When I woke up, McGrath State Park was as gloomy as when I arrived --I guess they all can't be Refugio. The group assembled, and made our way through Oxnard to find a servicable cup of coffee.
The road to the PCH was very flat and deceptively long. After passing a few fruit stands, I saw my first sod farm, which was sort of disconcerting at first. I guess I always knew that those big rolls of sod had to come from somewhere, but seeing hundreds and hundreds of acres of perfect "lawn" was really weird among the fruit farms. The sight might very well have brought a tear to the eye of even the crotchetiest of old men.
The scenery was a lot like what I grew up around in rural Missouri. I remember going for a run in high school, setting out, and seeing a tree off in the distance. That tree never seemed to budge. No matter how long I ran, I never ever seemed to make it to that tree. On this morning, the PCH was that tree. You could seriously see it for miles... but never seemed to gain any ground.
Rest assured, I did finally make it to the PCH. After rounding the corner southward, I came across this little "museum piece" of old jets and rockets (complements of the US Navy). I defiantly whistled the Air Force Song as I rolled by.
As I inched toward Malibu, the gloom finally started to break away. The scenery also started to improve. (There's really only so many sod farms and naval bases one man can handle.)
In what felt like no time at all, I crossed into Los Angeles County. Make no mistake, I was in Southern California... and the locals seemed hell-bent on reminding me of (by way of rampant, unchecked hostility) with every passing mile. Malibu really is a pretty place, but it seems to be wasted on some of the area's worst people.
We continued southward for what felt like an eternity (25~miles). After obliterating a foot-long subway chicken sandwich, we finally arrived in Santa Monica. With Santa Monica came the hordes of people and excessive direct sunlight.
I took a moment to celebrate my arrival to the Los Angeles metro area, but this was a somber moment. My riding buddies: Marcia, Tricia, and Joe all had separate plans for the latter half of the day --which meant we were going to part ways. You really couldn't have asked for a better group of people; agreeable, funny, and capable. I really hope to run into them again some point in the future. Best of luck to you all. It was an absolute pleasure.
I loosely made plans to meet up with my LA friends for dinner late in the evening. However, as with any group of far-flung friends that didn't know each other, getting them into a room together would prove easier said than done. It was early, however... and I had time to kill.
I've deliberately avoided mentioning (in great detail) how badly my hands were bothering me at this point. That day without gloves in Big Sur really messed me up. I stopped at a coffee shop near Venice Beach to find a bike shop to pick up even thicker gloves and an extra roll of bar tape.
As I was heading to the bike shop, I ran into non-other than Nathan (from my second night at Brighton State Beach). It was a random-ass encounter, but I was glad to see he made it.
I soon met up with several friends (old and new) for dinner at this rad Thai place (Jitlada) and catchings-up.
Any place good enough for Matt Groening is good enough for me. That said, I did learn a VALUABLE lesson tonight: if you're going to order a spicy thai curry, make sure your lips aren't sunburnt. Guys, this is vital.
After dinner, an old friend from the Air Force, Will, and his girlfriend Alicia, graciously put me up for the night. I'm going to take my first (much-needed) rest day of the trip, tomorrow.
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