EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the fourth in a series of my bike ride from San Francisco to Carlsbad.
A full moon neared dipping behind the Western horizon, lighting up the Pacific Ocean with a neon blue glow while dawn began to brighten the Eastern skies as I sat on the patio of the beach house atop the cliffs watching sea lions, dolphins and sea otters playing in the surf below.
It wouldn’t take long for me to have to pay for my strong effort on the first day. Once we hit the open highway and a headwind, my partners simply instructed me that I would be out front today and they would sit in my draft. Secretly, I enjoyed the challenge. It was fun.
We rode past a couple loaded down with camping equipment in saddlebags. They were from Berlin, Germany, and riding from Vancouver to San Diego. Nothing like being humbled.
Gliding through Monterey, then the 17-mile Drive through Pebble Beach and Carmel I figured Day 2 would be an easy 65 miles to Big Sur, but checking the map with 52 miles behind us, we found we had 30 to go. Ugh.
Jeff and I cranked it up and left Dan behind. For the next 45 minutes we hauled, hammering up climbs and flying down descents with a headwind beating on us. We finally hit a seven-mile descent dropping into Big Sur under the canopy of the California Redwoods and the most peaceful, serene stop of the trip.
A two-mile climb greeted us on day three, taking us to a little cafe nestled into the forest with wonderful coffee, sourdough French toast, homemade English muffins and fresh, homemade cranberry jam that dominated my thoughts the rest of the morning.
The day’s goal was San Simeon, about a 60-70 mile ride. Despite my aching legs, I felt incredibly strong.
The view, winding in and out of the cliffs over the Pacific Ocean, took my breath away. I synced in tune with my body, eating Fig Newtons and Coffee Nips, drinking water, juice, keeping every fuel level perfectly topped off.
The first day became a personal thrill because of the distance. Today’s highlight: pure power. Only one cyclist passed me all day. When I finally screamed down the hill of the mountains to the grassy, rolling plains near San Simeon, a tailwind lifted my speed a few miles per hour and I cruised into the Hearst Castle parking lot four hours after breakfast.
I waited 2.5 hours waiting for the others, who continued their tourist pace, stopping at the Jade Festival in Gordo. We headed for our campground, where my wife Debbie came zooming into the park in her Honda like a wild woman, ready to join us for a day of riding.
Thick coastal fog ushed in day four, but after two hours we turned inland, and into the sun. It was a great change of pace. Once we got warm we hit a hill, and there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm for it. Lunch was about 5 miles away, in San Luis Obispo. That’s where Debbie would hang it up.
Day five started briskly, under overcast skies rolling through a stretch of California’s coastal agricultural fields, lush green fields filling the scene from horizon to horizon. Our goal for breakfast: Guadalupe, a Hispanic village in the middle of the farm belt.
The majority of store fronts are in Spanish and, although it’s like any other small town in this region that’s slowly falling apart and falling down, it has a friendly feel to it. We had a Mexican breakfast.
This would be the last day with my escorts, a 90-mile day to Santa Barbara. A lot of work, but I felt ready.
We hit a major climb just before Lompoc. Dan prefaced our ride up the hill by saying that back in the 1930s a bus load of Boy Scouts went up the hill and disappeared. They were never heard from again. He said if two cyclists ride up the hill, only one returns.
Jeff and I were suspicious. We figured he was setting us up for something. Still, we left Dan behind and cranked up the twisting, turning sandstone hill. We enjoyed the little-traveled road with barely any traffic at all, which mean a fun downhill section on the other side
Outside of Lompoc we headed back to the mountains, just west of Solvang, the home of one of the most famous Century Rides in the USA. After a beautiful day in the saddle, my companions said goodbye.
The challenge with preparing for two or three days of riding alone meant paring down my supplies to things that fit in the small front and back packs on my bike.
So, for the rest of the ride I had three inner tubes, a few first aid supplies, a turtle neck, extra pair of shorts and extra shirt. That was it. So if I went anywhere I had to walk around in my bike cleats. I had no shaving cream, so that meant my beard went wild.
Time to ride.
