August 6, 2009. Point Arena Lighthouse to Some campground, Somewhere. 60 miles

This is where procrastination bites. Here I am, 14 months later, trying to remember what happened on this day - based on an inch by four inches worth of notes in my moleskin. As you can tell from above, I don't even know where I stopped off on this day, though I do know it was 60 miles away! No worries though, the important thing is the fact that I remember getting a calzone for dinner. My new British friends had a look of curious envy as they asked, "are those always at gas stations"?

It started off well enough, waking on a mattress for the third time in this 19 day trip. I bid adieu to the lighthouse and made my way into the next town, which according to Mapquest was Anchor Bay. Or could it be Gualala? At any rate, I stopped at a diner for breakfast after inspecting a couple bikes that had fairly heavy loads on them. What do you know, the infamous Swiss couple was getting breakfast. Likely well into their 50's, they had ridden clear from Montreal to Victoria and were on their way down to San Diego. ANYONE can do this. All you need is the gear and a little determination. They were very nice, letting me sit with them, entertaining me with their accents, and buying my breakfast.

The little town was pretty neat, huddled in a pocket, with the road going uphill on either side of town. Which has nothing to do with this paragraph. So I started to hit a low point in the trip, even though I was just 130 miles from San Francisco, my final destination. All the sudden I was super pissed at the hills I was riding. I was in switchback heaven and my attitude was awfully hellish, despite the blue sky and turquoise-blue sea. Maybe I was wiped out from the last day's riding. I got a quick lift when I ran into Andrew and Matt, a couple dudes from England. They'd been riding since the Olympic National Park, on recumbent bicycles - the same sit-down bikes that Grandpa Bradley wouldn't stop talking about the first 3 months after his stroke. The bikes were comfortable to them, but ineffective when it came to climbing hills.

I leached onto the guys, and they helped my mood out quite a bit. We hit some pretty high hills with awesome vistas... and cattle. Stopping at before said gas (petrol) station, it started to get chilly. It happens. Then we camped, like it happens. Who knows where. I pulled out my flashlight, they pulled out their torch, and I told them where they could drop their post (mail). I remember talking about alcohol. Though we didn't drink any. That's another thing I remember forgetting.

Near Century

August 5th
Standish Hickey - Point Arena Lighthouse
99.99 m, 8 hrs., 12.5 mph

I got up around 7:30 - the great thing about having other guys at your campsite is the guilt trip they induce with their early-birdness. I went to the little store across the highway, which was just settling down from the Hemp Fest traffic. The breakfast burrito turned out to be pre-made. Sometimes they get you.

My new biker friend John mentioned his room at the light house once again, and that it was 83 miles. I told him thanks but not likely.

Just a few miles down the road, I made the split onto Highway 1. Goodbye 101. The ascent of Legget Hill started shortly thereafter. It was a long grind, but not the most painful one. There were a lot of semi-plateaus throughout the hill, which made for leg rest. I decided that if I could ride this hill on my 3rd highest front sprocket, then I could ride 83 miles. Sparks of determination, few and far between - yet powerful.

The top of Legget was the highest point of the trip. The view was one of different hills (I climbed to the top of a hill), not too impressive compared to some of the other shots I'd seen. Going down the hill was a blast - so much fun! Curves non-stop. I got my first of 5 comments on my sign, as a passenger muttered "damn bikers".

I passed the Virginian dudes, then shortly got into Westport, a tiny town on the coast. The temperature changed about 15 degrees from the top of Legget to the coast, so I played jacket charades. Hot sweat turns to cold chills pretty quickly.

I had a sandwhich with the older guy that had camped with us (Steve?) It was very overpriced, which kind of made sense considering that Westport is in the middle of nowhere. Smelling the herbal wave of the shop owner, I conjectured that my money was going the way of Hemp Fest. Saw an older couple in the store... "are they the old Swiss couple that biked from Toronto"?

I came into Fort Bragg, a sweet town. And a real town! Man I miss cities, as much as I love being in the country. It's a comfort blanket, I guess. Made a stop at the bank, took a picture of a huge Redwood cross-section, took a picture of a gray squirrel at the park (huge!), and went to Safeway. Bought my first GQ. Seth Rogen! The lunch man loaded my "California Dreamin" with extra meat and free cheese. That's the joy of traveling, everyone's out to help you.

I'd ridden about 40 miles, and the sign for Point Arena said 53 miles. Sweet, it's 93 miles away, not 83. Oh well, I'm the man. The rest of the ride was full of countless switchbacks, cow pastures, and different cliffscapes than I'd seen before. I rode past a herd (that's right) of Turkey Vultures. Those things are intimidating.

The town of Mendocino is perfect for touring. Any person that wants to forget the rest of the world's problems should just go there. Perfect for any old WASP.

(White Anglo Saxon Protestant)

At mile 70ish I started to feel light-headed. But I was so emphatic over the prospect of completing a century that I didn't perceive pain, merely stupid bliss. This was my favorite ride for sure. My legs felt great. After the upside of a switchback (Navarro Beach), I stopped at a driveway to finish one of my 6 inchers. A contractor pulled up and offered to let me in the house for water. The views from that cliff-house were spectacular, and it was great to hear more about the local weather cycles and whale migrations, etc.

I made it up the toughest switch-back (so steep!), so close to a "stand-still fall". It had the moment where you wonder whether you will get another pedal stroke in. But I did it. Officially BA!

All of this on my largest front sprocket, I made it to Point Arena. The lighthouse was 2 miles down the road, which was a problem - considering that I had just 95 miles on my computer. So I rode up and down that damn road. Well, at least a 1/4 mile of it. I would turn around, only to face a hill I didn't want to go up. Turning away from that, I faced some headwind typical of a cape. Well I had to make it to 99.99 at least, in honor of the Dodgers new acquisition - Manny Ramirez. Coming to 99.8, I made a turn in a gravel parking lot, and my bike went out from under me. I was hopping with a skinned knee and a bruised elbow, too tired to laugh at myself, but excited that I had some great material to end this great day. So typical of me to make it so far in something and then remind myself that I am still the kid that was too scared to race his bike down the driveway. I walked my bike to 99.99.

The light house room was awesome. I had a shower, jumped on the bed, and ate all the York peppermints in the bowl.

Today's Sign: "Damn Bikers"

Tuff Stuff

Aug 4th, Monday

Hidden Springs - Standish Hickey St. Park
38 miles, 4 hrs, 11 mph

My legs felt pretty good today as I left the Avenue of the Giants. Stopped to talk to some Canadian bikers, then left shortly after 4 guys from Virginia passed us. Going up a steep hill, I decided to be a tough guy, especially since everyone was going slow. I passed the Canadians in the middle of the hill and the Virginians near the top. I asked them how they slept as I passed them on the crest. It was a sinister comment in sheeps clothing, but I don't think they got it, as I was the one in a wierd competitive mode.

Shortly after this sprint I pulled into Gerberville, a cool summer town that had all the amenities. I got some laundry going , ate lunch at a burger joint, realized I had lost my wallet, then found it at the laundromat. It started to get hot out (I was inland), I had a burger, and that last sprint was taxing. Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do.

I started to hit some real heat as I got back on the road, going up some hills that were fairly steep. The heat kicked my butt more than anything and I realized that I wasn't going to make my 60 mile goal for the day. I pooped out at 38 miles, stopping at Standish Hickey State Park. I camped with the Virginians and a guy from Eugene (Steve?). They thought I was long gone after my cocky show earlier in the day. Funny, while I was passing them all I could think about was "slow and easy wins the race".

Met a guy named John who worked at Amazon, he was touring from Eugene to San Fran and was pretty pooped. We talked baseball and careers, etc. He mentioned that he had a room reserved at the Point Arena Lighthouse, 83 miles away. If I made it, I could have it for free. I told him it was unlikely that I would be up for it, especially considering that the first 5 miles of the day were to be up Leggett Hill. Little did I know...

Sign of the day: "Skip, Hop, and a Jump"

Mingo Bianchi, Baseball Player

3rd of August

Eureka - Hidden Springs State Park

55 miles, 4 hrs, 13.33 avg

I stole the covers - from the bottom of the bed! They made great padding for the floor. The breakfast at the Red Lion was awesome. All this luxury seems to have made me soft, though, as I didn't really feel like riding my bike. I just wanted to suit up and go to the park.

Those of you who might object to me hitch-hiking and bumming rides for twenty miles can just sit down, as I rode a twenty mile section for the second time. "Hey, I peed there, hey there's that litter again, hey, there's that dead raccoon again, hey last time I could see the beach from here, what's with the fog?".

Having nothing new to look at was boring. I noticed my fingernails were really long. In fact, it hurts to scratch myself. Having nothing to rejoice over, discover, or think about, I started acting funny. That was just what I needed - going nuts beats boredom.

I stopped for lunch in tiny Rio Del, at this place called Mingo's. Mingo Bianchi was a ballplayer way back when. I asked the bartender about the pictures and story goes that Joe Dimaggio played with him some, at a park in nearby Scotia. There's a picture of the park and a tree Joltin' Joe hit a ball over.

I took the cutoff to the Avenue of the Giants. This is a 30 mile stretch with huge Redwoods, making the shade and scenery really nice. I stopped in a town to get groceries... it was getting late and I was in a hurry to set up camp when a guy talked to me about touring... for a 1/2 hour. I told myself I wanted to hit him, which is very odd - maybe I really am going crazy. He told me what to do in San Francisco, three times over, and I was aggravated because he of all people should know that it's near-dark and I'm not at camp yet. Small town, I guess.

So I strolled into Hidden Springs and told the ranger (who'd just heard a ridiculous complaint from a perma-camper, about another campground) that I wouldn't reveal my own stressful, bickering, no-good-for-nothing story. I wouldn't stoop, and I wouldn't make her day any worse. She insisted, I obliged.

Sign: Stories for Food

Have You Seen My Baseball?

Eureka - Arcata?!
20 miles

I woke up a quarter to 8, the sun was shining on the little spit of Samoa Beach. I guess I hadn't zipped my back pack, Raccoons got into my loaf of bread. There was sand and bread crumbs all over my bike. Lesson learned I guess.

Kendall took us all to the Samoa Cookhouse, in operation since 1893. It used to be a big cafeteria for the loggers that worked in Eureka. They had some crazy pictures of Redwood stumps that dozens of people could sit on. Just like the old logging days, you just sat down and ate whatever they cooked for the day, which was cool. A hot breakfast is a cyclist's best friend. I decided to bike south, though I kind of wanted an off day and thought of going to the hippie festival with all the guys. They were a fun group from Red Bluff, CA.

I rode 20 miles to Fortuna and stopped for more breakfast. My legs were feeling good about the next 30 miles. That was disrupted when I read the paper - some of my buddies were playing a double-header at the baseball field I'd seen, back in Arcata. I decided to follow the spirit of adventure and of Vonnegut's Bokononism, which states: "Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God". So I backtracked, taking a bus this time.

Watching batting practice, I yelled out some advice to my buddy Kyle Kuenzi. All the George Fox guys (Taylor, Mitch, Dan) said, "Nate? How the heck did you get here?" It was a fun surprise. I sat with Kyle's parents and told everyone about my biking adventures. Just recruiting more blog readers. Watching summer baseball really made me miss the game, and the atmosphere in Arcata was awesome. 1,000 fans showed up to the game, including a brass band that got larger and drunker as the game went on. The umpire tried to throw them out of the game after they played "three blind mice" (referring to a bad call). Better yet, there was some animosity between the teams as players were spiking during double plays and hitting batsmen in retaliation. I almost witnessed a small town brawl, and would've joined it if it weren't for the fact that the other team was full of huge D1 guys and an honorary guest linebacker from USC.

It was a rough night, as the Kuenzi's and the club manager gave me the hospitality of a good dinner and a floor at the Red Lion Hotel in Eureka.

Mom Mom I Made New Friends!

Friday 1st
Elk Prairie - Samoa County Park (Eureka)
60.4, 4:35, 13.16

I bought Thoreau's book "Walden: Life in the Woods" at the campground, and stuck it in between my sleeping pad and pannier. I immediately passed two older Canadians, when I talked with them they mentioned that their wives were bringing them lunch. Still, I think they envied my homelessness.

I passed between a herd of Elk and a herd of tourists - the Elk were sitting on the side of the road, maybe 15 of them. At mile 27 I rolled into Trinidad and had a mondo burger. The bay there is awesome and the town is pretty up key, if that's a term.

I got a blackberry cobbler at a restaraunt there, shortly after performing my first stand-still fall in the parking lot. This is when you ride into an awquard situation, have no where to pedal, and forget to unclip your cleats. It makes for an awquard, stiltsy fall. Luckily I caught a car with my hand, so there was no physical pain to go with my embarassment.

I rode into Eureka, maybe the biggest town I've been through. Just before it I stopped at Humboldt State University in Arcata and tried to witness to a commuter-cyclist-student about the joys of touring. I also passed a baseball field full of guys my age and wondered who they played.

Anyways, Eureka was dirty and I found out that my campsite wasn't a campsite. The locals pointed me towards the beach, and I got that empty homeless feeling I haf in Tillamook. Plus it was cold out.

I saw a sign for the Samoa County Park, and when I came to it a camper waved at me. I came to his campsite and got some fortunate hospitality. It was an older guy named Kendall and his 4 nephews - Jr, Kolby, Travis, and Anthony. I had barbecued steak and and told some stories. Kendall complimented me on my trip and lent some wisdom to us all. They were great guys, I finally had a family haha. Kendall even let me sleep in his truck.

Todays sign: Do it for Anne

Can Wait

I started out and got breakfast goods from the freddies in Brookings. Crossing into California, I realized I hadn't been there since I was 8. Coming to a construction stop and seeing two signer ladies wearing Moon Boots, I realized I was in California.

I passed the Aussie and taled with him for a bit. I don't thin he knew how entertaing and disturbing he was. He vered off to get his noon pint shortly after I left him, as he struggled up a gentle slope ("my bike doesn't do hills").

I came through Crescent City and picked up some bread. I also went to the Redwoods Headquarters, which was helpful. I passed a hitch-hiker I'd seen before and congratulated him on his progress. And of course, I stopped at a coffee stand for water.

At the base of the legendary hill, I stopped to let my food digest further. I'd heard stories about this one and it's ascent bore an ominous (?) feeling in my gut. The horror tales turned out to be true, as it was completely shaded, without a shoulder, and graded at 6% without ever letting up. My lower back was screaming. Near the top I said, "that's a big honkin' tree"! I had my first look at the giant Redwoods and their Twizzler bark.

The descent was especially frightening, and I knew it would be. I almost caught gravel at one point, but I made it out by the tread of my rubber.

I rode through Klamath and other towns. I started into river country, with lots of bridges and different landscapes. The side route to Elk Prairie State Park had another huge climb, but the descent was a lot of fun, through the shade of the Redwods. I stopped 50 yards in front of a 3 point Elk, who looked me over and trotted off.

Finally into camp, I was attacked by Mosquitoes and the metal tubing I bought for my tent pole broke. It still worked, just didn't look very good. I would've A-framed my tarp if I wasn't in bear country.

I came up with a name for my Lemond bike: "Can Wait", as in "LeMonday Can Wait".

Todays sign: Fornia I Warnya
Todays quote: Dickens refers to faucets as "water butts"