Author: kevin.noel@telus.net

Day 31 – Big Sur. 50 km

We idled away our morning in the sunshine in Carmel before hitting the highway. This turned out a mistake as the afternoon brought rain and strong gusting winds. The road to Big Sur skirts the coast and is famously scenic. As today is a Saturday, there was a lot of traffic. And like most coastal hill-hugging roads in California, the shoulder was skimpy in many areas. The combination of continuous traffic, rain, gusty winds and the shoulder deficit made for a very stressful ride.

Carmel was pleasant and is scenically very beautiful, but feels artificial and pretentious. Perhaps that’s the price of too much money living in one place – it’s clearly a very affluent town. There’s only room for the tasteful and well-heeled – although tourists looking for fine dining or art are always welcome. I went into a bank to withdraw some cash and had a young, very sober-looking bank teller ask, “How may I be of service to you?” sounding very officious about it. It was as if he thought I’d wandered in by mistake, Perhaps because I was wearing cycling clothes. I told him I just needed the ATM. He agreed that was probably best.

Day 32 – Big Sur (Lucia) – 55 km

What a day! Last night we camped at a private campground and felt lucky to get a site as it was getting late and starting to rain. This area has a lot of tourists all year round so accommodation can be difficult – especially since the Big Sur state campground is closed due to issues related to recent forest fires. No risk of fires now, as it pounded down with rain all night and much of today. The kind of rain that soaks you within 30 seconds if you don’t have protection. We have only basic protection – rain jackets – so we were sodden most of the day. So too were our tents which had to be taken down and packed in drenching rain. It was miserable. But at least it’s not cold.

Services of any kind are few and far between in this area, and everything is expensive. It’s something of a tourist trap. And for cyclists it’s a trap that’s not easy to escape. Especially in the weather we were facing. After packing up and thoroughly wet, we went for coffee and refuge from the weather in the local cafe – the only one for several miles. This was undoubtedly the low point of our journey. We made a call and found a room available at the closest motel, 35 miles up the road. $250 a night for a very basic room. We spent the next four hours riding the coastal highway and battling a heavily gusting southerly wind blowing at us from every direction depending on the twists of the road – from the side (towards traffic), from the front (often while climbing a hill) and from behind (not often enough). And with the wind, a pelting rain that stings your face and your arms through your jacket sleeves. But at least today, with the abysmal weather, the traffic was light.

In planning this trip I took some satisfaction from a claim made somewhere that the wind blows generally from the north on this coast. If there’s any truth to that it hasn’t been happening for us. And weeks ago in Washington and Oregon when we had rainy days I motivated Sophie with the promise that once we reached California all our days would be sunny and warm. I think we’ve now paid our dues for that misconception and have earned a reprieve. The forecast for tomorrow and for the week ahead is sunshine.

…C’EST LE ROI DU SOLEIL.

Day 33 – San Simeon State Beach – 58 km

From the ridiculous to the sublime. Today was glorious. Sunny, warm and with a steady wind blowing at our backs.

As we started out from our motel this morning we saw a group of road cyclists (no baggage on board) gathered at a food station set up across the road. They were part of a charity ride in support of athletes with disabilities and are cycling from San Francisco to San Diego. We spent the day mingling with various groups of these riders on the road, and prided ourselves on keeping pace with many of them – even with the significant difference in the weight we’re pushing. We also saw Adam, a cyclist from North Van whose riding from San Fransisco to Palm Springs. Adam is camping his way down, but is travelling super light (change of clothes, sleeping bag, tent) and riding a carbon fibre road bike. We first met him in Big Sur on the day of the big rain, however while we dried out in our motel Adam camped a second night in the downpour. He didn’t look any worse for it today. He was pretty cheerful during our brief exchange this morning on the road before turning on the afterburners and rocketing into the distance.

Earlier I called Big Sur a tourist trap, but it has nothing on the San Simeon strip. This crass “resort community” consists of roads parallelling the highway on both sides with nothing but hotels and their restaurants. The only store was a pathetic Mini Mart selling mostly junk food and beach toys. There were probably 20 hotels along this strip, but virtually nothing else. And in mid-October it was like a ghost town.

Day 34 – Pismo Beach, CA. 92 km

Pismo Beach is where monster RVs go when they’re not prowling the highways menacing cyclists. The presence of so many RVs in this town is the result of a natural evolution of the place. In 1910 the railroad created a tent city for vacationers from San Francisco. The RR offered customers a tent and site for purchase. Kind of a forerunner of today’s mobile home park.

A curious thing about RVs is the variety of names they proudly display, presumably designed to appeal to every conceivable fancy of prospective RV owners. There are outdoorsy/sporty names like Big Horn, Montana and Big Sky. There are insipid happy holiday names like Leisure Time, Sunny Brook and Bounder. And then there are the strangely sinister ones, like Intruder, Predator and Vengeance. What, I wonder, might you find that’s different in an Intruder versus a Sunny Brook? Bolt cutters? And what type of buyer chooses a Predator over a Bounder?

Unrelated note: The most popular car on California Highway #1 through Big Sur and south along the coast? Ford Mustang – especially red and convertible.

Day 36 – Solvang, CA. 115 km
This day was intended to be a big mileage gainer, but we ran out of steam and daylight 15 miles short of our intended campground and stayed over in Solvang, a picturesque Danish-themed town in the Santa Ynez Valley. We took a motel for the night and it was perfect – at half the price of our very basic room in Big Sur. Ahead of us tomorrow is a four-mile climb up through San Marcos Pass (2,225 feet elevation) and then a roller-coaster descent down to Santa Barbara. It’s hot here right now, so we’re not thrilled by the climb. However, after that it’s all just small hillocks and dips in the road for the rest of the way to Mexico.

Twenty miles from Pismo Beach, Guadalupe was the first town we came to. It’s our routine to stop for coffee at such places but this town is unlike any other we’ve seen. It’s in the middle of a vast agricultural area and seems to be a service centre for Mexican farm workers. We could not find any kind of coffee shop, or a regular store of any kind. I asked a woman on the street about where to get a cup of coffee and she told me I could buy coffee all over town. I hadn’t seen any obvious places, so I asked if there was anywhere we could sit and drink coffee and perhaps eat something. “Oh!” she says, “you want to sit and drink coffee.” Uhh, yes. She directed us to a candy store that may be the only place in Guadalupe that serves coffee and provides seating.

Day 37 – Ventura, CA. 85 km
Our first 15 miles this morning were slow and I could sense that Sophie was not ready for a four-mile climb in 90+ degree heat. I also felt some dread for the monster ahead. And then we happened to pass a minivan taxi cab on the highway and it got me to thinking… At our next stop for refreshment I got the number of the cab company and ordered a minivan cab to take us to the top of the pass. We cheated. And I didn’t even feel guilty as we passed Daniel, a cyclist from Ohio we met earlier, grinding up the hill on his way – eventually – to Argentina.

In Santa Barbara, while stopped to check directions, we encountered Adam – the cyclist from North Van.

This was the fourth time we’ve crossed paths with him. As he rides much quicker than us, it seemed uncanny. We first met him in Big Sur. Saw him again next day on the road south of Big Sur. Saw him in Guadalupe where he joined us for coffee. Then again in Santa Barbara, where we had lunch together. There won’t be a fifth time as he’s heading inland now, over the mountains toward Palm Springs.

We’re camped tonight in a primitive campground, between the highway and the beach. It’s a state-run campground, but seems like one they’d rather forget. The issue of homeless people in this region is significant, and this campground is probably a magnet for them. We’re the only ones camped here – it is dedicated to hiker/bikers only, otherwise the facilities woud be better and it would be filled with car campers.

Day 38 – Santa Monica – 105 km

Day 39 – Huntington Beach – 88 km

Two big days of riding, although today – through LA – was made considerably easier by the extent of beachside cycle paths in this city. The ride between Ventura and Santa Monica was tough, with a long stretch of highway and no place to eat – or to replenish water bottles – until Malibu. We were exhausted by the time we got to Santa Monica and then had to find our way through massive Friday night crowds to the SM hostel.

We’re in a motel for the night here in HB and I expect I’ll need 10 hours of sleep to feel ready for tomorrow. Only two more days… I’m too tired to think about how I feel re that.

Some photos of the past few days in place of further reflection.

Day 40 – Carlsbad State Park – 102 km
Our last night on the road. Tomorrow we’ll be in San Diego. We’ll mark the official end of our journey with a 20 mile ride to the Mexican border the day following.

I’m glad this odyssey is coming to an end. The last week we’ve been pushing hard to make San Diego for Sophie’s deadline – a flight booked to Mexico City. Making that deadline sucked all the time out of our days for lingering anywhere. We’ve been riding past endless stretches of beach for the past week and haven’t once been in the ocean. I’ll make up for that in San Diego, where I have four days to relax before flying home.

Over the past six weeks I’ve been struck by how beautiful and varied the Paciffic coast of this country is. From rain forests to redwoods, vast expanses of planted fields to desert hlls, wild rocky coastline and crashing waves to sunny beaches and rolling surf. Just the public beaches alone leave me amazed. I used to think Vancouver had impressive beaches. The massive beaches of LA dwarf our piddly strands. I’ve discovered the mythic SoCal beach culture is very real and not just a creation of Hollywood and holiday marketers, as I had thought.

Yesterday we arrived in Huntington Beach to an airshow provided by US Navy pilots. Jet fighters screamed overhead in all directions trailing smoke and producing the most gut-felt roaring noise I’ve ever experienced. They made passes 100 feet off the ground, slowing to a speed that seemed impossible for flight, and then suddenly full-throttling it, making the ground shake with the roar of their engines. It was a naked display of military macho, to make the crowds gathered at Huntington Pier and beach proud of their country and the lethal power of its weapons. It really was impossible to not be impressed. These aircraft come as close to “god-like” power as anything I’ve ever seen.

Day 41 – San Diego – 55 km

We positioned ourselves for an easy ride into San Diego today. Although it was shorter, somehow it didn’t feel any easier. Every hill is still an effort to climb. And there were more of them than we’ve seen in the past few days.

Arriving in San Diego at 2:30 on a Monday afternoon I was stunned by how quiet the downtown area of this city is. There was no traffic on the roads and ridiculously few people walking about. It was as you might expect on a national holiday. All around us were office towers that I had to imagine were filled with people as there was little evidence of any human presence anywhere. Such a contrast with San Francisco and the many cities of the LA corridor. We virtually owned the downtown streets as we road to our hostel.

My roommates in my four-bed room include two friendly young guys from Finland who’ve been exploring Southern California by car for the past ten days, and a blonde, Scandi-looking guy who hasn’t said a word and avoids eye contact. More than that, he seems intent on avoiding any kind of social contact by going to bed later and getting up earlier than any of us others. In the cafeteria I watched as he kept his face stuck in his ipad for at least an hour, not once looking up or acknowledging anyone else. I have to wonder if I should be worried. Until I’ve had some intereraction with this guy I’m tempted to think my bunk mate (he’s sleeps above me) might be an axe murder or a white supremecist plotting his revenge on liberal society.

Day 42 – San Diego/Mexican Border.  40 km

We left the hostel after breakfast for our last ride of this long journey, to the border. However, finding our way out of the city and onto a bike-friendly route south for our last 40 km ride was a challenge. For such a placid, unhurried, uncrowded place, San Diego is complicated. Or at least its road system is.

When we found ourselves still consulting maps and Google outside of Aunt Emma’s Pancake House at 11:00 I suddenly realized how hungry I was, and how perfect a lunch of pancakes would be. But as we dawdled with maps, etc. I watched a stream of customers going into the place and discovered we’d have to wait 20 minutes for a table. I swallowed hard and we decided to bike on.

For the next 30 km I scanned every strip mall we passed for any sign of a pancake place. I was absolutely fixed on the idea. Tacos, hamburgers, Subway sandwiches – all were readily available, but I wanted something sweet. Specifically pancakes.

On arriving in San Ysidro – the US town bordering Mexico – I was hopeful. The place was like a massive shopping mall featuring every conceivable US franchise, except for a pancake house. By this time I was hypoglycemic and getting irrational. Sophie suggested alternatives, but I couldn’t accept eating anything savoury. We found there was a Starbucks at the end of a long line of fashion stores and I allowed that I might be able to stomach coffee and a muffin. As we rode the short distance toward the Starbucks I looked across the massive mall parking lot and, like a miracle, a god-send, an epiphany, I saw the magic word on the side of a building in the distance. Pancakes. International House of.  If I were a religious person, I might say something like my prayers were answered – but, by IHOP?  Needless to say the meal barely lived up to expectations.  But what a moment.

 

 

We had a similarly underwhelming experience at the “border.” We didn’t actually get anywhere near to the border. You can’t do that without committing to crossing it. We didn’t want to take the time, so we settled on having our photo taken by a passing security guard with a gigantic Mexican flag flapping in the wind over the border, in the distance behind us.

And thus ended our epic bicycle journey. We slung our bikes into an SD Metro trolley and returned to the city  like regular people, no pedalling involved.

Both Sophie and I find ourselves swept by a mix of feelings at reaching the end.  I want to give some time to reflecting on those before my  next post.