Endless Flats and Perfect Places

I am writing now from a place of calm, despite my regular infusion of black coffee, and this temporary ritual of gluing myself to Seneca's computer every moment I get free. Berkeley leaves a good stain on me. There is a bit of harmony here, in this house, and in this community, that seems to be singing with me a little as I rest.

Backing up, however, to where I left you last... a beautiful days ride with my new-found buddy Ray. I have moved on, guitar-less, but with my little grief tucked into a safe corner of my heart, I feel light enough. Pancakes always make me smile.

I remember leaving breakfast over a small bridge, crossing the Eel River, and it would not be the first time. This is a developing relationship... the Eel River crossing and darting back under me in various configurations. Days and days pass this way. I grow incredibly fond of her.... she starts to feel like an extension of my thoughts, deep and shallow, aqua and gray. I search for bears fishing in the more secluded parts of the river banks, but never find any. Redwoods in the distance, or logs fallen into the river start to take bear-like shapes.

I had started out the day with a flat, and Ray and I had a little fix-it session.... but it didn't hold. I was losing air from my rear tire all day. I gave it a little more air on a hillside, but it wasn't a safe place to stop, so I waited until we hit the elk pastures.

Elk stink. I kinda like it, because you always know when they are nearby. They have an unbelievable musk, that just bellows their presence out to the world. I stopped across the street from "The World's Largest Wild Elk Herd! At the Red Schoolhouse". The elk were all resting, still as statues, and I worked away in a pleasant breeze, while Ray waited patiently, helping me out here and there for good measure. I found the culprit... more wire! Where does it come from? Ray and I mused over the probability of wire sitting in the road in just the right position to get at your tire. It's the strangest thing.

We jumped off of Route 101 onto the bike route, a little road called Patrick's Point. It ran us down through more Redwoods into a town called Trinidad, where we stopped and had the best french fries on the west coast. I forget the name of the place, but you couldn't miss it. The town is the size of a postage stamp, and there's this great little coffee shop with free-range burgers, fries, etc... We chatted with some friends of the owner for a bit who were looking for land in the area. It's really a pretty town, and the people were super friendly. We amazed ourselves by each eating a full basket of fries, and then continued down Patrick's Point.

The road changed... and we were out on the water. Out of the Redwoods for a stretch.

This stretch of road was the most beautiful that I have ridden so far this entire trip. Amazing to be right out over the water, on an old stagecoach road. The road is so far out on the cliffs that erosion has taken parts of it into the ocean. They have only been able to repair enough to make space for one way traffic in some places, but it is a quiet place, and the riding feels safe and leisurely. There are surfers down on the water below us, and we stop to watch for a moment. I take the only photo I have bothered with in a while, looking back into Trinidad from up high on the rocks.

I am so happy out here. Moments like these I daydream about building a home someplace beautiful someday. I love the smells here; ocean and wildflower and old breaking pavement. I love the local surfing spot, secluded and secreted away. I love the wisdom on the faces of local gardeners, the kindness that comes from being joyful.

Riding into Arcata was a change of scene. I can feel the college scene all around us, and also a vivid street scene, heroin addicts and tweakers wandering around, the dogs better fed than the owners. I used to love this kind of scene. I stop to ask a question about the elevation on Rt. 101 ahead, and the answer comes slowly. I remember that there is a profound difference between stillness and inertia, and that I prefer stillness by a great measure. I remember that when I was young, I did not know enough to feel the difference.

There is a sort of superiority one can feel when they convince themselves they are in a heightened state. I remember moving through life in high school in this way. I found the motivations of most people laughable, and I slowly removed myself from them, more and more, as if by ritual, with drugs and a sort of lazy meditation. Stopping on the street in Arcata, I am speaking into a mirror. "I know where that person is sleeping..." I think to myself, and move on, feeling gently guarded.

I left Ray on the bike route, which bypasses Eureka. I have now ridden nearly 50 miles... the longest I have ridden yet on this trip. I couldn't have done it without a pacemaker, and I am grateful for having had his company. Our goodbye is slightly awkward. We exchange a sideways hug and Ray says "You are a very nice young lady." Which nearly makes me giggle out loud, but I restrain myself. I am sad to see him go, but ready to get to Eureka and get some rest.

I have four miles left on and urban stretch of 101, and guess what? My tire goes again. Sigh. I couldn't switch the tube out earlier (I was sold the wrong kind of tube by my bike shop in Portland!!), and obviously I am missing some foreign assailant trapped in my tire. I sigh and go over my tube again, find another leak, and quickly patch it up. There is a bike shop in Eureka, so I am not too worried. I know I can fix all of my little problems in the morning.

The last few miles wear me out completely, and I am thrilled that I have no trouble finding Chris and David's house. I have been offered a place to sleep and re-coop. Our family friends, The Weils, have family here in Eureka, and they are taking me in. I am excited to get some rest, but not in the least prepared to be spoiled...

The moment I get in, I am shown to an apartment under the house. Chris designed it, and it is beautiful. An amazing use of space, and very private. There are books, and a shower, and a warm bed. I am told to jump in the shower and be upstairs for dinner in 20 minutes.

The shower is luscious, and dinner is extraordinary. Cornbread casserole? Who ever heard of such a thing? delicious. Then there's black bean soup, and chicken, and a tall glass of water, and I am stuffed and happy.... and sent right to bed.

They go to bed early here, and I am glad of it. I don't have a lot of conversation in me, and they can already see me fading as I finish up my meal. I head downstairs, pull Happy Potter #6 off the shelf, and crawl into bed.

I have a problem with books. Once I start reading I can't stop. Despite my exhaustion, I am halfway done with Harry Potter before I fall asleep. It is midnight, and I know I've overdone it. When I wake in the morning I can barely get going.

Chris has me upstairs for breakfast (eggs and toast!) and 7:30, and then she heads off to work, leaving me keys to the extra truck so I can drive to the bike shop. It is 11 when I am finally ready to put down Harry Potter and get going... I only have a short ride that day, so I feel justified in taking my time.

Chris is home by the time I get into the truck to leave... and it's good she is, because the truck won't start! She drives me into town instead, grabbing me coffee while I pick up some extra tubes and a new patch kit. Chris is efficient in everything she does, and getting things done with her, everything happens as if by clockwork. She is a rather extra-ordinary woman.

The two of them are both big personalities, but not imposing. David is a lawyer, and Chris works on the statistics end of the social service industry, among other things... She also teaches statistics, advocates for better senior living in Eureka, and rides horses. She's a busy lady.

David is growing apples in the side yard... he's fit a whole orchard on an acre or so of land, and built a cider house, and a fermentation house. He's getting certified, and is brewing certified organic hard cider right in his yard. The orchard is beautiful, because he is not using any insecticides, and instead has planted thousands of daffodils between the trees to ward away animals. Apparently most scavenger type animals don't like daffodils! It's a sea of yellow and green, and the whole expanse of the yard is beautiful... and such a great use of space.

By the time I have changed my tire, taken another shower, and desperately tried to put down Harry Potter... it is 3 o'clock. I hit the road, and within moments I am worried about the ride ahead. I am so sore that my eyes are tearing up when I ride. I head along regardless.

About four miles down the road, my gears start acting crazy. They've been a little inconsistent, but this is worse, and I am having to change gears manually (getting off my bike and moving the chain by hand), to get up an incline. I know that I can't go on safely like this, so I stop to look where the next bike shop is on my route.

Trouble. The next bike shop is in over 100 miles, unless I go off route up into Fortuna, which I can't make in the daylight I have left and still get to the campground. I take stock of myself...starting too late, too tired, and with bad gears... the last bike shop in 100 miles 4 miles behind me. Reality sinks in.

I call Chris and see if I can stay another night, and she agrees without a thought, so I hitchhike with my bike back to the bike shop. A golf teacher from the local high school drives me into town, and he isn't much for conversation. I actually think he might be convinced that I am a crazy woman. He is deeply reserved, but he gets me where I am going, and I thank him in kind, and head back into the shop.

This is a great bike shop. They changed out my cables, and worked very carefully on my shifting situation. They also looked carefully over all the details, and found little things here and there to fix up. In true bike shop fashion, they didn't charge me much at all.

Chris calls and says that David wants to come get me from the shop. I tell her not to worry, that my bike is fixed, but then David comes walking through the door. He puts my bike in his amazing old truck and we head back the house.

David has this old Datsun truck that he can't let go of. He bought it "off the floor" ... I think he said nearly 30 years ago. It's rusted and worn and beaten and loved. I like this truck, it has serious character. I can relate to this kind of attachment to a vehicle, and I think about my Pig (my little camper van) parked up at Bria's house in Portland.

I have another great dinner with Chris and David, and spend some time with their amazing Mastiff, Hydrangea... she's so huge!!! I crawl back into bed, still sore and tired, finish Harry Potter 6, and fall asleep.

In the morning I was finally ready to move, and my body was grateful for the rest. I still felt sore, and kind of nauseous, so I knew I had done the right thing by taking the extra rest. I rode out at 9:15, saying goodbye to my amazing hosts one final time. I rode back to the bike shop... I don't remember why... some little adjustment I needed. I sat in there and drank my morning coffee, and ate some focaccia from the bakery next door. I took my time getting moving...

A kid in the bike shop, who hadn't been there the day before, was driving me cray acting as if he knew the bike route really well. He was laying out inaccurate information with a great deal of self importance, and that was enough to make me ready to move on. He warned me about hills that didn't exist... and glossed over the ones that did exist. I am fascinated by people who believe that their knowledge or their expertise will impress people more than their kindness, grace, or humility. I found him exhausting, but also felt like I was talking to a little kid in desperate need of acknowledgement. I tried not to get angry, because he ruffled my feathers, but also found that the little grumpiness he infused me with helped me get going for the morning's ride. I am only human...

The road I had been warned was "a huge hill"... was completely flat and lovely. However, there were duck-hunters! I couldn't see them, just heard the occasional gunshot over the little meadows. I had a morbid fantasy about being shot by a duck-hunter, because the gun-shots were scaring me, but I made it off the meadows just fine. Haha...

The bike route took me off 101 and down through Ferndale.... the strangest, most misplaced and adorable town I have ever seen. The whole downtown area looks like it was assailed by an overzealous historical commission. Old Victorian houses and storefronts, all painted beautifully. Everything about this town felt overly perfect... like the movie set for Edward Scissorhands.... but it was out in the middle of nowhere. Prairie on all sides.

I rode out through the farmlands, flat as the day is long... and the sun has been shining for days. Timed well with a little hunger, I got another flat, so I stopped and ate a little while I worked on my tires. The bike shop had sold me some glueless patches that also can be used to patch torn places in the tire itself, so that they don't attract problems... and guess what: Despite my skepticism, I haven't had a single flat since I started using these. I also developed a ritual of checking my tires for debris from the outside as well as the inside, digging out every little stone and shard, and I found things that I hadn't found on the inside.

There were some fierce hills leaving the farmlands, and I could see 101 mocking me in the distance, flat and simple, as I worked my way along the bike route. Grade matters. These hills weren't much, but they rose up steeply, and that makes all the difference. Really though, I preferred the uphill portion to the downhill... narrow roads with no shoulder, potholes and the sun blocked out by so many shade trees, I could barely see the rough. I was scared coming out of these hills, out of my element, and glad when I was back "to earth".

I had been waiting awhile to be happily riding on Avenue of the Giants... a scenic bypass that runs along 101 through the Redwood forest. It's a beautiful ride, and I was so happy to get there. I was incredibly tired when I reached Redcrest however, and content to stop at a private campground, a little more expensive than I would like, but with a hot shower included. I was too tired to make it 6 more miles to the next State campground. I fell asleep with the sun. I had done a good 45 miles! Not a lot for the average biker, but for me... a good haul.

In the morning I couldn't find any sort of proper breakfast. I was running low on food stores, but I rummaged up what was left of my peanut butter and jelly at the side of the road, and the stopped for coffee at a tourist attraction in town.

I have to say, I don't know what I am going to do in the desert when I can't get coffee. I know I could brew it myself, but I don't want to carry it. Honestly, I know that it's better to quit the coffee and stick to tea and water, but what can I say... I'm an addict. I'm sure there will be a few good days of splitting headaches as I detox off the bean in the old west.

Okay... I'm starting to wear thin, so I'll take a break. More soon. I want to get all caught up before I head east. There's a lot to tell! It's been a busy adventure so far.

Sending Love,
x Malcolm