Day 18
After setting up camp in a hurry yesterday, the rain only began after we had gotten in our tents. It was slow to be begin, got heavy during the night and was over by morning, but once the canopy above us was wet, it continued to drip like it was still raining. We've been getting up around 7 every morning, about when it gets light, and a little while later the sun shone through the trunks, illuminating all the falling droplets. I've never noticed before how they all fell at different paces-- many of them quite slowly, as if it were snowing. The redwoods are just as beautiful in the rain.
Started our morning thinking we might backtrack to see the world's tallest tree. "Giant Tree" at 367 ft tall. But it was 4.5 miles backwards, and we decided not to add 9 miles to our 45 planned for the day. Oh well. Probably wouldn't have seen the top anyway... We have this feeling very often while biking. We see so much more than one would travelling in an automobile or otherwise, but it only makes you realize how much more you aren't seeing. The analogy I made was visiting an art museum where you only have an hour: do you try and see everything, or stay for an hour at one painting? Which is a fuller experience? We settle on ambling through at a comfortable pace and trusting that what catches our eye did so for a reason.
We rode on "La Avenida de los Gigantes" (sometimes we practice our spanish on the road) through quite a few small towns, and somehow stopped at every one. We were on the hunt for some cooking fuel for our stove (the one unfortunate fossil-fuel powered part of this expedition). Turns out every town had what we needed, but in massive 1 gallon containers that weigh about as much as both my rear panniers combined. Finally, in a hardware store in Redway we found a quart bottle. That'll last us another 3 weeks.
At Garberville we splurged at the natural food store and got some excellent kale, mixed nuts (bulk aisle booyah), and local bagels (heck yeah). Then, on our way out of town, the gentle passing rain clouds decided to show us what they're made of. Heavy downpour just as we were getting onto the freeway. Rough when it happens on a downhill-- the shelter you make for yourself by learning over is gone and you get a whole face full.
It came on and off, just as quickly as the hills went up and down, and we responded by stopping and removing our rain gear, to the tune of: "you take yer rain gear off, you put your rain gear on, you take your rain gear off, and you shake it all out. You do the soaky-pokey and you wring yourself out, that's what it's all about!" But eventually, it doesn't make much of a difference if it's on or off: you sweat when it's on, and you get wet when it's off.
It's comical how correlated our positive and negative attitudes are with the angle of the slope we're riding. Some of the climbs from the previous days proved this: pure drudgery on the way up, only to be erased from memory by the elevation of going down. Knowing this, today should have been fairly neutral; no major inclines or declines. But our attitudes are equally barometrically influenced; sun's out: joy lives. Dense clouds form: joy is dead. Accordingly, with each passing cloud and hill, our emotions were toyed. After 6 or 7 hours of this, I began to feel at my wit's end; we were going up a hill, just as a rain was coming on, without rain gear and hoping it would stay away until we could get to the top, but it did not. We grunted at each other and pulled to the side under a tree. "I'm beat," I admitted. Lluc prescribed an apple, which he tossed away me while I lay flat on my back on the wet grass. It helped. A little rest and sugar and all was better. Still, it was another 9.5 miles to camp. it rained the whole way.
We camp just before Legget, where we will be turning off the 101 to take the 1- the highway that will follow the coast from here to Frisco and beyond. But between us and the coast, the mountains have one last 1500 ft climb for us. So tonight we camp at its feet, and start fresh in the morning.
I had called it earlier in the day: "The hiker/ biker at Standish-Hickey iis gonna be poppin!" Who else would be at Standish-Hickey state park on a rainy Wednesday in mid-September than a bunch of long distance bike nuts? Sure enough, the entire place was empty, and in the small of picnic tables allotted for us hiker/bikers, 4 bikes already leaned. and more csme after us.
We set up our soggy tents before checking out the cafe/truck stop across the highway. Just made us hungrier. Cooked up a mean mashed potato and veggie dinner before settling into the dampness of bed. A little like sleeping in a wet plastic bag.. Good thing I'm tired enough that it won't matter.
Started our morning thinking we might backtrack to see the world's tallest tree. "Giant Tree" at 367 ft tall. But it was 4.5 miles backwards, and we decided not to add 9 miles to our 45 planned for the day. Oh well. Probably wouldn't have seen the top anyway... We have this feeling very often while biking. We see so much more than one would travelling in an automobile or otherwise, but it only makes you realize how much more you aren't seeing. The analogy I made was visiting an art museum where you only have an hour: do you try and see everything, or stay for an hour at one painting? Which is a fuller experience? We settle on ambling through at a comfortable pace and trusting that what catches our eye did so for a reason.
We rode on "La Avenida de los Gigantes" (sometimes we practice our spanish on the road) through quite a few small towns, and somehow stopped at every one. We were on the hunt for some cooking fuel for our stove (the one unfortunate fossil-fuel powered part of this expedition). Turns out every town had what we needed, but in massive 1 gallon containers that weigh about as much as both my rear panniers combined. Finally, in a hardware store in Redway we found a quart bottle. That'll last us another 3 weeks.
At Garberville we splurged at the natural food store and got some excellent kale, mixed nuts (bulk aisle booyah), and local bagels (heck yeah). Then, on our way out of town, the gentle passing rain clouds decided to show us what they're made of. Heavy downpour just as we were getting onto the freeway. Rough when it happens on a downhill-- the shelter you make for yourself by learning over is gone and you get a whole face full.
It came on and off, just as quickly as the hills went up and down, and we responded by stopping and removing our rain gear, to the tune of: "you take yer rain gear off, you put your rain gear on, you take your rain gear off, and you shake it all out. You do the soaky-pokey and you wring yourself out, that's what it's all about!" But eventually, it doesn't make much of a difference if it's on or off: you sweat when it's on, and you get wet when it's off.
It's comical how correlated our positive and negative attitudes are with the angle of the slope we're riding. Some of the climbs from the previous days proved this: pure drudgery on the way up, only to be erased from memory by the elevation of going down. Knowing this, today should have been fairly neutral; no major inclines or declines. But our attitudes are equally barometrically influenced; sun's out: joy lives. Dense clouds form: joy is dead. Accordingly, with each passing cloud and hill, our emotions were toyed. After 6 or 7 hours of this, I began to feel at my wit's end; we were going up a hill, just as a rain was coming on, without rain gear and hoping it would stay away until we could get to the top, but it did not. We grunted at each other and pulled to the side under a tree. "I'm beat," I admitted. Lluc prescribed an apple, which he tossed away me while I lay flat on my back on the wet grass. It helped. A little rest and sugar and all was better. Still, it was another 9.5 miles to camp. it rained the whole way.
We camp just before Legget, where we will be turning off the 101 to take the 1- the highway that will follow the coast from here to Frisco and beyond. But between us and the coast, the mountains have one last 1500 ft climb for us. So tonight we camp at its feet, and start fresh in the morning.
I had called it earlier in the day: "The hiker/ biker at Standish-Hickey iis gonna be poppin!" Who else would be at Standish-Hickey state park on a rainy Wednesday in mid-September than a bunch of long distance bike nuts? Sure enough, the entire place was empty, and in the small of picnic tables allotted for us hiker/bikers, 4 bikes already leaned. and more csme after us.
We set up our soggy tents before checking out the cafe/truck stop across the highway. Just made us hungrier. Cooked up a mean mashed potato and veggie dinner before settling into the dampness of bed. A little like sleeping in a wet plastic bag.. Good thing I'm tired enough that it won't matter.
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