The sun has gone down and it is dark in my camp, but the river seems to retain some of the light from the day. I can only see shadows of the mountains against the clear medium-blue sky; they might be the mountains, or they might be clouds. But, no, they must be mountains, because there are clouds above them.
Nearby I see the outlines of stumps and the line of the remnant of a pier against the silver water . On the farther shore, which is visible only as a darker outline, I see colored lights flashing on and off--green lights and red lights--I don’t know what they are or what they are for. The stars begin coming out one at a time as the river looses the sun’s light.
Off to the south-east, greater light betrays the existence of a city behind the hills. All else is in darkness. The land is black, the water grey, the sky a lighter grey with the light of stars peeking through.
There is the sound of traffic occasionally going by on the road nearby. Otherwise, there is no sound of mankind. Only the lapping of the river against the bank, the wind through the leaves of the trees, and, just once, the indignant quacking of a duck whose rest was disturbed.
All else is peace.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
North Bend, OR
I don’t like North Bend. Maybe I am wronging the city: it might be a perfectly nice city, brimming over with sense and hospitality. But that is not the face it showed me.
First of all, it was all hills along Newark, which is the road I needed to take. I went up one hill and down another just to go up the next. And these weren’t little hills, either. They were great big hills, and reaching the top took a real effort. And no sooner would I reach the top, then there was a precipitous drop and another hill. Maybe 30% grade.
Going over these hills, I was supposed to find a street called Broadway. I was looking for a bike shop that was supposed to be on Newark at the same time I was looking for Broadway, so naturally I missed Broadway (and I never did find the bike shop). So, having missed Broadway, I ended up at the end of Newark, and I didn’t know where I was or how to find my way--and, of course, there was no one to ask. Pulling out my map of Oregon, I found the street, ant found that I could get back to Virginia, Monroe, and Florida streets (which were marked on my bicycling map) by following it along. That particular street was not bicycle-friendly, but I did get to Virginia, and find Monroe.
However, I was unsure of where I was going, so I asked at a service station at Virginia and Monroe where Florida would be. The first response I received was “I don‘t know, I‘ve never heard of Florida street.” This from a local! And it was obvious that there would be a Florida, since they had every other street. But then, the woman who was working at the shop went and looked at her map, and found Florida for me: it was about 4 city blocks away.
So I was on my way--for a short while. There was a hill on Florida--not a high hill, probably only 15 feet--but it rose at least at 45 degrees! So, I walked my bike up the hill, and I did finally get to the top, only to find Sherman Street. Now, it wasn‘t clear that Sherman Street was what I was looking for. According to my map, I was looking for the 101 out of the north side of town, and there was no indication that Sherman street was the 101. So I went into a store to ask. The young man behind the counter looked at me blankly for a few moments, and I thought he didn‘t understand my question. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a linguistic difficulty, as he did not respond at all. It was more like someone having difficulty processing information. When he finally spoke, he slowly told me that Sherman Street was the 101, and would take me out of town. So, I was definitely on my way, now.
Unfortunately, the bicycling map said quite clearly in two different places, that bicyclists are required to dismount and walk across the bridge at the north end of North Bend. Now, I considered this to be a bad sign. I am often nervous at riding my bike, fully loaded as it is, across bridges that the makers of the maps clearly felt are safe, even though they have limited area in the bike lane, and they are very high. But on this bridge, the map makers felt it was important to say that bicyclists must dismount and walk their bikes across. It was every bit as bad as that sounds. There was no bike lane at all, and I had to walk on the sidewalk which is raised about 12 inches above the level of the road, and just big enough for me and my bike. And the bridge was at least a mile long. It took forever to walk across!
But I got myself across the bridge. I was taking a few minutes to recover at the other when an old man rode up and asked me where I was going, and started giving me advise about my route. Now, normally, I will take this sort of thing with good humor and allow the advise to go in one ear and out the other. I’ve found that unsolicited advise is worth about what you pay for it. But I was having a bad day already, and I was really not in the mood; especially when I thought I would have a little bit of quiet time after leaving North Bend. So, as he was still talking (fifteen minutes later), I calmly put on my gloves and helmet, mounted my bike, and took off along the causeway to the other peninsula.
I arrived at the KOA between Houser and Lakeside at about 6pm, and I decided to stay there because it would have been getting dark before I reached Umpqua Lighthouse State Park. Shortly after I arrived, I discovered that I no longer had my computer. I was frantic! I called up my daughter, and she calmed me down so I could remember where I might have left it. The only place I remembered taking out my computer was at a café in Charleston where I had lunch. Fortunately, I was able to remember the name of the café, she called them, and they did have the computer.
I had to backtrack twenty miles in the morning in order to pick up my computer. Back to the causeway, across the bridge--walking again--through North Bend, through a little corner of Coos Bay, and over to Charleston. I picked up my computer, and then I turned around and did it all again.
Not my best day.
First of all, it was all hills along Newark, which is the road I needed to take. I went up one hill and down another just to go up the next. And these weren’t little hills, either. They were great big hills, and reaching the top took a real effort. And no sooner would I reach the top, then there was a precipitous drop and another hill. Maybe 30% grade.
Going over these hills, I was supposed to find a street called Broadway. I was looking for a bike shop that was supposed to be on Newark at the same time I was looking for Broadway, so naturally I missed Broadway (and I never did find the bike shop). So, having missed Broadway, I ended up at the end of Newark, and I didn’t know where I was or how to find my way--and, of course, there was no one to ask. Pulling out my map of Oregon, I found the street, ant found that I could get back to Virginia, Monroe, and Florida streets (which were marked on my bicycling map) by following it along. That particular street was not bicycle-friendly, but I did get to Virginia, and find Monroe.
However, I was unsure of where I was going, so I asked at a service station at Virginia and Monroe where Florida would be. The first response I received was “I don‘t know, I‘ve never heard of Florida street.” This from a local! And it was obvious that there would be a Florida, since they had every other street. But then, the woman who was working at the shop went and looked at her map, and found Florida for me: it was about 4 city blocks away.
So I was on my way--for a short while. There was a hill on Florida--not a high hill, probably only 15 feet--but it rose at least at 45 degrees! So, I walked my bike up the hill, and I did finally get to the top, only to find Sherman Street. Now, it wasn‘t clear that Sherman Street was what I was looking for. According to my map, I was looking for the 101 out of the north side of town, and there was no indication that Sherman street was the 101. So I went into a store to ask. The young man behind the counter looked at me blankly for a few moments, and I thought he didn‘t understand my question. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a linguistic difficulty, as he did not respond at all. It was more like someone having difficulty processing information. When he finally spoke, he slowly told me that Sherman Street was the 101, and would take me out of town. So, I was definitely on my way, now.
Unfortunately, the bicycling map said quite clearly in two different places, that bicyclists are required to dismount and walk across the bridge at the north end of North Bend. Now, I considered this to be a bad sign. I am often nervous at riding my bike, fully loaded as it is, across bridges that the makers of the maps clearly felt are safe, even though they have limited area in the bike lane, and they are very high. But on this bridge, the map makers felt it was important to say that bicyclists must dismount and walk their bikes across. It was every bit as bad as that sounds. There was no bike lane at all, and I had to walk on the sidewalk which is raised about 12 inches above the level of the road, and just big enough for me and my bike. And the bridge was at least a mile long. It took forever to walk across!
But I got myself across the bridge. I was taking a few minutes to recover at the other when an old man rode up and asked me where I was going, and started giving me advise about my route. Now, normally, I will take this sort of thing with good humor and allow the advise to go in one ear and out the other. I’ve found that unsolicited advise is worth about what you pay for it. But I was having a bad day already, and I was really not in the mood; especially when I thought I would have a little bit of quiet time after leaving North Bend. So, as he was still talking (fifteen minutes later), I calmly put on my gloves and helmet, mounted my bike, and took off along the causeway to the other peninsula.
I arrived at the KOA between Houser and Lakeside at about 6pm, and I decided to stay there because it would have been getting dark before I reached Umpqua Lighthouse State Park. Shortly after I arrived, I discovered that I no longer had my computer. I was frantic! I called up my daughter, and she calmed me down so I could remember where I might have left it. The only place I remembered taking out my computer was at a café in Charleston where I had lunch. Fortunately, I was able to remember the name of the café, she called them, and they did have the computer.
I had to backtrack twenty miles in the morning in order to pick up my computer. Back to the causeway, across the bridge--walking again--through North Bend, through a little corner of Coos Bay, and over to Charleston. I picked up my computer, and then I turned around and did it all again.
Not my best day.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Thoughts on the Southern Oregon Coast
Oregon at last! The coast here in Southern Oregon doesn’t look real. The trees and rocks and bushes and things I could get close to are obviously real trees and rocks and bushes. But when I stopped at the Indian Sands Scenic Overlook in Samuel H. Boardman State Park, and looked off up the coast, what I saw looked like a painting by one of the old masters. There are great rocks sticking up out of the ocean, just about ten to fifty feet off the shore (that’s just a guess and it might be all wrong--I was never good at estimating distances by eye.). At first sight, there doesn’t seem to be any movement; I had to wait and look closely to see the surf pounding on those stones. There are trees off on the slopes of the hills, but again, I couldn’t see any movement. The mist over everything helps set the illusion. It looks like a perfectly calm day with mist rolling in on the countryside.
Here are some pics I took along the Southern Oregon coast.
Here are some pics I took along the Southern Oregon coast.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Patrick’s Point State Park
Patrick’s Point State Park--52 miles in one day! And I stopped in Eureka to have my brakes replaced, 21 miles into the ride.
Patrick’s Point is gorgeous. The hiker/biker area is off by itself near Lookout Rock, and it is huge and covered with trees. The park itself is enormous, with three separate campgrounds and an example Yurok village. The village was constructed by modern Yuroks.
Starting at the Visitor’s Center, I hiked off into the trees toward the Yurok village, and the first thing I came to was a Yurok canoe, carved from a single redwood tree.
The inside has a handle and something that looks like an area to sit in.
Then you walk some more until you come to the actual village. Apparently, the Yurok traditionally segregated sleeping areas, with the women and children sleeping in the regular houses, and the men sleeping in the sweathouse. This is one of their regular houses.
And this is one of the sweathouses, completely underground. Women were not allowed into the sweathouses, except for medicine women.
The entire Yurok village is set deep in the beautiful woods of Patrick's Point.
Patrick’s Point is gorgeous. The hiker/biker area is off by itself near Lookout Rock, and it is huge and covered with trees. The park itself is enormous, with three separate campgrounds and an example Yurok village. The village was constructed by modern Yuroks.
Starting at the Visitor’s Center, I hiked off into the trees toward the Yurok village, and the first thing I came to was a Yurok canoe, carved from a single redwood tree.
Then you walk some more until you come to the actual village. Apparently, the Yurok traditionally segregated sleeping areas, with the women and children sleeping in the regular houses, and the men sleeping in the sweathouse. This is one of their regular houses.
And this is one of the sweathouses, completely underground. Women were not allowed into the sweathouses, except for medicine women.
The entire Yurok village is set deep in the beautiful woods of Patrick's Point.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
At Russian Gulch State Park
8/27/10
Making s’mores is a skill one must cultivate assiduously in order to do it well. I, unfortunately, have not cultivated it at all.
Let’s back up, just a bit. I was planning to stay at Russian Gulch State Park, just above Mendicino, and I had finished all of my supplies the night before. (I only carry enough food for a couple of days. I had tried getting only enough food for one day, but I found that was too expensive. So now, I buy a loaf of bread, mayonnaise, cheese, and lunch meat every few days, and fruit from the produce stands along the way.) So I stopped at the grocery store in Mendicino to get my fixin’s, and they had all the stuff for making s’mores in a display at the front of the store.
I stood there for a few minutes, remembering making s’mores out in the backyard with my brothers. I remembered burning most of my marshmallows, and the charred taste of the s’mores. I remembered how the marshmallows started the chocolate melting. I remembered the way it tasted. It sounded so good. So I bought a package of Hershey
’s milk chocolate bars, some Kraft marshmallows
, and Honey Maid
graham crackers, along with my bread, cheese, and salami.
When I got to my campsite, I bought firewood from the camp host and I started a fire. It took a long time; I’m not that good at starting fires, yet, though I am getting better.
Then I had to find a stick long enough to roast marshmallows on. You aren’t supposed to pick up wood from the ground at state campgrounds. But I wanted my s’mores, so I found one that would do and I peeled the bark back and sharpened the end. I put two marshmallows on the end and I held it up above the flames. That’s when I realized why I always burned the marshmallows. Marshmallows are basically puffed sugar. If you get it close enough to the flames to heat it, it is probably close enough to catch on fire. So I ended up with a marshmallow torch on the end of my stick. But I figured that was the way I always ate them at home, so it couldn’t hurt me. I just blew them out and went on with making my s’mores.
I had already laid out my graham crackers with my chocolate bars on top before I started burning my marshmallows, so they were all ready. I set the marshmallows on top of the chocolate bars--but they were still on the stick. How to get them off the stick? I remembered that was the hard part when I was little. So I took another graham cracker for the top, and I scraped, and I scraped, and I scraped some more. Marshmallows are really sticky when they are melted.
I finally got most of the marshmallow off the stick and on to the graham crackers and chocolate. Then, I was ready to enjoy my s’mores. I took a bite, expecting the same sensations I had when I was little. I was reminded then that a person’s tastes change as they grow. A little kid might like sweet desserts, but as the kid grows she tends to enjoy them less and less.
I guess this is just another instance of the old cliché: “You can’t go home again.”
Making s’mores is a skill one must cultivate assiduously in order to do it well. I, unfortunately, have not cultivated it at all.
Let’s back up, just a bit. I was planning to stay at Russian Gulch State Park, just above Mendicino, and I had finished all of my supplies the night before. (I only carry enough food for a couple of days. I had tried getting only enough food for one day, but I found that was too expensive. So now, I buy a loaf of bread, mayonnaise, cheese, and lunch meat every few days, and fruit from the produce stands along the way.) So I stopped at the grocery store in Mendicino to get my fixin’s, and they had all the stuff for making s’mores in a display at the front of the store.
I stood there for a few minutes, remembering making s’mores out in the backyard with my brothers. I remembered burning most of my marshmallows, and the charred taste of the s’mores. I remembered how the marshmallows started the chocolate melting. I remembered the way it tasted. It sounded so good. So I bought a package of Hershey
’s milk chocolate bars, some Kraft marshmallows, and Honey Maid graham crackers, along with my bread, cheese, and salami.When I got to my campsite, I bought firewood from the camp host and I started a fire. It took a long time; I’m not that good at starting fires, yet, though I am getting better.
Then I had to find a stick long enough to roast marshmallows on. You aren’t supposed to pick up wood from the ground at state campgrounds. But I wanted my s’mores, so I found one that would do and I peeled the bark back and sharpened the end. I put two marshmallows on the end and I held it up above the flames. That’s when I realized why I always burned the marshmallows. Marshmallows are basically puffed sugar. If you get it close enough to the flames to heat it, it is probably close enough to catch on fire. So I ended up with a marshmallow torch on the end of my stick. But I figured that was the way I always ate them at home, so it couldn’t hurt me. I just blew them out and went on with making my s’mores.
I had already laid out my graham crackers with my chocolate bars on top before I started burning my marshmallows, so they were all ready. I set the marshmallows on top of the chocolate bars--but they were still on the stick. How to get them off the stick? I remembered that was the hard part when I was little. So I took another graham cracker for the top, and I scraped, and I scraped, and I scraped some more. Marshmallows are really sticky when they are melted.
I finally got most of the marshmallow off the stick and on to the graham crackers and chocolate. Then, I was ready to enjoy my s’mores. I took a bite, expecting the same sensations I had when I was little. I was reminded then that a person’s tastes change as they grow. A little kid might like sweet desserts, but as the kid grows she tends to enjoy them less and less.
I guess this is just another instance of the old cliché: “You can’t go home again.”
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Historic Fort Ross
8/23/10
Fort Ross
I stopped at Historic Fort Ross, to get a little bit of the history of the area. Historic Fort Ross was built by the Russians, when they held part of California. I’m not sure all of it is the original fort--some of it might be reconstructed--but it is very impressive, in any case. Apparently, while the Mexicans were moving from south to north along the coast, the Russians were moving north to south along the same coast, from Alaska. The Russians brought along native hunters from Alaska to hunt seals and sea otters with devastating effect: until recently, the north American sea otter was thought to be extinct. At Fort Ross, which is only about 80 miles north of San Francisco, the Russians built such a well-fortified fort that the Spanish could not move them.
This is one of the guard towers--there are two, one looking out to sea and the other looking inland.
All of the buildings are not there any longer, but there are several, including the chapel, still in existence. The soldiers were, of course, Russian Orthodox, so there is an icon where western churches would have a cross.
The chapel has an interesting barrel shaped dome in the ceiling. Unfortunately, the informative plaques did not tell me why. I would be interested to know if this had some significance in the religion. I would think it does have some significance, since none of the other buildings have anything like it.
The dome is not for a bell, since the chapel bell is outside the door of the chapel.
Here are three views of the cannon. They are, now, in what would be the courtyard of the fort, but I'm sure they were kept in the guard towers in order to ward off attackers. Also, there are only four cannon on display. I wonder if they only had two for each guard tower?
The gun, itself, is very small.
There was nothing to say how big a shot it would take or how far it would throw it. I expected cannon to be larger.
This is the armory, which is in the building that is marked as being a hotel and the commanding officer’s quarters. If they kept this many muskets, surely two cannon would not be enough--or maybe I'm just into overkill.
Fort Ross
I stopped at Historic Fort Ross, to get a little bit of the history of the area. Historic Fort Ross was built by the Russians, when they held part of California. I’m not sure all of it is the original fort--some of it might be reconstructed--but it is very impressive, in any case. Apparently, while the Mexicans were moving from south to north along the coast, the Russians were moving north to south along the same coast, from Alaska. The Russians brought along native hunters from Alaska to hunt seals and sea otters with devastating effect: until recently, the north American sea otter was thought to be extinct. At Fort Ross, which is only about 80 miles north of San Francisco, the Russians built such a well-fortified fort that the Spanish could not move them.
The gun, itself, is very small.
There was nothing to say how big a shot it would take or how far it would throw it. I expected cannon to be larger.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Bodega Bay and Points (slightly) North
Coming out of Bodega Dunes State Park, which is just north of Bodega Bay, I was making for Jenner which is about 10 miles north of there. I wanted to see how quickly I could get there, with all the hills. I planned to have breakfast in Jenner, then go on north. But just north of Bodega Bay begins Sonoma Coast state beach. I passed Miwok Beach and I thought that was lovely, but there were a lot of cars lined up, with people getting into wetsuits outside of them. So I went on. About a hundred feet farther was Coleman beach, with big rocks breaking up the surf. Still, there were a couple of cars and really nowhere to put my bike, so I went on. About a hundred feet beyond Colman Beach, I ran into Arched Rock Beach, and then I had to stop.
From the little turn-off overlooking the beach I could see Coleman beach on one side and Arched Rock beach on the other. This picture is the north side of Coleman beach. The rock formation caught my eye, here. It looks like the head of an elephant lying out there on the beach.
On the other side, a little distance north, is an arched rock formation I would say is where the name comes from (Arched Rock beach), but it doesn't seem to be on this beach. It seems to be on the next one to the north. It is lovely, though. I sat for a long time, enjoying the view and eating olives.
I went on from there, finally, intending to ride to Jenner and parts north, but I came across Duncan's Landing, and I just had to stop once more. Duncan's Landing reminded me, forcefully, of why I wanted to ride up the pacific coast in the first place. It is a spit of land sticking right out into the pacific ocean, about 300 yards long, and it is large enough to have a road around it rather than just a turn-off.
I spent most of my time on the north side of the landing, where there were picnic tables. From there, I could see along the coast to where the headland pushes out to sea again.
Large rocks out in front of Duncan's Landing. I suspect that no one actually landed here. According to Wikipedia, the spit of land is Duncan's point and the rocky inlet next to it is Duncan's landing. However, since Wikipedia also says that the large waves make that stretch very dangerous, I doubt that anyone ever landed there.
From the little turn-off overlooking the beach I could see Coleman beach on one side and Arched Rock beach on the other. This picture is the north side of Coleman beach. The rock formation caught my eye, here. It looks like the head of an elephant lying out there on the beach.On the other side, a little distance north, is an arched rock formation I would say is where the name comes from (Arched Rock beach), but it doesn't seem to be on this beach. It seems to be on the next one to the north. It is lovely, though. I sat for a long time, enjoying the view and eating olives.
I went on from there, finally, intending to ride to Jenner and parts north, but I came across Duncan's Landing, and I just had to stop once more. Duncan's Landing reminded me, forcefully, of why I wanted to ride up the pacific coast in the first place. It is a spit of land sticking right out into the pacific ocean, about 300 yards long, and it is large enough to have a road around it rather than just a turn-off.
Large rocks out in front of Duncan's Landing. I suspect that no one actually landed here. According to Wikipedia, the spit of land is Duncan's point and the rocky inlet next to it is Duncan's landing. However, since Wikipedia also says that the large waves make that stretch very dangerous, I doubt that anyone ever landed there. Looking at the rocks, I was tempted to climb out on them, but I suppressed it firmly. It would be dangerous.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Ferry from Oakland and San Francisco
8/18/10
I took a ferry from Alameda to San Francisco, then another ferry from San Francisco to Larkspur. If you happen to be in Oakland, and want to get to San Francisco, I would recommend taking the ferry from Alameda, so long as you don’t want a car in San Francisco. It only cost $6.50, which is competitive with the Bart, and it took about 20 minutes, from Bay Farm Island to San Francisco’s Ferry docks. The employees were very nice, and it was possible to watch as I crossed the bay. San Francisco is quite beautiful from that perspective. The San Francisco to Larkspur ferry was the same: very pleasant people and beautiful scenery. In this case, it was watching the hills and greenery of the upper peninsula approach.
Getting out of Larkspur, once I disembarked from the ferry was much more of a trick--especially since I didn’t seem to be in Larkspur. I found myself in Corte Madera, which is a very nice community, but not where I thought I would disembark from the Larkspur Ferry. Thank God for the fire department! The fire fighters printed up directions that got me from the east side of the peninsula to the west side, where I found the Samuel P. Taylor State Park and the continuation of my route north.
Samuel P. Taylor State Park was a real treat. It is set in a forest which is partially made up of redwoods. Redwoods are just as beautiful as I have always heard they are, soaring up to massive heights. The hiker/biker campsite was up a path that was inaccessible to cars, isolated from the rest of the campgrounds. I set my tent up on a hill all by itself and slept surrounded by redwoods and silence.
The next morning, I took a bike path through the park in order to reach highway 1 and continue my trek up the coast. The bike path is surrounded by trees and seems isolated from the rest of the world. I could imagine that I was alone, riding my bike through an empty world. Sometimes, the trees actually lean in to each other over the path--the one on the right leans to the left, and the one on the left leans to the right--just as if they were having some secret conversation, right over our heads.
Beautiful!
I took a ferry from Alameda to San Francisco, then another ferry from San Francisco to Larkspur. If you happen to be in Oakland, and want to get to San Francisco, I would recommend taking the ferry from Alameda, so long as you don’t want a car in San Francisco. It only cost $6.50, which is competitive with the Bart, and it took about 20 minutes, from Bay Farm Island to San Francisco’s Ferry docks. The employees were very nice, and it was possible to watch as I crossed the bay. San Francisco is quite beautiful from that perspective. The San Francisco to Larkspur ferry was the same: very pleasant people and beautiful scenery. In this case, it was watching the hills and greenery of the upper peninsula approach.
Getting out of Larkspur, once I disembarked from the ferry was much more of a trick--especially since I didn’t seem to be in Larkspur. I found myself in Corte Madera, which is a very nice community, but not where I thought I would disembark from the Larkspur Ferry. Thank God for the fire department! The fire fighters printed up directions that got me from the east side of the peninsula to the west side, where I found the Samuel P. Taylor State Park and the continuation of my route north.
Samuel P. Taylor State Park was a real treat. It is set in a forest which is partially made up of redwoods. Redwoods are just as beautiful as I have always heard they are, soaring up to massive heights. The hiker/biker campsite was up a path that was inaccessible to cars, isolated from the rest of the campgrounds. I set my tent up on a hill all by itself and slept surrounded by redwoods and silence.
The next morning, I took a bike path through the park in order to reach highway 1 and continue my trek up the coast. The bike path is surrounded by trees and seems isolated from the rest of the world. I could imagine that I was alone, riding my bike through an empty world. Sometimes, the trees actually lean in to each other over the path--the one on the right leans to the left, and the one on the left leans to the right--just as if they were having some secret conversation, right over our heads.
Beautiful!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
As I went along in California
Here are some of the photos I took. Unfortunately, I couldn't get to a computer that would upload my pictures sooner, and I don't remember what many of them are, other than kind of cool. I'll identify those I do remember.
This is what I saw as I sat at my campsite at Refugio State Beach. The hiker/biker spots were down almost on the beach. It was a little cold after dark, but it was worth it, for hearing the surf all night.
These three I took as I sat in a rest stop just before I went into a tunnel, on my way from Refugio to Lompoc. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any without evidence of Man's existence. Right after the tunnel, which is right after these pictures, I struggled up my first major hill. It was 1000 feet high, and almost 3 miles going up it. I was glad to stay in Lompoc after that hill. After leaving Lompoc, there was another hill just about as high.
These are from behind the restaurant at Moro Bay. I had been planning to eat breakfast and then take off, but I decided I needed a rest after I looked out on the bay. The rock in the last picture is Moro Rock. You can see it better from the town, which is about 100 feet from the campground.
You can also see the sail boats much better from the town. Moro Bay is a protected bay, protected from the vagaries of the Pacific ocean just beyond the line of dunes that ends with Moro Rock. Lots of sail boats anchor here.
This is what I saw as I sat at my campsite at Refugio State Beach. The hiker/biker spots were down almost on the beach. It was a little cold after dark, but it was worth it, for hearing the surf all night.
These three I took as I sat in a rest stop just before I went into a tunnel, on my way from Refugio to Lompoc. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any without evidence of Man's existence. Right after the tunnel, which is right after these pictures, I struggled up my first major hill. It was 1000 feet high, and almost 3 miles going up it. I was glad to stay in Lompoc after that hill. After leaving Lompoc, there was another hill just about as high.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Moro Bay
So it's been a long, hard road, so far. Not because of the riding, though that has given me problems, too, and I'm just beginning to feel good at the end of the day. No, mostly my problem has been people. Now, don't get me wrong: everybody has been very nice, and I don't have a problem with people who just want to talk, to ask questions, or to tell me about their experiences riding. The problem I have is with people who want to tell me how to go where I'm going, or how to pack, or whatever--without my ever having asked for advice. Like the man who stopped me in Lompoc--ran after me and stopped me as I was trying to ride away--in order to tell me the route I should take to Seatle. This, to me, has always seemed to be assuming my incompetence, and that bothers me. I wonder why I should be polite to them, if they are going to be so rude to me.
Other than that, I have had a pretty good experience, so far. I was having trouble with my chain, so I stopped in to a bike shop to have the repair guy look at it. It was nothing, I was just out of adjustment. While I was there, though, I talked to the repair guy about my load. I don't know how much I am carrying, but I know it is a lot. He told me there is a danger of blowing out spokes, with that much right on the back of my bike. So we talked trailers. It turns out that taking some of my load off the back also lets me move around more on the seat, which is more comfortable.
I spent the night in Moro Bay campground last night. It is the nicest campground I've seen so far; it is clean and well-equipt. And it is about 3-5 minutes from downtown Moro Bay. Moro Bay is the best town I have seen so far in California. The houses are all individuals, there are a lot of little shops that sell all kinds of things, and the bay is beautiful. If I ever decide to settle in California, Moro Bay would be at the top of my list of places to live.
Well, time is almost up, so I'll have to let this post go as written.
Other than that, I have had a pretty good experience, so far. I was having trouble with my chain, so I stopped in to a bike shop to have the repair guy look at it. It was nothing, I was just out of adjustment. While I was there, though, I talked to the repair guy about my load. I don't know how much I am carrying, but I know it is a lot. He told me there is a danger of blowing out spokes, with that much right on the back of my bike. So we talked trailers. It turns out that taking some of my load off the back also lets me move around more on the seat, which is more comfortable.
I spent the night in Moro Bay campground last night. It is the nicest campground I've seen so far; it is clean and well-equipt. And it is about 3-5 minutes from downtown Moro Bay. Moro Bay is the best town I have seen so far in California. The houses are all individuals, there are a lot of little shops that sell all kinds of things, and the bay is beautiful. If I ever decide to settle in California, Moro Bay would be at the top of my list of places to live.
Well, time is almost up, so I'll have to let this post go as written.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Third Day
I'm in Carpinteria, today.
I had depated riding through LA, but I decided that it would take me several days to get through. So I took the train from Irvine Station to Ventura. The ride to the Irvine Station was about 10 miles. I was proud to have made it, especially since it was the first time I had a loaded bike.
And, let me tell you, that bike is heavy! I have been lifting and pedalling it now for two days straight, and last night I went for a ride without my luggage. The difference was incredible. It was like lifting nothing, compared to the bike with everything on it.
I spent the night in Ventura, and rode out at 8:00am. Going along the 1, I had the ocean at my left side for most of the way. (Sorry, I didn't take pictures. I'm not used to having the camera yet. I'll do better in future.) The ocean is beautiful, but for most of the way, there were RVs packed close together along the beaches. I never realized that so many people used RVs.
Carpinteria is a very pretty little town. The houses all seem to be at least 1920s--maybe earlier, I'm not that good at identifying architecture. Anyway, they are not just boxes, packed close together, like I have often seen here in California. The town is almost surrounded by hills.
I'm planning to ride to Goleta today. That's only about 20 miles, but I want to take small bites now to make sure I don't get burned out. I'm hoping to build up my endurance for later in the trip.
I had depated riding through LA, but I decided that it would take me several days to get through. So I took the train from Irvine Station to Ventura. The ride to the Irvine Station was about 10 miles. I was proud to have made it, especially since it was the first time I had a loaded bike.
And, let me tell you, that bike is heavy! I have been lifting and pedalling it now for two days straight, and last night I went for a ride without my luggage. The difference was incredible. It was like lifting nothing, compared to the bike with everything on it.
I spent the night in Ventura, and rode out at 8:00am. Going along the 1, I had the ocean at my left side for most of the way. (Sorry, I didn't take pictures. I'm not used to having the camera yet. I'll do better in future.) The ocean is beautiful, but for most of the way, there were RVs packed close together along the beaches. I never realized that so many people used RVs.
Carpinteria is a very pretty little town. The houses all seem to be at least 1920s--maybe earlier, I'm not that good at identifying architecture. Anyway, they are not just boxes, packed close together, like I have often seen here in California. The town is almost surrounded by hills.
I'm planning to ride to Goleta today. That's only about 20 miles, but I want to take small bites now to make sure I don't get burned out. I'm hoping to build up my endurance for later in the trip.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Gearing Up Part One
My bike is a Schwinn World Tour DLX, with an extra large frame to fit my extra long legs. It has a smooth and easy ride, and with its triple crankset (50/39/30T), it is great for going up hills.
It came equipped with the rear pannier rack, which will carry a large proportion of my equipment along the road. However, I understand that stability is increased if the load is distributed front and back. So, next, I went looking for a front pannier rack.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
There are many things that I've always wanted to do: travel to Europe; see the archaeological sites in Mexico, Scotland, China; climb a mountain; jump out of an airplane; write fiction... The list goes on and on, and I add things to it constantly.
Some things I have done, but more I have put off. In the past I have always been busy earning my passage through life to do most of the things I have wanted to do. There were always more important things to do, people to take care of, obligations I had made.
Now, however, I stand at a crossroad in my life. I have finished with one pursuit, and have not yet decided what my next pursuit will be. Now is the time to do at least one of those things I have always wanted to do. This summer, I will ride my bicycle across the country from Irvine, CA to Detroit, MI.
I plan to leave Irvine at the end of June and arrive in Oakland, CA, two weeks later. I know I could get to Oakland in less than two weeks. If I rode 60 miles per day, I would arrive in approximately 9 days. However, I have never ridden so far with all that I need on my bike. So, I plan to take the extra time in order to get used to all of the difficulties I will encounter along the way.
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