(Written from Bad Ass Coffee, Santa Cruz, CA)
Miles biked: 89.7 (1,253.4 overall)
Time on bike: 7 hours, 20 minutes, 32 seconds
Maximum speed: 35.7 mph
Roads taken: SR-1 South, Pt. Reyes Petaluma Road, Platform Bridge Road, Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, Marin Trail bike path.
Places stopped: Fort Ross (for an oatmeal, bread and tea breakfast, and to prepare for the killer stretch), Jenner (to catch my breath and eat a banana), Valley Ford (for a much-needed lunch break: PB&J sandwich, cookie, gorp), Samuel B. Taylor State Park (for the night).
I thought about making this an easy day, considering the three consecutive difficult days I'd had.
But, of course, there was a problem.
There was a campsite in Bodega Bay, but that was only about 45.7 miles down SR-1. With an early start, I could reach that before 1. And then what? I love Bodega Bay as much as the next guy, folks, but it doesn't deserve an entire afternoon. Not when the smell of San Fran is in the air.
The next campsite, however, was another 45 miles down 1.
Damn, I thought, how can there not be a single spot in-between?
But my decision was made. I'd suck it up, "man-up," whatever you want to call it, and suffer through another long day so that I could relax, finally, in the days after it.
I didn't get the earliest start, not getting on the bike until just before 8, and the going wasn't fast either. But after what seemed like 6 hours, I made it to the tiny, tiny town of Fort Ross and stopped for a much-needed breakfast, which I hoped would also serve as a Red Bull.
That's because the toughest, most crazy stretch of my day was in front of me -- 13 miles between Fort Ross and Jenner of biking 300 to 400 feet above the ocean on a road with narrow shoulders and, at times, no guard rails.
To add to the challenge, it was foggy (when is it not around here? Answer: never). I even turned my front light on as a precaution. And then I headed up my first hill...
And I actually, somewhat, enjoyed myself. Sure, I did a whole bunch of climbing. And, sure, a bad turn to the right could easily send me off the bluff and down into the cold, unwelcoming Pacific far below.
But the riding was cool, almost mystic.
The fog obscured my view to the left, where large, vast, green hills loomed. At times, I even felt like I was hiking on an early morning in New Hampshire's White Mountains. It was cool, foggy and mysterious.
The riding, of course, was far from easy. There was a good amount of traffic, which forced me to stay as far right as possible (remember, I didn't want to ride off the road) and it was curvy.
But I was able to steal plenty of glances toward the ocean well below me, and here's a sight that you just don't see in many places: At one point along the way, there was a group of cows grazing to my right in a tiny patch of grass high above the ocean.
They must have been the good-behaving cows to get a spot like that.
After bike-sprinting through a construction zone (I had to push it as fast as possible once the cars went so that I wouldn't face oncoming traffic), I reached the midway point of the stretch and met a pair of cyclists from New Zealand.
They told me to prepare for some switchbacks during the ensuing 5 miles to Jenner. What they didn't tell me, and what was a pleasant surprise, was that it was almost entirely downhill for me.
I pitied them for having to weave their way up about 7 consecutive switchbacks (and they were steep, too), but I loved zooming down them and then rounding each curve. I felt like I was playing a racing video game where I had to time when and how hard to brake before accelerating again.
(On a sidenote, I continue to pity those who are riding north; thank goodness I actually made a good big decision for once.)
After reaching Jenner, I had a steep climb out of town and the riding wasn't easy. It also wasn't as exhilarating as the Fort Ross-Jenner stretch. Additionally, I started feeling the burden of the day's goal.
I've realized that when I set a large goal for a day, I can't help but think about the final destination several times while on the bike. This is tough when I've only gone 35 miles and still have 55 to go.
The stretch right after Bodega Bay was particular difficult. I was biking inland, with views of nothing but rolling fields filled with normal, not-so-lucky cows, to either side of the road. Traffic was heavy and I was getting no help from the wind.
Which is why I was on Cloud Nine when I cruised down a hill into the tiny town of Valley Ford (population: 126) and saw a general store. A sandwich, cookie and trail mix rejuvenated me and helped me get up several hills as I headed toward Tomales and Tomales Bay.
I was also helped by a dog: As I was making my way up a huge hill, going about 5.3 mph, a sheep dog (I think) started running toward my from inside a large, gated field. Once it reached the gate, it started running (and barking) alongside the gate.
I yelled at the dog several times, "Good dog!" And then, "C'mon, keep running!" And, just like that, I was nearing the top of the hill (as was the dog). Sadly, the dog stopped at that point -- I don't know if it was tired or sick of my yelling.
Anyway, thanks to that dog.
I had visions of stopping somewhere along Tomales Bay, but I encountered a stretch of road where I just kept riding and riding. This happens to me occasionally. I'll pass waysides, but find reasons not to stop.
Maybe the wayside is made up of stones and I don't want my tires to have to ride over them. Maybe I'll tell myself, "Let's wait for the next one."
Whatever the case, the miles started piling up and, just like that, it was mid-afternoon and I was nearing 80 miles for the day.
And I started seeing San Francisco bikers (there are thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands). A pair of day cyclists caught me from behind and stayed with me for a few minutes before continuing on. I passed cyclists going the other way.
I was energized by all the bikers, and I could smell the city.
Just a little past 5, after a few pleasant miles on the Marin Trail bike path, I arrived at the Samuel P. Taylor State Park campground after 89.7 miles. I was just 30 miles, give or take, from San Fran.
I had originally told Myra, a friend of a friend whom I was planning on staying with in the city, that I would arrive Monday. But Saturday evening, I was much closer to San Fran than planned.
I called her, and Myra was nice enough to say I could come a day early. So that had me excited.
My night at the campground was fun, too. Being Memorial Day weekend, it was packed with people, and I shared the hiker/biker site with two couples and an older man who had all done day trips on their bikes to reach the site.
They provided great company, not to mention food, and we sat around the fire for a few hours talking about everything from the city to movies (I could only sit amazed at the knowledge a couple of the guys brought to the conversation).
They also had great knowledge of the city, and even provided me with a list of food places that I HAD TO check out. There were about eight places -- Mexican joints, Asian joints, bakeries and ice cream joints -- on the list.
I hoped my stomach was ready. I had some serious eating to do (if not biking).
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