Here are some thoughts while riding:
I feel bad ever having driven close to cyclists on the road. Now, driving around town, I make extra effort to give cyclists a bigger cushion of room.
I have come across many touring cyclists from all walks of life, most them I encountered while riding through California. Some of these cyclists are older, and appear to be just wandering from place to place. I instinctively wanted to categorize these individuals as bums, slackers, deranged, etc. After meeting many like this, I realized though, that every single one of them, are happy. As simple as it is, these people have little possessions, aren't riding for a purpose, but truly seem to be at peace with themselves and those around them. Can most people in "normal" positions in life say that?
Life is so simple on the road. All the complexities of living in cities are shed, and it goes back to the roots of living; where to sleep, what to eat, seeing beautiful things.
I have heard numerous times that I am lucky to be doing this trip, I do not completely agree with this. In a way, I am lucky, since I broke my neck a year and a half ago, and could have been paralyzed from the shoulders down. I am fortunate that I do not have any debilitating injury, condition, or illness, preventing me from doing this trip. However, I have planned this trip for years, after hearing about it on a trip to Humboldt. I saved up for the trip for over a year, and spent months preparing and organizing for the adventure. It has been a lot of hard work and determination, to push through barriers and struggle on when times were tough, and make the venture happen.
After staying a few days in SLO county, I made my way south. Meandering through vast farm fields, I felt transported to somewhere far away. The town of Guadalupe reminded me of something John Steinbeck would write about. I reached speeds consistently over 20mph here, the winds pushing me along.
I stayed at a beautiful spot near Lompoc, a hidden, grassy hill. After making camp, I sat in the grass and enjoyed the remaining daylight and peace to myself. It was another very cold night. Climbing out of the tent in the morning, there was frost and frozen grass on the ground, fortunately, the sun was already out cooking things up.
Since I have driven the 101 many times, I thought I would take the alternate route through Santa Ynez valley. I had already been in touch with a Warmshowers host (Sarah), that instructed me to call her upon my arrival in Solvang. It was a beautiful day, passing vineyards and open country. I stayed at a house she was house-sitting, and enjoyed a fine bed and fresh laundry. We shared stories of bike touring and heard all about her bike tour East, across the U.S. The following day, was one of the strangest days of my trip so far.
Had a good early start on the day. I stopped at one point to watch some people flying RC planes on a small field. Suddenly, one of the huge (car-size) biplanes, dipped and plummeted nose first in the ground...full speed. The plane exploded into a thousand pieces. I watched, stunned at what I had just witnessed. Little did I know, I would encounter something much worse later in the day.
Passing Lake Cachuma was gorgeous. I started the huge climb up 2,000 ft to San Marcos Pass. I was passed by a couple local, green fire trucks, lights ablaze. When I reached the Cold Springs bridge, I saw that both fire trucks were parked on opposite sides. As I pedaled by, I casually asked what was going on, to one of the men putting on his jacket. He remarked that they have a "jumper". I responded with, "a base jumper or suicide jumper?". He simply said "suicide". I looked to the bridge and saw no one, that's when I realized that he had already jumped. I biked across the bridge and stopped near the middle to see what I could see, fortunately I couldn't see his body (stupid for even trying to look).
When I got to the other side, I stopped to drink some water and absorb what I had just witnessed. I recalled how the fireman had told me this was the sixth one they have had this year. I thought of the unfortunate, sad, individual that decided to end his life. I looked around for a car, had he driven there? Did he hike up from Santa Barbara?
I thought of how maybe if I hadn't stopped to watch the RC planes, maybe I would have happened upon the scene moments earlier, maybe had a chance to speak to him and try to prevent something so terrible. As I started back up the hill, confused and concerned, the fire trucks, paramedics, and cops were all arriving on the scene. The whole event would plague my mind for days.
I made it to the top of San Marcos Pass, after a long uphill, and had a nice descent. I stayed in Isla Vista at a Couchsurfer's. I stayed there a couple days, and had the great opportunity to watch a 'back-yard circus' that was held at a local house (the Biko House). Fire practitioners dazzled the audience with all sorts of instruments lit on fire: fire poi, rope darts, staffs. There were even things called "silks" that were suspended from a structure ~10 meters high, that a beautiful girl would climb up, and do tricks with.
When I left Isla Vista, I was so grateful to have seen something so dramatically different than the usual drunken debauchery and mayhem that usually envelops the UCSB college town. I noticed that there are a lot of people riding bikes and skateboarding around town. There is a COOP and even a "free-bin" where people leave unwanted clothes, for others to take at no expense.
I was greeted back into southern California with cyclists that seldom return waves, the putrid smell of pollution, city congestion, shoulder-less roads (having to aggressively stick out into the road between parked cars, and moving cars, in order to make the moving cars give me more space). Riding towards Malibu and the Santa Monica area was mostly filled with anxiety from cars, the strong military presence, the suburban sprawl...I reassured myself that it all would only be temporary, and that it's probably good practice for Tijuana.
I would put in a couple of long riding days (including one 87 mile day) to get to my friend's place (Branden) in Santa Monica, and to the house of my Dad's girlfriend, Sally, in Laguna Beach. There was a great celebration that evening with my Dad, Sally, and some friends, showed some pictures and told some stories.
Passing through the military complex of Camp Pendleton, I made it to Oceanside, just as night was falling. I got on the bike path that I used to train on (use to ride from my house to the beach and back on the path). Things were so familiar again, so strange. I made it my previous roommate's house (Alex) in the dark, where I lived for two years before the trip. I spent the weekend relaxing, playing music, and seeing friends.
I rode down the familiar coast to Del Mar, with nothing too exciting. On Thanksgiving, I would make the final stretch from Del Mar, to the border.
My last day riding to the border, I thought mostly of restarting the trip in Alaska because of how much I likely missed in Alaska and Canada. I thought about the idea a lot since it doesn't quite feel right just riding Canada to Argentina. Most people ride the entire stretch, end to end.
It was a beautiful sunny day, with unrestricted visibility. I took a lunch break on the boardwalk in Pacific Beach. I was talking with another touring cyclist, who has been biking for a couple years now. He politely mentioned he had nothing to eat, so I split my food with him. I tried to get a ferry to Coronado, but I missed it by about 10 minutes, so I kept on. I was soon lost, and had to find my way through National City. I got on National City blvd and kept on it until I saw the familiar Mexican flag in downtown Tijuana.
Approaching the border, things were much different than I had envisioned. There wasn't a collection of people there to greet me; this was disappointing. I had always pictured people I know, cheering and standing next to the border as I strolled in. I reminded myself that it was Thanksgiving, and most are with their families.
Fortunately, my Mom came down to pick me up, and had "accidentally" entered into Mexico, missing the last exit (maybe she was trying to go on a trip of her own). So I had about a half hour to ride around. It was so different to have the great adventure right in front of me. I stood there, people walking passed me, through the gates to the other country. I thought for a moment, of just passing through myself, right then, forgetting everything else...just going. I remembered I still had stuff to sell, bike to fix up, some other gear to track down and stuff to get rid of.
It is my hope to inspire (just as I have been) people I come across, to leave their cars behind and set off on an adventure of their own, using the power of the mind and body. It is amazing to think of the stuff I have seen, places I have been, and people I have met...only across one country, I cannot imagine what else awaits on the rest of the trip. You have no idea what you'll come across...
In the words of Mark Twain, "Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than those you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
There will always be people in life that will write off your aspirations or goals as pointless/waste of time, etc. Perhaps because they don't think it can be done, maybe they themselves are jealous/envious you are doing what they have always dreamed of.
When you want something bad enough, don't let anyone or anything stop you.
Total current mileage (Canada to Mexico): 2153
Birthday sushi dinner with friends
Bday weekend: guns, booze, food, and fires
Desert sunset
