel left. More on my stove when I review it in a separate blog, but I was able to forgive it, and I still give it a thumbs up.

As I was breaking camp, I met Colette, who was car camping next to me. And by car camping, I mean sleeping in her Honda Civic. She was a wonderful woman with a heavy French accent, even after living in the USA for 45 years. She adventured a lot and often alone.

She shared a great story with me: she had a daughter who never called (nope, I have never heard that one before). One of the few times she did call was while Colette was out adventuring. Colette came home to find police all around her property, investigating the missing persons report her daughter had filed on Colette when she couldn’t reach her mother. Her daughter had panicked and presumed the worst. It only showed how little she knew about how her mother lived. I wasn’t sure whether the story was a comedy or a tragedy, but Colette told it well.

And before I could ask her, Colette said she thought it was silly that women were so afraid of travel and adventuring alone. She had done it all her life and had only one incident where she thought someone was following her, but she wasn’t sure, and nothing came of it.

I finished packing and took some time to explore the beach where I was camping. It was a mix of sandy bluffs, rugged ground cover, and shifting wetlands. It was very photogenic under the morning clouds. I returned to my bike, brushed off the sand, and started my ride on the dedicated bike trails around Morro Bay.

I followed the official Pacific Coast Route. From Morro Bay, it turned inland and became a divided highway. Even the most scenic route can’t avoid some amount of highway riding. The steady uphill grade went on for miles and ended in the beautiful town of San Luis Obispo. I stopped for a coffee in a cute business district.

After SLO, I rode back to the coast, sort of by surprise; I had not looked at my route that much and was not expecting any ocean views. The greater Pismo Beach area is a classic eclectic group of beach towns and the ride through them was fun and easy. The downtown pier area was under construction while I was there. I wound my way through it and across Pismo Creek, which formed a wetland in the middle of town.

Next is a route recommendation for Pacific Coast Route riders. As you leave Pismo Beach and ride through Arroyo Grande, stay on the marked route. A sign points you down Halcyon Road as an alternate route. It cuts a corner off the route and saves you some distance, so it is very tempting. Halcyon looks great at first, but it ends with no shoulder, is very steep, and is very busy. I have taken that cut twice now because of that sign, and I think it is a bad idea.

But I survived Halcyon Road, and the rest of the day was farm country roads. I shared the road with huge farm trucks, slow tractors, and clumps of dirt while negotiating small shoulders and rough pavement. The scenery was classic rural farmland with open fields, storage silos, heavy farming equipment, and the like. It was an abrupt change from the previous days of riding along the coast.

My ride that day ended in Santa Maria. It is the big city in a farming area, so it reminded me of where I grew up. I stopped for supplies and made my way to the hotel where I would be staying that night, the only night I would spend at a hotel during my 8-day tour. I couldn’t believe how happy I was to see it; I was ready for a little extra comfort that night.

When I called ahead to make reservations, the concierge assured me that it was okay to bring my bike right into the hotel and into my room. They said they had a lot of cyclists there riding the coastal route. I could see why: the nearest campground is pretty far away in Lompoc and did not fit my schedule. The Radisson is only a few bucks more than the bargain motels, so I splurged. I was happy I did.

I ate dinner at the nicer restaurant at the hotel with white tablecloths and everything. Such decadence! I would be back to camping and cooking soon enough. Pampering myself for a night was a wonderful change of pace and recharged me for the rest of the ride. I concluded that when I do a multi-week tour someday, I will stay at hotels one or two nights a week.

I cleaned myself and my clothes thoroughly, using the sink and tub to clean my clothes. I hung everything all over the room to dry, feeling confident they would actually get really dry that night after so many nights outside in foggy, damp conditions. I must have been in “roughing it” mode; I never even thought of using the laundry at the hotel. I put all of my electronics on real wall chargers too, another luxury. And as I did on most nights, I fell asleep quickly, early and well, ready to continue my ride into Southern California wine country the next day.

Continue reading]]> I awoke to the luxury of a hotel room on Friday, day 7 of my 9-day tour. I was enjoying camping every other night, but the hotel was a nice change of pace. My room had clean clothes hanging over every available spot, and leftovers from the restaurant meal the night before sat in the tiny refrigerator. As much as I was enjoying the hotel, the ride ahead was beckoning, and I was too excited to have a lazy morning. I had ridden the Pacific Coast Route before, but this time I was taking a new route through the wine country in this area.

Central Coast Outdoors (CCO), the company that shuttled me around the Highway 1 closure, recommended riding through wine country. My reaction was – “Wine country? That is farther north, right?” Well, of course, Napa Valley and the surrounding areas in northern California are famous for their many vineyards. But there is a huge wine country south of the central coastal region, and it is growing fast. And it is beautiful country to ride through.

My route that day was the longest riding day of my tour. I planned to do 60+ miles of riding and 3000+ feet of elevation gain. Fortunately, I was “riding myself into shape,” as fellow tourers call it, and I felt ready for it. I had also changed my destination at Mandy’s recommendation from CCO. There were 3 campgrounds to choose from on my way into Santa Barbara: Gaviota, Refugio, and El Capitan. I was originally going to stay at Gaviota, but based on Mandy’s advice, I changed my destination to Refugio State Beach for that day, adding some miles to my ride.

I got an early start as usual. The weather was sunny and cool all day, perfect for riding. Santa Maria is a small town, and the hotel was on its outskirts, so I quickly got into a rural setting. The early route centered around Foxen Canyon Road. The roads I took most of the day didn’t have a bike lane, but traffic was almost nonexistent. The few cars that passed me were happy to give me a lot of room.

In the middle of rugged backcountry with no gas stations, traffic lights, or even intersections, I encountered a wine-tasting location. It was basically a nice shed set up in the front of a home. Then another. Then a huge fancy one.

The never-ending row of vineyards ended as I rode into Los Olivos. It was one of many towns I rode through that I had never heard of before, but it was a pleasant surprise. Not knowing if there would be another good stop, I got some important supplies for the day while I was there.

Somewhere in town, the route turned into an actual, official, named bike lane, which was a pleasant change. It wound its way along more charming back roads on its way to the mother lode of all tourism in the area: the city of Solvang. It is known for its Danish-themed architecture and loads of great options for eating, drinking, and sightseeing. And, for us cyclists, the annual Solvang Century ride.

I left Solvang by taking Alisal Road. It is a gorgeous narrow road out of town, and it cuts off much of the riding on US-101, which is basically a freeway open to bikes. It is not shown as a through road on all maps, but Alisal does connect as a bike route to Old Coast Highway and US-101 as I write this, even if your map shows the road closed to cars. I made the big left turn to get on US-101, and I was rewarded with a long steady descent to the coast. If you look at that stretch and notice a tunnel, be aware that the tunnel is only on one side of the freeway, the northbound side, and it is an uphill grade. There was no tunnel on the southbound side where I was. I pushed past Gaviota and on to Refugio. There is a very short bridge on that section with no shoulder for bikes, so you have to get out in the lane. It had loads of “Share The Road” warning signs with big pictures of bicycles on them, but I got honked at anyway, which actually amused me more than anything.

The conditions in Refugio were windy, but I found out that was pretty normal. The campground had a small store with very limited hours, i.e., it was not open at all while I was there. The shower facilities were very nice and right next to the Hike or Bike campsite. The campground was full with family reunions and large groups camping together. I scored some ice and got a few family history lessons about camping in Refugio.

After settling in, Nick joined me at the Hike or Bike area. He was a local who camped there often. We exchanged notes about camping equipment, and I told him I thought it would be great to live close to all the coastal campgrounds in the area. It was good to know it didn’t go unnoticed by Nick, who clearly enjoyed it.

As usual, I was ready to go to sleep as soon as the sunset permitted it. I definitely did not wear out any of the batteries in my headlamp. Falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the beach after a long day of riding and great experiences seemed to be a formula for a good night’s sleep, indeed.

Continue reading]]> Waking up at my campsite at Refugio State Beach on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend was a nice experience. This was day 8 of my 9-day bike tour. It had only taken me a few days to shrug off the hectic life of suburbia and work and embrace a nomadic existence. I was already starting to feel a little melancholy about the end of my ride, but I didn’t devote much time to that.

The Hike or Bike campsite where I was staying faced a beach cove with only a narrow road between the campsites and the sand. My tent was pitched under a stand of tall trees, only a few steps from a super clean restroom/shower building. The nearby playground had children playing, dawn patrol surfers were on the edge of the cove, and pelicans glided low over the ocean in small groups. The low morning sun bathed a crystal blue sky in shades of golden orange light. The morning was a work of art, and the rest of the day would be as well.

But it was not totally perfect. Whereas previous days brought challenges of dampness and sand, Refugio greeted me with wind, including some pretty big gusts. I had to find rocks to put on my loose gear so it wouldn’t blow away. And not small rocks, either. It wasn’t windy enough that I had to guy out my tent, but I probably should have, just in case.

Nick, a local from Santa Barbara, had shown up late the night before. I was out like a light by 9 pm like most nights, so we hadn’t talked much. Nick said it was always windy at Refugio, but it was windier than normal that day. As usual with fellow riders, Nick and I compared notes about how to pack and travel on bikes, our plans, and how we wished trips like this would never end.

I made breakfast, packed, and started my ride. I quickly discovered that the wind was a microclimate. As I rode up from the beach to the road above, the wind died down and turned into a steady tailwind that stayed with me all day. The day just kept getting better and better!

There is a dedicated bike trail between Refugio and El Capitan State Beaches, but part of it was closed because the ground under it is collapsing into the beach. I rode the closed section but don’t count on it being there in the future. At El Capitan, you have to enter the freeway legally and ride the shoulder for about 7 miles until you can exit. It is a choke point for cyclists in both directions: there is no alternate route to the freeway. The tailwind helped, but I felt bad for the riders I saw on the other side of the road facing the freeway and a headwind.

Santa Barbara: A Tale Of Two Bike Trails

The ride through Santa Barbara was mostly world-class bike lanes and classic beach scenery. The Cabrillo Bike Route (CBR) is well designed and gives you a wonderful tour of Santa Barbara. But before you start CBR (coming from the north), there is a bike path on Hollister Road. Excuse me while I rant; I will get back to the awesome ride, I promise.

The bike lane on Hollister is just a big sidewalk that bikes are allowed to ride on. It is best for casual riders out for a little neighborhood spin but not useful for bike tourers, commuters, or people trying to get anywhere by bike. There are several reasons for this:

• It is paved with concrete which is full of seams and bumpy, even when smoothed out as required by state law.
  
• It is set back from the road so cyclists are less visible to drivers, especially at intersections.
• Cars must stop in the path of cyclists in order to see cross traffic.
• Cyclists must stop at every intersection, whether there is a sign or not, in order to be safe.
  
• It is only on one side of the road so it carries two way traffic.

A better design for traveling cyclists combines a dedicated sidewalk, a wide bike lane, and a painted, hash-marked buffer zone, as we have in the area where I live. That puts cyclists on asphalt, separate from pedestrians, buffered from traffic, visible to cars at intersections, and able to proceed just like cars. The sidewalk doesn’t have to be huge because it also benefits from the bike buffer zone, and the curb protects pedestrians from cyclists.

It was not a big deal: I was only on that section for 2 miles, and there was room for me on the road. I am only thread-jacking my own blog because I think it is an interesting lesson for other cities thinking about expanding cycling infrastructure.

The transition to the CBR was a welcome change. The trail started by winding its way through the University of California, Santa Barbara (UCSB) campus. I was there on a quiet Saturday, so it was like I had the place to myself.

After making its way across UCSB, the trail continued to the pier area and along the beaches. There were lots of beach cruisers on the route, and I enjoyed riding at their pace and kept my distance. The bike trail on a busy Saturday is about sightseeing, not setting a personal best time.

CBR eventually ended, and I continued on a frontage road that kept me off of the freeway, but barely. The world around me was slowly changing from the wide open spaces of the Big Sur coast and wine country to the crowded environs of Southern California on Memorial Day weekend. At first I did not like it; I felt like all of those people were encroaching on my space. And my space had grown very large over the previous days. But I reached my destination for the night: Carpinteria State Beach, where I could relax and adjust.

As I checked into the Hike or Bike campsite, I found myself getting grumpy. It was about the crowds. I sat down and readjusted my attitude. Instead of feeling hemmed in by the crowds, I refocused and got caught up in the excitement of being around everyone. It really is possible to control your experience of things, but sometimes you have to become your own therapist to do it.

At the campsite I met a young family from Germany who were on an extended parental leave for 2 months. They were touring in a huge RV (bigger than anything you would see in most of Europe, they told me). They forced beer and salad on me, which I tried to resist. But I failed. I babysat little Philippe, who let me hold him without fussing while Mom and Dad packed to leave. Even after knowing them for only a short time, it was hard to say goodbye as they piled into their RV. I guess I was having a more emotional day than I realized at the time.

Carpinteria State Beach was packed for Memorial Day to the surprise of no one. Kelson from Goleta was a fellow cyclist who was later joined for the night by his wife and child. A group of 4 very enthusiastic Latino riders from Los Angeles was there. Dennis, a Navy veteran, joined us late, and he marveled at how rare our first names were. There were so many groups that I could not meet them all. And several seemed to want to stay apart from the big group, which I could empathize with because that is how I felt when I arrived.

The campground was near the old town downtown area. I played tourist and enjoyed exploring Laughing Buddha Thrift Shop.

I got some supplies for the stay. One thing I have a hard time living without is ice. But that was easily available at nearby convenience stores, so I splurged and filled up a cooler, pretending to be car camping for just a while.

As usual, the physical effort and the emotional ups and downs of the day left me fulfilled and tired early in the evening. I relaxed around the campsite and introduced myself to people until after dark. The nice thing about being in a Hike or Bike campsite is that everyone else has had a similar experience, and we were all ready for sleep early after a day of riding.

Continue reading]]>

Bike travel during a busy weekend means busy roads, campgrounds and everything else. But it also means more to see and do.

The last day of my tour began at the very full Carpinteria State Beach campground on a Memorial Day weekend Sunday. I had a short ride planned that day to the Amtrak station in Oxnard, where I would load my bike onto the train and be dropped off just a few miles from home. So I was in no hurry around the campsite that morning. I wanted to explore the boardwalk trails around the park and grab some breakfast before I loaded the bike.

It took me a while to pack because of all the activity at the campsite. Kelson and his wife were super friendly and recommended an easy dirt-road alternative to the official Pacific Coast Route. The young Latino bicycle gang, as I affectionately thought of them, got up surprisingly early and were abuzz about their riding and plans. I met an older guy riding an eBike who I had to break off my conversation with. We had a lot in common, and I think we could have talked all morning.

The Shakedown Of My Electrical System

I made another side trip before starting my main ride, stopping at a nearby plaza for supplies and enjoying a coffee at Starbucks while I charged my battery pack. My original plan was to rely on solar power and a battery pack to keep my phone and Garmin GPS charged. But the early part of my ride was too cloudy for my solar panel. And I had no good way to mount the panel, either; it kept rolling off of my bags. I also pared away a lot of extra fabric from the panels to save weight, which left them flimsy and ready to fall apart from all the shaking as I rode. I also brought a battery pack designed to charge and discharge fast, using Quick Charge 3.0 (QC3.0). My phone was also QC2.0, still very fast, though my Garmin had no fast-charge feature. I also brought a wall charger that could charge all 3 items – the battery, phone, and Garmin- all at once at full speed. So in about an hour, I could get enough charge for a couple of days. There are even faster batteries coming to market now called Graphene. I even tried one, and it was great; it could charge in less than 30 minutes, but it had a small capacity, so I returned it (gotta love Amazon). I hope that by my next ride they will have evolved a little more. As for my solar panel, I actually threw it out a day earlier; it was about to fall apart. For tours that go through mostly civilized areas, I am going to use just an external battery and charger from now on. On my 9-day tour, I only had to take 2 extended breaks to charge my battery, and I was never close to running out of power so that I could get by with less charge time.

After my trip to the plaza, I returned to the campground, packed, and headed out on Kelson’s dirt road alternate. It was a great recommendation. My only disclaimer for other riders is that you must be able to handle some off-road riding with your heavily laden touring bike. I am a mountain biker too, so I was fine with it.

The dirt alternate dumped me right into another segment of the ride that the locals were very excited about, and I soon found myself sharing their excitement. It was a relatively new section of dedicated bike lane starting at Rincon Road and going south for about 4 miles. Before that trail was built, you had to ride on the freeway; there was no alternate route. The trail was built on the ocean side of the road with a great view all the way. And in my case, the conditions also included a glorious dose of perfect sunshine, cool temperatures, and a tailwind. I watched people flying down the freeway in their cars and wondered how many realized what they were driving past, sealed up in their climate-controlled interiors. If riding a bike could somehow be like this all the time everywhere you went, I seriously don’t think any able-bodied people would ever use a car.

From there, the route wound along the coastal railroad and back and forth under the freeway, then stayed on the coast side for a long way, flanked on the right by a series of campgrounds/RV parks that clung to the small area between the road and the ocean. And they were all packed that day with huge RVs and people milling around them and in the mostly empty road. The road ended for motor vehicles and continued as a bike trail, delivering me to the outskirts of the city of Ventura.

Bike travel during a busy weekend means busy roads, campgrounds, and everything else. But it also means more to see and do. I met a lot more fellow bike travelers and rode past the start/finish line of a running event.

I met Trey and Hilton in Ventura. Their ride had started in Montana, and they arrived in Ventura via the state of Washington. Hilton was going to San Diego and Trey to Argentina. But their paths were separating just 10 miles down the road; they were clearly not looking forward to it.

I left the coast in Oxnard and headed inland toward the train station. The scenery changed from the exotic views of the coast into more familiar suburban neighborhoods, industrial parks, and shopping centers. I thought it would help me ease back into reality, but if anything, it had the opposite effect. My ride was ending, and the reality of it came crashing in on me. My tour had a story arc all its own. I started with more insecurity than I realized. I faced an early go/no-go decision. And I shortened a couple of days because I was so tired. But it ended with confidence in my touring skills, increased endurance, and endorphin-induced euphoria. I thought I would have had my fill after all that riding, but the bigger part of me was just getting started. I finished strong and was sorry to see the ride end. I leaned my bike against a fence at the train station and reflected on the moment. I decided to mark that moment as the end of the ride so I could make a clean break and begin the process of returning to my regular life, which I could see would take some time.

Part of me wanted to deal with the process by looking ahead to my next tour. I would do that in due time, but I didn’t let myself do it just yet. I wanted to keep savoring what was left of this adventure.

In the days that followed, I had a hard time focusing on work or anything that resembled responsible adulthood. I knew that I needed to attend to things like my job, paying bills, and maintaining stuff around the house. The process took time, but after a week or so I adjusted. And THEN I started to plan my next tour.