The hardest day was number 30, the day after what was supposed to have been one of the hardest days in our books: Leggett day. On Leggett day we had climbed 2000 feet, the highest elevation on the Pacific Coast route, and followed it up with another 700 foot hill. It was hard day but we started early and made it to MacKerricher State Park in good time to enjoy the beach, a favourite beer find, and a fire on a warm and calm evening.

Yum yum Tangerine Wheat Ale from the Lost Coast Brewery:

The next day we left camp with plans for breakfast in Fort Bragg, CA and Glass Beach, a beach of colourful shards of glass that have been smoothed and polished by the ocean and sand. The glass is abundant from years of Fort Bragg residents throwing their trash over cliffs and onto the beach.

Rain started by the time we reached Fort Bragg and a walk on the beach was no longer appealing. We ate breakfast slams at Denny’s with another tourer from Ontario living in Palo Alto now and watched the rain continue, hoping and waiting for a forecasted 10am to 2pm lull. It wasn’t coming and so we decided to go before slipping into post-breakfast comas. Having camped for the past 6 nights, we were going to treat ourselves to a motel at the end of the day so getting a little wet wouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never sworn so much in my life.

We were in Mendocino County. You might be familiar with the windy highway #1 and rugged coastline from car commercials. I imagine the scenery would be *spectacular* if I wasn’t hunched over face-down to guard myself from the wind and wet. The highway winded, not to climb up and down any substantial hills but to go up and over many many many many small hills. You can check out the jagged elevation profile here. Amongst the hills were small “U” coves where the road turned inland and descended 100 feet or so before turning sharply towards the ocean and climbing back up again. The next day I figured out how to ride these coves but that day they killed me. Any momentum gained on the downhill was lost in the U-turn. After one of the coves the road climbed steeply for a long time, steep enough for me to get off and push my bike up curse &#@! and more cursing:

See, this day I was finally convinced of a foible of my bike (or of my mechanical knowledge for maintaining it): when it spends too much time in the rain the gear shifters stiffen making it very difficult to rely on them when attacking hills. I would approach a hill and have to use two cold, weak hands to shift down a gear and at the top of the hill I would have to stop my bike to shift back up, again with two hands, before continuing. It’s possible that I need to replace the cables but in good weather, shifting works fine so I hadn’t and still have not.

Day 30, the hardest day, I felt disabled and let the frustration take over me. Miles stretched on, a headwind blew harder and harder, I sobbed to myself and didn’t think we’d ever make it to our destination in Point Arena. But we did and I was lucky to be biking with a good friend who, once we arrived me wrung to the core and crying, smiled and gave me a big hug. It was over.

The rain stopped that evening and we had perfect biking weather the next day.

The air was filled with eucalyptus tree freshness and I could barely remember pains of the day before. Instead I flew up and down the curves of the road, around turns of the U-coves and felt hill zen. Who cared if they slowed me down a little. There would be a top and in the meantime I would enjoy the vista. I kept this attitude for the remainder of the trip and with it, I am deeply grateful for the hardest day ever.

Last Tuesday Anna and I left San Francisco to bike to Half Moon Bay and then Santa Cruz. It would be a final two days of biking for me (until next trip). A little ways from San Francisco we met a guy on an expensive-looking road bike, wearing spandex top and bottom and with a very large dry-sack bungee’d to a rear rack. No paniers; his bike would likely crumble under their weight. No fenders or other accessories either. He was sure riding skinny and if wasn’t for the dry-sack I’d think he was just out for the morning.

But he started in Seattle and had been on the road for around 10 days, maybe a few more. Did he camp? Yes! He had everything he needed in that dry-sack. A veritable machine! But he seemed like a really laid-back guy from Calgary (I pinned the accent!) and living in and biking to San Luis Obispo. He told us that he didn’t have much reason for burning through so many miles everyday, that’s just the way he toured.

Other cyclists we met had their own way of touring too and it became interesting how different people take a task like traveling a few thousand kilometres of this:

and turn it into their own unique journey. Differences in daily distance, pace, sleeping places, food eaten, entertainment sought, and company kept all make for different touring rhythms. We met:

…a group of four biking from Portland to San Diego with one woman’s husband driving a support van loaded with their gear and her three year-old son.
…a couple following the itinerary laid forth in the popular Bicycling the Pacific Coast book.
…two guys biking from Vancouver to San Diego in 24 days, averaging 120km per day.
…a guy with what looked like fox ears and tail on his helmet that didn’t have the time to stop and talk much with other tourers. The touring grapevine told us that he was riding long days to make time for side trips like hiking and whale watching.
…a retired fellow from Seattle who had been doing considerable distances but would slow down in Southern Oregon to spend time fishing the lakes and rivers.

We even heard about (but never had a chance to meet) a family of four biking something crazy like South America to Alaska. The two children were young, maybe 8 and 10, and mileage depended on how much the children would bike before getting tired, hungry or bored. This could be 40km on a good day and slowly but surely they made progress.

(a restroom among the beautiful Victorian buildings in Ferndale, CA)

Both being amateur bike tourers, our own rhythm was new and something to be developed over the trip. It was influenced by having more than enough time before returning home and by a desire to be flexible, spontaneous and to enjoy ourselves along the way. Some days we’d only bike between 40 and 50km, leaving time for a lazy morning or to explore a final destination. Others were 90 to 100km and our average daily distance was around 76km (not accounting for days off).

Even though we were not biking extra long distances (like the 120km guys), I did have to learn and accept that some days after biking, buying and cooking food, and setting up camp, I’d have no motivation to do anything else. Beautiful nature trails? Ugh. A beach over there? Whatever. Give me my sleeping bag at 9pm and I’ll see you at 7 tomorrow morning. It was also common that we’d bike through a town and find out about events just missed or happening in a few days to late to wait around for.

It could be frustrating but the moral? To love bike touring you have to love the biking part and see it as a way to observe and learn about an area. If all your interest lies in the destination, the journey becomes a pain. This is common knowledge…but easily forgetten so I repeat it for myself at least.

I am happy about our pace. It was very comfortable – we saw a lot and still had time to laze around. At the same time, I’m curious about pushing myself a little more outside my comfort zone. I don’t know where or when but there will have to be another trip sometime soon…