Originally I had not expected to have time this summer for bicycle touring, but the severance package I got from Raychem changed things. Nephew number four was Charles; he was in summer school in June, so we negotiated an August tour.
He stands 6'0 (or 6'3, depending on whom you ask), weighs 215. That means two things.
I thought I might be able to borrow the same bike James used a few years ago, but Bob D seems to have moved away from the area. I tried an email plea, got three offers. Robert N’s offer seemed like the best one, so I picked up the bike. It was fairly beat-up, the survivor of a Backroads career. Well, the cosmetics don’t matter. But there were difficulties. It had 27-inch wheels and Schräder-valve tubes and no pump. The brakes were worn. The front quick-release didn’t have a positive overlock feel, which made me uncomfortable. And as I mounted Jacky’s set of low-riders, I discovered that the headset was badly pitted. A show-stopper – that can be unsafe at high speed. Went to the Bicycle Outfitter, where they rent Bianchi Eros sport-touring bikes, reserved one for August. Money solves a lot of problems.
Roger kindly offered to drive us to Eureka. I had originally been thinking of using Wednesday for getting everything checked out, but we have something like four hundred miles to ride, and it might be a good idea to have a full week for it. If we have extra time at the back end, there are other ways to use it.
And then there was no certainty about the size of the bike Charles needed. He insists he has a 56-cm road bike that fits him just fine. If he really stands 6'3", 63 or 64 cm is more likely. So I want to take him to the Outfitter in person, to make sure we really get the right size. Tuesday will be a very busy day, considering that Charles is only scheduled to arrive at 4:00.
Picked up Charles at 4 o’clock at San Jose airport. Had to park at the other terminal; the open-lot parking was full and the lot was closed.
From the airport we went to the Outfitter. 61 cm was the right size. Took them a long time to install racks and get the bike ready to go. Not real impressed by the competence of their work (I had to rework one low-rider attachment point before we could install the panniers), nor by their customer-service attitude, either. 7 o’clock by the time we got home. The bike doesn’t come with a pump (yes, I could have rented one, but...); I will need to stay somewhere within rescue range in case Charles has a flat tire.
Spent the evening packing and checking everything out. Charles got both his air mattress and sleeping bag inside his panniers. Seems light, but I can’t think of anything he’s missing. I’m always willing to steal a good idea: managed to get my own air mattress into one of my panniers!
Charles admits that he snores. Fine; he gets to carry the Flash-Light tent and camp as far away as we can arrange.
Roger volunteered to drive us to Eureka. It was a little after 9 when he arrived. Loaded up the Accord and headed out. I offered to trade off, but Roger drove all the way, about 310 miles, with only a Mac stop for lunch, and a water exchange at Myers Flat. Rolled into Eureka around 3:30. Didn’t know whether Roger would want to drive partway back today, but I invited him to stay at Eureka, of course at my expense. He accepted. That made the difference between staying at a motel or a campground tonight.
Roger’s strategy is to drive through town, looking over the possibilities; at the far side of town, he turns around, drives back and picks one. Got a two-room suite for Charles and myself at the Town House, and a separate room for Roger. The motel-keeper was Indian, but had not tried the Indian restaurant down the street.
He suggested we visit the Victorian sawmill at the foot of X street. Looked interesting, but the tour was $5 and we’re too cheap for that. Woman invited us in to look around, pointed out the things included in the tour – but we’re still too cheap. Thanks, but no thanks.
Charles had never seen the ocean. We drove across the Samoa bridge and down to the end of the spit by the shipping channel. There was a dredge cleaning out the channel, pelicans, a sawmill on the spit, burning its own sawdust, creating its own fog with its condensation.
Charles thought the ocean was great! Today, it was flat, cold and grey. He had the idea of running and jumping into it, but Roger and I talked him out of it.
After stopping at a drugstore for film, we tried the Samraat Indian restaurant on Fourth street. Quite good, except that the shrimp were overcooked, hard and chewy. Charles’ first exposure to Indian cuisine – he liked it.
Then we walked past the Carson mansion. There is now a waterfront park and city rec center, but the town is still not integrated with its shore. Several blocks of funky-looking stores, some out of business. Very little pedestrian traffic. It always seems as if Eureka has a lot of potential, and it’s always disappointing to see the reality.
60.5 miles, 1710 feet of climb, average speed 12.5 mph
Up a little after the 5:30 alarm. Loaded the bikes, left a little bag of things on the Honda’s outside mirror for Roger to bring back. (But they didn’t make it. Before Roger checked out, someone with sticky fingers made off with them. Bummer!)
Wore jackets while we rode a mile or two to the first breakfast café we saw. No need for jackets when we left after breakfast. Nice morning, cool and cloudy. Tailwind, newly-paved road, mostly freeway, all with a wide shoulder. Couldn’t ask for better.
Took the usual route through Ferndale and Rio Dell to Scotia. Starting to feel like work by the time we got to Scotia. Charles is clearly not used to hills, even hills as moderate as these, and he says his maximum training distance was around thirty miles.
Did the Pacific Lumber sawmill tour at Scotia. Well worth it, as always – this is either my third or fourth visit. I had already noticed a difference in the loads carried by the logging trucks. In previous years, they hauled long, straight, thick redwoods. Now they’re hauling crooked logs, many of them small-diameter. Some trucks are hauling fairly short logs. All this looks to me like evidence of clear-cutting: they just take everything. And indeed, we saw a number of clear-cut slopes on the mountains. Same thing was evident in the sawmill. On previous visits, I saw nothing but real he-man logs. It was amazing to see some of the trash they were putting through today.
They keep revising, if not the mill, at least the visitor route. Saw several new things today. I already have lots of pictures of the machines – raw power, brute strength par excellance. This time I decided to focus on the people instead.
Sharpening the band saw – the sparks come from the grinder.
Lunch break at the plant is at 11, so the mill was quiescent for much of the tour. Not so noisy, but not nearly as interesting.
Not far beyond Scotia we entered the Avenue of the Giants – instant redwood forest. Wonderful.
We passed a big collection of vehicles, vans, trucks, ranger and police cars. The center of activity was an area off in the forest, brightly lighted with floods reflected off large silver sheets. Asked the ranger what was going on: they were taping a commercial for the Honda CRV.
We were getting tired and hungry, planned to stop at Weott for sustenance. But Weott is nothing but a gift shop! The guy said the next restaurant is at Myers Flat. Shall we stoke up on more granny bars (blech!)?
No, there was a better opportunity – a big stand of wild blackberries. How could we resist? Half an hour later, we were scratched up, our fingers were purple, and there was no more calorie deficit. Poison oak, too? Maybe – when you’re reaching just an inch further for that perfect, juicy berry, it’s hard to watch for poison oak.
We stopped at 2:30 at the Avenue Grill at Myers Flat for lunch. Ordered a glass of milk with the meal; first time I’ve ever gotten it in a large glass – and then it turned out to be a bottomless glass, too. The veggies in the burrito were still crisp and raw. When I asked for Tabasco, I got it – and a little dish of homemade salsa, too. Very happy with them, and I told them so.
Charles is nothing if not direct: “What do you think of me?”
Difficult question. How do I summarize one day – only one day – of many little observations, concisely and truthfully? “You’re all right.”
He’s equally direct the other way: “You’re pretty cool for an old guy.” (Or was that: pretty old for a cool guy?) I have to admit, the question hadn’t occurred to me.
A mile south is Hidden Springs campground. We got a nice tent site in the redwoods. The showers eat quarters; the ranger said they had to ration the showers because they were abused, especially by kids, who would stay an hour in the shower. Fifty cents for five minutes was almost enough. I’ll wash the right foot tomorrow.
We hiked the redwoods trail back to Myers Flat, ate again at the Avenue Grill. Not bad. It was dark by the time we got back, walking along the road. I turned on my belt flasher as a safety measure.
Avenue Grill opens for breakfast at 7, but it’s a bit of a backtrack. The ranger told us the next restaurant, at Miranda, opens at 8.
41.71 miles, 2400 feet of gain, average 11.4 mph
We didn’t need to worry about restaurant opening hours. It was after 8 by the time we got started. Charles is still learning how everything folds and stows. As he was loading his bike, he lost the tie-down straps for his tent (the tent was sitting on them). I was ready to go, waiting and freezing from inactivity. I hope this isn’t a way of life.
Chilly but pleasant. Breakfast at Miranda was ok. Much of the rest of the day was on 101. Charles didn’t like the freeway part because traffic was too fast. I didn’t like the non-freeway part because the traffic was too close. Between the two of us, I guess we either liked the whole road, or disliked it. Not much we can do about it.
The sun came out and it got hot enough, though still cool by the usual summer standards. A long section of road was being re-paved; beyond it, we’d get almost no traffic for many minutes at a time, followed by a cluster of heavy traffic.
South of Piercy I got a flat. Slow leak; pumped enough air into it to ride to a shady pull-out. Sent Charles ahead to see about camping at Standish-Hickey state recreation area. Tiny glass sliver in the tire, quick to patch. I got to Standish-Hickey before Charles, who had stopped for a convenience-store snack.
The motor-vehicle campground was full; the hiker-biker campground was empty. A wide-spreading bay laurel with ten trunks provided a shady area with a carpet of dead leaves. (Later on, a few other bicycle tourists showed up to camp there.)
We walked to the Eel river, up and down the bluffs several times. Well, yes, we got lost. A pretty place, with a popular swimming hole. Here’s what the hike in the woods was like:
Walked into Leggett. Two restaurants there, one closed. Given the choices offered by the other, well, we chose not to starve. Stopped at the grocery store on the way back to camp for a quart of OJ, some real nutrition and a way to cut the residual salt and fat from the meal.
45.4 miles, 3110 vertical feet, average 12.1 mph
Got up during the night to give back some of the OJ. An amazing collection of stars shone through a gap in the trees. No moon – now I recall that the total solar eclipse was only a day or two ago. Nice.
This morning I found that the tire patch hadn’t held. Replaced the tube. I was still ready to roll long before Charles, who is really, really not a morning person. The restaurant in Leggett opened at 8, plenty soon enough for us.
The thousand-foot climb out of Leggett was a piece of cake in the cool, sunny morning. Grade something like 5%; you just find a gear and crank on up. From the last time, I recalled a scenic lookout at the top, with great views in all directions, but didn’t find it today. Only thing I could think of is that a landslide may have removed the whole thing; either that, or I’m losing my mind.
It’s a nice downhill, too. Even with jackets, it was almost cold. While we were re-grouping at the bottom, a couple of other tourists came along. One stopped to gorge on wild berries. I rode for a while with the other. He’s from Lincoln, Nebraska, said he had hitch-hiked to the Pacific Northwest and is now riding down the coast as far as San Francisco.
The first real view of the sea is at the top of a short, steep climb, and it’s spectacular. Charles got a new perspective on what an ocean can be like.
We left most of the redwoods behind when we turned toward the coast at Leggett. Now it’s more open country, pines, dry grass, wind-swept coast. There are still a few redwoods, but they concentrate in the little stream valleys.
There is a general store at Westport, with lodging. Quite a collection of bicycle tourists there, soaking up refreshments on the porch. The guy from Lincoln was there, with his friend Pat, who comes from Minneapolis-St Paul. We had seen the others at both of our previous campsites, but hadn’t really talked with them before. One was French, one Swiss, and Razvan was Romanian. None of these people had pre-planned to ride together; they just met on the road and confederated loosely, travelling together for as long as it suits them. At least one is going to San Diego, one or two only to San Francisco. One would like to go inland, if he can find a way to reach Yosemite without having to ride across the central valley.
A perfect day, sunny and cool with a tailwind. The roads were adequate, the drivers considerate.
Charles has a way of taking the lead, then slowing down. This is a way to control the pace, but it only works once or twice; today I (and certainly the other bicycle tourists) won’t stay behind him when he dawdles. He got tired of being left behind, started pushing it a little. Determination is a good thing, especially as he matches it with the ability to pace himself.
Charles and I rolled as far at Fort Bragg, where I suggested we stay in a motel. I had three reasons to stay in town: we need to find a laundromat, I need to lube my chain, and (last but certainly not least) the North Coast Brewing Company is here, and I want to soak up a pint of their brew in their tied Tap Room restaurant.
Being Saturday, there were lots of No signs as we rode into town, but the Fort Bragg motel had a vacancy, two beds in one room. If Charles snores, I’ll yell at him (I did, twice!).
Laundry first. Spread things out in the room to get really, really dry, and went out to explore the town. We went to Glass Beach, where Charles indulged his dream of running into the sea.
We helped a couple of kids trying to catch crabs in a tide pool (yeah, I know – how do you help someone with tide pools!). I commented to one of them that it must be great to live in Fort Bragg. “There’s nothing to do here!” he said.
Fun to watch people searching through the glass on the beach.
What’s interesting about Glass Beach is that it’s on the government’s Superfund toxic clean-up site list. It would be a shame if they really did clean it up!
Then to the Tap Room, where we ate outdoors. Service was slow but the food was great. Really good Rasputin stout.
We started to explore the downtown, came upon Footlighters Theatre, whose old-time melodrama was due to start in ten minutes. Why not! It’s been years since I’ve had a chance to cheer the villain and boo the hero (much more satisfying than the more conventional alternative). It was fun, though it wore thin fairly soon.
58.14 miles, 3040 vertical feet, average 12.7 mph, maximum 42 mph
Slow start, as always. I thought we might ride to Mendocino for breakfast, but it was chilly enough that we stopped in Fort Bragg. Charles ordered, and ate, two breakfasts. A clear, sunny day with a tailwind. Still chilly until we generated some body heat.
Met our five touring friends in Mendocino; they had spent the night at Russian Gulch state park. After half an hour wandering the town, we rolled out about the same time as the others. We seven spent much of the day riding together, strung out over a mile or more of road. Charles and I varied from the back of the line to the front, mostly because of flat tire stops by some of the others.
There are any number of steep descents to little streams, each with a sharp hairpin at the bottom and a steep climb out the other side. Gets to be work. I went into one hairpin just a bit too fast, a bit too tight, and dragged my right front pannier. Opened up the curve, moved two or three feet further toward the center line. The driver behind me honked – sorry about that, but it would have been even more inconvenient if I’d splattered across the road in front of you. Waved him by.
There are a fair number of blind sections. It’s quite helpful to drivers back there when I reach a point with an extended view, and can wave them by – or warn them back. Charles is copying the idea, though it’s not clear he really understands the point about seeing past the drivers’ blind space.
South of the Navarro river is a serious industrial-grade climb, only a couple hundred feet high, but fairly steep. I happened to be the first to the top, stopped for pictures of the others.
Charles was last to the top. His bike had fallen and broken the clamp that held the left brake-shifter lever on the handlebar. It was shifting and braking unreliably. When he got to me, he expected that I would solve his problem, know the answers.
We had a short and direct discussion: the owner of the bike is the owner of the problem. He had all my sympathy; with that and a dollar he could buy a cup of coffee. Advice, sure, if he wants it, but the problem is his. Naturally, he was welcome to use the little baggie of tools I had brought along. Charles took the handle assembly apart, exposed the broken clamp, but there was no way to fix it. Not much choice but to ride it or hitchhike home.
No sooner had we started to roll than we came upon a strand of barbed wire lying halfway across the lane. I steered around it, pointed at it for Charles. But someone was passing him, and he rolled over it. He disappeared from my rear-view mirror, and I went back, thinking he had probably had one, or even two, instant flat tires. No, he was just being a good citizen, getting it off the road. The stress level was already pretty high – flat tires would have been a hassle we really didn’t need just then.
Manchester is a town of about five buildings, including one store. The one store is a grocery, drugstore and, oh, yes, an Ace Hardware. We caught up with the other tourists there. They were going perhaps to Gualala tonight.
After they left, Charles wandered through the hardware store, seeking inspiration. He bought a copper pipe clamp, bent it around the handlebar. The holes were a bit too small for the bolt, so he went back in and talked them into drilling or reaming the holes out a little. Then he needed a shim; the clamp was still loose. Shim stock in a rural hardware store? He bought a pack of rubber bands, stuffed two or three thicknesses of rubber under the clamp. Not beautiful, certainly, and not totally solid, but it worked. Good for him! Better than I could have done myself.
A woman rode in on a loaded touring bike. She had started the Canada-to-Mexico tour previously, but had been injured. This time, she picked up from where she left off, had been on the road two days, and hadn’t seen any other tourists. She was thinking of Salt Point state park for tonight; I told her they had no showers, not even drinking water, so she would need to be prepared for those circumstances if she wanted to stay there. We didn’t see her again; she was riding further and faster than we.
All this had taken over two hours, during which I made a major contribution: I kept quiet and avoided meddling. I was thinking of staying at Point Arena, five miles, instead of going on to Gualala. But Charles, with new-found confidence, suggested eating at Point Arena, then riding on. Good for him.
I recalled Point Arena as a fairly lively little town, but it’s gone way down from the last time I was here. Two or three cafés, all closed.
I had previously teased Charles about the guy thing of never asking directions. Charles, who was leading the way, stopped and asked a local about restaurants. Got a recommendation for a pier-side place a mile off the highway, a place I didn’t even know existed. So we ate at 4 PM. The view was great; the pasta primavera was oily. But we ate it – it’s better than starving.
We could see a fog bank building up over the sea. No idea how quickly it would move onshore, but if we wanted to ride further, we’d better get it rolling. Charles set a good pace for the next few miles. His bike seems to be back in business. And we rode away from the fogbank.
The next place I knew about was Anchor Bay campground; beyond that it’s a long way to another camping area with food, water and showers. So we were watching for it. It’s at the bottom of a steep hill-hairpin. We overshot and had to go back. They didn’t have separate hike-bike campsites, so we had to spend $25 for a full RV slot (site 58). Expensive, but it was another nice place under the redwoods.
We wandered to the beach. No tide pools here.
Climbed the trail into the town, where we couldn’t resist eating another meal (7 PM). Charles actually couldn’t eat all of his, probably for the first time in his life. Me? Burp!
55.2 miles, 3040 vertical feet, average 12.1 mph
Camping under the redwoods was nice, but there was quite a bit of traffic noise as cars and trucks dropped in and climbed out of the U surrounding the campground. Next time, move toward the beach and let the sound of the sea mask the sound of the vehicles.
I have been waiting until I finish my morning dental ritual before waking Charles. At his suggestion, I woke him at the same time I got up myself this morning. I still ended up waiting for him to get ready, but perhaps not quite as long. A cool, even chilly, morning, with a bit of water in the air that didn’t turn into rain.
The restaurant in Anchor Bay was not yet open, but we got food in Gualala. A cold, foggy ride down the coast. Although it was a work day, we weren’t overwhelmed with trucks.
Charles seemed to be having trouble. I stopped and waited for him a couple of times. Tired, sore, weak. Finally we reached Jenner, where there’s a nice view out over the flatlands. There was a large pod of seals out on the spit – another new wildlife sighting for Charles.
Stopped for calories at River’s End, the first place we came to. Expensive, but good. Charles’ first experience with mussels – he’s certainly willing to try new things! But they gave him nothing but mussels – I would have wanted some variety, veggies or bread or something.
And Charles became unstoppable. Part of my old-age-and-treachery strategy is to ride at my own pace – I didn’t even attempt to keep up with him. This is the second day he’s drooped through the first part of the day, and after a late lunch, come to life. Clearly not a morning person.
Thought we might camp at Bodega Dunes, but we decided to ride on into Bodega Bay to see if there were alternatives. The TI had a little flyer that listed campgrounds; it looked as if Doran park would be okay, way out on the spit that defines the south arm of Bodega bay itself. The tent sites were sheltered by a few cypress trees; I expect we’ll be serenaded by the foghorn all night.
But our neighbors fired up a C&W CD. My body language was visible enough that they turned it way down, but it was still audible. No nap this afternoon. Sigh!
Wandered down to the beach to watch the pelicans. On the bay side of the spit were some marshy areas with herons, cranes or egrets (I don’t know the difference).
Showered and changed, walked back to the Duck Club restaurant, part of the Bodega Bay Lodge. Big dining room, dark wood, high ceiling, glass wall looking out into the fog – well, probably looking out over the water. Several bronze statues. Subdued lighting. Cloth tablecloths, cloth napkins. Clearly we were very under-dressed in our shorts and tee-shirts.
But a true measure of the restaurant’s class is that they didn’t make us feel unwelcome. I ordered the swordfish special, and was amazed – though I love swordfish, I had no idea it could be so delicious! Very expensive, but a truly excellent restaurant. Worth a stop any time!
There was heavy fog, mist, but not quite rain. Dark, time to turn in. But our neighbors wanted to sit out and talk until all hours. Charles went to sleep and started snoring like a trooper! And our site was near a streetlight. Why me, oh lord?
Eventually got up, pulled the tent stakes, carried the tent, contents and all, like a large unwieldy umbrella, across the parking lot, where it was dark and the sea and the foghorn dominated the sounds of the night. Much better.
60.2 miles, 2690 vertical feet, average 11.4 mph
Up at 6, rousted Charles. The dew was heavy enough that everything was wet. It was cold enough that I was really unwilling to do the usual ritual of sitting around for an hour waiting for Charles to get ready. So when I was ready to go, I told Charles I’d wait for him at a breakfast restaurant, in or this side of Bodega, and rode out. If I’m to spend an extra hour, I’d rather do it with a cup of coffee.
And Bodega it was – there’s nothing in between. Bodega had no restaurant, but there was a little coffee counter with baked goods and a covered deck with a few chairs. Still cool and gray, but no wet fog. Not bad at all.
Fort Ross claims to be the limit of Russian penetration of North America, but there is a bronze plaque at Bodega, well south of Fort Ross, that says the settlement was originally known as Kuskoff, the name of its Russian founder.
Quite a number of the locals stop by for morning coffee. One came and sat down across from me, struck up a conversation. Steve S lives where he wants to – here! – and builds physics experiments. His current project is clusters of charge with density as great as solids, circulating in rings powered by klystrons. He thinks there could be applications in combined memory-logic, possibly applications in micro-scale fusion. He does these things on contract, but didn’t mention his client. Sounds like the kind of thing Lawrence Berkeley would do. Quite a guy! I was delighted to have met him.
We were talking about the winds on the coast. He said he had once met a group of Europeans at LAX, who were planning to ride to Portland. After he explained the winds to them, they went and got on the bus to Portland. Smart people!
Just as I was wondering whether Charles had missed the turn to Bodega, he showed up. After breakfast, we rode on to Valley Ford, where we once again caught up with our touring friends. I had expected them to go to Samuel Taylor state park last night, and be well ahead of us. Turned out they had camped at Bodega Dunes, and will go to Samuel Taylor tonight. Too bad we didn’t know. Exchanged a couple of email addresses, invited Razvan to stay with us if he’s interested in coming down the peninsula to Palo Alto.
The day warmed up and eventually became sunny. We stopped at Millerton Point to see the osprey nest – no sign of ospreys, although there is a nest atop the pole. From the interpretive sign, it shouldn’t be late enough in the season for the chicks to have flown the coop; maybe the parents didn’t succeed in raising any this year.
Three of the tourists passed as we left the Point, and we dropped in behind them. Charles stopped for a photo of the marshlands along Tomales Bay. I rode on.
A mile or two later a car passed. Honks and waves. Just a bit further on, the car was stopped, surrounded by the three other tourists. As I rolled in, they told me Charles had crashed. Oh, that’s what the honks and waves meant!
Went back. He had gone into a turn too fast, run off the road. Skinned knee and elbow, not serious. Front tire flat, but easy to fix with a new tube, also not serious. Of more concern was the front tire itself. It’s one with a green rubber band, and it’s starting to delaminate. The same thing happened on my own bike – that’s a marque I won’t use again. In addition, the casing was ripped. Advised Charles to reinforce it with a dollar bill and avoid bumps. I’ll follow him until we reach the bike shop at Fairfax.
We actually caught up with all five of our touring friends yet once again, at Point Reyes Station, where we took a lunch break. The hardware store had half a dozen bike tires, but none the right size.
It was nice to reach Fairfax and the Sunshine bike shop. Not only did we get a new tire, but they also replaced the broken clamp on the brake-shifter lever and re-taped the handlebar. Much better! The guy agreed with my conjecture that they see a lot of tourists limping in – the first bike shop in 150 miles. He also agreed that Charles’ improvisation wasn’t half bad.
It was still only 3:30, no reason to go to Dan’s yet. We rode on into San Anselmo, did a round of laundry. The newspaper headlines described two explosions yesterday in the Fairfax sewers, presumably because someone had poured gasoline down them. After we finished laundry, we decided to walk back through San Anselmo to see the sights. It was just after 6.
There was a big boom! The storefronts shook. We got into the street, just in case they came down. Everyone else did the same, running out of all the stores. I thought this might be yet another Fairfax sewer explosion. Turned out it was an earthquake, San Andreas fault, centered at Bolinas, magnitude about 5. Another first for Charles.
We were napping on the lawn when Dan and Sharon got home. They had been on the ferry during the earthquake, didn’t know about it until they reached shore. Their first thought was to check the foundation of their home, which is rotten (the reason they got a good price on the house, and a fix-up objective for the very near future). Foundation was ok, but the cats were stressed out, vomiting on the carpet. No real damage.
They have one spare room. Since Charles snores, he gets to camp in the back yard. Not as cruel as it sounds – a quiet area with nice grass. Charles agreed that it’s the best campsite we had.
I sponsored dinner at the Ross Valley Brewing Company right next to the bike shop. Good, expensive. We repaired to the house for dessert of peach and berry cobbler with ice cream. A nice evening.
63.01 miles, 2800 vertical feet, average 11.6 mph
Dan was gone before we got up, but we said our good-byes to Sharon just before she also left. A chilly, gray morning. Breakfast at Hilda’s coffee shop in San Anselmo. Took the standard route (standard for me, anyway) down Marin county and across the bridge.
Then we took Arguello to Golden Gate park, 41st to Brotherhood and Junipero Serra. The traffic on the last mile or two freaked Charles out. We stopped at Mac’s to get calories and to let Charles calm down. (I myself was a lot more stressed by the traffic on the Golden Gate bridge sidewalk.)
I had taken Junipero Serra to avoid having to cross the intersecting freeways 35 and 1 – Charles would really have freaked out on that! But now we needed to climb to Skyline. Hickey and Westboro are both steep and have freeway ramps to cross. The map shows King Drive as yet another alternative; let’s try it.
Also long and steep; probably no choice about that. At least we didn’t have to contend with freeway ramps. Cold fog blowing over the ridge on Skyline. I expected to ride out into the sun, but we were almost to Woodside before we finally did.
Took the usual route down Skyline, Sawyer Camp trail and Cañada road, with a stop at the Pulgas water temple. Home about 3:30 and nice to be done. Good for us.
Unpacked, showered, spread camping things out on the lawn to air out and dry. Walked downtown, dropped Charles’ film off for one-hour processing, then stopped at PA bicycles, where Charles got a few things. We had invited Jacky along, but she had work to do.
Not realizing it wasn’t the same as Indian, Charles was enthusing about Thai cuisine. So we tried Krung Siam, in the building that used to be Celia’s. Charles suggested extra spicy hot, and I of course concurred. His first bite disappointed him, but I suggested he wait a while before giving up. Sure enough, it was hot enough. Hot enough that he left almost a full plate. Well, he said he wasn’t really very hungry! (Even I left a little bit of my second plateload.) Good stuff!
I suggested we go to San Francisco today. I told Charles he controlled the clock – it would take about two hours each way, by train, and he could get up whenever he liked. He showed up for breakfast about 10.
We walked down to the train station, got tickets. While waiting for the train, we saw a bicycle tourist, mountain bike towing a BOB trailer. Went over to talk with him. He was from Boulder, Colorado, had been on the road for two months. Near Garberville, he had gotten into poison oak, and hadn’t been able to ride for the past week (I wonder exactly where and how!). He thought he could ride now, but perhaps not for a full day at a time. He asked about single-track rides around the Bay area. I told him about Corte Madera, Big Basin, Mt Tam, Berkeley-Diablo. We got so interested in talking that he almost missed the train.
He rode over to the ticket office at the last minute, bought a ticket, rode back as the train came in. Charles and I stood at the door of the bicycle car, hoping to delay the train for a few seconds. He came up at full speed, quickly unhooked the trailer. Charles took the bike inside, he took the trailer in, and off we went. Interesting fellow.
We got to San Francisco about 12:30. Charles’ first priority was food. We bought bratwurst sandwiches from a sidewalk vendor on Market Street. Then Charles saw a Virgin Records Megastore, where he spent most of an hour, while I read one of the freebie newspapers.
My idea of touring San Francisco is a little different from Charles’. True, we did walk through Union and Washington Squares, but Charles wasn’t much interested. Spent a few minutes at the cable car museum, wandered through the crowds at Fishermen’s Wharf, where Charles was mostly interested in visiting a Harley-Davidson accessories shop. (What I thought was most interesting was that there were four bikes parked in front of the shop, and none of them was a Harley.) On the way back toward Chinatown, Charles ducked into a rock-n-roll poster shop.
We were home by 5:30. Changed pedals on the rental bike and took it back. I’m glad we got it repaired at Fairfax – the book should be completely closed on it.
Jacky fixed up stir-fry. I got out the Jam (Chinese chili sauce); Charles poured on far too much! I took some of it myself, but he once again showed symptoms of being seriously burned out. Not that it was too hot, you understand, but well, he really wasn’t very hungry. Since he wasn’t very hungry, there was naturally no discussion of whether he’d like something else to eat.
Charles said he had mostly packed, so I let him sleep again. Loaded his things in the car, dropped him off at the airport. He was surprised that I wasn’t going to come in and see him off. His first time on a commercial airline, along with everything else...
Total 384 miles, 18,800 vertical feet