We were at mere kilometers from the border to the mythical State of California. A place that most people, even us, associated with abundant sunshine and immense golden sandy beaches, full of curvy blonds in bikinis with amazing bodies. That postcard, taken from an episode of Baywatch, had little to do with our reality. Every time I asked for those components of the California landscape, the answer was the same: at the southern end of the State. Would that be true or would they tell me something else once we get there?



By now, California gave us its welcome with another natural wonder: the fabulous Redwoods. Close relatives of the Giant Sequoias, their huge and textured trunks rose majestically to dazzling heights up to 70 meters and the oldest ones showed wide bodies of several meters in diameter. Our first encounter with these nature colossi happened by chance, when I made a mistake looking for an alternative road to the noisy and busy route 101. It was the ideal place to celebrate the passing of the 7000 km!!! (4375 miles)

The previous night to leaving Oregon, we met a couple of Americans in the Harris Beach campground: they were Matt Baumeisster and Scott Colburn.They were riding from the northernmost point in Alaska and were going to Argentina! They were the 5th and 6th cyclist that I met in person from the almost 20 that I knew at that time that are riding on similar trips with that destination. We would cross paths everyday along the road, sharing some roads and campgrounds during the nights. That afternoon we were riding with Matt, who I couldn’t 
Get how he was going to ride along the whole continent with such a small gear!!

Even though California had a budget-conscious system of sites for hiker-bikers, the State Parks campgrounds were more spread out and sparse than the ones on the Oregon coast. The price was 3 dollars, but the showers were not included, costing 50 cents for 5 minutes. Nothing to complaint about!

That day we had to ride almost 120 km to reach the first campground in the middle of the Redwood National Park. With the shortening of the day and less daytime hours with the impeding arrival of winter, it was hard to go great distances without risking arriving to our destinations in the middle of the night. With the long climbs that we had to face after passing Crescent City, lthe night was over us, until it swallowed us in its darkness. Thankfully, we were riding on a secondary road through the Redwoods forest and with the limited light for our flashlights; we were looking for the campsite while moving among gigantic ghostly silhouettes that were guarding the route. We arrived in the middle of a dense fog that didn’t let us see beyond our noses and that’s where we found Scott, who arrived a few hours earlier.

The weather had no mercy on us and the next day we had an impressive storm over us. Thankfully we had decided to spend the day touring the amazing forests of redwoods that surrounded us and we could take refuge in our tents when the storm was at its peak.

October 10th was one of those days made to remember. Even though the interaction with people was minimal in comparison with what we experienced in Canada, this time it was the exception. We had a late start with Oscar because putting everything away when it was wet was slower than usual. We had stopped for a few moments to contemplate the ocean at a vista point at the side of the road, when a nice lady, Nancy, came toward us and offered two slices of raspberry pie that made our mouths to start watering. What a sight!! We made them disappear in less than two minutes!!!

That afternoon we were tired from riding a tedious section of the highway and we entered a twisting ocean-side road searching for our campsite. But the kilometers kept passing more than expected, so we decided to ask where it was. We learned that we had passed it for a long shot and the mere idea of going back that up-and-down road with the sun coming down took a toll on our spirits. Our feeling must had been obvious because Mathew, the guy we were talking to, invited us to set up camp in the yard of his café Larrupin. Not only that, after a soothing hot shower, he treated us with a dinner abundant in proteins that we ended with exquisite espresso shots! What else could we ask for???

Once again, a long day of pedaling was waiting for us. The 101 was a big highway infested with roaring vehicles, making the riding an unpleasant experience. We had a few climbs ahead of us and the weather was still undecided between clouds, sunshine or rain. But the ultimate goal was worth it: the Giants Avenue, the last redwood area where the old local road went through, immersed in a sea of centennial trees. We arrived when the afternoon was lowering its curtains and the light was scarce. The nightfall would take us as its hostages once again, but this time we were out of the crazy highway traffic and the trail was almost exclusively for us. The penumbrae turned into darkness and the same as the previous days, the pale lights of our headlights were our lighthouses among the huge trunks that capriciously determined the direction of the road.

To see such a spectacle with the morning light was even more impressive. The moving forward turned so slow due to the amount of stops that we took to snap pictures that we had to camp in the next campsite, not too far from where we had started that morning. It was shame to know that only 4% of the original redwoods were still standing. And the uncontrolled action of the first settlers was evident from the absence of older trees. The only confirmation of its existence was the huge bases of their trunks, cut down a few decades ago.

That afternoon we entered Garberville with the idea of replenishing our poor food supplies. All of the sudden it was like we went back to the 60’s, at the “flower power” peak. The hippies were everywhere: dreadlocks, pendants, earrings, lose and colorful clothes, worn out backpacks and guitars on their shoulders, the characters that walked those streets looked like they were on their way to a new Woodstock. The sidewalks were crowded with creatures that asked fro help to support their life style with a smile and a “peace, man” as an exchange. The atmosphere was calm and relaxed: everything was all right!!! We were finally witnesses to the classic stereotype of this area.

We were anxious because the time to get away from the congested 101 was close and we would be able to ride that quieter route 1, which wiggled along the sea. But first we had to pass the Leggett hill, a slow and sinuous climb that required all our breath to surpass it. And as everything that goes up must come down, the descent promised to be more than exciting and crazy: the road dived down into the dense woods in a mad zigzagging of close turns that tested the bike stability when taken at non-recommendable speeds. I had to avoid going into the opposite lane to stay away from incoming traffic and at the same time I had to stay on the road, because the trees were the only contention barrier: it was great!!! I saw the traffic signs announcing the maximum speeds for cars: 25 mph, 15, 10….!! I better use the breaks to avoid going in a straight line into the trees. Oscar, with a bit of commons sense, was a bit slower, waiting to find my remains splattered somewhere at any time…

On the coast, another natural spectacle was waiting for us: the cliffs that fell abruptly into a sea that mixed intense blue colors with emerald green tones. And on the sky one could see a patch of cotton-like clouds that seemed to be part of a huge wave that threatened to swallow the coast. It wasn’t too much time until we were engulfed by a dense and humid fog that gained terrain and gave a ghostly touch to the landscape. At times, the sun reappeared and the stops to contemplate the ocean became an obligation. That night we reconnected with Matt a Scott at the Mac Kerricher State Park. A neighboring family offered us some meat and we had a protein party that we hadn’t have in a while.

After getting more supplies in Fort Bragg, we continued our ride along route 1. The sun decided to appear in the afternoon, warming up our spirits and recharging our batteries to keep going. We passed a series of small town where one could breathe a liberal and pacifist atmosphere. In front of Casper we came across a very peculiar manifestation: three Vietnam veterans and one Korean veteran were branding flags with the peace sign and waved to the passing cars with “V” signs. We stopped to chat with them and they gave us a nice collection of pins and stickers to add to our bikes. They were doing this little pro-peace demonstration every Sunday for years without interruptions. It was definitively inspiring.

We continued riding on a route that alternated sections along the ocean, with impressive views of cliffs falling into the sea, where rocky formations abounded and peaked from the water as skeletons of and old shipwreck. The eucalyptus tress started to be a constant in the nearby vegetation and their piercing smell revitalized my lungs when passing next to them. I couldn’t help feeling a bit of homesickness when smelling the characteristic aroma of Laguna de los Padres (Padres Lake), where I spent many hours when I was training crew with the Atlantis Club.

At times, the road veered inland and the ochre pastures were omnipresent, where cows and sheep satiated their endless appetite. The demands of the road were high, because the climbs and descents were more frequent. Every passing of a waterway that reached the ocean meant vertiginous descents with turns and counter-turns until reaching the water head. Then, a 180 degrees turns stopped the bikes almost completely and we had to start climbing again until recuperating what we descended on the other side of the waterway. Enough to bake any legs….

That night we arrived to Manchester State Park and for an external observer, it must have been like a great cyclist meeting. The Hiker-Biker site was packed with travelers like us. There, we met Liz and Laurie, from England, Matt and Shelly, from the US and Thom, from New Zealand. In total we were 9 crazy souls sharing the small place where we shared our travel experiences and several anecdotes.

Our ambitious plan to continue was trashed by the weather conditions the next day. The starry and clear night had changed to a gray and windy day that welcomed us with a good dose of cold rain. Everyone was riding at their own pace and we were crossing paths successively with the couples that we had met the previous night. Thom had a more constrained timetable and with his miniscule bike “Friday” he had left early with the goal of riding more than 150 km. He looked like he was capable and with enough strength to reach his goal.

But for us that was a bit too much and tired of the grey weather, we made a stop earlier at Stillwater State Park. With Matt and Scott we found out that in that place the prices were more expensive: 5 dollars per tent and 1.50 for shower. We were the only ones there with the exception of the manager that clearly expressed his lack of interest in personal interaction with a sign saying “Do not disturb, Out of service”. Were could we finds 6 coins (25 cents each) for the showers? We were very cold and we barely had the usual 50 cents required. It was then that Oscar discovered the sink to wash dished with a faucet that dispensed the appreciated hot water that we were looking for. There weren’t any doubts. First Oscar, then Matt and finally me (Scott was resting in his tent, ignoring the situation outside), we took turns to climb the sink and take a nice revitalizing bath. The problem was when I saw the ranger’s truck passing by. Like if I was powered by springs, I jumped out of the sink and went into the bathroom hoping that he didn’t see me.  A bit later I heard that he was leaving and when I went to the campsite, the guys we laughing. The ranger was very strict and after rigorously charging them for the campsite, he casually told them: “by the way, tell you friend that if I catch him again naked in the sink, I’ll arrest him for indecent exposure. It won’t be the first time that we arrest someone there”. I just say, would it be because nobody expects to have 6 coins for a simple shower?

The weather didn’t improve at all and by next morning a dense fog was over our heads. A bit after packing the bikes it started drizzling. In theory we were hoping to ride about 100 km that suddenly they become an impossible utopia. The drizzle became rain and once wet, the wind was cold to the bone. On top of that, the road didn’t let up either. A climb through a part of the road on construction let us immersed in a fog that made us invisible next to the cliffs that fell abruptly into the ocean. The descent wit its usual zigzagging and the wet road, made things more complicated. Biting my mouth and trying not to shiver, I tried to control the bike that wasn’t breaking no matter how much I tried. The break-pads were happily sliding through the aluminum tires and there was no way to stop the movement. It was a miracle that I didn’t end up stamped against a guardrail or thrown out of the road in close turn. I such conditions it was crazy to continue riding, and it seems that everyone had the same idea. As soon as we got to the next town, we stopped to look for refuge.

In Jenner, we found a second home at Emma’s Café, were Lorraine resurrected us with a few great cups of steaming coffee. We were dripping water everywhere and in a few minutes we invaded the place with our wet belongings. There, we met Mike, who along his friends, gave us good conversation and even gave us some zip-lock bags to put out cameras away and prevent them from getting wetter.  Without realizing it, the time passed by and we spent 3 hours in that warm piece of paradise.

When the conditions started to slowly improve we decide to retire and we reached the Bodega Bay campground. The sun came back and it was a pleasure to camp in the sandy terrain while drying the tent up, which was wet for weeks and it already started to smell bad!! From riding all the time in wet conditions I developed athlete foot and my hands were peeling. I couldn’t wait to get to the desert to get more sun and dryness guaranteed.

We had a couple of more days before arriving to San Francisco, an emblematic point in the trip along the west coast of the US. In the last stretch it was vital to have the guide book I had, because otherwise it would’ve been impossible to go into that urban jungle avoiding the forbidden highway 101 and without getting lost in the maze of secondary roads. He had said goodbyes to Scott and Matt, who had a contact in San Rafael and we kept going with Oscar looking for the famous Golden Gate. It looked like a treasure hunt, searching for street names, passing several towns one after the other.

Around noon we finally arrived to the classic red steel colossus that crossed the bay and flows into the impressive San Francisco. The city immensely stretched out in front of our eyes and the historical prison of Alcatraz completed the scene of constructions of world fame.

On the other side, was expecting us Shirley Johnson, a woman that had ride her bike from Alaska to San Francisco and that Oscar had met near Skagway. After that I cross my path with her too in the Oregon coast and she had invited us to stay in her home once arrived to San Francisco. She took us to her place in the Mision Dolores neighborhood, where I started a new odyssey.

While in Portland, I made contact with Guybe Slangen, by way of Kristen, who I’ve met while passing through the Palmer Station in Antarctica. Guybe works as a teacher in an Oakland school, across the bay from San Francisco, and he had proposed me to give a talk to his students about the trip. Sure, why not? The thing is that I thought that it would be an informal talk, when I leave the city and on my way to Yosemite and only for his class… Well, as it turned out, things got out of hand and the talk was for the whole school. Not one, but two presentations!!! First with the kids from the elementary school and next the high school kids. 300 of them each time!! So that implied set dates and times, so I couldn’t be late with the bike. The date was for Friday, October 19th in the morning and I arrived to San Francisco on the 18th in the afternoon. So I left my gear with Shirley and got together with Ilan, a contact that was passed to me by my friend Marco Fania’s cousin. Ilan and his friend Peter hosted me in the house in Oakland co I could be near the school because the crossing of the bay takes time and it was impossible to do it on the bike.

That night, three months after my birthday, I could get together with some of the packages that were sent to me to Canada for that occasion and got lost in a mail office at the university. It was very emotional to see the notes, presents, candies and other things that I found in those boxes loaded with love and affection.

In the morning Guybe came to get me and we went to the Head Royce School. It turned out to be a private school with plenty of resources. Therefore the spirit of the talk turned more relevant as a way to show these kids another face of reality. In spite of the improvisation, both talks were very interesting due to the interaction with the students, who drilled me with questions. I had set up the tent with the sleeping bag with the cooking gear and the bike in front of them so they could have an idea of what was my home these days…

It was a gratifying experience and the kid’s enthusiasm was contagious and revitalizing. It was worth all the effort and logistics to organize everything from the road without having constant access to e-mail to coordinate the move. I don’t have to say that when I got back to Shirley’s place in San Francisco, I practically passed out of tiredness! It was time to recover.

The stay in this great city was extended more than planned. Shirley took charge into showing us all the typical places in this city with a liberal character that’s unique in the US. In spite of the incredible hills that abound in the city, it was possible to ride on bike paths practically all across town. The big buildings contrasted with the neighborhood houses with architecture that’s particular and distinctive of the city. The cable cars, moved by an original cable system under the steepest streets, were constantly packed with tourists. In the Mision neighborhood there were countless buildings decorated with murals of high quality and diverse designs. Around that are one could see also characters of many kind: homeless people pandering for money, dealers selling drugs, other consuming them, prostitutes offering their services, Latinos with gangster looks, others that showed off their new economical status by driving huge and expensive 4x4’s, workers trying to earn their day worth of money.. The area was full of activity constantly and it was definitively not the place to be after dark.

The contrast with the Castro district was amazing. That was the gay area by excellence and it was full of restaurants and cafes where one could appreciate completely the sexual liberty of the city. On the other hand, Chinatown was a phenomenal array of places to eat and stores selling delicious and extravagant food. Lombard Street, with its 7 zigzagging turns in just a block, completed one of the most emblematic points in the city. And of course, the mythical Alcatraz prison at the end of the bay, with a history much richer and diverse than what’s shown normally in Hollywood productions. In summary, it was a city with abundant attractive landscapes: urban and human…

In San Francisco I made a few changes to the bike, because after 15 thousand kilometers (adding all my other trips), Maira’s poor transmission was asking for new parts. It was then that it received new plates, chain, chainrings and even a new front derailleur! A painful economical investment that I could not avoid much longer.

The golden moment of our stay was to participate in the even known as "Critical Mass", born in this city in the year 1992 with a group of pioneers that were asking for more rights for  cyclists and less use of fossil fuels in this society based in the use of cars. The last Friday of every month, hundred of cyclists would take control of the streets when riding on them. It’s a tradition that has taken root in many cities in the world. Initially the police tried to stop these demonstrations but without success. So, now they collaborate to avoid troubles between the cyclists and the sometime furious car drivers. This time it was special, because it coincided with Halloween, so, the great majority of the participants were wearing costumes. Without a determined leader, the mass of cyclist rode the streets arbitrarily, making occasional stops where they would march in circles with their bikes above their heads. It was a very special experience that let us ride through the most important places in the city during the night as if we were owners of the streets. Simply spectacular!!!

It was time to leave and take the roads to the East. Yosemite National Park and the desolates extensions of the Californian desert were waiting for…

Until next time!

Good trails,

Damián

Acknowledgements

To Matt Baumeisster and Scot Colburn: for that tacit friendship among long haul cyclists and for the good memories that we got during the times we shared the roads.

To Nancy Reimer and Uwe Jens: for that unforgettable slice of raspberry pie that arrived at the right time!!

To Matthew Aldineger: for rescuing us from the road and giving us an excellent example of spontaneous hospitality at the Larrupin’s Café.

To Matt Sala, Shelly Goodin, Liz and Laurie Thompson and Thom Dodd: fro that night full of stories and travel anecdotes and the future exchanges that we had ahead on the roads.

To Michael Trask and Lorraine Rasmassen: The shelter that we found with you at Emma’s Café in Jenner not only let us recuperate from the weather, but it also elevated our spirits with your warmth and hospitality.

To Jim, from the Roadhouse Cafe, at Bodega Bay: for the good vibes when you lent me the computer to check mail, the free lunch and for sharing the passion for mate!

To Ilan Vitemberg and Peter: for opening the doors of your home and treating me as a family member on my short stay in Oakland.

To Guybe Slangen: for giving me the opportunity to have such gratifying experience like it was to interact with the students of the Head Royce School.

To Kash and Ted: your uninterested help in the installation of Maira’s new components was crucial for me to keep riding the roads.

To Shirley Johnson: without your incredible hospitality and cordiality we would have never enjoyed San Francisco as deeply as we did. Simply, thank you form our hearts!

To those of you that made me emotional and tear up with all your gestures of love and affection that I received with the packages sent for my birthday. I take the best memories of all of you with me and you are riding the roads of the Americas along with me…

 

Some Statistics

Days on the road: 145

Days biking: 90

Kilometers done: 7718 km (1200 on gravel)

Average kilometers per day: 85.8 km

Hours on the bike: 462h29m (19d06h44m)

Average speed: 16.69 km/h

Maximum speed: 81.5 km/h, descending the Sunwapta Pass (15-08-2007)

Meters climbed: 64,652 m

Maximum height: 2067 msnm, Bow Pass (16-08-2007)

Sensation when riding through the redwoods in the middle of the night: wonderful and indescribable!

How nervous I felt before having to talk to 300 kids in the Oakland school: veeeeeery….