'Bicycling is very much like a love affair, chiefly it is a matter of faith. Believe you can do it and the thing is done, doubt and for the life of you, you cannot.'
-H.G. Wells
There is much truth to this statement, though a love affair it is not. Not sure if old H.G. ever rode up a hill into a head wind, for that is a harsh mistress to keep. We are currently in the middle of the final punishing push south. After San Fran we spent two days getting down to Carmel and the northern reaches of the Big Sur fire and road closures. At the Carmel Safeway around 8pm the squad still had no idea where it was going to sleep. Fortune, of course, favors the lucky. Standing around the fire information board we met Carol and Calvin, who were nice enough to let us sleep on their deck (and buy us lunch in Big Sur). In the morning we readied ourselves for the 100 mile charge through the fire zone to San Simeon.
We began early and reached the charred hillsides (which unfortunately sloped primarily uphill for us). A favorable wind kept the smoke away as we rode the cliffs and beaches. A 1000 foot climb right at the end of the mountains, followed by a quick descent and another 500 foot climb completely demolished this correspondent. 7pm found me unable to get warm, shaking and dehydrated, yet we still had 20 miles to go. After a couple gatorades, cheese and peanut butter sandwiches and a long look into the depths of my soul (which is basically a daily practice on this trip), I climbed back aboard Le Renard. Within a few miles the life came back to my legs and we had one of the most enjoyable stretches of the whole trip. The land flattened out, darkness fell, Le Renard hummed along and we were the only people on the road. The moon shone out over the Atlantic, Elephant Seals barked on the beach below and Hearst Castle glistened in the distance. Elephant seals literally covered the beach; as animals they have reached a certain level of enlightenment that most men aspire to, namely they lie around, stay away from sharks, get fat and make crude noises all day.
The next day saw more of the same as we rode another 90 miles. Last night we stopped in Orcutt, CA. After searching in vain for the city park, we finally found a Lutheran Church with a hidden yard where we could sleep. Apparently 4am is the lawn watering hour for Lutherans, as we were rudely awaken and promptly soaked. And so our ragged squad was left with little choice but to pack up and ride out. We did 20 miles before 7 am. We are now holed up in Lompoc, CA attending to yet another broken spoke and filling our empty stomachs.
We should be in Santa Monica by tomorrow, though there has been talk, mainly spoken in hushed tones, of riding through the night in one last epic 150 mile day.
As we forge ahead, I leave you with a quote heard yesterday from someone amongst our ranks,
'sometimes I think about getting hit by a car just so I dont have to do this trip anymore.'
Manu Forti.
-H.G. Wells
There is much truth to this statement, though a love affair it is not. Not sure if old H.G. ever rode up a hill into a head wind, for that is a harsh mistress to keep. We are currently in the middle of the final punishing push south. After San Fran we spent two days getting down to Carmel and the northern reaches of the Big Sur fire and road closures. At the Carmel Safeway around 8pm the squad still had no idea where it was going to sleep. Fortune, of course, favors the lucky. Standing around the fire information board we met Carol and Calvin, who were nice enough to let us sleep on their deck (and buy us lunch in Big Sur). In the morning we readied ourselves for the 100 mile charge through the fire zone to San Simeon.
We began early and reached the charred hillsides (which unfortunately sloped primarily uphill for us). A favorable wind kept the smoke away as we rode the cliffs and beaches. A 1000 foot climb right at the end of the mountains, followed by a quick descent and another 500 foot climb completely demolished this correspondent. 7pm found me unable to get warm, shaking and dehydrated, yet we still had 20 miles to go. After a couple gatorades, cheese and peanut butter sandwiches and a long look into the depths of my soul (which is basically a daily practice on this trip), I climbed back aboard Le Renard. Within a few miles the life came back to my legs and we had one of the most enjoyable stretches of the whole trip. The land flattened out, darkness fell, Le Renard hummed along and we were the only people on the road. The moon shone out over the Atlantic, Elephant Seals barked on the beach below and Hearst Castle glistened in the distance. Elephant seals literally covered the beach; as animals they have reached a certain level of enlightenment that most men aspire to, namely they lie around, stay away from sharks, get fat and make crude noises all day.
The next day saw more of the same as we rode another 90 miles. Last night we stopped in Orcutt, CA. After searching in vain for the city park, we finally found a Lutheran Church with a hidden yard where we could sleep. Apparently 4am is the lawn watering hour for Lutherans, as we were rudely awaken and promptly soaked. And so our ragged squad was left with little choice but to pack up and ride out. We did 20 miles before 7 am. We are now holed up in Lompoc, CA attending to yet another broken spoke and filling our empty stomachs.
We should be in Santa Monica by tomorrow, though there has been talk, mainly spoken in hushed tones, of riding through the night in one last epic 150 mile day.
As we forge ahead, I leave you with a quote heard yesterday from someone amongst our ranks,
'sometimes I think about getting hit by a car just so I dont have to do this trip anymore.'
Manu Forti.
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