Armed with a Mapquest printout and a can of mixed nuts, I left my house in Santa Ana at 5:00AM, and headed to the Tustin Metrolink station. I'd never done or heard of anyone doing what I soon learned is known as "bicycle touring" but I figured I could take the Metrolink to Moorpark, ride from Moorpark to Oxnard, take the 101 in Oxnard to the 1, and then ride north on highway 1 all the way to SF. This seemed like a reasonably safe plan, because coming from Southern California, I naturally assumed that cars painted themselves embarrassing colors in protest any time someone was so foolish as to even consider riding north on a freeway other than I-5. The idea of driving any vehicle other than a car through LA almost seemed preposterous, so I didn't ride through LA. Instead, I took the Metrolink, something I discovered the day before I left. Metrolink is a commuter train that serves the LA area. "A commuter train in LA," you ask, "that is even more preposterous than a bicycle in LA!" Yes, yes it is, and that is why I had to take it.
The Metrolink is a clean fast pleasent train with plenty of space for bikes and lots of friendly people who were clearly as excited to be on public transportation in LA as I was. The ticket price was $7.50 but there were no turnstyles and no one ever asked to see my machine printed ticket. Stil had I known no one would ever look at my ticket I still would have bought one. $7.50 seems like a lot but considering how large LA is, it's not actually that expensive. Getting from Tustin to LA Union is easy, but getting from LA Union to Moorpark is tricky. Metrolink is designed to bring people from surrounding cities to LA in the morning, and send tem back in teh evenning. Trains arrive all morning piling up in LA Union's huge yard. Then, one by one, they file out in the evenning ferrying people home. Luckily, there is one Metrolink train that runs from LA Union to Moorpark in the morning. Why stop in Moorpark instead of going on to Oxnard and Ventura like all the other Metrolink trains on that line? One can only assume Moorpark contains a fabulous breakfast place the Metrolink train scheduler knows about. I was one of the two people taking the Metrolink to Moorpark. The other was an old guy. On the way I read an amusing article comparing the off road abilities of the Mars Rover to those of the Ford Expedition. Ford won.
Moorpark is a dusty little town in the part of California that should be a desert except we pipe in enough water to make it productive farmland that sees sun all year round. On the way out I actually saw a Christmas Tree farm through a cloud of wind blown desert dust. Metrolink dropped me off on High Street. From my Mapqust map, I figured I could take High street to Moorpark Av, Moorpark Av to Los Angeles Av, Los Angeles Av all the way to Vineyard St in Oxnard. From there it was only going to be a few blocks to the 101 where I was going to ride north until I hit highway 1 just outside of town.
Los Angeles Ave is a nice pleasent road flanked by lemon and orange orchards that tempt one to stop and sample some home grown fruit on the sly. Just before Oxnard these groves give way to unsightly mud plains. But before you know it you're on Vineyard about to hop on 101.
The first think I noticed about 101 was the noise. I'd never heard anything like it in my life. A deafening roar punctuated by powerful gusts of wind tugged behind semi's. I looked over my shoulder and saw three lanes of traffic barreling toward me like huge painted missiles. These weren't the harmless hippies in funky cars rebeling against society by riding on 101 instead of I-5. These were MANIACS with places to go! Still, I didn't know any other way north so I grit my teeth and started to ride hoping highway 1 would peel away from 101 soon. I didn't get far. Very soon the shoulder I was riding in disappeared under the feet, treads, and cement barriers of a local construction crew. So I turned around and headed back to Oxnard.
The first person I spoke with didn't speak English very well, but she led me to a convenience store clerk who knew jst what to do. "Take Vineyard to Gonzales, and Gonzales to Harbor. Harbor goes north and drops you off on the 101 outside of town. Stay on the 101 for a few exits and then get off on highway 1." His directions worked.
Back on the 101 things were just as terrifying as before. It doesn't look like it from the picture but this road was full of cars. The scariest part is the on and off ramps where the shoulder disappears and you have to ride out into traffic. Later I learned that the safe thing to do is get off at each exit and back on at the on ramp. Never followed this advice though. Would've taken too long. At one point I had to cross two of the three lanes of traffic at an innerchange. Thanked God for giving me good depth perception. In any case, the harrowing ride along to 101 soon gave way to a lovely quiet ride long highway 1.
Outside of Oxnard, Highway 1 meanders along a coast full of surfers. It offered me the first sight of the beach the whole trip. After some time highway 1 jogged east and prepared to merge again with the 101. Realizing that it was getting late and having skipped both breakfast and lunch, I decided to stop for a little snack.
A few minutes after I stopped a bike rider hauling a load of gear rolled up. The rider's name was Nick. Nick started riding in November in Tennessee, rode all the way to San Diego, before turning north where I met him. "Where was I staying tonight?" To be honest, I hadn't thought about it. It didn't take long for Nick to figure out I had no idea what I was doing. So he filled me in. Get a west coast bicycling guide book. They tell you how to make your way north by jogging between small streets that follow large highways. Along the coast, the state set up camp sites where car campers get the stay for $15 a night. However, the guide book list the few campsites that have set aside one site called a "hiker biker site." All bikers that arrive in a given night share the hiker biker site and each pay only $2.00 to stay in it. Bathrooms, showers (which I didn't use once), and water (the only thing I really cared about) are all included. These sites are common enough that you can stay in them pretty much the whole trip up the coast. Nick was stayig in Carpinteria that night so I figured I'd stay there too. That way I wouldn't have to buy a guide book because I have Nick to tell me were to go.
Nick thought he must have missed something, because we were going to have to get on the 101 to go to Carpinteria but the guide book said to get on the 101 for a little while so we did. Traffic was really light at this point so it didn't really matter. I got into Carpinteria just before sunset.
Carpinteria is the most perfect campsite one can imagine. It's right on the beach. There I saw the most beautiful sunset of my life. Unfortunately, I didn't get a photograph of it because there are lots of sunset photos in this world and another one would only be worthwhile if I were in the picture too, but I was talking to Nick about other stuff and the chance to ask him to photograph me never came up.
That night we met another bike tourer named Mike. Mike had done the trip north several times and had lots of pointers most of which I forgot instantly. I was planning to live on nuts the entire trip but was seized by a craving for meat the moment I got into camp. As soon as the sun set I headed to the market and bought some cheese, salami, and bread rolls. That pretty much set my diet for the whole trip. 1/2 a can of nuts in the morning. Nothing for lunch. 1/2 a pound of salami, 1/2 a pound of cheese, 2 bread rolls for dinner. Nick gave me some mustard for the salami. He'd gotten sick of salami sandwiches a month ago so he was eating peanutbutter sandwiches now.
The road from Carpinteria to Lompoc includes some of the most inspiring scenery of the entire trip. It travels through the California in all our imaginations. From the lovely city of Santa Barbara which is nothing short of a paradise, the road travel through lush green pastures populated by a small handful of happy looking grazing animals. It winds over hills and valleys, by streams, and even goes into a tunnel that scared Nick but I thought it was no big deal. The tunnel has a nice sidewalk so even though it's a little dark it felt safe to me. The climb into Lompoc is very long. The sign at the top said 10 miles to Lompoc. The ten miles was all down hill. I got in half an hour after dark which was a little scary because my bike doesn't have lights. Nick had promised to show me how to make fresh bread in a frying pan and areally good squash and bean soup but when I finally got into camp I found him eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He'd gotten in after dark too. I don't blame him although I was really looking foward to that bread recipe. Day 2 was when I really understood how the clock works in the winter time. It's dark out here at 5:30PM. The campground in Lompoc is just off the highway. When you get into town, make a right, go over the bridge, the campgound is to your left. Unfortunately, it's a private campground and they charge bikers $5.00 a night to stay there.
Santa Barbara is full of lovely bike trails like this one. I got completely lost riding around on trail that appeared to go north. Luckily I met a nice psych grad student at UCSB named Jessica. She was training to ride from SF to LA with some AIDS thing. They are going to carry everyone's gear in cars so I had a good time showing off my heavy gear laden bike. I any event, Jessica rode me through the city and set me going north.
More classic California in Santa Barbara. The temperature outside was just right for short sleeve shirts. It was sunny with a cool ocean breeze...
The long climb to Lompoc. Shifted into my lowest gear and took in the hills.
We decided to stay at Oceano because Mike told us the campground in Pismo Beach had lots of ne'er-do-wells who would try to take our stuff while we slept. We got a late start in the morning because Nick wanted to adjust what I learned are the "cones" (wheel bearing inner race) of my bike. This was quite an effort so we didn't get of of Lompoc until 11:00. The ride from out of Lompoc offers a glimpse of the real California. Dry hills covered in brush that look like like they come straight out of a western film. Along the way you pass through a huge military base. A little lump in my throat rose up when I passed the base's elementry school. Instead of the "support out troops" bumper stickers you see on cars the kids had painted a great big sign reading "support our parents."
The road passes by signs pointing to such memorable places as Los Alamos. Then it drops down into a long stretch of boring flat farmland, before entering the town of Guadalupe. Guadalupe reminded me a lot of a mini Tijuana. I'd been warned by a guy in Lompoc that he'd been stabbed and robbed in Guadalupa s don't stay there after dark. It seemed like the kind of place where that could happen but I thought people were nice. Things get much nicer north of Guadalupe. The road veers back to the ocean and travels through a few real ranches with real cowboys. I actually saw two rope a cow. That is a neat trick. I wish I knew how to lasso stuff.
Just before sundown I arrived at the top of the hill outside Oceano. It's a steep grade down into town on a windy road with no shoulder. I never would have made it down if I'd arrived after sunset. Nick made his soup and bread. It was actually really good. The bread is very easy. 4 cups of flower, 1 teaspoon of salt, 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder. Mix water until you can roll the mixture into a few balls. Then squish the balls into slices about a 1/2 inch thick and fry in olive oil. The result is a yummy thick fryed pancake like item. It's real good with jelly.
This picture was actually taken the morning of day 4. The guy in the orange jacket is Nick. The other guy is a British fellow. He'd already ridden to SF and was now on his way back down to LA. The whole thing was really tripping me out. Here we all are speaking English but each one of us has a completely different accent. The British guy had a very British name that started with 'R' but I can't remember what it is because nobody in America has used that name in 150 years and I am terrible with foriegn names. He was hillarious though. He'd been riding around New Zealand for some time and now he was doing California. It was a bit of a shock when he first arrived in LA. People driving on the wrong side of the road, not using the metric system, incrediable gaps between rich and poor houses just a block away from each other, mean LA drivers. I caught him saying he'd "bloody lost half a stone on this trip." HAHAHA, so much for the Brits using the metric system. A stone is one of those old English units we don't even use in America (1 stone = 14 pounds). According to the British guy, this is the only beach in California that they let ATV's drive on. On Saturday morning he saw a mile long line of ATV descend on this beautiful beach. One of the funniest sights he'd seen the whole trip.
Nick decided to stay back for a day because Oceano is so nice and the last break he took was in San Diego. I felt like my trip had just begun so I left Nick and 'R' and headed north. Day 4 held some of the most varied scenery of the entire trip. Forests, hills like the ones outside of SB, and ocean at the end.'R' warned me that Morro Bay was the last town with food for a reasonable price before Monterey so when I arrived in Morro Bay I went looking for a market. I found a non-striking market on the north edge of town just off the freeway. Not wanted to lock up my bike for fear that someone might take off with my tent I asked an old guy who was sitting outside the store if he'd mind watching over my stuff.
"Oh no, I have to leave soon. Go leave your bike with Juan. He mans the recycling shed. He'll watch it for you." I left my bike with Juan and went shopping. When I got back Juan wanted to know all about my trip. So I was telling him about it, he Juan goes over to his van and pulls out a foam pad. "Here," he says, "take this. The foam pad you're using is falling to pieces."
"Oh I can't take your pad." Juan insisted that we trade pads so I traded. His pad was much nicer than mine. It doesn't really show up in the pictures but his was much stiffer so it handled rocks a lot better. Than the old guy came back.
The old guy had gone into the store and bought Juan a pie. Then he starts asking me where I'm going.
"You're riding on the Freeway to SF. You can't do that. At least you didn't used to be allowed to do that back when i first moved here in 1941. Of course, back then everybody thought the Japs were going to invade California, and they could have because we had nothing. We didn't really have an army back then."
"Well, thanks for everything, but I really gotta hit the road. I'm going all the way to San Simeon tonight."
"San Simeon. Oh that's just... oh wait. Oooooh. Well watch out for old guys like me on the highway. You know at my age you can't really drive straight so I like to drive right at the edgeof the slow lane so a know if I start to drift it will be into the shoulder instead of traffic. You be careful."
Juan tried to get me to stay behind and help him eat the pie but I got out of there as quick as I could. I'm sure the old guy was just messing with me, but he really shook me up.
"R" had also warned me that he'd seen a bobcat in San Simeon so I hung my food up. That night it got so cold the dew on the ground froze into a sheet of ice. Even though I hung up my food the I still had to chase the bobcat away. I had all my gear in plastic bags to protect it from rain. Guess the bobcat learned food is inside plastic bags because it was tearing them all open.
Beer, football, boxing, and hunting. That's all they do here.
Happy cows come from coastal California.
Hooray!!! First time I arrived in camp in broad daylight.
Day 5 was one of the toughest days of the whole journey. The road winds along the coast all day. Although the net elevation change is zero, the road continuously climbs up and down hills. The wind was pretty strong on this part of the trip and like the ocean currents, it flowed from north to south forcing me to peddle even on th down hill sections of the road. The scenery was something else though. To your right, the world looks like a mountain side covered in tree and bushes. To the left, ocean. At times, green valleys run straight into the sea giving the whole place a real beginning of the world look.
These guys were just sittig here al packed together flicking sand on each other. You can't see them, but to the right are a packed cluster of bundled up tourists looking just like the seals! Come on, it wasn't that cold guys.
Hearst Castle is behind me. I didn't go inside because I was going to try to get to Big SUr today and I heard it would be a long ride.
That winding, no shoulder, two lane road. Except for the wind, it was a perfect day for riding.
I thought this a pretty cool bird so I took a picture of it before tossing a line over the tree to hoist my food on. I got lazy and didn't feel like tying my rope to a rock. Instead, I bunched it up into a ball and threw it over a branch. Big mistake. The rope looped around the branch a few times and managed to tie itself in a knot. I spent no less then two hours using my end of the rope to whip the other end of the rope while fliping it from side to side on the branch. Finally it was free. In a way it was kind of fun figuring out how to untie a knot that was 15 feet above my head.
The splendid weather I'd enjoyed to entire trip evorporated and I awoke to soft pidder-padder sound of rain. To have a look around and bumped into two surfers. Scott asked me how the waves were and of course I hadn't a clue. Then I asked them if they thought the weather might clear up if a waited around a little longer. Scott and his friend whose name I've forgotten just laughed. Apparently the weather changes all the time in this area. Hmm. I should have known better. I lived in the bay for five years and didn't bring rain gear on this trip. Scott warned me, the road winds a lot going into Big Sur. No way would he try it! But I decided to go for it.
It was foggy, dark, raining, the road had no shoulder, and my glass were fogging up so bad I had to take them off. Th road has no shoulder going into Big Sur and every car has to move into on comming traffic to get around you. This is the kind of road that lets you know you're alive! I felt even more amped when Scott and his pal rolled by cheering me from their station wagon. Although the ride into Big Sur is awesome Big Sur itself is a little annoying. The whole place as an awful tourist attraction wannabe outdoorsmen wimp feel. The state campground with the hiker bike site is at the end of town. I can't imagine why anyone would stay in the private campgrounds in the beginning of town seeing as the state campground was a fraction of their cost. In any case, I'd stiffed the campground at Limekiln which wanted $5.00 to per night. Since they were on the honor system like almost all the campgrounds I stayed at I gave them two dollars like all the other campgrounds. Big Sur actually had a ranger collecting your two dollars so I gave to girl $5.00 saying I'd been short at the other campground and felt bad so I wanted to make a donation. I think the other campground was a private campgound so this wasn't entirely fair but the bad weather had me feeling superstitious and I figured the universe would be alright with me. Whether or not the universe was, the ranger lit up. She was so happy to get my donation I got the feeling I must be the only person in the world donating to the parks. The hiker biker campsite at Big Sur lay under a grove of large redwood trees in a secluded area at the side of the campground. Normally I would have thought that was pretty cool but today it might none of my gear was going to dry. Luckily I'd put my sleeping bag in a trashbag before I left so at least I was warm that night. My socks were completely soaked so I put on my dry pair to keep my feet warm. In the middle of the night I had to go to the bathroom. I put on my shoes assuming the water would take a little while to soak into my socks before which time, I'd have taken them off and gotten back in my bag. Two steps. Squish, the water soaked into my socks as if I'd stepped on a spunge.
Mud was sliding onto the road taking away the six inch space I had between the lane and the cliff. Still, be this point in the trip I had enough trust in cars to feel pretty safe. Day 1 on the 101 was much scarier then this.
A view of the road and the fog lifted. The rain stopped in the afternoon just before I got into Big Sur.
The next morning a learnedthe lesson in a story Nick had told me earlier. While he was riding threw Tennessee it started to rain. Nick went into a store and asked for some plastic bags to cover his shoes. The clerk look at him and asked, "Now wha you want two plastic bags fo?"
"I'm riding my bike and I need them to keep my shoes dry."
"Ya ever heard of a vehicle?"
"Well, a bicycle is a vehicle."
"Vehicles have engines, and engines have at least 150 horsepower. Do you have a 150 horsepower in you?"
Well Nick had to admit he did have a vehicle but the guy gave him some plastic bags so it was okay because he was just being himself. In any event, the point was, I should have put bags over my shoes to keep them dry yesterday because now my shoes were wet and my feet were numb. I rode so hard tryin to warm them up that I got into Monterey in the morning. I was actually planning to take it easy and stay in Monterey but since I was there so early I decided to go a little further north and stay in Marina. Unfortunately, the campground at Marina wanted an outrageous $15 a night. I almst ended up sleeping in an abandoned K-Mart in Marina but a mean looking 17 yearold kid in a brand new white pickup truck with a black pitbull scared me off. Long story short, I ended up sleeping in a drainage ditch by the side of the road, praying for no rain. Gray clouds drifted over head all night but it never rained. Still, it got so cold that my water bottles froze solid! I was warm in my bag though and that's all that really mattered to me.
A futile attempt at a clothsline.
It didn't take very long to get on the road monday morning and consquently, in terms of milage, Monday was my most successful day of the week. I was up at dawn and on the road as soon as it was light enough to see clearly. My toes were numb from the moment I got out of my bag until 12:30PM! The road into Santa Cruz was pretty ugly. Miles and miles of stinky farms. Santa Cruz however, is one of the most comfortable nice pretty towns I'd seen the entire trip. It reminded me of Berkeley but with more stuff. Lot's of cool looking music shows. I wish I had a friend in Santa Cruz so I could crash there for a few days.
More farms line the road north of Santa Cruz. Here however, the road is back on the coast so the farms aren't are prominent. The place to stay north of Santa Cruz is Half Moon Bay. However, the British guy warned me that Half Moon Bay was closed for renovations. I could smell rain in the air to I pulled over at a sign pointing to Pescadero and headed for a line of bushes I saw lining the side of the road. Behind them lay a recently plowed field with nothing in it. Because of the bushes and hills, the field was invisable to the farmer's houses behind the hill and the road below. I set up my tent just as the rain began. It rained until 11:00PM and then stopped. Almost immediately, I started to hear a pack of three dogs barking. They were comming toward me. Tracking me, they'd jog back a forth around fenses and paths slowly getting closer and closer. Than the rain started again and the dogs went away. The rain stopped, and the dogs started anew. This cycle went on for some time. I was about to pack up and head for the road but it was raining and cold so I managed to convince myself that dogs wouldn't actually tear into my tent. The worst they would do is corner me and wait for the farmer to come. I'd have some explaning to do, but I figured I'd be okay.
The dogs got within 20 feet of my tent, but they couldn't get to me. The farmer had taken down the fense separating this field from his other fields yet. The only way in was from the highway and the dogs weren't willing to go on the highway.
Something about that wildlife viewing sign next to the power plant...
Santa Cruz reminds me a lot of Berkeley. Just look at this cool mural on the restraining wall.
A very cool house in Santa Cruz.
An even cooler one.
I woke up at 5:30AM and packed, everything up in the rain, and waited for the sun to rise. I went to the bathroom, but I really didn't want to leave any kind of mess in this guy or gals newly plowed field so I packed my waste into a coffee can, tied it to the back of my bike, and tossed it in the first trash can I saw. Soon I was huffing toward SF. About two miles up the road I passed a youth hostel. Whoops! Oh well. The field was free. I remembered Nick saying to just ask people if I can stay in their front yard. He said he does it all the time. Half the people tell you to go ahead, and the other half they invite you in and give you a warm meal with a couch. I should have tried that, but I wasn't thinking clearly. Oh well. Next time!
Me and my rain gear. The coffee can is in that bag tied to the back of my bike.
San Fran was having its usual weather. I was going to ride across the Golden Gate and get photo of the city with my bike, but it was totally fogged in. So seemed like a nice recognizable friscan landmark. Plus my friend's mom live just down the street from here and she's a great cook.
So this is't really part of the trip, but after a few days I went to Oakland to go out drinking with my 80 year old great aunt. Isn't she the coolest!