cycling Vancouver to Mexico

Grindingly obvious

It’s a long way from Vancouver to San Diego. Close to 3,000 kilometres. Riding in all types of weather and camping all the way, it will be a long grind.

Of course hundreds… maybe thousands of people have done this trip, and I’ve read some of their accounts. But their journey is not our journey. And with just two days until we set off, I feel strangely nervous.

This plan was hatched eight months ago. My neighbour has done a couple of long-distance bike tours and the idea appealed to me.

I asked my 20-year-old daughter if she’d be interested in biking across Canada. She wasn’t. But she returned and asked if I’d be interested in a different trip – biking to Mexico. And so we are.

Me – a 60-year-old with the motivation, time and resources to make this journey possible. Sophie, with the free-spirited and adventurous nature required for being my partner.

Let the mile grinding begin.

CROSSING THE LINE

Day 1 – Birch Bay – 74km

It was sunny and warm as we left Vancouver. Couldn’t have been better. Crossing the border at Peace Arch was interesting. Hardened borders mean long waits. We were in the line for pedestrians (who walks to the US?). With one couple ahead of us we still waited 30 minutes to get cleared. Not for lack of staff – there were burly border guards everywhere, impassively walking around behind the counter, which was lined with at least 25 work stations. But nobody was interested in dealing with people in line. Maybe we arrived during a shift change. When we finally did get someone’s attention it took all of 2 minutes for him to determine we weren’t a threat to national security.

LAND OF THE FREE

Day 2 – Larrabee State Park – 7okm

I’ve given up trying to use maps – too fussy, and Google Maps provides such detailed instruction (continue for 100 metres, go left for 2o metres…) that I’ve taken to navigating by the sun. We’re heading south, so any promising road in that direction should do… as long as we’re prepared for some confusion and extra mileage along the way. Extra mileage was required for getting to Larrabee. But I still like this strategy of celestial navigation – aided by the local knowledge of roadside bystanders.

Lunch in Bellingham. There seem be a lot of young, unemployed people in B’ham. Actually, lots of unemployed people of all ages. And lots of strong characters. This is America, after all. Land of the free. One 40-ish guy, certainly unemployed and, judging from how brown and gnarly he looked, maybe living rough, was covered in tattoos. On his forehead extending back over his balding skull he had a large tattoo of the Dallas Cowboys logo. Like tribal identity markers in Borneo. Or football as religion, giving meaning to life. I am a fan, therefore I am.

ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING

Day 3 – Deception Pass State Park
60 km

Woke up to a drizzling rain that became pounding before I could light the stove for breakfast. Sophie still in her tent. When she poked her head out she was beaming. Everything sodden and the prospect of a long ride in the rain, and she was unfazed. I love this girl!

After fuelling up on oatmeal we packed – everything wet – and set off. The ride down Chuckanut Drive was beautiful – even in the rain. Eventually we emerged from the forest onto a looooong, inexorably straight country road, with a stiff headwind and pelting rain. It took 90 minutes before we came to a place where we could have coffee – Sisters Drive Through, with outdoor seating for non-driving customers. At least by now the rain had stopped. Brooke (the sister on duty) served us Americanos and hot dogs, Many of her other customers, most dressed in camo gear and gumboots, had come from salmon fishing on the Samish River. There was talk of guns ‘n stuff. This is Trump territory. Trump signs outnumber Hillary’s at least two to one.

We crossed the spectacular Deception Pass Bridge and rode into the park at mid-afternoon. The wind off the water creates a constant roar as it blows through the treetops. Similar, in fact, to the roar of the military jets that seem to constantly be taking off and landing from the nearby Whidbey Island Air Force Base.

HOME OF THE BRAVE

Day 4. – Port Townsend
50 km

A very nice ride down Whidbey Island to the Port Townsend ferry. Crossing Hood Canal we saw sea lions, jelly fish and even a salmon. Port Townsend has preserved its Victoiran past – virtually all of the buildings in the main part of town date from the late 19th century. Obviously a tourist town, but also apparently a capital of counter culture. Walking the main street felt like being on a movie set, with “characters” everywhere. A youngish woman dressed in baggy clothes played a monotonous new-agey tune on a home-made wooden recorder. Four young guys sitting next to the sidewalk were “jamming” with a couple of guitars they barely knew well enough to strum.

From our campsite we can see a US Navy installation of some kind across Hood Canal. And we can still hear the occasional muscle-flexing rumble of fighter jets from the Whidbey Isl air base. For that matter, we’re camped at Fort Townsend, an old military fort from the 1850s, of which nothing now remains but weathered signage marking locations for the officer’s quarters, etc. From this spot It’s hard not to notice how large a role the military plays in America.

REST DAY 1

Day 5 – Port Townsend

The outlook was for rain today, so we decided to hole up here in PT. Our campground is 4 miles from town and as we biked in it started to pour. We’re sitting in a cafe drying out. Ironically, it’s now become sunny outside. Further irony – I expect WiFi at my cafes, but this one doesn’t have it – the owner seemed proud of that. Probably explains its clientele – all the other customers look like aged hippies.

Spent the day poking through the local museum and hanging around. PT is a cool place – it’s got historic charm, great scenery and an artsy/folksy vibe – but to be here for no purpose leaves me feeling like there’s too many hours in the day. I want to move on.

LOOK MA – NO SHOULDERS!

Day 24 – Stillwater County Park, CA. 72 km

The edge of the road and a straight drop of 100 feet to the sea.

We didn’t get as far as we intended today. Even so, it was a strenuous ride with lots of descents down ravines and sudden climbs up again. This part of the coast offers a tortuously winding highway with absolutely no shoulders anywhere. The strain of the ride is significantly magnified by our constant awareness of impatient drivers being held back, waiting for a time to pass – and often doing so in very risky locations.

The topiarist at work. The seated woman is a garden sculpture.

With today’s shortened ride we have lost touch with a trio of 50-ish mountain biking guys we’ve been travelling with who are riding the coast from Astoria to their home in San Luis Obispo.

One of them, Joe, rides towing his gear in a trailer. He works for the city in SL Obispo and is endearing for his habit of collecting whatever environmentally nasty stuff he finds by the roadside – typically bits of lead from the wheels of cars, which he wants to prevent getting into the water system.

Tonight we are sharing a campsite with a young Polish couple, Lucas and Marta, who are riding from Seattle to LA as the last adventure of a two year journey around the world – much of it done by hitchhiking. They have been to 30+ countries – places like Iran, Turkey, Oman, India, China, Nepal, etc., and have fantastic stories to tell. These people are fearless in their curiosity to try different things and to visit unusual places. They told us about finding themselves in a remote village in Iran and being invited to spend a night with an Iranian family. Nobody spoke English, so hand signals provided the only means of communication. After living on just $150 for a month in Iran they went to Dubai and were shocked by the costs, so they pitched their tent in a discreet area in the city centre and left after two days. They travelled from the Phillipines to Australia by crewing on a 45-foot catamaran for six weeks with the owner – who turned out to be an unpleasant shipmate.

They are now coming to the end of their global wandering and return to Poland in December. I’m very impressed with this couple. They plan to start some kind of business in Kraków, where they’re from, using ideas developed from their travels. I have no doubt they will do well.

IF ROAD BUILDERS RODE BICYCLES…

Day 25 – Olema, CA. 89 km

A hard day of riding, made a bit easier by the beauty of coastal Sonoma and Marin counties. We pulled into Olema utterly exhausted, but having achieved our goal – to be an easy day’s ride from San Francisco for tomorrow.

Stopped for lunch on the road side of a particularly challenging climb.

If road builders rode bicycles, things would be so much better (easier, safer) for us milegrinders.

Here's an example in Frisco of what bike-riding road builders would think to do. — Here’s an example in Frisco of what bike-riding road builders would think to do.

SAN FRANCISCO

Day 26 – San Francisco – City Centre Hostel. 65km

On arriving in San Francisco I was belatedly struck by an interesting observation about our trip to now. We’ve been on the road in America for more than three weeks and I could count on two hands the number of African Americans we’ve seen. We’ve not been in any sizeable cities until now, but it still comes as a surprise.

The towns of Marin country we’ve ridden through – Fairfax, San Anselmo, Larkspur, Sausalito – are pretty appealing. Judging from what I see here from my bicycle, it would seem every day is sunny, life is pleasant and troubles are manageably small. Except for perhaps the water problem – which is not so small.

The hostel we’re in is on the edge of the notorious Tenderloin district (think East Hastings), in a funky old hotel – The Atherton, built at the turn of the century. It’s full of charm and young people from around the world. We’re the only touring cyclists in the place. We plan to stay here for a couple of days to rest and explore. I’ve been to SF a few times before, but everything looks different when you’re travelling by bike. After just one afternoon riding across town to find our hostel I’ve got a very different feeling for the city. I’m charmed.

Riding over the Golden Gate Bridge was a bit of a challenge. But unlike the challenges of other bridges we’ve ridden, e.g competing for space with fast-moving traffic, being buffeted by heavy cross winds, etc. The wide and separated sidewalk of the GG Bridge was great, but it was jammed with people for the whole length. Many of them were on rental bikes and unsteady in their ability. It wasn’t hazardous, but it wasn’t much fun either.

SLEEPING WITH STRANGERS

Day 27 – San Francisco. Rest Day.

Today is our first rest day since crossing the Columbia River into Astoria, Oregon. We really needed this day. I’m debating taking a second rest day here tomorrow. But that kind of thing is a slippery slope. Next you know we could be hitching rides. We were offered a ride by someone with a pick-up truck the other day. It was only a few miles, but my immediate response was “No, that would be cheating.” Seriously. We’ve never discussed this, but it’s absolutely implicit between us. We go the whole way under our own power. For most people in our coastal cycling fraternity I’m sure the same code applies. We did meet one young woman from Boston who admitted to taking a ride or two – she mentioned extenuating circumstances – and to make it up she planned to ride past her destination so she could clock 1,000 miles (Seattle to San Francisco). But she’s the only one we’ve heard admitting to this. So she’s not officially part of our fraternity. The rules committee would have to consider her case.

Last night was my first night in a hostel since I was 20 and traveling through Europe. Although exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. At midnight my two (as yet unmet) roommates arrived and climbed into their bunks. This caused me to become more awake than ever. Sleeping in a small room with strangers you’ve not even seen is unsettling. I couldn’t have got more than five hours sleep by the time I got up at 8. By comparison, when we’re camping Sophie and I are in the habit or going to bed by 8:30 – it’s dark by 7:45 – and getting 10 hours of sleep every night.

I met one of my roommates in the morning. Thomas, 26, from Belfast. He’s doing a trip across the US between a working stint in Toronto for seven months, and his next situation, probably in Calgary. Talking with him I realized I felt no age difference. I have no idea what he thought about me – probably humoured me as an old guy. But the shared experience of budget travelling has a way of erasing differences between people. This is what I like and is much of the reason for why I’m doing this trip.