Day 17

There was a howling wind all night. I dreampt a young woman came in the night to tell us we were in the place they usually do their ceremonies. But she said we could stay if we participated. The few worshippers she brought with her arranged themselves in a half circle and shook sacramental ornaments including coins and carved pieces of wood before approaching an altar of early 20th century lamps, tapping them and turning them on in order by pulling the chains...

Woke up and the wind was still howling. So this us how the dunes form... Got out of the tent and noticed it was coming from every which way, from moment to moment. One of the tarps had blown away but I found it in the Dune grass a ways away. On the horizon I saw a large, tall, solid cloud bank approaching. Perhaps later today we'll get some weather, I thought.

It took a long time for the sun to crest the ridge, and we were already nearly done shuttling our stuff back to the road when it did. Pushing the bikes through the sand got some crud on our chains, not ideal for the grindling we would already be doing with them today, so we carried them back to the road and did some last-minute cleaning by spraying the chains off with a squeeze water bottle and wiping them down with a rag.

Without pause or warm up, we began climbing.  Surprisingly, not too sore. 5 miles later, we dropped down into Petrolia. At the general store, we strategized about our day. 2500 ft of elevation lay between us and day's end: the Humbolt redwoods by the Eel river. We could expect one more town between here and there-- Honeydew, in 20 miles-- we'd have to get our dinner supplies there. A man who couldn't speak or didn't care to looked at us funny, pointed at the bikes, made a peddaling motion with his hands, then a hilly road gesture, and finished it with a twirl on the side of his head. Yes, I know we're crazy. But at least we're being smart about being crazy.

Petrolia was nice. It was the start of a very beautiful valley, the Mattole, but it showed signs that would be more pronounced as we reached Honeydew. Though this was rural California, it was also weed country. As we rode we passed large ranches with tons of cattle, then small yurts with rows of ganja growing on trellises.

We arrived at the general store in Honeydew (the only thing in Honeydew) which sat next to a junction of three roads. It was quiet. We ate our bread, cheese, and canned herring and noticed an old man talking to two younger men who looked far too hip to be from around here. They were passing a joint. A truck pulled up and two long haired guys with flat-brimmed ball caps and carhart pants got out and bought junk food snacks. Then two cars full of some Spanish speaking euro-travellers got out and started smoking with the other guys. Two more bearded men arrived, dropped something in the post box and migrated towards the smoke. At least the man behind the counter wasn't high. But he did have ripped skinny jeans on-- that shouldn't be something to be startled by but out here, it really stuck out. We bought a can of beans, and walked outside to find a big group of bikers who had just come down the hill. We exchanged notes from opposite directions. The mailman showed up and gave us his 2 cents as well. "Like my daddy would say, it's 6 miles up, 6 across and 7 down. You're in for a real climb." No reason to lolligag, and that place was giving me wierd vibes, so we crossed a single lane wooden bridge and went up.

Can't say how long it was, but anticipating it being endless actually made it feel short. Got to the top and had nearly forgotten where we were going (deep in the zone...). At the top, the clouds were closing in and we knew we'd be getting it soon. Then, a solo biker came up behind us. Fella named John who's rode all the way from Massachusets. Headed to San Fran as well, he'd done what we had in two days in one (all the way from Ferndale)! Holy hell, the man must be a machine. We rode nearby to the downhill, where Lluc and I shot ahead (we can be real speed demons).

The road was a dream: like a beautiful slolan course through sweet eucalyptus and madrona groves, falling down into the valley. Hardly pedaled once the full 7 miles. At the bottom, we fell suddenly into a deep redwood grove. Nice to be back. The road here was decadent: smooth black pavement, hardly more than a normal lane wide, no paint, winding leisurely through the massive trunks, and a gentle downward slope. A real treat. At the Eel river we got onto the 'Avenue of the Giants' and stopped for the day at a campground that John said he was headed to, near Weott (we-ought? wyatt?).

Camping at the feet of these totems, we counted or lucky stars for not getting rain and conquering the highest climb of our route through Northern California. Rice and beans and not much chatter before bed. Getting dark soon these days. At least, it's easy to say so when all you want to do is lay down.