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.
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.
If road builders rode bicycles, things would be so much better (easier, safer) for us milegrinders.
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 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.
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.
A nice long day of riding. Light traffic, wide shoulders and rolling hills. All good until we reached Santa Cruz and had 
Santa Cruz is a pretty place. The road along the coastal area of town reminds me of Dallas Road in Victoria, except that it’s much longer and the housing is more interesting. The city’s little bay was absolutely filled with surfers although the waves came in gently and not often. The area around the pier was filled with amusement park attractions in the same way as English seaside towns, except on a much bigger and flashier scale. This is America, after all.
The further south we get, the less we see of touring cyclists like ourselves, i.e. cyclists with a plan and a destination. Here at the Vets Memorial Campground we’ve met a very sociable Austrian (early 20s) who is hitchhiking around the western states. Dave (62) is an old hippy from LA, although he says he now spends most of his time in the Monterey area. But camping? I didn’t ask. He says he’s taking care of some business before cycling down to LA. HIs business? “Ganja.”
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.
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.