Day 20
Rolling into camp yesterday, we discovered that two bolts on Lluc's rack had come loose and fallen off-- discovered this as he pulled off his sleeping mat bungeed over his rear pannier and the whole kitten-caboodle pivoted backwards and flopped on the ground. It was after business hours then, so we rigged a two-mile solution this morning and rode to the boat shop in Mendocino (they also had bikes), where they had two 5mm bolts. We also made a little pit stop at a bakery on Main St Mendocino for coffee and a baked good (our own coffee and breakfast only gets us through the time it takes to pack up before we are hungry again...)
Out of Mendocino we rode through Little River and Albion, each town a little enclave surrounding the outlet of a river by the sea. Each time the road dove down sharply inland, crossed the river and then worked its way up and back to the sea. The pattern repeated through the rest of the day so that we got much better at keeping our momentum through the turns. Between these, we rolled above the cliffs, which were continuously dramatic throughout the whole day. The brown and dry pastures ended abruptly at the edge, where sunken steeples of rock stoop despite the torrents below, seemingly hellbent on tearing them down.
There was a long stretch after the town of Elk without anything but open road. Lluc and I made great time, and although he was in a bad mood this morning (due to the bolts), we were feeling good and enjoying the warmth of the sun. We even dried out our towels on the backs of our bikes as we rode (It seems impossible to get these things dry in camp).
We stopped in Manchester for water, and while parked on the side of the rode by the cliffs for a snack met some other bikers from the Seattle area riding Eugene to San Francisco.
Point Arena was a funny little town, placed in a dry gully. I liked the look of it as we pulled in. There ws construction on the bridge and when we approached the man holding the sign we were talking about what to make for dinner. When he let us through, turning the sign from Stop to Slow, he asks "So, did you decide what's for dinner yet?"
We had another stop in Anchor Bay, where a group of beachgoers stopped by to ask us the usual questions. We've had this conversation about a hundred times already, perhaps more, and it can be annoying. depending on the timing, but I do think it's important to talk to folks and show then we're not insane, that we're having a good time, that we're doing this by our own strength and will, and (if they listen long enough) we're doing it for a cause that in some way or another, impacts them. It's hard to steer the conversation towards sustainable management of fisheries when our fully loaded bikes are making thier eyes bulge out of thier heads, but we manage to every now and then, and perhaps they'll think about it next time they're at the market thinking about what to have for dinner.
We get a lot of honks on the road, and it's often hard to tell if they're supportive or not. I've gotten plenty of both. If someone holds down the horn as they slam on the accelorator and puff out a cloud of black exhaust as they pass, I can usually translate that to "Get of the road a$$hole." So for those of you wishing to be supportive in your honks, try a few short meep-meeps well before passing us, paired with a thumbs-up, rock-on, or hang-loose out the window. I do enjoy those.
We made it to Gualala just after the Global Climate Stroke festivities had wrapped up. I was a bit bumbed we couldn't participate, but reconciled the thought that this whole trip fits pretty well with the agenda of the movement: we're recreating fossil-free (almost entirely), engaging with others about thier personal impact in their coastkine and its fisheries (on our good days), and intentionalky not working within the global capitalkst regime that's gobbling up the earth and all humanity with it (at least for the next month or two).
We camp by the Gualala River in campground nestled in Bay trees, the scent of which only vaguely reminds one of dried Bay leaves (yes, the same plant, so I am told).
The other bikers from the Puget Sound roll in, in addition to practically all the other bikers we're been seeing the past few days, and the place is packed. So packed, we puget sounders set up in a little clearing together, thus dubbed, "Little Seattle."
I walk up to the bluffs to look down on town and the cars passing on the 1. Life rolls along here on the coast.
Out of Mendocino we rode through Little River and Albion, each town a little enclave surrounding the outlet of a river by the sea. Each time the road dove down sharply inland, crossed the river and then worked its way up and back to the sea. The pattern repeated through the rest of the day so that we got much better at keeping our momentum through the turns. Between these, we rolled above the cliffs, which were continuously dramatic throughout the whole day. The brown and dry pastures ended abruptly at the edge, where sunken steeples of rock stoop despite the torrents below, seemingly hellbent on tearing them down.
It was more than odd to see cattle grazing here; it seemed just plain wrong. How could beef production be the best use of this land? All morning we passed plots so heavily overgrazed, they were dust with patches of coastal succulants the cows disliked. There are millions of acres of grassland in the heart of the country already devoted to this, why on such a unique and diverse habitat as the Pacific coast, do we plop a bunch of cows? More than the overgrazing, all that dung so close to the water couldn't be good. though I suppose the ocean is too large to ever notice any localized eutrofication. It is a shame to me than we are so uninaginitave, that when we find ourselves here at the coast, behondling the mighty ocean, that we don't indulge and invest in the bounty of the sea, and keep eating burgers. These thoughts have swayed me to make the rest of this trip lean more pescatarian than it already is.
We stopped in Manchester for water, and while parked on the side of the rode by the cliffs for a snack met some other bikers from the Seattle area riding Eugene to San Francisco.
Point Arena was a funny little town, placed in a dry gully. I liked the look of it as we pulled in. There ws construction on the bridge and when we approached the man holding the sign we were talking about what to make for dinner. When he let us through, turning the sign from Stop to Slow, he asks "So, did you decide what's for dinner yet?"
We had another stop in Anchor Bay, where a group of beachgoers stopped by to ask us the usual questions. We've had this conversation about a hundred times already, perhaps more, and it can be annoying. depending on the timing, but I do think it's important to talk to folks and show then we're not insane, that we're having a good time, that we're doing this by our own strength and will, and (if they listen long enough) we're doing it for a cause that in some way or another, impacts them. It's hard to steer the conversation towards sustainable management of fisheries when our fully loaded bikes are making thier eyes bulge out of thier heads, but we manage to every now and then, and perhaps they'll think about it next time they're at the market thinking about what to have for dinner.
We get a lot of honks on the road, and it's often hard to tell if they're supportive or not. I've gotten plenty of both. If someone holds down the horn as they slam on the accelorator and puff out a cloud of black exhaust as they pass, I can usually translate that to "Get of the road a$$hole." So for those of you wishing to be supportive in your honks, try a few short meep-meeps well before passing us, paired with a thumbs-up, rock-on, or hang-loose out the window. I do enjoy those.
We made it to Gualala just after the Global Climate Stroke festivities had wrapped up. I was a bit bumbed we couldn't participate, but reconciled the thought that this whole trip fits pretty well with the agenda of the movement: we're recreating fossil-free (almost entirely), engaging with others about thier personal impact in their coastkine and its fisheries (on our good days), and intentionalky not working within the global capitalkst regime that's gobbling up the earth and all humanity with it (at least for the next month or two).
We camp by the Gualala River in campground nestled in Bay trees, the scent of which only vaguely reminds one of dried Bay leaves (yes, the same plant, so I am told).
The other bikers from the Puget Sound roll in, in addition to practically all the other bikers we're been seeing the past few days, and the place is packed. So packed, we puget sounders set up in a little clearing together, thus dubbed, "Little Seattle."
I walk up to the bluffs to look down on town and the cars passing on the 1. Life rolls along here on the coast.
Comments
Post a Comment