18 Nov

NOTE: Sorry this one is late. This one was hard to write…

After a very restless and uncomfortable night trying to sleep on the train, I gave it up about 0500 and went to catch up on the blogs.

When dawn broke, we were about even with Mount Shasta, snow was on the mountaintops and all the trees were now pine. Further into the mountains, the snow dusted the trees on either side of the tracks and the ground was completely covered.

Soooo, THIS is what we have been missing since we have been gone.

We came down off of some beautiful pass, that was announced as the longest downhill train track in North America, and went into Oregon. 

Green and lovely Oregon. By far, my favorite state on this trip. I think the entire state has a sense of accessibility to it. The people will stop and actually have a conversation with you and some will actually chase you down to talk to you. You can get to the beaches and walk on them. Everything that touches the ocean is public land, owned by everyone. Jeeps, horses and people are free to use the beaches and everyone respectfully does. In Washington and California one owner can fence it all in and regular people have to go to a state beach or some other limited access place. Somehow, that seems wrong to me.

OK, I’ll admit it…they really had me at free hot showers, too.

Staring out the window, mile after mile, I could not help but think that the days with the hills and all the difficulties that we had to problem solve our way through went really slow. But looking back, the trip went incredibly fast. Maybe not for those who waited at home but, then again, it is always easier to be the one who is gone traveling.

I could not believe it was over and we were returning to “everyday.”

I can’t speak for Steve but I learned so much in the last couple of months. I don’t mean to be preachy here, so relax, it’s just my observations. Some of this may resonate with you.

The kindness of people, the “Coolness of Strangers.” Everywhere we looked.

A re-learned confidence in my own ability to make a decision and know, no matter what comes up, it will be ok. 

Even if I make a mistake, I can change direction again…I had forgotten that one. The pressure I put on myself over the years to be perfect was just plain stupid and a waste of time. I never got there then, nor will I.

All I have is now. Present moment. Nothing else and no promises of anything else. I need to ignore “what was” and “what might be” and pay attention now.

I need to say “I love you” more often to those that matter most. I’m starting today.

There is always time and just enough money. It becomes irrelevant compared to the experience.

If I see Frank and Edna, I will have to thank them. They mercifully started disappearing over the last 3 weeks. I suppose every migratory bird has a flight schedule, even Snowbirds, and we hit it at the end. Thanks to them for honing my survival instincts, once again, to a razor sharp edge.

I need a lot less than I think I need. That Cup ‘o Noodles on a chilly night was perfect. Simplify.  

We all have incredible support all around us. To feel like we are alone, ever, is not a correct assumption. I know if I am open to acceptance, it is there.

So what do we come away with after all these miles? Here’s what I know.

Silverbacks are not Steve and Dave. Silverbacks are everyone who shared themselves with us. We do nothing alone.

Silverbacks are all of us who, for some reason, still believe we are capable of things others think crazy. The OTHERS are often those who would never attempt anything chancy. Ever. They think yer crazy anyway, so why not?

No matter what it is, there is ALWAYS another level. So do it. Be legendary.

Who are YOU going to be? (Hey! Somebody has to ask the question. Might as well be me asking you. Now, answer the question looking in the mirror. You can’t lie to the face in the mirror. That face in the mirror knows.)

Silverbacks are we who wrote or read or laughed or wished were here with Steve and I and our misadventures of “How to Bicycle the Pacific Coast Highway…

Incorrectly.”

So, we want to share the name. Especially with those who are over 50. 

Ancient. Jurassic. Over the hill. Stick a fork in us…

However, we are also the ones that still somehow know have the ability to surprise the hell out of everyone who knows us. We can still even amaze ourselves occasionally.

The name Silverbacks is open to use as you see fit. Just add your trip specifics. Like “Silverback East Coast Tour” or “Silverback Weekend Around Minnesota.” Tell us about your adventures. 

It’s your turn.

We will publish another couple of posts with equipment lists, pictures and impressions of that gear but we are taking a couple of days off.

We are pulling into the Seattle Station, concluding “Silverback Left Coast Bike Tour 2012.”

Thanks for following. Bye for now… until the next adventure.

Happy Holidays!

Best to All and Much Love,

Dave Mitchell and Steve Williams

(No, really… that’s it. Get off your couch and go do it yourself.)

17 Nov

3:30 came REALLY early.

We planned to be gone by 4:15 in order to not be late to the station. We made that time easily and waited for the train.

Steve has a tendency to lose stuff, then beat himself up afterward. He went through a couple of pairs of reader glasses on this trip. I found a glasses strap in Oceanside and made a big deal out of giving it to him.

I really believe in the old saying of “A friend will help you when you are down. A BEST friend will push you back down and laugh at you.”

So we both have fun at the other’s expense, at times.

We got on the train and Steve was pretty agitated. He had left his new reader glasses somewhere. That would be somewhere in the 75 feet from where he was sitting, to where he was standing. 37 hours without having something to read was really NOT going to work for him. He is a voracious reader.

He was pretty angry with himself as he was telling me what was going on.

Right about then, a woman appeared and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Did I hear you lost your glasses?”

“Yes.” 

“I lose mine all the time, too and I buy them 10 at a time. I have an extra pair you can have.”

They look darling on him but what the hey…they work!

I keep telling ya, people…They’re EVERYWHERE!!

People who are willing to help out, or contribute, or assist…even when you are not your most receptive. They are still there.

This entire trip has proven that to us, every day.

It all seems to depend on you. You see what you believe you will see. The “Coolness of Strangers” is very real.

We hit rain about 15 minutes into the train ride and it did not stop until Central California. We were incredibly lucky in our trip weather.

This was our second day off and it was feeling funny/weird. We rumbled north on the train and we saw places where we stayed, camped, had flat tires and remembered exactly where county lines were. 

It gets dangerous when I think too much and I was, as I looked out the window at the passing landscape.

“What’s up?”

“Dunno. The idea that a couple of days ago we were superheroes and today we are just guys on a train. That is bothering me.”

Truthfully, it is also a bit depressing. I know I should be doing something but I have no idea what…now. Clearly, the re-introduction into polite society will be a bit more difficult than originally anticipated. Changing the mind set into the current reality is hard.

That is never discussed in the travel books. They speak of turn by turn directions, but not of how to adjust when you get back from such a life changing experience. 

I received an email from one of the meditation ladies from Ventura urging me to keep up the good work and my age is not the end of the world or end of life.

Most people ask “What are you going to DO now?” Good, legitimate question.

She did not ask that. Her question was “Who are you going to BE now?”

Whoa. 

That is a very evolved question, with many layers of possibilities. I was thinking about that question for about 27 hours.

Still, no answers. Probably won’t be for a while…

16 Nov

It was just another day off to us. The usual stuff is happening…laundry, resting, etc. with a few exceptions.

While I was in San Diego, I intended to knock some things off of my own “honey-do” list. Visit friends, dentist, etc.

We wisely decided to box up the bikes and check them in at the train station the day before. The thought of doing that in the morning, with the departure at 0600 does not leave much room for error, in case something starts going haywire.

We started breaking the bikes down and repacking the gear for the train trip back home. It took a while.

We removed the compressed gas canisters that work the stoves and left them at Nick’s. After we both emptied bags, there were 7 cans of the stuff. We were working off of the rules of airports because trains are also controlled by TSA. No compressed gas, automatic weapons, 155mm howitzer rounds, knives in excess of 4 feet…like that.

We got to the train station and got the boxes and started to break them down. Steve’s went in with no problems.

I had forgotten to take my pedals off. No sweat. I have a pedal wrench in my tool kit.

It was like the pedals had been welded on. I tried with the short pedal wrench. I tried with a small crescent wrench. The only thing I accomplished was to start stripping the pedal axle.

Perfect.

I needed a large pedal wrench. I looked up a bike shop in downtown San Diego and took the truck. Steve stayed with the gear at the train station.

After much traffic, I made my way into the shop. Time was getting short.

“We don’t sell pedal wrenches.”

Lovely.

I got directions to another shop and they had one that I bought to take back to the train station.

Stripped the bolts some more.

By this time, I was seeing red. Simple things that take hours to do make me crazy.

Back to Nick’s with my bike.

The baggage guy at the train station checked my box in and tagged it so I would not have to mess with it at 5 AM- just bring it in all stuffed and taped, and drop it off.

We loaded all my stuff back into Nick’s truck and we did a couple of chores, bought dinner and back to Nick’s. He had all the tools to do everything on a bike, so we will get the pedals off tonight, then box it up.

Nick could not get them off, either, even with correct tools and bigger hammers.

Long story short, we had to dismantle the entire front chain ring, WITH the pedals AND the pedal arms AND the chain in order to get it packed.

We did not have much time to really think about end-of-trip thoughts then but we would have time on the 37 hour train trip back to Seattle.

Nick and Maureen’s generous welcome to their home, again demonstrated the coolness of people, both old friends and new, that we have seen so much of.

3:30 would come early, so, after dinner, we talked a bit, then said goodnight…

15 Nov

33 miles to go. An easy day.

I was ready. Steve was ready. Nick was already sitting in the car with the motor running.

“Nick. Coffee. Coffee first, Nick.”

Like I said, Nick is a BIG fan.

Cleaned and coffee’d up, we loaded up the van to return to the top of Torrey Pines Road. Everything fit just perfectly until we all realized, at the same time, we needed THREE seats.

Everything came out, then restacked, just higher.

OK, good to go.

We returned to the scene of the crime after a quick 15 minute drive, threw everything out of the van and started re-assembling everything.

The previous night’s conversation came to mind. Nick had suggested that we leave the gear at the house because we would be returning in the evening.

Steve and I talked about it and decided that the gear that we had carried all the way would come with us for the last victory lap through San Diego.

That sounds noble.

I actually told Steve that if we leave the gear behind, it would be like riding brand new bikes and would probably crash with 10 miles to go.

Steve agreed.

Nick immediately assumed it was an integrity issue. To complete the mission with the gear you had used.

“Uhhh, sure. Yep, that’s it. Integrity.”

We’ll just go with that. It sounds MUCH better than pure self preservation. That’s my story!

Steve said he was visualizing Toshiro Mifune in his Samurai armor, glaring as he growled “BUSHIDO!” Worked for him……

With gear back on the bikes, we began the day.

Going DOWNHILL. OMG! Today of all days, we started with a downhill.

We stopped for a few minutes and visited with one of my best friends who is doing her PhD work at UCSD, then went on.

From the top of the mesa, where UCSD is located in it’s sprawling campus, we traveled down the hill into Rose Canyon.

Rose has a canyon because one of the three earthquake fault lines in San Diego is there. San Diego Bay is another. There is another on the Coronado side. I was hoping that we could rush through Rose Canyon and not be there if one of the regular rollers came through.

Luck was with us and no earthquakes showed up unexpectedly.

The road was good and the hills were kind and we went quickly down and through Rose Canyon, onto Santa Fe Street, then into Mission Bay Park.

Nick had traced the route in the car for us the night before. He showed us the major hill of the day. It was an overpass of a local street passing over I-5. It had a total rise of 15 feet.

Steve and I don’t even slow the pedal cadence or shift gears for that stuff anymore.

Steve’s knee was not happy but, again, he pushed on.

We pedaled a couple of miles and I saw a familiar sight. Perry’s Cafe.

I told Steve that it was a good breakfast place. Breakfast is always good any time of day and just because it was getting on to about 11:30, it’s PERRY’S, fercryinoutloud! You’ve GOTTA have breakfast.

I ordered a modest breakfast because I knew better. Besides, I was going to start scaling back on the calories to try and maintain the trim, taut and terrific figure I was now sporting.

Steve, on the other hand, ordered what he thought was a reasonable breakfast. A frittata with veggies and meat and cheese, a blueberry muffin and some home fries. Clearly, his tummy had recovered as well.

The server came out with 5 dinner plates of food. The frittata was the size of an SUV hub cap, the muffin was a cake and the home fries were stacked about 4 inches high.

Steve’s eyes got really big. Road warriors need lots of calories to keep the lights on. They do not need enough calories to feed the whole Bolivian army.

Hey! It’s PERRY’S. Whaddayawant?

We waddled out of Perry’s and into Old Town San Diego. Visited with a business contact who, in the course of previous business, became a very good friend. I always see these guys when I’m in town.

Through Old Town and down to Middletown, enroute to the Embarcadero to catch the 2:00 ferry to Coronado.

It had been overcast all day and I felt a few drops of rain. In San Diego, that is a deluge and drivers lose their minds when their windshields get wet. They start crashing into things and each other. Probably looking for the windshield wiper switch they had forgotten the location of.

Did not matter to us. We were moving on.

The world famous Star of India is right there at the San Diego Maritime Museum. They have a Russian sub, an English Square-Masted ship that they filmed “Master and Commander” on and other interesting nautical pieces to explore. You can make a day of it, right there.

These are things I had seen, off and on, for the 40 years I had lived in San Diego. Steve lived here, too, for about 10 years. We know every inch of it, so we did not dawdle.

We paid the tariff for the ferry ride and got to the Coronado Ferry Terminal. This is also an interesting place because of all the shops and restaurants right there.

Again, I knew all of these intimately. We pushed on.

Through Coronado to Glorietta Bay and the bike path that went down the Strand to Imperial Beach.

We picked up my old neighbor, Terry, who is a retired Border Patrol Captain. Terry is a kick. He is from Minnesota and always speaks like he is talking over a chain saw. Terry was going to ride a couple of miles with us to Border Field.

We pedaled down 13th Street, my old street, to the end and cut back to get to Hollister Ave which drops down into the Tijuana River Valley and Monument Road.

We stopped short of Hollister Ave and looked down a road that looked good and paved. It was a “shortcut” where we could save Steve’s knee some grief.

“Let’s go,” I heard someone say. I think it was Terry. They both said it was me. I’m blaming Terry.

The paved road ended and our path deteriorated into “coyote” trails that a human could barely fit through, let alone bikes with wide panniers. Of course, the surface turned into deep, soft sand that road tires did not work very well on.

Just like I knew Coronado and IB (Imperial Beach), Terry knew the coyote trails.

Sort of. We went on a long, sandy guided tour of the history of illegal immigrant smuggling in Southwest San Diego County.

And it was starting to get dark.

Steve’s knee was REALLY not happy. Steve’s everything was not happy, especially when we started going backwards toward town rather than to our destination.

The trip HAD to have weird stuff happen right up to the end. If it is predictable, it’s not an adventure. Right?

We eventually broke out of the brush and came back to where the sandy path met Hollister Avenue and the real road to Border Field.

The road next to the fence. The border fence.

We pedaled toward the ocean. Terry dropped back so Steve and I could arrive together.

We saw a closed gate with a sign next to it that said…

“Border Field State Park.”

The ocean was in front. Mexico was on the left. The entire Left Coast was to our right.

…and just like that, the last 9 weeks passed from “something cool we’re doing” to “something cool we did once.”

It was also so unbelievably anti-climactic. We’re here…now what?

Nick was going to meet us here.

No Nick. Hmmm.

I called. “You were supposed to call me from IB.”

…oops. I was caught up in the excitement of it all.

Must be Terry’s fault. I’m certainly not going to take the rap. But I will.

So, we took the pics and started heading back toward town. We did not want to have Terry in the outback after dark, capable or not.

Nick would meet us somewhere on Hollister. Terry headed back home and we waited…for about 45 seconds. Nick pulled in front of us and we started disconnecting everything for the ride back to Santee.

Nick drove and Steve and I made required calls or texted to all who rabidly supported us the entire time.

God bless them all. With them behind us, it was better…

14 Nov

Up early, foraging for coffee.

Ring, ring.

It’s Nick. Nick is excited about us coming in and finishing the trip.

I went through SEAL Team training one class apart from Nick. We have been friends since.

Nick is also one of those detail oriented people that require every answer to every question to every possibility to every permutation of an issue.

He has followed the trip very closely and wants us to finish with a bang.

His intentions are pure but, sometimes, his timing sucks.

“What time do you think you will finish today?”

We never know.

“Where do you think you will end up? I think you will end up in Del Mar. Maybe at the top of Torrey Pines Road. Will you take the hill today or will you do that in the morning? I can be there with the truck or the van. What time should I start heading that way?”

“Nick, I don’t know. I just woke up and am trying to find someone to give me some coffee.”

“Yeah, but, if you call me when you get to the Del Mar Fairgrounds, I can start off from home and be there when you get there. What time do you think you’ll call?”

Every question required consideration and a decision.

“NICK!! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I NEED COFFEE! I’LL CALL YOU WHEN I GET THERE!!

Click.

Like I said, Nick is excited for us in a big way.

There was breakfast in the lobby and we did one of the final map studies before taking off.

There was a very slow start because something evil was happening to our stomachs from something we ate yesterday.

Perfect.

What would the day be with morning intestinal distress? Plus, it had the added benefit of the route going onto Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base where the Marines have a HUGE sense of humor about civilians going off route and using their property and bushes as a toilet.

Do that there and you get to meet a bunch of new, service member friends dressed in camouflage uniforms sporting badges and guns.

“But I’m a bicycle tourist…”

“Stay on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them.”

I could imagine that scenario.

Just don’t do it there.

We finally got out the door and on the road which took us parallel to Interstate 5. We wound through parks, and frontage roads, past San Onofre Nuclear Generator Facility and to San Clemente State Park that went on for about 10 miles.

We finally hit a fence that warned us that we were now on Marine Corps property.

I don’t know if you have ever dealt with Marines. When they take over a place, they generally own everything starting at the center of the earth, mineral rights, right, left, forward and behind you property limits AND the airspace above, going to outer space.

You really have to admire the way they do bidness…

We went for MILES on the west side of I-5 on their property. There was a helo doing touch and goes on an unimproved landing spot to our right.

I told Steve, “If an Apache helicopter peeks up over the hill and the missile tubes are showing, perhaps we should turn back.”

“You gotta die of something. Might as well go out big in a viral video!”

What logic. I love this guy.

Passing through a tunnel, we then went MILES on the east side of I-5, down a Harrier Aircraft Strip

We got to Las Pulgas Road and had to go through a checkpoint to get onto the base proper.

The Marine at the gate asked, “Why do you have so much gear?”

“We started in Canada.”

He looked at me and said, “That’s insane.”

There is something about having a Marine say something like that to you. It feels good. Yeah, I suppose it IS insane and the whole idea probably was from the start.

But, on the other hand, we will soon pass into San Diego County and close the distance to the border and close this chapter of our lives.

You can’t take that away from us now.

Of course, they may also find our bleached bones somewhere on Camp Pendleton. It is a BIG place and we have to get off base first.

We traveled miles and more miles, paralleling I-5 and finally reached the Main Gate and Oceanside.

We stopped for something light for lunch. Steve had some soup due to his punky stomach and I had Fish and Chips, Slaw, a Corona and a “Death by Chocolate” Cone.

Clearly, I was feeling better.

Through Oceanside, Carlsbad and the litany of San Diego Coast beach towns.

Up and down easy hills, into Encinitas, Cardiff, Solana Beach and finally, Del Mar…at the Fairgrounds.

I called Nick.

Steve was waiting up ahead because I had stopped to take a picture of a sticker on a car.

It said “Epic.” Just like the one in Seattle, that said “Do Epic Shit.”

I guess we really have done a pretty braggy thing, here.

We did the couple of hills in Del Mar and coming down the other side, I stopped on the downhill and pointed out Torrey Pines Road to Steve.

“That’s the last hill on the coast. Ready?”

There was no way in hell either one of us were going to stop on that hill. Torrey Pines was ours from the time we looked at it.

It was a chug but nothing we had not done a hundred times before in the last couple of months.

I got to the top and hung out while waiting for Steve.

Nick and his son pulled in and Steve came into view.

Pedaling.

The plan was to go to Nick’s home for the night.

Sorry. His wife, MAUREEN’S home. Nick is just allowed to live there. Like every guy in the world.

Maureen came out and welcomed us in. She had just gotten home from her trip and all the kids, and THEIR kids were there for dinner.

With everyone and the kids there there, the noise level was 157 dB. It was a beautiful uproar.

Nick and Maureen relish the Grandparents role and righteously so.

Dinner was fabulous again and tired came early. I excused myself after the kids and the KIDS left.

I had some thinking to do.

With Nick’s uber-planning, he said there was 33 miles left. He will drop us off at the place he picked us up so we won’t lose any distance.

So, off to bed and dream about home.

Readjusting, when I get there, will be difficult. After all, getting up and pedaling all day IS the new normal.

We’ll see soon.

13 Nov

Up when we woke and out the door when we could.

Somehow, I had lost $160 worth of bicycle pants out of my bags. Don’t know where they could have gone. It’s only two pair but they do get spendy.

Considering you only have 10 things in your bags, that is hard to do.

A stop to REI for more pants. Another stop to send more stuff home. Another long stop to return the minivan.

It was now 12:00 when we were let off at the bike path in Huntington Beach.

We finished leftovers from the Lebanese feast last night and got on the way.

At this point, we are both a couple of barn sour horses that have oats waiting for them. We are not noticing much and rolling fast.

A good friend has advised to take it all in and enjoy it. Intellectually, I understand what she is saying but, practically, our legs ARE mile eating pistons that want to be done. We are rolling very fast, with few breaks, running for the border.

Newport Beach was like everything else. So was Laguna Beach, but more hilly (the drivers do NOT give you a break there), and on to Dana Point.

The hills in Laguna Beach and Laguna Niguel are not that steep but they come in quick succession and it leaves you a bit breathless.

We stopped along the way for a milk shake and fielded the usual questions. The same “dog watching TV looks” of incomprehension at the distance we had come. The only way they seemed to be able to process that is the shorter distance to the southern border.

“It’s a really long way to Mexico from here.”

And it may BE to them. A couple of days to us. Virtually nothing.

Dana Point started a bike path that ended in San Clemente. Some of that was on a dirt path, congested, with people who would not rein their dogs in, so it was slow going.

We finally got to a place and I asked a random woman where to stay.

“Is this San Clemente? Where should I stay?”

(Always good to ask the locals)

She recommended a place, up the hill from the end of the bike path that was reasonable.

It turned out to be a timeshare property and had ALL of the amenities that you would expect, at a reasonable price.

We had a heck of a time trying to find delivered food and after 4 attempts at local pizza shops, we gave it up and called Domino’s. The menus we got from the desk but they were unaware of the new rules.

“We stopped delivering 2 years ago.”

“My driver was sick and I sent him home.”

“Don’t deliver.”

“Don’t deliver.”

Sheesh. Remind me not to move there unless I bring my car. I DO like pizza occasionally.

Steve and I talked about it tonight. The logistics at the end of the trip. All of a sudden, it is on us.

Fortunately, Nick, who is also a bike lunatic, is in full support and will house us and maybe feed us. Surprise to him. I travel with a chef!

Said goodnight to all and….

zzzzzzzz.

12 Nov

Decision day. We will do a full day of pedaling out of Ventura toward LA and see what we have at the end.

Steve has been complaining of a mystery rash that seems to be spreading on his legs and arms. It is pretty uncomfortable for him when he sweats.

We blew through Ventura after foraging for something to eat. We went almost completely through town before we settled on Subway, yet again, for a breakfast something.

Oddly enough, Subway has been the most consistent food for us this entire trip. You know what you will get and it is relatively inexpensive. We should be the next “Jarrods.”

We went quickly through the agricultural areas, around Port Hueneme (Wa-nee-mee) Naval Station. (Easily identified by the enormous fence and the golf course with no one on it) and on to frontage roads past Point Mugu Naval Air Station.

Back onto Route 101 that went back to the coast.

We passed canyon after canyon of state wilderness areas and beaches and we got LOTS of thumbs ups from people in Beemers, Benzs, with Babes in the car.

Toward the end of the day with a few hours to go, we passed into Malibu.

There is a crazy amount of money there and we got a tour of gates. Miles and miles of gates. Pretty fancy ones, at that.

Lots of places for sale, too. At one stop, Steve said, “Breathe it in.”

“What?”

“The smell of a $15.80M dollar property.”

Malibu was turning into a “Tour of What 20 of Us Could Never Afford.”

The architecture was somewhat mysterious to me as well. Some of the places were nice, of course, but some designs looked like the designer was drunk or had rich people living in a architectural practical joke. It was crazy. One place looked like Robinson Crusoe built it. Another looked like the painters had put up scaffolding then they just glassed it in.

There were more than a few houses on the hill overlooking the others with a sweeping front yard planted with young grape vines.

When I am bored, I imagine funny situations and then I add dialogue to it.

You always have to keep yourself amused. It should be a requirement.

So for the baby vineyard people from Malibu, I imagine them at a party.

“I have a vineyard.”

“What kind of grapes do you grow?”

“I have PEOPLE for that.”

“I’d really like to know.”

“I’ll be right back.” (Off to the rest room). “Hello, Jose?”

The situation illustrates a very real point. From Bellingham to Imperial Beach, the one constant has been the Mexican people.

Everywhere. And this is not an indictment, it is admiration. And thanks.

If not for their contribution in everything from agriculture to the Chinese dinner that is put in front of you, the entire economy would capsize. Period.

We have seen “the invisibles” every day of this trip. They are not bad and don’t need to be politically demonized. Imagine that…

We got to the middle of Malibu and it was getting dark. We had seen enough and did not want to see any more of LA.

Not that LA is inherently bad. We have very good friends that have to live in LA.

OK, we both think LA sucks and don’t want to go there. We have both been there many times and it is not our place. It is…crowded and you can’t breathe there.

So, Plan B was to rent a car, pack up the bikes and go to Huntington Beach and start from there in the morning.

Many, many thanks to our new friend Lee, who wrote us stating EXACT directions how to get through LA unmolested.

But, we’ll pass…

We had taken some hard roads to get here but they had not bulldozed the entire landscape to put in a 6 lane freeway. Every other road had some kind of reward to it. It was serene, or beautiful.

How many Payless Shoe Source, CVS Pharmacies, Chili’s or any other corporate entity can you stand every 500 feet?

We had about 10 minutes to arrange the car from Enterprise (“We’ll pick you UP!!”) before they would close in an hour.

Yeah, up to 7 miles. 10, in a stretch, if you tip well.

We were in Malibu. The nearest rental place was in Thousand Oaks. About 17 miles or so. Over hills. Over dales. What is a “dale,” anyway?

I called 9 taxi companies to take me there to pick up the car and come back for the bikes and Steve (Steve’s idea).

“We don’t service that area.”

Oh, god. We have 75 minutes to spare before they close.

It was dark. It was cold and nothing showed on the Satanic Maps to indicate any kind of lodging. If we did not get this rental car, we were screwed.

There was many phone calls and hand wringing before I got to the “Malibu Yellow Cab Company.”

It was not Yellow. It was a town car. With a chauffeur.

This ain’t gonna be cheap.

It IS, after all, MALIBU…

The Chauffeur showed up at the stroke of 20 minutes before the other place closed and we talked about it in the car.

“GO, GO, GO…”

I called Enterprise and Drew (the coolest guy in that system) said “I know you’re coming. We’ll wait.”

Drew is Elvis to us.

I jumped out of the town car and had to pay by credit card. They were waiting inside for me to show.

“I don’t have a machine, we have to call the company.”

He called on his phone.

A laconic woman on the other end, who was counting her salary by the minutes spent on the phone, went through the process.

“What is your name? What is the car number? Who is your driver? Say that again? Credit card number. (She repeated EVERY SINGLE SYLLABLE).”

Then every item, mailing address, and every single piece of identifying information you could ever possible want and then it was repeated again.

“FERGODSSAKE! THEY ARE GOING TO CLOSE ON ME!!!”

“Go ahead, sir”

I ran inside and Drew was patiently waiting, lights off, in starting blocks, ready to launch his people for the evening.

No sweat, very cool, all done and out the door.

Enterprise are my guys from now on…

I drove back to Steve. Over 12 miles, over mountains, 3 tunnels and hinterland to get back. An 8% grade that would have taken us 3 days to get over.

Fortunately, I had the sense enough to set the GPS on my phone to find my way back from Thousand Oaks.

Sometimes, I have a lucid moment…

After we loaded the van, We went south but I did not want to lose a moment of the trip. I drove Route 1 to Huntington Beach.

I had a thought as we were driving.

“Remember a few days ago when you had to run off into the woods with your upset stomach? You don’t suppose you were in Poison Oak, do you?”

Lights of realization about the mystery rash started to come on.

An emergency turn into Rite-Aid In Manhattan Beach for Calamine lotion.

After the Rite-Aid stop, we saw a Lebanese Restaurant nearby that I wish they would move to Seattle. “Open Sesame.”

Fabulous.

After dinner, we drove through some of the roughest neighborhoods I have ever seen, that would have been on our route.

I made sure the doors were locked many times.

The rental car was a good call. It’s not as if there will be an asterisk next to our trip, like Barry Bond and Mark McGuire’s home run records, because we passed on LA.

We got to Huntington Beach and checked into the hotel. A nice one that did not rent by the hour.

That is always good when you do NOT see the housekeeping staff cleaning rooms in a Level A suit and removing the quilt with hot dog tongs.

In for the night but feeling somewhat guilty about skipping the wonders of LA, we were concerned about that for about 30 seconds after we laid down…

…I laid down.

Steve had calamine lotion to apply before he could sleep…

11 Nov

First of all, the Important Stuff. My sincerest thank you to all who have served on this Veteran’s Day. You ARE what makes this country great.

We woke in Refugio State Park too a chilly morning. Steve was stoking the fire and trying to get it to come back to life. We had a breakfast of turkey spam and a carton of egg whites. 

Good protein gets yer motor runnin’.

We took off south on 1 and started slow, like we always do, to warm up. 

We had decided to try and reach Ventura by evening. I, on the other hand, had decided we WOULD reach Ventura. I was pacing, so throughout the day, I had been increasing the tempo. Like a trooper, Steve was never far behind.

We closed the distance to Santa Barbara quickly. My seat was acting up…my saddle, not my SEAT…and I had to stop a couple of times to readjust it. There was a bike shop that Steve saw and I didn’t and we ran straight into one of the finest Farmer’s Market as I have ever seen. It was all organic and looked like a vegetable or fruit should…or what you imagine it should look like. I wanted to back my truck up and take it all home but I only had a bike with limited carry space, so I had to control myself.

A man held out a sample basket with grapes in it. I took a few and popped them into my mouth. What I got, I was not expecting.

These grapes tasted like candy. Every one was firm and ripe and juicy and just exploded when you bit into them.

The sample man said the grapes were picked yesterday. I also got a tutorial on grape freshness. If the stems are brown and wilted, they have been laying about for a while. These stems were bright green and full.

I had to walk away. I could feel an “over-buy” coming on. I got as far as the Almond Lady, two tents down. I bought some of those then went back for the grapes.

I took two handfuls this time and I was shoving them into my maw with the palm of my hand. I believe I was making plumbing sounds.

Thirty seconds later, the stretchy cargo net was out and I was strapping $11 of these beauties onto the bike. It was about 4 lbs. 

Whatever. I was not going to live without these grapes.

We had to leave quickly before I completely lost control and bought everything.

Part of the reason everything looked so good is because it was lunch time and we already did about 23 miles. We stopped at another mexican place with “Pollo” in the restaurant name. 

Here’s a tip. If “Pollo” is in the name, no matter how much you love carne asada burritos, order the “Pollo.” Steve ordered the chicken and I had serious order envy.

There were a few dips in the road but all in all, just a non-eventful day. We got directions from a couple of sport bikers and passed about $100M of property facing the ocean.

About mid-afternoon, we stopped in Carpenteria for lunch and keep our energy up. For such an upscale place, this cafe had it going on. Good food and reasonable, affordable prices…and milkshakes.

Coming out of Carpenteria we had 18 miles to reach Ventura and it was late in the day. 

We took off, back onto Route 1.

Precisely 150 yards after getting on the highway, I heard “click-click-click” every time my wheel turned. I carefully examined my front tire for rocks and tiny pieces of glass. I did not find the culprit until I looked at my back tire where a roofing staple from an air gun, 1 1/2″ on all three sides, was sticking out of my tire.

The sun was headed west and we were running out of time. That was a speed tube change that would have rivaled a NASCAR pit stop.

We started pedaling like crazy and after about an hour or so, I passed Emma Woods State Park. I waited for Steve at the top of the hill. He thought we were going to stop there.

“I suppose you want to know what I’m doing, right?”

“That would be nice.”

“There is a pier in Ventura. ON the pier is Eric Ericssons Restaurant. Very good food and I’ve eaten there every time I come through Ventura. Tonight is not different. Right NEXT to the pier, is a Crown Plaza Hotel. If YOU want to sleep in a tent tonight, you may. I, on the other hand, do not want to be cold again on this trip. If you do not want to join me for something different, I will meet you at the pier in the morning.”

“Different is good.” And we took off again.

It is very late in the season and the cold is not amusing anymore.

We came off the freeway onto a bike path (Why do they always make bike paths meander so you can’t build up a good head of steam?) and we turned on lights to finish the last couple of miles to the hotel.

I showed my loyalty card and we got upgraded after I chatted with the manager and found out he was a veteran, thanked him for his service and got checked in.

I think he also gave us the “Two-of-the-coolest-guys-that-ever-pedaled-the-PCH” discount. That boy dug deep for us. Thanks, buddy!

Bikes pushed to the room, on the ocean side, on the top floor with the gorgeous view north, we got cleaned up and ready to walk next door to eat.

It was $6.00 Tapas Night and we had 10 minutes to order…and we did. We ordered 4 things that looked promising (Seriously, we can’t eat that much anymore). We were not disappointed.

I love a place that is consistently good each and every time you go there. THAT’S why I stop there every time. There is only one pier in Ventura, so it’s hard to miss.

Back at the hotel, we had a couple of drinks in the bar and talked to a couple of ladies that were in town for a worldwide meditation on 11/11 at 11:11. If it is worldwide, I don’t know why you couldn’t do it at home in your PJs and save the airfare, but ok. 

Said goodbyes…then went upstairs to crash in a warm, place…

10 Nov

Slept in a comfortable bed and woke up refreshed and rested. An observation we’ve made is that after all this time, we are really attuned to the body workings. Crappy food equals poor performance the next day. Sleep in the tent and you can survive the next day but we just don’t do as well as sleeping in a bed.

Coincidence? I think not! Of course, all this has a body of evidence centuries long but, like everything, we never believe it unless we self discover. 

The hotel had a carbohydrate heavy Continental Breakfast available for us. Read donuts, bagels, waffles and cereal. Yuk.

We packed everything up and looked at the Satanic Map to see that there was, once again, a long stretch of empty ahead of us. Also, before we once again got to the coast, there was a big hill with triple rises. OK, just another hill to conquer.

Food would be in order so we shopped before we left town.

Steve went in while I watched the gear outside.

When he came out, we split the load and he pulled out a couple of pieces of Von’s Deli Fried Chicken. Ahhh, PROTEIN!! He held out a drumstick for me and he had a thigh. So, here’s a couple of dudes dressed in eye-torturing orange out in front of the grocery store wolfing down chicken.

Women walked past us but put themselves between their children and us.

Perhaps their kids like chicken, too. Yeah, that must be it.

We headed for the hills all fully loaded and raring to go.

I started looking ahead to the big triple hill almost immediately and we took one smaller hill after another. Up into the mountains above and to the south of Lompoc on Route 1.

The winds in the hills were cold and wicked. It came from unexpected directions and would move you laterally a couple of feet. We had been warned by the guy at the bike shop who bikes these hills all the time to be very careful to control the descents because of the unpredictable winds.

On one downhill, I passed from a protected area into a field that was open on both sides. The wind came from the left and moved me about 4 feet before I could catch up. 

That was the reality check I needed to slow myself down on the big descent coming up.

I was making jokes about the hill we would have to push our bikes up by looking at fire trails snaking straight up on the mountains ahead of us. Those mountains sure looked imposing and we had a mountain to climb before we went down.

Steve called a halt and we stopped to split a sandwich to keep the energy up. I heard the kind of language only heard in brothels and sailor bars coming from behind me. It was the salty words normally associated with “Wrapper Rage.” 

When I turned around, the wrapper and half a sandwich was on the ground. Steve had more to say but I don’t know how to spell all that.

I walked over and picked up the bread, lettuce and meat off of the ground and out of the dirt (I left the tomatoes. They were not JANET’S tomatoes). Steve just watched. He was still holding the other half of the sandwich, watching me grab my water bottle and rinsing everything off then re-assembling the sandwich half.

“We’re Bike Warriors. Bike Warriors don’t waste food”

The bread was a bit crunchy in spots but the sandwich was still good. Besides, you have to get your iron from somewhere.

After that snack, we continued on chugging up hills. Making more jokes about looking ahead to the up coming hill that we were anticipating.

There was also something different today. Everytime I looked back, Steve was right behind me. I wasn’t used to him being so close. All day long, no matter how fast I pedaled, there he was.

If you recall, he gave me a scrawny chicken leg. He got the plump, meaty fried chicken thigh. I’m convinced his secret weapon was eating that fried chicken thigh. Next time, I get the thigh.

Actually, that was the first time since he crashed coming out of Elk that he was not bothered by knee pain and it showed. Good on him!

It was about 2:00 when I looked down on the pavement and saw 975 ft painted on the road in white. 

Wait a minute. That’s the elevation of the hill we were looking for. We were already on it…on top. We never even noticed that we were climbing THAT hill.

The sign that said “7% Grade Next 2 Miles” was also a give away.

The wind at the top was cold and bit right through the clothes and sweat and nothing would help except to get off of the top.

When you stop after sweating, it is like a scene from one of those black and white, World War II Informational Movies, “Hypothermia 101.”

Down we went under control and got to an intersection where Route 1 and Hwy 101 meet. We passed a sign that said “End Route 1.”

We picked up Hwy 101 and we were aiming for Refugio State Beach, another 10 miles or so.

That 10 miles was easy because the road was relatively flat and fast. Traffic was heavy because of the three day weekend but stayed away from us.

We made Refugio before dusk and had plenty of time to set up in the hiker/biker section, get some wood and start a fire. Hot soup with noodles and extra cans of chicken was especially welcome because the cold wind was still coming across the water. It died down after dark and that was also a lucky break.

Steve observed “”You know what we don’t say anymore? We don’t say “A month ago we couldn’t have taken that hill.””

That is true. We DON’T say that anymore. It’s just a hill, a minor distraction. We don’t fear them. They don’t control our day or our thinking. 

There is an easy confidence acquired from so many miles where a 10 mile end of day speed run is nothing. We can do almost anything on the bikes and have proven it time and again to ourselves.

A month or two ago, we wouldn’t have even THOUGHT that…

9 Nov

That made for an restless night. We both woke at every sound, We were up and gone by 6:15 with no breakfast, coffee, rest, nothing.

Cold and damp, we took off down the hill and headed for Lompoc.

After a couple of hours, we came to a right hand turn on Route 1. If you went straight, that would put you at one of the entry gates to Vandenberg Air Force Base. They take a dim view of visitors without a reason to be there…and the paperwork to prove it.

So left hand turn it was and we looked to our left. There was the ugliest bank of black clouds headed our way that promised us a miserable future.

We had a couple of drizzles on us but found if we pedaled hard, we could stay ahead of the leading edge. So we raced the clouds until…

..a big gnarly hill. A walking hill.

We were done. We had about 10 minutes across the top and somewhat down before everything dumped on us. 

Everything. At the same time.

Somebody please explain to us how you can have sunshine, monsoon rain AND hail all at the same time.

Aren’t we in CALIFORNIA??

We stopped and put on our Costco Rain Suits. We only used them once before and it was like wearing a large garbage bag THEN, too.

To be fair, if you are doing moderate work (not bicycling), sitting still- like on a motorcycle (not bicycling), changing a tire (not bicycling), using it to stay warm (not bicycling), these suits might be useful.

Silverbacks recommend not bicycling in the rain at all.

But that was not happening today.

Torrential downpour, cold cross winds, can’t hardly see and I was done. I saw an exit up ahead and took it. The signs said there was food and a hotel.

I went looking. Steve wanted food. I wanted a hot shower. We found the hotel at 10 AM.

“Are you thinking of checking in?”

“YES!”

“Lets get some food first.”

“WHY? I want a shower.”

“You just had a shower.”

Impeccable logic.

“Why? We can order something.”

“Look behind us.”

Not one, single cloud in the sky for as far as the eye could see.

I had to check the map again. I was pretty sure we were in California, not “Bizzarro-Land.” 

Though, some would argue.

As we warmed up in Subway at 9:45, eating yesterday’s soup and last week’s coffee, the sun came out in all it’s splendor and we prepared to leave.

Steve looked at his tire and that sucker was as bald as grandpa.

We called a couple of bike shops in Lompoc with disconnected phone lines.

We asked the girl at the Subway where Lompoc was.

“This is not Lompoc. This is the VILLAGE.”

“????”

By our count, there are 3476 villages between here and Vancouver. If they don’t like you, what? Pitchforks and torches?

Like all the Colonies along the coast that advertise “artist colonies.” Do they group together? Are they bees? Ants? Termites?

We don’t really get the illusion of exclusivity thing but, at this point, we scratch ourselves in public and don’t really care anymore, either.

We’ve been on the road a long time.

A really noticeable phenomenon is talking with the young people and their almost total lack of geography. Even where they live.

For instance, we asked the young girl in the sandwich shop where Lompoc was.

“About 20 minutes by car.”

It was actually about a quarter mile from where we were standing. We were not on our bikes 45 seconds on a good downhill when we passed the city limit sign.

That is not an indictment against young people, just an observation on the dependency on gadgets to get us hither and yon. Without them, most people are lost and have no idea of their place in the world.

Perhaps it is not important anymore and I missed the memo. 

Onto Lompoc and the bike shop hat did not answer the phone and we decided to hotel it for the rest of the day and take off on the 50 miles of not much until Goleta and Santa Barbara tomorrow

I decided to give the bike a good cleaning. Evidently, a SURLY bike has strong opinions about getting sticky mud on it.

You see, most everything on a bike has teeth. Pedals that grab your shoes. I’ve already explained how the scars on our legs look like a map of Paris. Chain rings that bit into the spaces on the chain, etc. All are sharp and carnivorous. 

Today, at the hotel, when I was lovingly removing all the remaining sticky mud from my beloved Surly, I had it standing on the handlebars and seat. I was really getting into it. The bike fell over and the chain ring bit my head.

Hotels take umbrage at wrapping one of their “good” towels around your bleeding head, regardless of circumstances.

“We have ruined towels for that.”

I’ll certainly remember that the next time my head is bleeding.

We have not had a day off since Aptos and neither wants to take one now. BUT, we are both dragging hard, we need some decent food, need to do laundry and need to push hard tomorrow.

Why? We now have seven days to make the border. Joanne sent us train tickets today and we leave San Diego next Saturday to go home.

Tonight, food, rest, a bed, a hot tub and no voices in the night putting us on full alert.

A stick can only do so much…

Tonight at the hotel, there was a managers happy hour and there will be breakfast in the morning.

Very cool.

Happy hour was a nice woman punching the corner out of a box of wine, pretzels, nachos and popcorn…

Yum.

The wine did not have an aroma, it had an odor. But, what the hey, it was free.

We met an awesome bunch of tourists from France and we sat and had drinks for a while.

They went elsewhere for dinner but knowing that there are more people across the oceans that think like we do, is awesome.

I was speaking about the “Ugly American Tourist” and the lady from Luxembourg said “There are fools everywhere.”

What wisdom.

Dinner was different. We were recommended to a nice Italian place down the street. “Mama” ran the place. Everything was freshly made that day. Marlena, the daughter was the manager, who nothing slipped past. She was schooled in the “Mama” school of restaurants.

Everything looked so good and we just gave up and told Marlena, “Feed us.”

Funny thing is, when you trust someone like that and know it will turn out ok, the very best effort is put out there for you. Happens every time.

We all talked until late and we stumbled back up the street, full of the second best Italian food I’ve ever tasted.

I haven’t tasted it all, yet, so I can’t say what is first.