Introduction, Day 1 - 9
California
…and I don’t know where to go
there’s just this long white road
and I can’t think straight…
-It’s All Over, David Gray, 1993
Introduction
(or more of a warning really…)
I exaggerate. I’m prone to stretching the truth. I’m liable to bullshit about certain things in order to make them more interesting. If you weren’t there at the time to confirm something, then it’s entirely possible that I’ve just made it up. I’m liable to substitute kilometres with miles in order to make it seem I’ve ridden further, metres with feet in order to make it seem I’ve climbed higher, kilograms with pounds in order to make it seem I’m carrying a heavier load, and Celsius with Fahrenheit in order to make it seem I’ve endured more miserable weather.
In fact, it’s entirely possible I didn’t even do this trip. I may have just stayed at home last year watching re-runs of “The Office” and drinking copious amounts of coffee.
I considered changing names to protect the innocent, but let’s face it; it wouldn’t take a genius to work out if I’m talking about you.
Preparation
(the madness begins…)
I like bike riding but I’d never call myself a cyclist. I’ve never been into types of bikes and components, group rides or racing, and until owning my touring bike, I’d never ridden anything but cheap mountain bikes. My biking experience includes many weekend and afternoon rides after work but I’d never ridden more than 25 miles in a day before. My biking experience also includes two car collisions, the last of which left me with a nasty six-month headache after landing helmet-first on the road. Riding a bicycle across a country had always been on my things-to-do-in-life list, but so was spitting over the edge of the Tower of Pisa, and I’d not been serious about carrying through with either.
Since joining the working life six years ago, I’ve dreamt of nothing but ways of leaving the working life and going on long term holidays. My first attempt was to try and do the typical Aussie thing and live, work, booze up and holiday in London. When my first boss caught wind of my desire to do this, he instead set me up with a six-month stint of work experience in the Philippines. Six months turned into a year, and I felt again the need to travel. I quit my job and headed to India for a few wonderful months of doing my own thing. I was called back to the Philippines but within a year I had started planning the London travels again. Upon quitting this time my second boss offered me a transfer to San Diego, California. Four months of near perfect weather and plenty of surfing and I was transferred again, this time to the San Francisco Bay Area. Though I was getting the overseas travel I wanted, my dream of a long term holiday was getting further and further away.
Travelling by bicycle surfaced as an idea early in 2003 when a good friend of mine attempted it in China and Mongolia. His enthusiasm for the idea was contagious and it got me considering a similar, but easier trip. I’d been in America for two years but had seen very little of the country. With only two weeks of holidays a year it was hard to. At the end of 2003, tired of long working hours, approaching the end of my twenties and ready for a change of scenery, I decided the bicycle trip was the way to go.
As with all my stupid ideas, I’m more likely to carry through with them if I tell them to people whose opinions I care about. And so it was, with several pints of honey wine to loosen my tongue, I spilled my plans to two very good friends in Oakland, the week before Christmas 2003. Like all the other people I mentioned it to over the Christmas period in Australia, their response was not quite as enthusiastic as I’d hoped. The few people who actually believed I might attempt the trip thought I’d only last a matter of weeks, if not days. It got me wondering whether I was considered “a man of my word” and in a way encouraged me even more to prove to myself that I could do it.
However, by the time I started work again in January I was no closer to having any serious plans of route, destinations or a departure date. And I still didn’t have a bike. One evening in late January after another draining day at work, with still no progress in doing anything towards the trip except dreaming about it, I gave myself the kick in the pants that I needed and made a schedule. It included everything I needed to research, buy and organise for the trip, as well as the time I needed to finish off my work. My comfortable departure date was set for the start of June.
Within two weeks, with plenty of Internet research and only two bikes test ridden, I ordered a Trek 520 touring bicycle from Left Coast Cyclery in Berkeley. I spent more time deliberating over the pannier bags than the bike itself. I had a packing list as long as my arm but only needed to buy a few essential item as I already owned a good set of camping gear. I began training on the unloaded bike and within a few weekends I was extremely proud of completing a 56 mile (90km) ride around the Oakland hills.
The panniers came next, built by Arkel Overdesigns in Canada and guaranteed for life. At first I ordered only the rear panniers to see how much I could fit in them. I did a few small test rides with the panniers loaded with text books. I didn’t order the front panniers until two weeks before I began the trip.
At this point, my whole departure date hinged on whether I would have to go to court in regards to the bicycle accident I’d had 18 months earlier. But all of a sudden my whole schedule was put on fast track when my lovely housemate (and landlord’s daughter) decided we had “personality differences” and wanted me out of the house by the end of April. I spoke to my boss the next day, stressed out and nervous as hell, mainly because I’d never succeeded in resigning yet. And didn’t succeed this time either. My boss, totally understanding of my dilemma, told me to take as long as I wanted and just return when I was feeling “better”. “Better” because for the last few months, the stresses of work had exacerbated the stomach problems I’d had ever since getting sick in India. I’d been to numerous doctors over four years and had numerous tests done and redone, but no cause was ever found. It was not until a week before my trip that a specialist discovered that I had Coeliac Sprue disease, an intolerance to the gluten found in wheat, barley, rye and oats. It was both a relief and a curse. I now knew why I’d felt like crap for years but now could no longer enjoy some of life’s most enjoyable things; pizza, bread, pasta and beer.
A month prior to starting the trip I’d stopped all my training and exercise in an attempt to put a bit of meat on my bones (the lack of meat was a result of the gluten intolerance and malnutrition). I was now unfit and not an ounce fatter. The weekend before my trip I rode to my friends’ place in Sausalito (just north of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge) with an almost fully loaded bike. Not quite fully loaded, as I had no food packed, nor did I have my 12 string guitar which I romantically believed I could not do without for three months (it would not be until the day that I started the trip that I would ride with a fully loaded bike, including the guitar for the first time strapped to my rear rack with its neck sticking between my legs). I absolutely struggled. The ride took me at least three times as long as normal and I was several hours late for the dinner I had been invited to. My friends in Sausalito were the only friends I could find with a set of bathroom scales. I weighed in at a measly 145lbs, the panniers minus food were 60lbs, and my bike with three bottles of water was 40lbs (the night before the trip started, some other friends helped me measure everything on their kitchen scales and we got a total loaded weight of 260lbs, including me).
I think I packed too much.
Day 1 - Colma to Manresa State Beach, California
17 May 2004 - 90 miles 7:07 hours
For the past week, some good friends have let me stay on their spare couch in Oakland. It’ll probably be the last really comfortable bed I’ll be in for some time. I got up at 3:30am in order to catch the first BART train over to Colma, south of San Francisco. My friends were nice enough to wake up to see me off, as well as to ask when I would be back. It was still pitch dark when I left the Colma station and as I struggled up the first slight hill I asked myself why on earth anyone would choose to do this. It was to be my mantra for the next week.
Got my first rear flat tire when I got to Santa Cruz, not before being stopped by the Californian highway patrol for riding on the freeway.
My fantastic route planning (which basically was to work out where I’d camp the first night and then wing it from then on) meant I had to do a 90 mile day. I was turned away at the first state park because there was no camping allowed and turned away at the second state park because it was camper vans only. I finally struggled into Manresa State Beach where I tried to cook fried rice and fresh vegetables. Learnt that brown rice was a pretty dumb thing to bring on a camping trip, even after having soaked all day in my pannier, it took fifty minutes to cook. It’ll be five-minute instant rice from now on I think. And fresh veggies…well that was the first and last time I’ll be cooking them on this trip.
Day 2 - Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California
18 May - 77.54 miles 6:17 hours
It took me three hours to pack up my tent and cook breakfast this morning. Got another rear flat tyre as I was pulling into a cafe/restaurant place for a second breakfast. My plan was to have a short ride today and camp in Carmel. The AAA map I had (a friend had ordered me about $90 worth of maps through her car insurance membership but I only ended up bringing the California/ Oregon ones) showed a camping symbol beside the town.
I stopped at a small hotel to ask of its whereabouts only to discover it was a mistake. After having to ride an extra 26 miles through the Big Sur coastal hills with really strong winds I’ve decided I’ll have my first rest day tomorrow.
Day 3 - Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park, California
19 May - Rest Day
Last night I met two guys, Reed from Seattle and Sean from New Jersey who are riding from Tijuana to Vancouver as quickly as they can. They basically have no gear; no tent, no tarp, one didn’t have a sleeping bag, no flashlight and not even a can opener. I thought I’d introduce myself when I saw them trying to break open a can of baked beans in the dark.
We hung out for a while and when they discovered I was carrying a guitar Sean put on an impromptu performance of “Wish they all could be Californian girls” while Reed did the harmonies.
I’m ashamed that I didn’t learn any campfire songs before I left on this trip.
Day 4 - San Simeon State Park, California
20 May - 77.64 miles 6:27 hours
The Big Sur hills are killing me. I called a friend today and told him I wasn’t having much fun after spending the day again asking myself why anyone would be so stupid to try doing this. He was good enough to remind me that Barbara Savage had hated riding at the start, and not started to really enjoy herself until two weeks into her trip.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long. (Barbara Savage and her husband sold their house and everything they owned, and took off to ride around the world back in the ‘70s, her book was called “Road to Nowhere”).
Day 5 - Lost Hills KOA (Hwy 46), California
21 May - 99.36 miles 7:16 hours
Last night, in order to shorten the two-hour packing up time in the morning, I didn’t put up the tent, but instead just wrapped it over my sleeping bag. Within ten minutes of the sun setting I was soaked in moisture. My sleeping bag was soaked by morning.
I turned inland this morning, the plan is to get to Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. My granny gears are getting a major workout as I struggle up the rolling yellow hills. When I got to Paso Robles I saw a sign for an Amtrak train station and inquired as to whether I could put my bike on the train and piss off to somewhere else.
Unfortunately not.
Spoke to my sister’s boyfriend and told him I wasn’t having much fun. He suggested it might take me a month or so to get into it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.
After Paso Robles, highway 46 becomes one of the straightest and flattest roads I’ve ridden so far. It’s not very encouraging to be able to see the road twenty miles ahead of you and know that the scenery there is just as boring as the scenery you’re now riding through. I had a slight tailwind and so could easily ride at about 17-20 miles per hour. Every time a truck passed me, which was often, the air draft would drag me along at another 3 or 4mph. Ninety percent of the truck drivers were considerate enough to almost cross over on to the wrong side of the road as they passed me (I only had a narrow shoulder). By the end to the day I was wishing they’d pass closer to me, just for that extra push of wind.
Passed the spot where James Dean crashed his car but didn’t know about it until I got to the spot where James Dean last bought gas. They sell all sorts of nuts there now and lay claim to having the largest parking lot in the world. While I was paying for my overpriced mocha flavoured almonds, the owner told me I was crazy for riding along the 46. They call it “Blood Alley” because of the high number of vehicle accidents on it every year.
Almost did my first century ride today. I considered riding the extra 0.64 miles just to see my speedo click over but I was too buggered.
Day 6 - Cedar Creek Campground, California
22 May - 65.99 miles 5:54 hours
There was barely a tree in sight today. Miles and miles of bare, dry, yellow hills. And warm as well. My $5 REI compass/thermometer that probably has an accuracy of plus or minus 20 degrees, read 100 degrees Fahrenheit. I had to trust my sketchy intuition when I got to a crossroads not shown on my map. I eventually wound up riding into the finish of a women’s three day bicycle race. A guy was kind enough to refill my water bottles as well as giving me a handful of detailed maps. One of the competitors asked me what I was in training for and didn’t seem to understand that I may be doing this just for the pure fun of it (I wish I could find where the fun of it is). Another cyclist I met on the way to Woody gave me much needed route advice on the general hilliness of the roads ahead. I’ve decided to skip the National Parks and just head straight over the Sierras.
I got into Glenville at five o’clock, already exhausted, to discover the only camping was ten miles up towards the summit. At my slow 4mph it was going to be dark by the time I got there. Just out of town I passed a lady parked in a van by the side of the road, who exclaimed an “Oh boy” when she saw the load I was carrying.
Several minutes later, just after I’d dumped all my excess water in order to lighten my load, she pulled up beside me and offered me a lift. Before I could answer, she had a barrage of questions “Do you have a gun, a knife or any sort of weapon on you?”, “Do you have any drugs?” which she repeated about four times until she was convinced by my answers. I took off all my panniers and shoved them and the bike into the back of her van. Before she started the van she demanded my name and made it clear that she would bust my arse and kick me out of the van if I tried anything shifty. That was followed by several minutes of praying over me and asking me questions about whether I’d ever said thankyou Jesus for coming into my life and so on. Susan was saving me from a two and a half hour arse-busting climb, so I humoured her with her terrible attempts at the Aussie accent and her other ramblings. She was a good sport though and even sent my Mum and Dad a picture that she’d taken of me and my bike.
Thankyou Jesus.
Day 7 - Cedar Creek Campground (10mi east of Glennville), California
23 May - Rest day
A day of doing diddlysquat. It’s a free, empty campground but with no facilities except a drop toilet. I’m ravenously hungry but out of fresh fruit, almost out of water and just rationing my overpriced mocha flavoured almonds.
Fell asleep for four hours in the middle of the day, feel like I’m totally out of energy. The overpriced mocha flavoured almonds aren’t helping much.
I have had a very painful left knee since day one. I have a very tender saddle sore on my right butt. I’ve had a gash on the first finger of my right hand since day one that keeps opening up each day. I have a popped blister on the middle toe of my left foot. Why am I doing this?
I keep seeing a lot of motorbikes passing me and I think I should have done something like that instead of this bicycle riding madness.
Day 8 - Green Horn Summit, California
24 May - 3.52 miles 0:42 hours
It turned out that the summit was only a few miles above the campground. If I’d have known this yesterday I would have ridden into Lake Isabella instead of starving myself on my rest day. When I got to the summit I took a self-congratulatory photo of myself. My first Sierra Nevada summit (Greenhorn Summit, elevation 6102 feet) and I’d barely ridden any of it myself. I was proud regardless. As I was about to head down the long hill into Lake Isabella a lady in a pick-up stopped beside me and exclaimed “You rode up the hill with that?” Straight away I knew she was a Kiwi and I told her I was an Aussie. Turned out Cheree lived in Lake Isabella and she quickly offered me a warm shower and a hot meal. We first collected firewood for her winter stockpile and then she showed me around town.
Before getting to her house she warned me that she was looking after an 11 month old German Shepherd whose owners had abandoned it due to its bad behaviour. She gave me instructions on how to behave around the dog; ignoring it, avoiding eye contact and turning my back to it if it tried to jump up. All the while acting calmly as possible. However trying to behave calmly with a dog barking aggressively inches from my exposing tight bike shorts, is a bit nerve racking. I only got bitten a few times. Turns out Cheree is a bit of a genius when it comes to animal training, she even has a chook that she can make poop on command.
Day 9 - Isabella Lake, Cheree’s house, California
25 May - Rest Day - 50.19 miles 3:43 hours
The weekend before leaving on this trip, my good friends gave me a Mohawk haircut. It was done using a rechargeable moustache trimmer whose life was obviously over. A minute into the haircut and it stopped dead. Even recharging didn’t help much and the haircut was barely finished by the next morning. It doesn’t raise an eyelid in a city like San Francisco, but I never quite felt comfortable riding around central California with a Mohawk. So today I got it cut off.
Cheree was telling me about a horse fair in Bishop this weekend and thinks I should go see it. During the day she called the local radio station to see if I could get a lift with anyone but no luck. Tonight she made a sign out of a linoleum flooring sample which she thinks will help me hitch a lift there with no problems. It reads “TIRED AUSSIE NEEDS RIDE”.
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