Day 6: San Simeon to Oceano State Park

Day Mileage: 60

Trip Mileage:  323
Strava GPS Report

Last night was low-stress. Sam Simeon State Park, despite its moratorium on showers, is a pretty nice little place. I did get a laugh at their choice of port-a-potty contractor, though: 

Somewhere, a guy named Harvey had a reaaal solid chuckle over the name of his business. I'll be sure to follow it on facebook. I bet he's rollin' in the dough now with the state on high-drought alert. 

Speaking of drought alerts, I stopped in Cambria to visit a bike shop (which was closed, unfortunately). I wandered into the coffee shop on their main drag, and got a big iced Americano to wake me up for the ride. Usually, in this situation, I ask if they'll top off my water bottles. I've never ever... ever seen or heard of a business say no to this. It's such a stupid/simple thing. The guy behind the counter said:

"Uhh... sorry, man, but because like... of the dought, we can't give away water." 

(You can't be fucking serious.) "What, really?"

"Yeah, man... you can buy bottles, though." 

"Nah, that's cool." 

The gas station at the end of the end of the street let me fill my bottles up from the soda fountain. What a fantastic load of bullshit. May the owner slip and fall into a Honeyhut™.

You know you're getting really into your biking groove when you're flying up and down hills, daydreaming. The day's scenery was actually pretty boring, but I barely noticed as I was fairly preoccupied in my own mind. I didn't realize this until I looked down to see 30 miles had passed. 

I was snapped out of it by shooting pain in my hands. I, tragically, lost my gloves somewhere before Big Sur. Those familiar with long bike rides will know that this, for some, can be a pretty big deal if ignored. I initially stopped into Cambria to pick up gloves, but the dude who runs the shop was out of town. (You can't begrudge the guy for wanting to leave, what with a town with a population south of 100, and the local coffee shop's proprietor being certifiably nuts.) Thankfully, in Morro Bay, the local shop "The Bike Works" had a pair handy. My hands still numb up a bit, but they'll sort themselves out in no time. 

Unsure of what a Beer Rock was, I trudged onward, eventually coming across a strange sequence of highway signs. 

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the boredom of having just yesterday covered 70 of the best miles the United States has to offer, but I found these signs hysterical. A few short miles after the Men's Colony, I arrived in SLO. Shit was cash. 

This town is off the chain. If I could stay longer, I would have. Sorry Trontz, I'll hit Firestone up next time I'm in town. 

I, somehow, by the grace of a higher being, managed to snag more free water in SLO before getting to Pismo Beach. When I posted this picture to Instagram/Facebook, I learned that I have all sorts of  friends: 

Derpy friends:

...and friends with a decent sense of humor:

Soon after landing in Pismo, I realized my camping opinons weren't as plentiful as the guide spelled out. I popped over to this cool little Hawaiian coffee shop called "Red Dirt" in Arroyo Grande (Big Ditch), California. A state park employee happened to be around while I was typing this up, so I know exactly where to go tonight. 

Tomorrow I'm going to ride into Lompoc. Hopefully, that'll be as enjoyable as today was. 

Day 5: Pfeiffer Big Sur to San Simeon

Day Milage: 73

Trip Milage: 263

Strava GPS Report

The key to good blogging is to not repeat yourself. Fuck that, let's talk hills again:

For the record, I'm no hill weenie. I rode a century in April that had a 1500' climb. For that ride, I used my light, agile, aluminum / carbon road bike. I don't know that bike's weight off the top of my head, but I'm willing to bet one of my paniers weighs more. 

These climbs were (somewhat) demoralizing. Granny-gearing for miles on end can suck the life out of you. They would have beat me had I not eaten my weight in pita bread, cheese, and hummus. I survived to ride another day. 

I woke up with the sun, and enjoyed a coffee at the little shop by Pfieffer. The coffee was much needed. In fact, it was so needed that I actually started to enjoy the weird reggae music they were playing. Those that know me well know that I can't handle reggae music. 

Morning lift blend, indeed. 

I started to plan out the logistics of the day. I was either going to stop at 30(ish) miles at another state park about half-way through Big Sur... or, depending on how I felt, soldier on to Sam Simeon.

This ride was stupefyingly beautiful. I could ride this every day of my life, and never ever get bored of it. For example, Red Rock Canyon is beautiful, right? Sure it is. This coastal route is way out of Red Rock's league. Comparing the two is sort of like comparing Casablanca to Beverly Hills Cop 2. BHC2 is a great movie; I quote it often, but it's not a classic like Casablanca. 

I eventually made it to my first civilized stop after leaving Big Sur: Lucia, CA. At town represented by one store, and a small hotel/cabin setup.

As luck would have it, the only public bathroom here also happened to be the only one for ten+ miles. It also had a sizable line. The fact that we all seemed to have to poop made the interaction kind of awkward. 

As I was making a few minor adjustments to my bike, I heard a man shout:

"Hey! Are you from Milwaukee!?" 

I looked up, and said:

"Well, sort of. I went to college there." 

He had noticed my UWM jersey. I went on to mention that most of my paternal family lived in Janesville, WI... he and his wife nodded saying that they-too had lived in Janesville for some time. After mentioning my last name, they quickly said that they knew two girls around my age from Janesville with my last name. Turns out, those two girls were my cousins Megan and Jackie. They happen to be good friends with Jackie's boyfriend Seth. 

After saying "farewell," it occurred to me that I had actually eaten lunch at this exact restaurant with Jackie when we drove down the PCH together. They've since painted it, but that's two interesting coincidences involving the same person. (I hope you're reading this, Jackie.) 

Some time later, after passing the small town of Gorda, I started up the final of the "big" climbs of the day. I noticed a small car with Nevada plates pulling into a scenic overlook. A young couple hopped out of the car, and I said: "Hey, what part of Nevada are you from?" They looked flummoxed by my question. Standing firm in my initial assumption that this isn't a creepy quesiton, I repeated: "What part of Nevada are you guys from?" They responded in a thick German accent: "Vee just vented dis cahr." 

I guess that could have gone worse. 

I was releived to finally coast out of the mountains and into the central California low-lands. In no time, I started seeing signs for San Simeon. My friend Rob asked me to ask the Elephant Seals how they're doing. Don't worry, Rob. They're doing fine. They asked about your dog?

One tidbit of California political geography that messed me up for a few minutes was the fact that there are actually *two* San Simeons. (Sans Simeon?) The first one you happen across going south-bound is a tiny little street with a few old-looking buildings and a big pier. This pier wanted nothing to do me, or my kind: 

I've since landed in San Simeon, proper. After eating my weight in food, I'm going to hop up to the local state park to camp. Tomorrow should be an easy day --I'm headed to San Luis Obispo. 

Day 4: Veteran's Memorial Park (Monterey) to Phifer State Park (Big Sur)

Day Mileage: 38 Miles

Trip Mileage: 190 Miles
Strava GPS Report

Let's talk hills. I left off yesterday with a bit of a cliffhanger (for profound want of a better word.) When I started out for camp, I was immediately met with a seriously steep hill. In under two miles, I ascended over 500'. I feel like my strava feed is the only thing that can accurately represent just how steep that hill was... (this is a chart of my elevation / distance):

Sure, I had some rolling hills, but at the end of the day, the last thing you want to see is a gigantic wall between you and sleep. Thankfully, my bike has a decent granny gear. I managed to spin to the top without incident. Others, I heard, wound up walking the whole thing. #humblebrag

At the top, I was greeted by a few familiar faces, and a few new ones. The Germans from town showed up, as did the Brazilian couple I met on the road. The women riding the entire coast (from Canada to Mexico) appeared a few hours later. We sat around the table and joked around for a few hours before night fell. The others got a kick out of my sleeping situation. I guess they haven't done a lot of backpacking? I hereby present Camp Breckling (everything from the tree-forward):

I usually prefer to just sleep under the stars, but I grew tired of dealing with mice in my sleeping bag / shoes / face, so I use the netting. A few mentioned that they would feel too cramped. I thought so too, at first, but when you're inside, you barely notice it. I was fast asleep by 10-ish. 

I was up with the sun, and down the hill in no-time. I popped into this little coffee shop called "Plume" while I waited for the laundromat to open. While enjoying my coffee, I was given a brief introduction to the Monterey homeless scene. This gentleman walks around downtown with a cup of coffee on his head. That's cool, I guess. 

I did a load of laundry, and started up the CA 63. Remember that hill I was talking about earlier? That hill happened again. By the time I made it to the Trader Joes on my way to Carmel, I had to have climbed at least 500'. An old lady seemed amused by my effort, to whom I cracked: "Man... this is a lovely city you've got here." 

"Yes, thank you!" 

"Could use a bigger hill, though." 

"Hahaha!" 

I may have exaggerated the number of "ha's" in that last quote. My memory of the situation is fuzzy.

The food in Big Sur is rumored to be obnoxiously expensive. I stocked up at TJ's and made my way out of town. Almost on cue, the clouds rolled in and dumped some heavy ... heavy drizzle on me. I struggle to call it actual "rain" ... but it was enough to cause me to pull off the road. 

My jacket was pretty drenched, but I was fine otherwise. I kept on trucking, leapfrogging RVs and family sedans. This one Korean family pulled over at Bixby bridge with me. Their little son (5 or 6 years) hopped up on my bike while I wasn't looking. At first I thought "what the fuck, kid?" but he was just curious. The father was almost as half-mad as I was. The look of releif on his face was palpable when I nodded "it's alright, man" toward him. 

I was leap-frogging a few groups of people all the way through the Bixby bridge area. One family was having fun with it. Every time they'd pass me, they'd honk and wave. By the fourth time they passed me, their teenaged son was hanging out the back window of the car giving me the rock horns: \m/ --a kid after my own heart. If this blog ever finds you, family from Vermont, may all your kids graduate college. 

I decided to bust out the gopro a few times, since the scenery was so nice. I took a few time-lapse photo sets and videos. They probably look like hammered butthole, but we'll see. 

I didn't have signal for most of the day, but I knew there was a restaurant / bar at the end of the line. I think it's called the "River Inn." Mike from Night 2 told me about it. The beer is reasonable, and the wifi is free, so that's nice. It's about two miles away from the camp site, allegedly. 

Hopefully, the drizzly weather is over. I don't feel like sleeping in a tarp taco. I'm also not looking forward to cleaning all of the road crud from my chain / frame. C'est la vie. 

Day 3: New Brighton State Beach (Santa Cruz) to Veterans Memorial Park(Monterey)

Day Mileage: 56

Trip Mileage: 152
Strava GPS Report

Andrew Skurka once categorized "fun types" in an interesting way. According to Skurka, there's:

Type 1 fun: Stuff that's fun to do, and fun to talk about.

Type 2 fun: Stuff that's not necessarily fun to do, but fun to talk about.

Type 3 fun: Stuff that's neither fun to do, nor talk about. 

This sort of trip is easily falls into type "1.5" fun. Maybe type "1.75," at parts, because I'm sore and tired, but my spirits are high. 

I woke up at New Brighton State Beach this morning. I paid a (totally reasonable) $5 to camp in a communal "hiker/biker" plot, and coughed up $0.75 for a much-needed 6-minute shower. A couple of dudes (Mike, and Nathan, IIRC) camped near me, and we spent the rest of the night talking routes and exchanging pro-tips & tricks. I was mostly on the receiving end of the advice, but all in all, I seem to be doing things right. 

We all got a kick out of the handywork of the local racoons. One of them thought it'd be cool to drop by and give my bike shorts a "good job" smack.

I only made it about five miles down the road toward Monterey when I decided to stop for a civilized breffus. I really wanted eggs for some reason --sort of like when a pregnant woman craves pickles and dirt. I stopped off at this little coffee shop situation just off my route. It was standard coffee shop fare... nothing to write home about on a normal day, but HOLY SHIT did I need what they were selling. 

Not long after I made that sandwich disappear, I hit the road, making my way south. Though I wish it could have been longer, I want to hereby announce that 200 yards or so of my journey took place on FREEDOM BLVD. Coincidentally, just as I rolled down the road, a pack of Harlies blew by. None seemed interested in FREEDOM BLVD. Posers. 

After stopping for that damn-near mandatory selfie, I swung south, and found myself surrounded by (unencumbered) cyclists. I soon realized why:  I forgot to apply sunscreen. The smell of my skin sizzling is probably not unlike that of bacon, so naturally it would attract hungry, faster, creatures. Like the lion to the gazelle. 

We rode together for a short stint, and parted ways when I pulled off to snag some much-need sunscreen.  

I hit the road again, but I got turned around near the gas station, and wound up double-backing a weird off-shoot road to the 1. I wound up going in a big circle, not because I was lost, but because I ran into this weird old white guy wearing khakis, a white button-down shirt, while holding a blue walmart reusable bag, standing in the middle of nowhere. I mean, literally, there was nothing for miles in every direction. As I passed him, he held his glasses out about two feet from his face, nodding with this weird smile. Not wanting to see what he'd do on a second pass, I just kept rolling. That's not where the story stops, though... because about two miles down this farm road I happen across ANOTHER WEIRD WHITE GUY WITH KHAKIS, A WHITE SHIRT, AND A BLUE WALMART SHOPPING BAG. I'm not superstitious, but that was a creepy-ass omen if I've ever seen one. I'm sleeping with one eye open tonight. 

About ten miles down the 1, I ran into two couples touring from abroad. One couple was from Brazil, the other from Scotland. They were loaded down pretty heavy, so I didn't stick with them too long. Maybe they'll show up where I'm camping tonight. 

Eventually, I rolled into Marina, CA. The Pacific Coast Bike Trail runs straight through Marina. Conveniently, it separates from the road as a bike path for most of the way. It was smooth sailing until I felt that familiar sizzle on my arms, and decided to stop under a nice shady bridge to gulp down some water and reapply sunscreen. Not halfway through my second major extremity, a cop car stops on the road next to the bike trail. He throws his flashers on, as I just keep applying sunscreen. I got excited, thinking maybe I'd see some action, but lo and behold, he hops out of the car and asks me: 

"What's up, man?" 

"Not much. The sun's really out, today." 

"Yeah, man. Where ya going?" 

"Veteran's Memorial Park, just down the road." 

"Oh yeah? What's that stuff in your bag?" 

(Are you serious, dude?) "Camping gear, mostly... and some food."

"Care if I look?" 

Not wanting to deal with the whole "I'll call a drug dog" song and dance from my last 2-wheeled encounter with a local PD, I said: "Go for it." 

In no time, a second car showed up. One cop watched me, while the other went through my bags. Satisfied that I wasn't a drug mule, they let me go. I would normally post a photo, but I didn't want to press my luck by asking the cops for a selifie. 

Once I emerged from Marina a free man, I noticed a familiar "ping... ping..." sound coming form my rear wheel. My spokes were singing the song of their people. If this trip had been anywhere less-populated, this would have been worrisome, but I wound up being less than four miles away from a shop called Peninsula Bike Works in Monterrey. Nestled in a hidden alley adjacent to the Naval Post Graduate School, the lone guy working the counter was totally helpful. He found two loose spokes, and fixed them for me in short order. I really need to learn how to do deal with this stuff on my own, but the equipment you need to true a wheel is cumbersome and specialized. 

Having dealt with my in-town errands, I'm going to go to camp. I ran into a German couple (also on tour) after dinner.  They said the hill up to the camp site is (and I quote) "monstrous." We'll see. 

Day 2: Half Moon Bay to Brighton State Beach (Santa Cruz)

Day Mileage: 61 Miles

Trip Mileage: 96 Miles
Strava GPS Report

Dave and Molly let me share their palacial 6-man tent, last night. I woke up well-rested, and ready to roll. My knee pain persisted, but after popping some aleve, swapping my pedals out, and making a few minor bike-fit adjustments, the pain had calmed from a dull roar to a minor annoyance. Hopefully in a few days' time it'll be all in the past. 

If there's one thing to note, it's that this stretch of road has been less interesting than the last. Somewhere around mile 15 I resorted to taking a selfie in front of a barely-noticable bridge. 

It wasn't all bad, though. When you're riding around on a bike, your ... *ahem* *straightens tie* ... poop tends to work itself out quickly. More the once I found myself anxious to find a place to take a civilized dump. In one such instance, I came across this small state beach with facilities at the ready:

The only signs on the building were a "No Parking" sign, and a "Evacuation Site" sign. I know what those signs mean in their respective contexts... but I just think calling a bathrooms "Evacuation Sites" is something I could get behind. 

Somewhere around mile 35 I came across this lighthouse. I thought the good people at Casa Di Amore would appreciate a selfie in front of it. 

Not two miles down the road from the lighthouse was a sign that said "Brewery Ahead" to which I said (to myself) ..."You have my attention." I popped in and had a single beer. My knee hadn't acted up in a while, which was reassuring, so I think I just wanted a break. I sat next to an older couple eating dinner at the bar. Both were suprisingly interested in not only my trip, but my jersey. Since they were both somewhat-regular Vegas tourists, they mentioned wanting to check it out. (They went as far as to take a picture.) So, as of today, there's a photo of me wearing tights on a stranger's phone. 

After leaving the brewery, I meandered down the 1 for a few more hours. Lots of beaches... lots of birds... lots of surfers.  I did see one of those speed-check signs. I was going 15 at the time. That's right, ladies. 1-5. 

When I finally made it into Santa Cruz, I was ready to stop. 61 miles on a regular road bike is nothing to write home about... 61 miles on a loaded steel tourer is another thing entirely. Since my grocery bag is mostly fruit, peanut butter, and pita bread, I decided to stop off for dinner at this little Thai place on the way into Brighton State Beach. By the look on the waitress' face, you would have thought I tried to sell her a bag of spent coffee grounds when I ordered my dinner spread.  

"Is this all for you?"

"Damn skippy, lady. Chop Chop." 

I didn't say that.

Her confusion was put at ease when I handily put away my order of pad thai, spring rolls, and fried banana ice cream. I snapped a picture while I was waiting on my food. I feel my facial expression accurately represents my energy level, at the time.

Tomorrow is going to be a shorter day (40 miles) to Veteran's Memorial Park, near Monterey. I'm half-considering making it a rest day. Who knows. Right now, my butt kind of hurts and my sleeping pad is calling my name.

Day 1: San Francisco - Half Moon Bay

Day mileage: 35

Trip mileage: 35

Strava GPS Report

I landed at SFO yesterday morning without incident. I collected my bike, which I can only assume the TSA graciously tuned up and repacked for me, and assembled it near the end of the baggage claim. After a short BART ride, I checked into my hostel-situation, bought some basic provisions, and wandered around the city to meet friends (new and old). 

I woke up this morning and reassessed my gear load in a feng shui-like manner. I sent back a few pounds worth of excessive gear, ate a few bananas, then made my way toward the Golden Gate Bridge. 

The GG is pretty much exactly NW of where I crashed last night. Right as I set out, I ran into a guy with a bike / disposition similar to my own. I told him where I was headed, and he said "Oh, you know about the wiggle?" I actually misheard him, so I said "...yeah, totally." He then said "Yeah, man... just take the wiggle all the way to the bridge." 

Not knowing what "the wiggle" was, I just exercised my basic dead-reckoning skills: "just go north... and west." This was something of a mistake. I think I took the most ineficient route to the GG possible. (I didn't think it was topologically possible to go up-hill the whole way?) At one point, I found myself headed down a hill so steep that I actually had to hop off and walk my bike down. While nursing my bruised ego, it occurred to me what "the wiggle" must have been: Imagine a hilly surface (sort of like San Francisco), then approximate the most-efficient route (the one with the least amount of climbing). Tracing those saddle points must look like a zig-zaggy (wiggly) line. Live and learn. 

By the time I got to the GG, the tourist herd was in full swing. I couldn't really complain (because I was one of them), but it did make for a somewhat annoying traverse. Put any group of a few hundred people together, and cluster-fuckery will ensue. 

I set up the gopro and took a time-lapse facing the bridge/city, ate some food, drank some water, and packed up for the return trip. Since that was the northern-most point of the trip, I'm effecitvely calling it mile-0. I started strava, and set out for Mexico. 

I breezed through Golden Gate Park, and made a quick stop at a coffee shop called "Trouble Coffee" (of This American Life fame). This place is great. If you're in the city, pop in and get a cup of iced coffee, and a hunk of artisnal toast. 

I hit the road and started south. The ride itself was mostly uneventful, outside of the car I found in Pacifica that was completely covered in palstic squirells. Their license plate was appropriately customized to say: "SQWORLD." If only I had it in me to be so "into" something. 

Not long after I snapped that idiotic photo, my left knee started to flare up. My knee's never hurt like this before, so I think I need to make an adjustment to my seat height and clip angle. Also, I need to stock up on NSAIDs. 

When I got to half moon bay, I met up with my buddy Kevin and his family. They're on vacation, wandering around Calfornia. We discussed the finer-points of Facebook Patriotism and MadDaddery (http://facebookpatriots.tumblr.com), and broke bread in a weird little chinese reseaurant with an angry manager. Though, in her defense, I'd be angry too if I had to serve a guy dressed like this:

After dinner, I meandered down Main Street, Half Moon Bay, where I was aggressively honked at by a bro in a Toyota 4-Runner. Apparently, on planet bro, bicycles are only allowed on bike paths or bike lanes. Worry not: I corrected him both verbally, and through pantomime. 

I finally met up with David and Molly at an RV site just off the 1. We had beers in a particularly tacky "British" pub on the south end of Half Moon Bay. We're camping in an RV park just south of the restaurant. 

Here's the crap I'm bringing with me.

After spending tens of minutes checking out blogs similar to this one, I saw that almost all of them do a detailed dump / inventory of all of the gear they brought with them. In keeping with this time-honored tradition, I've posted something of a gear inventory.

As you see in the photo, I've got the essentials squared away. I won't go into excessive detail, but I've got a 40F down quilt, a not-so-fancy Thermarest foam pad, and a very-very-fancy Thermarest air pad. (The foam pad acts like a ground sheet, essentially. I sleep on my side, so there's no way I'd be able to handle just the foam pad.) I have an inflatable pillow, a super light camp sheet / liner, all of which goes inside of a mesh bivy sack. No tent, as rain isn't really something that happens in central California in July. 

I'm riding a "one piece at a time" Trek 520 touring bike. It's got a Thule rack, a Shimano Hub Dynamo, and a super sturdy set of Mavic A319 rims. On it, I'll be mounting two Ortlieb Backroller Classics (40L capacity, total) as well as a small backpack across the top. I've also got this cool little handlebar bag made out of recycled tubes. I'm pretty sure I don't need nearly all the space I'll have, but it's not heavy, so I guess I don't really care. 

There's a pretty substantial pile of knickknacks that I won't launch into, completely. Namely, tools, spare parts, toiletries, camp towel, etc... Though I am bringing three changes of riding clothes, a set of "gym" (camp) clothes, and a set of somewhat-presentable normal clothes.  

I'd like to take a photo of the sweet jersey the good people at Casa Di Amore bought for me, but it hasn't arrived yet. (It's in the mail.) It maaaay show up the day I leave, but I've given my room mate explicit instructions to overnight it to Half Moon Bay, where I can just pick it up at the post office. (Sorry, guys!)

I've never actually done a long trip like this on a bicycle before, so I guess I'm looking forward that aspect of this trip. I'll  definitely be posting my daily mileage / location to Strava, which you should be able to see to the right (if you're viewing this from a computer --if not, install the app and follow me), and I'll attempt to post a daily log of whatever each day brings me. If you're dying for up-to-the-minute information, and have my phone number, shoot me a text.

[Raises glass]

May I not screw this up. 

[Drinks]