Category: Our West Coast Journey

Day 18 – Klamath, CA, 76 km

We set out from our hotel in a driving rain and into a headwind. Then started the toughest climb we’ve had yet – 2.2 torturous miles of continuous 6% grade. That’s comparable to the steepness of the Cypress Mountain road. My bike with gear weighs at least 80 pounds, so it’s slow going.

This climb took us into the heart of the Redwood forest. On a grey day it was truly a darkness at noon experience. And with constant traffic and road shoulders disappearing around every bend, it was not much fun. On the descent, riding at 40 kph on the edge of the road – there was no shoulder – and cars careering past, a pick-up truck actually honked at me as they went by. Presumably they saw me as an irksome obstacle. Never mind the frequent postings of Share the Road signs.

Every day we get passed by hundreds of vehicles. As a cyclist you have no choice but to trust the good judgment of every one of those drivers. That’s a scary thought if you linger on it. And especially when you factor in the number of older drivers operating bus-sized RVs on this highway.

Tonight we’re camped in a private RV park alongside the highway, with the sound of traffic hissing by – as Jim Morrison would say – like the waves down on the beach.

Day 19 – Arcata, CA. 96 km

A long ride today. No camping available anywhere nearby as our legs started to give out, so we’re in a motel. Arcata has a reputation as a “hippy” town. There’s lots of young people with back packs wandering about and the air is skunky with the smell of weed. Our motel is located in the midst of all this. It’s the kind of scene I would have found very appealing in my 20s. I’m pretty sure Sophie feels that way now. But she’s dead tired and with her dad.

We had a trio of young Australian guys in the motel room above ours. We were well asleep when they came in after midnight and started with the music and lots of loud thumping about. It was too much. I went up to complain and found three glassy-eyed cheerful and apologetic guys. The mysterious thumping? One of them was practicing back flips on his bed!

Day 20 – Burlington State Park, Redwood Forest – 96 km

It has to be said, Northern California is beautiful. The weather today was perfect for cycling. In fact, today was perhaps our best day so far. It started along the generous shoulder of the freeway leaving Arcata. Wiith gently rolling rises and dips and a wind at our backs, the miles sped by.

We eventually left the freeway for a quieter road, the Avenue of the Giants, so named for the massively grand redwood forest it winds through. Riding the newly paved roadway through this forest in the warm afternoon with sunlight filtering down through the high canopy was like finding religion. Awesome!

At the campground we pitched our tents in an area shared with other cyclists. There was a couple – Rebecca and Nathan (mid-20s) – from Vancouver who are taking up to a year to cycle as far south as their time and money will last. Bob, a retired insurance guy from Chicago who seems to cycle all over the continent, is going to San Diego on this trip. Andy and Naomi, a retired couple from Cornwall, spent a month cycling in Alaska before starting this coastal trip in Bellingham. They too are making for San Diego. They’ve toured all over the world, but for some reason are reluctant to call themselves experienced touring cyclists. Perhaps because their adventures don’t compare impressively with those of one English dude they met in the Yukon, who was just 100 miles from his final destination in Alaska, having cycled all the way from southernmost Argentina!

I’ve been impressed by the fellowship that exists between touring cyclists. It’s rooted in a few shared truths. First, they’ve all chosen to travel only at the speed that a bicycle and their own leg power will take them. And second, you only carry as much as you need because it’s you doing all the work. There is no quick and easy way up a hill, headwinds are nasty, as are roads with no shoulders and obnoxious drivers in oversized and over-powered vehicles. It strikes me that if everyone spent more time on a bike the world would be a nicer place.

Day 21 – Standish-Hickey State Park, CA. 76 km

Spent most of the day riding through the redwood forest. Passed through a few very small towns – Myer’s Flat, Miranda, Phillipsville, and the larger Garberville. All seem a bit faded and dowdy, unimproved from the seventies when I suspect they were in their prime. Hippy heaven. Today we saw lots of young people – 21st century “hippies,” although the word is now meaningless. They seem to emerge from the forest and from behind the rundown buildings of these rustic towns. I assume they’re living rough. Some have backpacks and presumably the funds to pursue alternative arrangements if they wish. Others clearly don’t.

In Garberville, we stopped for coffee and lunch in a Main St. cafe and saw the wildest collection of individuals I’ve ever seen in such a place. Young guys with tattooed faces, piercings everywhere and in shabby clothes in line for coffee next to middle class town folk. It was a bizarre scene and absolutely puzzling until we heard about the “trimmigrants.” This is weed growing territory and it’s coming up to harvest time. People come to this region from all over the country to earn $40/hr picking buds – and presumably, pocketing some of same. The qualifications must be minimal. At the going rate for this work, I don’t understand why Mexican farm workers aren’t yet involved. Maybe because the whole business is still illegal. I suspect legality in California and Mexican bud trimmers are just a matter of time.

Day 22 – McKerricher State Park, CA – 65 km

This was a tough day of riding, although not particularly long. We climbed two long fairly steep hills in succession. At the summit we were at the highest point on the California coast, although the actual coast still wasn’t in sight until we finished the descent. It was stunning to emerge from shaded forest to full sunshine and the bright blue sea pounding the rocky sea stacks and beaches below.

The ride continued up and down as the road follows the contours of the coastline. We arrived at the campground exhausted. In the darkness, just before going to bed two guys arrived on foot – we camp in designated “hiker/biker” sites, although we rarely encounter hikers. In this case, hitchhikers. One from LA (45-ish) who didn’t say much but liked to smoke weed. The other from Oklahoma where he recently lost his job as a horse walker. I didn’t know such a thing existed. I asked where he was headed. He said “here”. And when he heard we were from Canada, he mentioned that someone had told him there might be work up that way. “But you need a passport to go there, right?” Yup – it’s a foreign country for Americans, just like Mexico. Something about this whole situation brought to mind Steinbeck and the Grapes of Wrath – the depression era and the mass migration of Okies and other dust bowl farmers to the promised land of California. I was surprised when he brought up politics. He called Trump an idiot and said he was voting for Hillary.

Day 23 – Manchester Bay, CA. – 73 km

We spent most the morning in Fort Bragg, a very appealing town compared to many we’ve been in recently. We had Sophie’s brakes worked on at the bike shop, ate a great breakfast and shopped for the day’s groceries. Down the road we stopped for coffee and muffins in Mendocino – absolutely one of my favourite places on the CA coast.

I love this part of the country. The coastal scenery is jaw-drop beautiful, and the weather is perfect. Sunny with a light breeze – blowing in the right direction. The road, however, features narrow to no shoulders. In some places the crumbling edge of the pavement is just five feet from a cliff-edge drop 150 feet to the crashing sea below. It can stir a mild panic attack if you look down. We try not to. I suspect drivers don’t even notice.

Riding as we do, on the shoulders where they exist, but more often on the actual roadway, we are constantly in the way of drivers who must slow down before passing as the constant twists and dips of the road mean you can’t see too far ahead. It really is amazing that there aren’t more accidents. Actually, I have no idea about the stats in that dept. But just from our experience, the incidence of dangerously close encounters – mostly between vehicles trying to pass and on-comers – is pretty frequent.

I stopped to wait for Sophie as we were drawing close to our day’s destination. In a field overlooking the blue Pacific a rancher was using a tractor forklift to shift bundles of hay for his cattle. He got out of his vehicle and we talked across the fence. Turns out he’s originally from Vancouver. His brother played 15 years for the BC Lions in the 60s and 70s. His property stretches hundreds of acres of coastline, with a couple miles of beach front. Clearly the guy didn’t want for money, so I asked was he a hobby farmer. He said his cattle (Wabu?) were each $10K and he had $1.5M worth. He also has Merino sheep. So no, it’s not a hobby. He also has the distinction of having the San Andreas Fault run through his place where it heads out to the sea. But it’s not his fault, he claims.