(Written from Bad Ass Coffee, Santa Cruz, CA)
Miles biked: 51.1 (1,342.6 overall)
Time on bike: 4 hours, 23 minutes, 48 seconds
Maximum speed: 31.6 mph
Roads taken: In San Fran: Waller Street, Stanyan Street, Parmassus Avenue, Judah Street, Great Highway ... SR 35, Daly City: Westmoor Street, Skyline Drive, Crenshaw Drive, Longview Drive, Palmetto Avenue ... Pacifica: Clarendon Road, Francisco Boulevard, Westport Drive ... SR 1, Medio Avenue, bike path (in Miramar and Half Moon Bay), Half Moon Bay: Kelly Avenue ... SR 1.
Places stopped: Pacifico beach (to rest and watch the dozens of surfer dudes), Half Moon Bay gas station (to buy hot dog for lunch), Half Moon Bay library (to blog, but the librarian was ridiculous and limited me to 15 minutes despite there being several available computers), Pigeon Point Lighthouse Hostel (for the night).
After a delicious oatmeal breakfast, compliments of expert breakfast preparer Myra, I hit the road around 10 Wednesday morning. Yes, I was finally back on the bike after a great two and a half days in San Fran.
Well, first I had to get out of the city -- not an easy task.
But Myra suggested a route that helped me avoid any busy streets, or huge hills, and although it took a while to reach the Great Highway on the west side of the city, it was a rather pleasant ride.
From there, I cruised out of the city on a sizable shoulder. The ocean was just to my right, and it made for a fairly easy beginning to a never-easy "back-on-the-bike" day.
Then I reached Daly City...
From a distance, the city of about 100,000 looked interesting. Rows of houses sat on a hill overlooking the Pacific. But when I made a turn onto a city street, I was bored out of my mind -- not to mention heading uphill.
As I pedaled up a long hill, all I saw on either side of the road were identical homes -- one after another. I felt like I was living in the '50s and the birth of suburbia.
Finally, I reached the top of the hill and cruised downhill for a while into the neighboring city of Pacifica. I stopped at a beach to rest for a few minutes and observe the dozens of surfer dudes who were taking advantage of the sunny weather (at least for a few minutes; it quickly became foggy after that).
Then came a crazy stretch that I wasn't expecting. I've realized that no matter how easy a day on the bike might seem on a map, that's never really the case. There's almost always a challenge that I didn't see coming.
On Wednesday, the challenge was a stretch of about 6 miles that had my heart beating faster by the second.
First, the road suddenly narrowed and slanted uphill. I quickly found myself staying as far to the right as possible while trucks zoomed by. The hill continued as a construction worker yelled, "Almost there."
I was almost out of breath and couldn't muster much of a response beyond, "Hmphf." Then the real craziness began.
I wasn't going uphill anymore, but I was high above the ocean -- still on the skinny road -- and the wind was hitting me from all directions. I later learned that the stretch of SR 1 is called "Devil's Hill," but at the moment I was just thinking about pushing through to the bottom of the thing.
It was one of the most scary stretches of biking on the trip.
But I survived without any scrapes, bruises, lacerations, broken bones or scratches. And the rest of my moderate day of riding was pretty uneventful.
Except for what happened off the bike. Libraries, in general, have been great places for me to blog during the trip. But the Half Moon Bay Library failed miserably.
I planned on staying there for as long as I could to catch up on my blogging, but I was kicked out after a 15-minute session. It might have made sense if the place was packed, but there were several available computers.
That didn't leave a good taste in my mouth.
But it did provide an opportunity for me to call one of my good friends from back home, Bubs.
In one of those "You've got to be kidding me" stories, Bubs was in Monterey, just about 120 miles south of San Fran. He had randomly texted me Tuesday night about a basketball game, and when I texted back that I was at the Giants game, he texted back that he was in Monterey.
I was shocked, had no idea. (Shows how well I keep up with my friends' lives!)
Anyway, Bubs hoped that I could hang in San Fran for another night since he was driving there Wednesday afternoon with his wife, her sister, and their father, who lives in the city and is the reason he was out here.
I couldn't because of my reservation at the Pigeon Point Hostel, but when I called him from outside that library and he found out I was biking down the 1, we concluded that we could meet up in Pescadero, a small town just north of the lighthouse.
After arriving at the lighthouse -- the ride there from Half Moon Bay had been uneventful besides meeting a biker, Ben, who was riding with a group down to San Diego in a span of five days! They had road bikes and were planning on doing about 120 miles a day. Wow, that would kill me -- I quickly showered and prepared for Bubs' arrival.
But first I realized that the lighthouse wasn't what I had imagined. In the Hostel International brochure, it's described as having a hot tub overlooking the ocean that's open to guests.
What the brochure didn't say, however, was that the hot tub costs $7 for a half hour -- and you must have at least two people. The hostel already costs a lot for a hostel -- $28 -- so to charge extra for the hot tub was ridiculous.
Not only that, they charged $0.50 for the use of a towel.
It was a big change from the Redwood Hostel, which was very hospitable and offered a hiker/biker discount. I paid just $16 a night there.
Anyway, that was disappointing. But the dinner that Bubs' father-in-law treated me to wasn't. It's always nice to get a break from preparing cheap dinners and be treated to one, and I am very thankful to him for taking us out.
And, of course, it was great catching up with Bubs and his wife, Lia.
Didn't see that one coming.
The night was uneventful until I met a trio of older guys who were hiking up and down the coast. They were doing something I've never heard of -- they'd hike 15 miles, or so, a day and then get back to their car(s) and stay at nice accomodations. Sometimes their wives would pick them up, other times they'd use two cars, sometimes they'd hitchike. Once in a while, they'd camp out.
It wasn't your traditional hike, but I can't blame them. Two of them had done almost the entire stretch from Mexico to San Francisco along the coast.
That was my conversation of the night. I was ready for bed.
But first, I had a night-time snack. Yes, there was one positive about the hostel.
The "Free Food" cabinet was stocked with bread, peanut butter, honey, jelly and chips.
A silver lining to cap off an up-and-down, back-on-the-bike Wednesday.
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