Eric's Bike Adventure 1995

Trip Log Part 8: Hidden Springs Campground to Gualala

• Hidden Springs to Standish Hickey Recreation Area, Thursday, July 27, 1995

  Today was a day of heat. The original plan was to wake up early, and power through the day -- 80 miles to the coast -- but by about 30 miles, it was pretty clear it wasn't going to happen. Heat will zap your endurance more than anything else on the road.

  

  The road follows near the South Fork of the Eel River, with great views of the road along the way. Since it was so hot, we stopped for ice cream or cold drinks whenever we could. One of the places this took us was into the town of Garberville, the supposed Marijuana Capital of Humboldt County. Here, we stopped at the "Treat Shop", where I had a most awesome milkshake. The Treat Shop was a really swell place. Good food, a decent selection of "healthy" munchies, and just felt like a very cozy place to hang out. The town felt much like Santa Cruz, where I went to college. Not in a hurry to go anywhere, pretty friendly, just a comfortable place to be.

  

  The next town was Benbow, where if we had waited 'til that night, we could have seen some locally produced Shakespeare. As it was, it was just a nice place to take a quick dunk in the river, to cool down from the hot weather. Shortly after this, we saw the site and stage for the next weekend's "Reggae On The River" festival. For fun, check out the large version of the picture, and check out the number of Port-a-potties. They are the bright teal strips with white tops.

  

  After another side route off of Highway 101, it was time to return to the freeway for my last freeway onramp of the trip. I had to get this picture, since I needed at least one picture to remind myself that I had really ridden many miles on the freeway, and so that people would believe me when I say that I had.

  

  Finally, late in the afternoon, after what seemed like an endless day of riding in the sun, we passed through more redwoods. This was a most welcome shady relief, and we had a chance to slow down, drink more water, and for Wayne to replace one of his bike's cables, which had started fraying. The grove had a couple of old stumps with paths carved through them, and what would the trip have been without a picture of riding through a redwood?

  The shade and coolness of the forest was too good to last, though, and as soon as we hit sun, we also stopped off at a diner for some cool drinks. It didn't matter what I was drinking, as long as it had some ice in it, it was what I was looking for. I should probably have been more hungry, but the hot days will zap the energy to eat out of you like nothing else. The waitress at the diner was trying to get herself to eat something, but the heat was making her lose her appetite, too. And she was working inside an air conditioned building...

  Back on the road, we eventually got to the next batch of redwoods, and the next place to stop: Confusion Hill. Like the Trees of Mystery, it didn't seem worth the visit, but a root beer float was definitely in the cards. The Trees of Mystery had an aura of classic American kitsch, that vaguely redeemed the 40 foot Paul Bunyan and ox. Confusion Hill seemed to have no such redemption. Upon arrival, a young girl dressed in a clown outfit tries to convince you to go inside and see the "petting zoo". The "zoo" was apparently just some goats and a couple more barnyard animals. The people running the snack bar and gift shop seemed to begrudgingly serve people. The whole place was run down, and the "confusion" part of Confusion Hill was an opportunity to pay money to see more overdone optical illusions. The entire place left me somewhat depressed. Tacky 50's Americana gone bad.

  Finally, we arrived at Standish Hickey State Park. The last night before Leggett Hill, the highest point on the trip. By this point, half of the hill is already climbed -- so only about 1000 feet of climbing left for the morning. At Standish Hickey, we ran into another cyclist we had met briefly on the street in Arcata. It was good to see faces more than once during the trip. It gave a sense of continuity, and also says you're not the only person out doing a long distance...

  Day total: 43.0 miles, Trip total: 639.0

• Standish Hickey to Russian Gulch State Park, Friday, July 28, 1995

  Today, the biggest hill on the Pacific Coast Bicycle Trail! Leggett Hill peaks at an elevation of 1950 feet. We woke up bright-and-early, so we would be able to do all the hill climbing before it warmed up. As much as 1950 feet is a bit of a climb on some days, starting at Standish Hickey State Park puts you almost halfway up the full height. If you were headed south to north, you would get the full climb in one day.

  

  We got on the road probably an hour or two after sunrise, headed up our last stretch of Highway 101, and headed off to Highway 1, back towards the coast. This began the ascent up the hill. And it was a piece of cake! It was certainly a hill, but the grade was quite gentle, so it was really pleasant to gear down, and just cruise on up! On the way up, I passed a mile marker for the road with graffiti on it. We had entered Mendocino County, so all the signs were labeled MEN. That early in the morning, totally out of context, I thought the sign was really funny.

  

  At the summit of Leggett Hill, I overheard the CB from some parked logging trucks talking about where the cyclists were on the road, so that everyone would be prepared for them. The trucks had generally been really good about driving (better than most RVs, for sure!), and that made me feel even more comfortable, knowing they were keeping an eye out for us.

  After the peak, it was time to bundle up again for the downhill stretch. Pretty fast, very fun, but chilly! It was still not that warm, and much of the road was tree covered, and we were headed towards the cooler ocean air, so the ride down was really pretty brisk. After we got to the bottom, there's one more tiny hill, at most a 300 foot climb, but it was much worse than climbing Leggett, the grade just wasn't as nice.

  Once on the coast, it was time to gaze at the ocean once again. In the turnout, there were posted signs asking for help to solve a couple of murders in the area from back in 1987. The signs weren't nearly that old. 1987 was 8 years earlier, but a greeting of murder upon hitting the coast was more chilling than the breeze.

  

  Eventually, we pass through Fort Bragg, and stop to wander at the Jughandle State Reserve. Jughandle has a "terraced seaside", sort of a staircase of the land from the road down towards the ocean cliffs. Supposedly, each terrace of the land holds plantlife that comes from a different era in time, going back as far as 500,000 years. Walking down all the way to the ocean cliffs, I peered over and saw the brightest red flowers I think I've ever seen. The colors of all the vegetation was spectacular, but the vibrant red really stood out amongst the others.

  After this, we zipped down to Russian Gulch State Park, and set up camp, so we could then head into Mendocino. The hiker-biker site at Russian Gulch is down a pretty steep hill, so every time you need to head out, or use the phone, you get to climb it once more.

  It was late afternoon by the time we got to Mendocino, and the shops were all starting to shut down. The overcast sky had peeled back, like opening a can over Mendocino bay, turning the bay brilliant blue, contrasting with the grey expanse of the ocean itself. An hour later, the overcast came back in, and painted the bay once again grey.

  Mendocino is a pretty tiny town, known more for its tourist industry than anything else. There were a couple groups of high school age kids hanging around, trying to find some place that wasn't going to get upset they were doing so. That's about all there was to do, after it gets dark. A pretty quiet town. We ate, then headed back to camp for the night.

  Day total: 62.7 miles, Trip total: 701.7

• Russian Gulch to Gualala Point Regional Park, Saturday, July 29, 1995

  The day started with a zip past Mendocino, then a first breakfast stop in Albion. After that, the next excitement for the trip. The lesson for today and tomorrow is this: traffic near San Francisco on weekends is bad. Avoid it, if you can.

  Traffic was definitely heavier today, and as we neared Elk, Wayne was nearly pushed off the road, which made him shift too fast, and his chain flew past the largest chainring and into his spokes.

  

  It broke one spoke, and damaged a couple others. Undeterred, he bound the loosened spokes with some duct tape so that if they broke loose they wouldn't fly around and break others, and we got back on the road. Next stop Elk.

  The entire coastal stretch of Highway 1 in California (at least north of San Francisco) is pretty narrow, and has pretty small shoulders. The longer you bike down the coast, the more you wish for the much better developed shoulders along Highway 101 in Oregon... When the weekend came, so did much more traffic. I didn't notice that the traffic was particularly rude or annoying towards cyclists, but there are just so many cars on the weekend that it makes cycling a lot less pleasant. Instead of enjoying the vistas, you keep an eye out for the next car.

  In Elk, we stopped for a real breakfast. Elk is a pretty tiny town, probably a quarter the size of Mendocino, if that. A couple bed and breakfast inns, a cafe, and not a heck of a lot else. We ate at the cafe, and it was really good. If I had to come back to anyplace on the coast for a "weekend getaway", Elk would be the place. By the time we got to Elk, the fog had lifted, leaving us with blue skies and stronger wind for the rest of the coast.

  

  When the sky clears up, the panorama of the ocean changes from this vast expanse of gray into this amazing wash of blue. The color is so vibrant it almost doesn't seem to be real. The beaches become more turquoise, and the deeper the water gets, the deeper the blue. The coast is beautiful in the fog, but it is utterly astounding when it is clear out. If you get a chance to see it when it is clear, consider yourself blessed.

  

  When it is clear, there is typically more wind. Just like everyone predicted, the wind also came from the northwest, helping push us down the coast. I wouldn't want to ride south to north when it was clear out, for sure!

  A bit further down the coast, we started seeing coastal Cypress trees. These fairly scraggly looking trees are typical of the central coast in California. Apparently, if you are patient and have the motivation, you can create topiary with it:

  

  I particularly liked the birdhouse on the single flat tree disk. Very stylish. As we were getting ready to pedal on from this house, a guy came jogging up from his car to talk to us, or at least Wayne. He was from France, in California on holiday. He had never seen a bike like Wayne's and was fascinated by it. He said that bike technology wasn't so advanced in France -- they are much more traditional about bike construction.

  Onward to Point Arena! I had heard the name a lot, since it has a lighthouse, and appears in the coastal Weather Service broadcasts for central California, which I can listen to at home. I finally got to match a place to the name. We got to what we thought was the main drag, and got a couple root beer floats. After we finished and went on down the road, we realized we should have kept going. Downtown Point Arena had a bookstore/cafe, and just a lot more character than the place we stopped.

  Last stop for the day would be Gualala. (That's pronounced "Wa-la-la", if you were wondering.) We thought about finding a restaurant, but instead opted for a thing of tortellini and pesto sauce, to toss on the campstove at the campsite. When we got to the campsite, it was getting late, almost sundown. We found the person to check in with, and he said he had actually just given away the hiker-biker site to somebody, since it was getting late. The campground was packed, like most seem to be in the weekends in summer near "civilization". He asked the other folks if they'd mind sharing, and if we'd mind sharing. They got to pay half-price, and we got to pay the full hiker-biker price. It was only $3, but still didn't quite seem fair.

  

  Fresh pesto pasta is a delight to eat while camping. Filling, tasty, just good food. After a quick dip in the river, and food, it was about time to sleep. The only other notable thing about Gualala Regional Park was the trees. They didn't seem to have any sort of trunk, just sort of grew like "fractals". Lots of branches, starting quite close to the ground.

  By this time, it was starting to feel close to the end of the trip. I had not yet worried much about getting home, or any sort of time table, but as the traffic increased, the number of campers in the campsites went up, and the distance to San Francisco went down, I started getting more antsy about getting home. Not because I wanted the trip to end, but because something just switched to make the trip feel more goal oriented than process oriented. Up until now, I had just been working on going south, not so much going south towards an eventual target. This may be the first time I've ever really enjoyed the process without stress about a goal, and that feeling was starting to wind down.

  Day total: 54.3 miles, Trip total: 756.0