CYCLE
TOURING USA (1)5
February–19 April 20132292
Kilometres – 63 Days
Arizona
5
February – Nogales, Mexico – Green Valley, USA - 75km
The
border crossing into the USA was a slow and tedious affair, with only two of
the ten booths staffed. Despite having visas, we still had to queue for a
permit, which took until 12:30 pm.
Sadly,
I couldn’t see a “Welcome to the USA” sign; only the familiar golden arches of
McDonald’s, towering over the barren Sonoran Desert.
As
in all new countries, the day turned out interesting as we pedalled through a desert-like
landscape to Tubac, a historic village and Spanish fort. However, Tubac had
since become more of an artist community than a fort.
We
ended our ride at Green Valley, a small settlement near a copper mine. The supermarket
indicated prices and allowed us to draw US dollars. We stocked up with
provisions before setting off into the desert to camp. Unfortunately, our
chosen site was a tad of a disaster. The area was littered with thorns, and one
could barely find a spot to pitch tents safely. We were fresh off the boat, so
to speak, and there was much to learn in this new country!
6-7
February - Green Valley – Tucson
Departing
our thorny campsite was late as Ernest first wanted to fix the punctured tubes,
and he was dreadfully slow at the best of times. The good ol’ US of A is very
much a police state, and we didn’t escape our desert camp without a visit from the
sheriff. Suspiciously, he checked us out and enquired about our doings.
Afterwards,
we rode the short distance to Tucson and, en route, had our second run-in with the
law, who kicked us off the highway. Contrary to other places, we weren’t merely
ordered off the highway but were issued a written warning, which I considered
over the top. Still, this was America, after all, where just about everything
was over the top. LOL.
Once
in the city, we located an RV park, amongst many trailer parks, to pitch our
tents. It wasn’t a myth: people indeed lived permanently in trailer parks. The following
day, we found a bicycle shop and tyre liners (to prevent further punctures).
Tucson (pronounced ‘Too saan’) was a pleasant, cycle-friendly city sporting
cycle lanes. Scooting around town to find what was needed was an excellent way
to see the city. Tucson had a bustling city centre, a modern university campus,
a young vibe featuring many bars and cafes, and a pleasing downtown offering
plenty of interesting shops.
8
February - Tucson – Picacho Peak SP - 70km
The
morning started promising, revealing a lovely tailwind until it suddenly
changed direction and became a fierce headwind. Warnings of an approaching
storm made us pick up food and pull into the small but pretty Picacho Peak SP.
I dashed to the viewpoint to watch the sunset over the desert before the
weather came in. Regrettably, the temperature turned icy cold accompanied with rain
during the night.
9
February - Picacho Peak NP – Coolidge via Florence - 88km
Luckily,
the rain subsided and, albeit windy and bitterly cold, the sun peaked from
behind the clouds. It became an enjoyable day of riding, and Coolidge soon appeared.
Coolidge
was an interesting village and home to the Hohokam who built a massive
compound - today known as the Casa Grande Ruins. Being
early, we made a detour to Florence, a quaint and historic community that
looked straight out of a Wild West movie. Following lunch and snapping a few
pics we returned to Coolidge.
En
route, I heard a phone ring and discovered one lying in the road. I answered,
and it turned out to be the owner. I gave him directions and he soon arrived. The
fascinating part was that he appeared apprehensive and nervous as he parked a
reasonable distance away. His wariness perplexed me and thought I clearly came
across fiercer than ever imagined. Still, he must’ve been super pleased to
retrieve his phone as he slipped me a $20 bill.
We
headed to Coolidge and put the money towards a motel. I spent the evening making
sense of my new country. Although I often scared the living daylights out of
children in rural Africa, China, Asia and South America, I never, for the life
of me, expected to threaten a big burly man in lily-white America, hahaha! Clearly,
I was missing something.
10-13
February - Coolidge – Phoenix - 97km
Our
path soon reached Phoenix’s outskirts. Still, it was an additional 50
kilometres to the city centre, considerably further than expected. Fortunately,
it was Sunday, making it comfortable riding into the city centre via a
cycle-friendly path, which instantly endeared me to Phoenix and the USA.
The
Phoenix hostel turned out to be a good enough place to park off. The small
hostel had an old trailer outback that one could rent at $25 a night
(considered a bargain). Even if tiny, the trailer was excellent, as it had a
radio and heater, which made for a cosy, old-fashioned stay. The following day,
we searched for an outdoor store and bicycle shop. Ernest found a sleeping mat,
and I bought a pair of shoes to keep my feet warm in the dreadful weather.
The
hostel was comfortable, and staying one more day came naturally, providing time
for laundry and waterproofing the tents. Upon my stroll around town, I was intrigued
that I found no one walking about. Of course, being midday on a Wednesday, one
would expect to see hordes of people. Still, there wasn’t a soul in sight, only
the odd person pushing his trolley and talking to himself. People who drove
past looked at me, clearly thinking: “You poor fool, don’t you know no one
walks here?” The place resembled a giant, deserted movie set… how strange. The sole
person I met on my meander was a sad-looking teenager who wanted to buy a joint
from me. I would’ve gladly given it to him if I had any, as it sure looked like
he needed it.
Phoenix,
nevertheless, had incredible murals. A saunter around Roosevelt Row, the heart
of the Downtown Arts District, revealed a fascinating side of Phoenix. I
further located the Phoenix Library, an attractive steel, aluminium, concrete
and glass building: an impressive installation by anyone’s standards. The
interior was no less remarkable and featured plenty of light and glass
elevators, aptly known as the Crystal Canyon.
14
February - Phoenix – Wickenburg - 103km
We
left Phoenix via the Arizona Canal cycleway on a beautiful, sunny day. What a pleasant
and relaxing way to leave a busy city. The following day, we learned a body was
found in the canal. Eish, it's a good thing I didn’t see that. Once the path ended,
a cyclist out on his daily exercise offered to show us a more pleasant route to
the highway. He accompanied us, which took him way off his original course—how
kind of him?
Later,
and after a gradual uphill slog, an RV campsite in Wickenburg signalled the end
of the day’s ride. True to this area’s small towns, Wickenburg resembled an old
Wild West town sporting a historical centre. Old-fashioned-looking shops and inns
lined the streets and the lifelike displays resembled a movie set. The
Americans were super friendly, and the campsite owner was no exception. We had
a long chat, after which he offered us beer and the use of the electrical plug
in his office.
15
February - Wickenburg – Peeples Valley - 50km
The wintry
conditions made for a slow start, and it took forever to defrost, pack up and
get going. A steady climb led out of Wickenburg, and the going was slower than
usual. The area was vast and desolate, dotted with hamlets and interesting
people. At the tiny settlement of Congress, one of the old-timers, Dave, gave
us the history and told us about the many Snowbirds still prospecting gold in
the valley. There’s still gold in them hills, they say.
Americans
appeared genuinely interested in our doing and often came to enquire. Mostly, they
were amazed at where we came from and how long we’d been travelling. We
continued up the hill past the quaint village of Yarnell and onto Peeples
Valley. That night’s camp was behind an abandoned bar, where we settled for another
frosty night.
16
February - Peeples Valley – Prescott - 67km
You
can imagine Ernest's and my surprise when we emerged to find our tents covered
in ice. It took defrosting in the morning sun before embarking on our ride over
the mountain. Soon afterwards, our path turned onto a rural road past more “movie
set” settlements, to the likes of Kirkland and Skull Valley. Kirkland was no
more than a historic inn, bar and store, and Skull Valley was no larger but at
least sported petrol and a shop.
The
state of Arizona is a rugged desert-like area featuring rough mountains. The
road continued uphill, and albeit sunny, plenty of snow remained along the southern
slopes and shady sides of the highway. As a result, slow progress was made
climbing up to Prescott, situated 1600 metres above sea level.
17-21
February - Prescott
The day was whiled away by drinking at
the Palace Saloon – a famous bar on Whiskey Row. The story goes that on 14 July
1900, a fire raged through Whiskey Row. Quick-thinking locals managed to save
the 24ft Brunswick Bar. After lugging the solid oak bar across the street,
these resourceful citizens resumed the party while the fire raged. Hahaha, I
can see it in my mind’s eye. The Palace Saloon was rebuilt in 1901 and is still
in use.
Winter storm Q moved in, and we decided
to hunker down and wait out the weather. There wasn’t much to do but visit
museums in conditions like that. During the night, it started snowing, and in
the morning, the town was transformed into a snowy wonderland. Albeit lovely, I
needed to get out of there in a hurry. The sub-zero temperatures weren’t conducive
to cycle touring, and I wondered how to move on from there.
22
February - Prescott – Ash Fork - 85km
After
five days we emerged to blue skies, and hurriedly loaded the bikes and set off
in the arctic conditions. Apart from the weather, the ride was magnificent,
past granite boulders and scenic lakes. However, riding wasn’t easy as it was uphill
into a chilly wind.
Upon
reaching Ash Fork, I weakened at the thought of a warm room and a shower. Opting
for a motel along historic Route 66 didn't take an awful lot of convincing. I've
heard and read much about this historic route and was delighted to be in tiny Ash
Fork. The settlement had all the paraphernalia, such as vintage cars, old-style
neon-ad signs and labelled gimmicks, to the likes of cigarette lighters, etc.
23-24
February - Ash Fork – Seligman - 44km
The
following morning, the road headed further west along Route 66. Built in 1926, it
stretches from Los Angeles to Chicago. Now nicknamed The Mother Road, it was fun,
kitschy, retro - call it whatever you like - and I loved it.
In
the icy breeze, we finished the day’s ride in the small town of Seligman. Give
me a retro motel, a restaurant called The Road Kill Café, a bar playing music
from the sixties, and I’m staying put.
An
exceedingly cold wind blew at 47 kilometres per hour the next day. Staying an
additional day was thus a no-brainer as well as a pleasure. Who would’ve
thought it would get this cold in Arizona? I thought it was more desert-like. It
reminded me never to assume anything in a new country!
25
February - Seligman – Truxton BLM - 84km
The
sun came out and the breeze subsided, allowing us to be on our way. Route 66 ran
in a westerly direction past Grand Canyon Caverns, a fascinating settlement (think
cowboys, hats, boots and guns) to Truxton. The road ran through the Hualapai
Indian Reservation and past the tribal capital of Peach Springs. At around midday,
the wind picked up, and it took grinding into a frigid breeze to reach our
destination.
The
good thing about that part of the world was that they have what is known as BLM-land,
where one can camp free. We located the gate, a place the store owner in
Truxton told us about and turned in. All one needed to do was fill in the
register and take a permit. Upon leaving, you remove your garbage and close the
gate. How cool is that? After sunset, it again became downright freezing, and we
hurriedly lit a fire. Like cowboys, we sat by the fire, eating tinned beans,
corned hash beef and tortilla chips.
As
soon as the fire died, I dived into the tent. I wore practically everything I
possessed, but I needed more. In the morning, I discovered my water bottle (in
the tent, next to me) frozen solid and realised it wasn’t my imagination that the
weather was freezing.
26
February - Truxton – Kingman - 63km
We
waited until we were defrosted by the sun, had our coffee and pressed on past
vast plains of nothingness apart from tumbleweeds.
No
cyclist will cycle past Hackberry as it has an intriguing general store. Here, the
owner told Ernest to move his bike, as it may fall over and onto his antique Corvette,
and he didn’t feel like shooting anyone that day. Sporting a gun and
threatening people seemed a God-given right in this neck of the woods.
A
tailwind blew us into Kingman and marked the time to say goodbye to Route 66
and head north towards Las Vegas, which I believed was considerably warmer.
27
February - Kingman – Chloride - 38km
The
road out of Kingman ran over the Coyote Pass. Once over the high point, it led straight
into a biting wind. After grinding into this gusty breeze, we made a diversion to
inspect the old mining town of Chloride.
Chloride
was once an area where more than 70 mines produced silver, lead, zinc,
turquoise, and gold. Today, Chloride is a bit of a ghost town, revealing
eccentric people and an ensemble of old buildings, including the jail and
Arizona’s oldest continuously operating post office. A room at the Sheps Miners
Inn (an old adobe-style miners living quarters) became home that night. It allowed
for exploring the remainder of the village at leisure.
Nevada
28
February - Chloride – Lake Mead - 103km
The next
day became another day of churning into the wind, past the small settlement of
Rosie’s Den and a burger joint where one could shoot a machine gun while waiting
for your burger order. I kid you not!
Once
over the Householders Pass, the road descended to the Hoover Dam and the Lake
Mead Recreation Area, a vast area revealing stunning scenery. The weather was significantly
milder at the lake. The sun came out, and it was possible to go sleeveless for
the first time in a long while. We settled for camping at Boulder Beach, a
basic campsite along the lake. Regrettably, by the time we slinked in, the camp
was crowded. Searching for a spot, Tom, a fellow camper from Alaska, kindly
offered to share his site.
The
camping area was lovely, albeit without showers. The following morning’s ride
took us along the Old Railway Trail to the Hoover Dam. The dam, built in the
1930s, is a true masterpiece and, I’m sure, the largest dam in the world.
1-4
March - Lake Mead – Las Vegas - 51km
The
weather was gorgeous as the River Mountains Loop Trail took us toward Las
Vegas. Although Nevada is the most arid state in the USA, the landscape was
stunning and the colours unique. Even from a distance, one could see Vegas, and
its tightly packed high-rise strip, a shimmering mirage in the distance.
A
pleasurable ride led right into the city and I was excited to explore the famous
Sin City. We encountered a fantasyland of Egyptian Pyramids, Paris’s Eiffel
Tower, Venetian canals, and New York’s skyline. Casino after casino, hotel upon
hotel, amazing shows, dancing water fountains, neon lights, slot machines,
limousines, Ferraris, sleazy-looking alleyways, drunks and people out of luck. It’s
a crazy place where the roll of the dice decides your fortune. However, our
needs were significantly different, and we discovered a reasonably priced motel
where one could take a necessary shower.
I
was impressed by the outrageous architecture, from The Flamingo (the oldest
hotel on the strip) to the MGM, the world’s largest hotel (at the time). I roamed
about, stunned by the opulence and decadence while staring in amazement at the
amount of money spent.
Of
course, I had to take a pic of Las Vegas’ famous (and most photographed)
landmark, the welcome sign. The “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign has been the city’s
most significant landmark since its construction in 1959.
Another
picture I had to take was of the bronze sculpture in front of the Rivera
Casino. The Crazy Girls performers (including deceased transgender showgirl Jahna
Steele) are now immortalised in a bronze sculpture out front. Their thong-clad
buttocks have been worn to a shine by patrons’ hands, apparently as good luck
in the casino.
5-6
March - Las Vegas – Primm – 70km
After
four nights we were all ‘Vegas-ed out’ (and fortunately without getting
hitched), it felt good to return to the familiar biking routine of riding,
camping and moving on. So, instead of heading north, Ernest and I headed west
in the direction of San Francisco, trying to stay in the USA’s warmer part.
Despite
the weather forecast of high winds, it became a lovely sunny day. The wind, nevertheless,
abruptly picked up, and I called it a day by the time we crawled into Primm
(and upon noticing a steep climb ahead). The tiny settlement of Primm came as a
surprise as it consisted solely of three casinos and two petrol stations. A
bigger surprise was that accommodation was relatively inexpensive. A massive room
offering two double beds and an equally enormous bathroom came at a bargain
price. I guess they counted on guests spending their hard-earned dollars in
their casino. All this luxury was taken full advantage of, including a long and
luxurious bath.
It seemed
another winter storm had rolled in as we woke to a howling gale and decided to,
again, overnight in Primm. There wasn’t much to do as we don’t gamble, although
I thought the room was equal to winning the jackpot. The casino further displayed
the remarkable story of Bonny and Clyde, including their blood-splattered,
bullet-ridden car. Gosh, what a life those two had!
7-8
March - Primm – Baker - 80km
Even
though the weather forecast was less than perfect, we set out in the direction
of Baker. Our path ran through the Mojave Desert, the lowest and hottest in North
America. Once up and over the pass, it became freezing, but luckily, without
any rain or snow.
Our
route spat us out in Baker, which marked the well-known Death Valley Reserve
entrance. Baker was a small community sporting a population of approximately
750. The town’s most remarkable feature was a 41-metre thermometer, known as
the world’s tallest thermometer, visible from miles away (but sadly not
operational). It commemorated the hottest temperature recorded in the United
States, 134°F (56.7°C), measured in nearby Death Valley in 1913. Unfortunately
(or fortunately), the day was nowhere close to that, as snow was forecasted for
that night. Baker was further known for strange UFO sightings and it was not odd
to find alien displays around town.
It
started raining during the night, and drizzled on and off all through the
morning, so we decided it was best to stay put.
California
9
March - Baker – Yermo - 95km
It
was 9th March when we departed tiny Baker and pushed on towards the
coast following the I-15, which runs through the Mojave Desert.
The barren landscape didn’t offer much of interest, with only a few dunes and
Joshua trees visible throughout the day. Mercifully, we encountered no
headwind, as I couldn’t even begin to imagine riding that stretch into the
wind. As there wasn’t much to look at, one
couldn’t help but notice a sign for Zzyza Rd. Initially, it seemed like a name
of last resort, but it turns out that it is a made-up name created by Curtis
Howe Springer in 1944 to distinguish it as the last word in the English
language. It was certainly an interesting discovery!
As there wasn’t a heck of a lot to look at, one couldn’t
help but notice the unusual, discarded items alongside the
road. Besides the usual empty beer cans, there were also more unique items like
shoes, clothing including underwear, household items like brooms, towels and even
a pillow. One can’t help but wonder how it landed next to the highway. However,
on that day, I also spotted a dildo. I could entertain myself for hours on end,
imagining amusing ways in which it could’ve landed there, which left me
giggling for the remainder of the way. Did I mention there wasn’t much
happening along the way?
Yermo
sported a formal campsite and an excellent place to call it a day. But, unfortunately,
it became terribly cold once the sun had set. So, I zipped up my tent and had
an early night.
10
March - Yermo – Boron - 75km
Breakfast
consisted of a sandwich and coffee, after which we pedalled onwards. Like the
previous day, there wasn’t much apart from miles and miles of nothingness, low
shrubs, and Joshua trees. Even the settlements on the map were nothing but a
few abandoned buildings. Strangely, it became a good day. The weather was comfortably
warm, with just a slight breeze, and I was grateful for small mercies. I got
into a sort of rhythm: the wheels spun smoothly, making a soft, whirring sound upon
the tarmac and the kilometres flew by.
In
the afternoon, a campsite at Boron lured us in as it was inexpensive and more
comfortable than camping wild. A nearby supermarket provided ingredients, and
Ernest concocted hamburgers accompanied by a salad; we were, after all, in the land
of the hamburger.
11
March - Boron – Mojave - 55km
Villages
along the way can, at times, be tiny treasures. Boron was one of them and was known
for the nearby Borax mine and The 20-Mule Team Museum, which covered the mine’s
history, including the mules that had to transport the rocks over the mountains
to Bakersfield.
Next
door, the aerospace museum was equally informative and offered items and
pictures relating to the nearby Edwards Air Force Base. On display was the old
computer used in the early development of the space shuttle. These IBM
computers initially, and surprisingly, only had about 35 kilobytes of magnetic
core memory each. They had no hard disk drive and loaded software from magnetic
tape cartridges.
We
returned and continued past the famous Edwards AFB. There was indeed nothing
but desert and access to a few military bases.
Fifty-five
kilometres further was Mojave, a sad-looking town, where equally sad-looking
people wandered the streets talking to themselves. Mojave was a typical
crossroads town and home to a few motels, liquor stores, and little else. In
keeping with the mood of the place, it had a substantial aeroplane graveyard on
the outskirts of town.
12-14
March – Mojave – Bakersfield - 93km
The
road took us a couple of thousand feet up through the Tehachapi Mountains,
passing hundreds of wind turbines. The small town of Tehachapi came as a
pleasant surprise. Tehachapi was a historical village (established in 1860) and
the oldest settlement in the Tehachapi Valley. The Apple Shed & Fudge
Factory impressed with its fudge, which I thought was the best in the world, or
maybe our sugar levels were low, as I scoffed quite a few.
The
hills around Tehachapi are home to California’s largest wind resource areas,
hence all the turbines. Fuelled by the fudge, we flew down the pass, past the
famous Tehachapi Railway Loop. I learned that the Loop was an engineering feat
in its time and was built by the Southern Pacific Railroad in 1874. The first
train to use it arrived in Los Angeles in 1876. Our path passed over itself along
the Loop, gaining a mere 23-metre elevation as the track climbed at a steady 2%
grade. It’s said a train more than 1,200 metres long can pass over itself in
the Loop.
We
sped further down the pass into the San Joaquin Valley and the famous Tule fog.
In the process, we had left the desert and encountered green meadows,
farmlands, and vineyards. Bakersfield had a good campsite and friendly campers.
Ernest
needed a bike shop and stayed one more day. During the day, we met workers
doing demolition work in the area. They invited us to supper, and it became a pleasant
evening. Afterwards, we retreated to our tents sporting two brand-new
California Wrecking caps and with a Miley Cyrus song on our minds.
15
March - Bakersfield – Blackwells Corner - 111km
Our
route crossed California’s Central Valley on a beautiful, sunny day. The area
was very much the heart of the agricultural area, evident in the vast fruit
plantations, all in full bloom. Spring was in the air, and it became a pleasant
cycle along Route 58 and north via Route 33. Once on Route 33, the fruit
plantations disappeared altogether, and we found ourselves amid an oil
exploration area where thousands of oil derricks pumped away silently.
It
was dark upon arriving at Blackwells Corner, and we pitched our tents at a gas
station.
16
March - Blackwells Corner – Paso Robles - 95km
Our
early start was due to not wanting the gas station owner to arrive and find us
still sleeping. The little shop provided coffee and a muffin, and it turned
into a beautiful day past more fruit plantations.
A
surprising find was the junction where James Dean had his fatal car accident at
the tender age of 24. Nevertheless, we continued and soon arrived at pretty
Paso Robles. Its abundance of wineries, olive oil, and almond orchards reminded
me of my home country, especially the Stellenbosch region.
17-20
March - Paso Robles – San Luis Obispo - 55km
Ernest’s
front rim broke and, fortunately, it wasn’t far to San Luis Obispo, which had a
bicycle shop. The ride was fascinating past typical small American settlements
like Templeton, Atascadero and Santa Margarita to historic San Luis Obispo. A
well-stocked bicycle shop along the main road provided the necessary items.
Ernest spent the rest of the evening spoking his new rim.
Seeing
we were staying in a reasonably priced abode, we thought it a good place and
time to organise new bank cards. Making an international phone call appeared
easiest and less expensive using a phone card. I used the opportunity to hand
my camera in for cleaning as I discovered a very competent camera shop, The
Photo Shop, and what a difference it made.
21-22
March – San Luis Obispo – Morro Bay - 35km
Packing
up was at leisure to pedal the short distance to the Californian Coast and
Morro Bay, a lovely spot where camping was at the Morro Bay State Park and where
we experienced our first hike&bike. If hiking or travelling by bike, one could
camp at these parks at $5 per person, a considerable bargain.
Seeing
the bank was asked to send the bank cards to The Motel 6 in San Simeon, we operated
in low gear as San Simeon was a short distance away. The card was said to take seven
working days. Still, it was nearing Easter Weekend, and I imagined it could
take substantially longer. Thus, we stayed in Morro Bay for an extra day.
The Bay’s
most prominent landmark is Morro Rock. The spectacular rock at the entrance to
Morro Bay is a 23-million-year-old volcanic plug. Nevertheless, I found it even
more captivating that Morro Rock forms part of what is known as The Nine
Sisters. The Nine Sisters are extinct volcano peaks that run in an
approximately twelve-mile line, stretching from Morro Bay to San Luis Obispo.
23
March - Morro Bay - Montana de Oro State Park - 25km
A short
but hilly ride led to Montana de Oro State Park. It seemed the Californian
Coast would take considerably longer to traverse as it was graced by many fantastic
parks.
Montana
de Oro State Park is rugged, magnificent, and remote. The camping was rustic
without electricity or showers but offered water and toilets. Nature was the
drawcard here; one could hike or bike the park’s many trails. It was a pleasure
to be off the bicycle and to stroll along these scenic trails rich in birdlife.
24-25
March - Montana de Oro State Park – Morro Bay - 25km
Following
a long chat with a fellow biker, we packed up and returned to Morro Bay. I was desperate
for a shower and booked into a Motel 6 to do internet and laundry. So
comfortable was it, that staying an additional day came naturally. I thought of
having a haircut, but the salons were closed on Mondays, and nothing came of
that.
26
March-2 April - Morro Bay – San Simeon State Park - 35km
It
was time to move along and find another state park. In the process, we cycled past
Nit Wit Ridge in Cambria. Nit Wit Ridge is built entirely of items collected over
fifty years. The builder was the eccentric Cambria garbage collector and junk
hauler Arthur Harold Beal.
It appeared
it never became hot along that stretch of coast. Even though the days were
sunny, fog moved in from the ocean, making for nippy evenings.
The
San Simeon State Park was home for two nights before moving to a Motel 6 in San
Simeon to collect the cards. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I learned my
assumption that the cards would arrive on time was clearly incorrect, as nothing
arrived, and we retreated to the campsite.
A
further two nights were spent camping and, by Monday, we returned to the Motel,
but the cards still weren’t there.
3-4
April - San Simeon
After
days of waiting for the bank cards to arrive, I was getting itchy feet. There wasn’t
an awful lot to do in San Simeon except riding into Cambria town to the
supermarket. By this time, we’d had enough of watching TV and I phoned the
bank, only to find the cards hadn’t even been sent. I arranged for them to be delivered
to Fort Bragg, further north, but doubted whether it would materialise.
5
April - San Simeon – Plaskett Creek - 56km
The San
Simeon/Plaskett Creek’s stretch was particularly stunning - the road ran next
to the ocean, climbed high up against the cliffs’ side, and then descended to
the beach. Sadly, the breeze picked up and came gusting around corners, making
it tricky to keep the bicycle in a straight line on such a narrow road.
We observed
elephant seals basking in the sun, unperturbed by the staring tourists. We went
past lighthouses and fields of Californian poppies, and up and down hills.
Plaskett
Creek, a gorgeous forest campsite, provided a bike&hike section, making overnighting
easy. At camp was also Marlene, whom we met at San Simeon Park. What an
extraordinary, independent lady. She travelled by bicycle and preferred forest
areas to avoid people. Although walking aided by two walking sticks, she seemed
fine once on the bike. I didn’t think she had a home; this was her life. Immensely
shy, I was surprised she appeared pleased to see us as a big toothless grin
crossed her face.
6
April - Plaskett Creek – Big Sur - 55km
It
was past 11h00 before leaving the campsite to bike the famous Big Sur
coastline. The scenery was sublime and revealed big hills, making it slow going.
Nevertheless, numerous stops were made to admire the view, resulting in it
being past 5 pm before we slinked into Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park.
The
park was quite magnificent, and the campsite was amongst colossal redwood
trees. These trees can grow 350 feet high and are between 1000 and 2000 years
old.
7-8
April - Big Sur State Park – Monterey - 68km
Our
leisurely departure was due to chatting with other cyclists, and it was almost
midday before we finally got underway. I expected the road to flatten out a tad,
but that wasn’t the case, and a few good climbs remained. Nevertheless, the landscape
was no less spectacular than the previous days. Our path climbed high up against
the mountainside and offered stunning ocean vistas. The route crossed
spectacular high-arch bridges before reaching Carmel (home of the renowned
Pebble Beach golf course).
Local
advice told us to follow the scenic route, which caused us to become lost in
the misty forest hills but, eventually, it spat us out at Monterey in the
gathering dusk. Once settled in a less expensive motel, shopping was at Trader
Joe’s, and we put our feet up in front of the TV.
Being
Ernest’s birthday, we stayed an extra day. I surmised I was being taken for a
fool as he treated himself to 4 x 1.2 litres of beer. And that for a man who
claimed he had no money for either food or accommodation.
9
April - Monterey – New Brighton State Beach - 88km
The
road north ran past Aptos to Soquel, past strawberry fields and fields of
artichoke. I never knew how artichoke grew or that it had many uses. Regrettably,
bicycles weren’t allowed on the highway. Instead, we took a minor route through
farmlands, where vendors sold fresh fruit and vegetables. We couldn’t resist
and stocked up.
Shortly
afterwards, the road spat us out at the marvellously located New Brighton Beach
Park atop cliffs high above the beach.
10
April - New Brighton Beach State Beach – Rossi RD - 59km
The next
day the time was past 11h00 before we finally departed into a frosty wind, past
Santa Cruz and Davenport. My word, could this wind blow! I nearly got blown off
the bicycle before taking a side road to follow a smaller path.
This
diversion turned out surprisingly scenic as the trail led past farms and up a
steep hill, through dense forest and giant redwood trees, until eventually
meeting up with the main road. Still, we battled into what felt like a gale and
finally pulled into Rossi RD to set up camp. Unfortunately, the dreadful
weather persisted throughout the night.
11
April - Rossi RD – Half Moon Bay - 44km
Trying
to get going earlier to escape the horrendous weather, was to no avail as the
day, again, was marred by a wind that blew us all over the place. It took
hanging on for dear life to the handlebars not to get blown off the road.
A
short day of riding took us to Half Moon Bay, which offered camping. The few
trees barely protected us from the ferocious wind, and pitching a tent became an
acrobatic act. Afterwards there wasn’t a great deal to do but hide in the
tents.
12-19
April - Half Moon Bay – San Francisco - 55km
Mercifully,
the wind eased during the night and the day dawned calm and sunny. A brilliant fog-free
ride led into San Francisco along a bicycle path that ran through the Golden
Gate Park, providing stunning views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the city and
Alcatraz Island.
San
Francisco offered more than anticipated; the more one wandered about, the more was
discovered. Ernest remained horizontal while I ate steamed buns in Chinatown,
drank coffee in Little Italy, and shopped for bracelets at The Haight’s hippie
district, still revealing a surprisingly ’60s vibe. Luckily, I was on foot ascending
Russian Hill and descending it via the switchbacks, eight sharp bends at a forty-degree
slope.
A significant
part of the city was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire. Still, stunning
Victorian architecture remained, including the famous painted ladies - a row of
Victorian houses with the San Francisco skyline as a backdrop.
I
made good use of the city's various transport modes, from the iconic cable, in service
since 1873, to the reasonably priced streetcars.
Despite
the fog rolling in, I trundled about the waterfront, which offered a perfect
view of the infamous Alcatraz Prison. From the mid-1930s until the mid-1960s,
Alcatraz was America’s premier, maximum-security prison. I find it thought-provoking
that Native Americans historically kept far away from the island, calling it
Evil Island and believing it cursed. I’m sure that many inmates would agree.
With
a start, I realised, upon entering the country, the border control staff had
given me a three-month pass instead of the six months they had given Ernest. It
meant I had less than a month to leave the country. Strangely, this was a
blessing in disguise as my relationship with Ernest was becoming offensive, and
it was time for me to move along. It's strange how abusive relationships creep
up on one. Though plenty of time remained on my visa, I needed to put distance
between us, and it would be more than a year before I returned to the USA. I
wisely bought a ticket to South Africa, discarded most of my belongings, and
kept only the items of utmost importance. Following an exceptionally long and
tedious flight, I reached South Africa two days later.
It
was time to take stock and decide which direction to go. I vowed never to find
myself on the same continent as Ernest. First, I looked forward to catching up
on all the gossip, having a braai or two, and enjoying the excellent South
African wines.
After
a long wait, my bank card finally arrived, and I was delighted to continue my
journey. Feeling free as a bird I flew via Dubai and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and
onto Borneo, the third-largest island in the world and the largest in Asia. I
was, understandably, bursting with excitement and couldn’t wait to get going.
