Bike trip summary: Time to thank the masses

Before beginning this trip, I could count on one hand the number of people I knew -- the number of people I'd seen within five years -- on the West Coast.

I figured I'd be on my own for the majority of the trip. There'd be several nights camping on my own and staying in hostels and motels by my lonesome.

As it turned out, that was far from the case. I ended up staying more nights in people's homes than at campsites on my own.

And here's the amazing thing: Many of the people who opened up their cribs to me hardly knew me or hadn't seen me in several years. And then there were the people I'd never, ever met who were extremely generous.

So here's to the hosts who helped make this trip a huge success:

-- Janet, my Dad's old friend, who let me stay at her beautiful house on Whidbey Island. I'd never met her before and she hadn't seen my dad in a couple decades, but she welcomed me and provided me with a huge, delicious meal after two straight days of PB&J sandwiches.

-- Janet, Kaila, Brian, Danny and Tiffany in Seattle: This was huge, because I didn't know about a place to stay in Seattle until Janet told me about the house she shared with her daughter, Kaila, and other young adults. I stayed here for two nights, and they showed me a great time.

-- Sean and Melany in Warrenton, OR: I needed this break before beginning down the Oregon coast. Thanks, Sean and Mel, for reaching out to me and then showing me a great time.

-- David and Taunie in Coos Bay, OR: I can't thank you guys enough for taking in a complete, stranded stranger and hosting me for a night, feeding me a great meal and being amazing company. Hopefully I can return the favor.

-- Corby by Crescent City, CA: I can't thank you enough, man, for hanging with me while I had all that time to kill in northern California and letting me crash in the front seat of your truck during the night when I didn't have a spot booked at the hostel.

-- Marnin and Tea in Arcata, CA: A big, big thank you to my family's friends from our neighborhood in Ann Arbor. I had never met Tea before and probably hadn't seen Marnin in at least five years. They took me in for two nights despite having a small living place and two small children. Then they let me store my bike there while I was hiking with Dad.

-- Myra in San Francisco: Here's how I "knew" Myra. My uncle's girlfriend, Karen, had a family connection with her. That's it! But she took me in for a whopping three nights, took me out on the town, and constantly checked up on me to make sure my city visit was enjoyble. Another huge favor I need to repay down the road.

-- Toad in Carmel/San Jose: I probably knew Toad as well as any of my hosts, which is pretty remarkable considering I only knew him from a semester spent in Australia and a few days in Boston and Washington, D.C. Anyway, big thanks, Toad, for not only hosting me for a couple days, but showing me some sweet ocean hikes in the Carmel/Big Sur area and for taking me out for some delicious-tasting food.

-- Erica, Margot, Rusty and parents along the coast: They didn't host me at a house, but we camped together for three nights and biked together for even longer than that. They provided great company throughout the time and their parents were extremely generous in providing me a couple of large dinners. Big, big thanks to you all.

-- Barton and Vicki (and Carol) in Santa Barbara: Here's another one of those improbable connections. Barton is the first cousin of my late grandfather, also Barton. I only knew about him and Vicki because of my aunt Sallie, who first connected me with her old college friend, Carol, who lives in Santa Barbara. Then Carol suggested I give Barton a call. Carol was more than willing to open up her house as well, but my timing was bad. I arrived in the city the same day as her daughter's graduation, when several relatives were in town.

Anyway, I got ahold of Vicki, and she kindly offered me a chance to stay with her and Barton, without hesitating, and their place was absolutely incredible. I also got to meet Carol and her husband, Ken, during my stay there, where they showed me a world-famous Mexican restuarant and, along with Vicki, treated me to a delectable lunch.

-- Tim and Sherry in L.A.: I hadn't seen the family friends in probably close to 10 years, but they kindly took me in for three full days and provided me a great living quarters in West Los Angeles despite a very busy time for them -- Tim gave two final exams at UCLA while I was in town. Big, big thanks to you guys and it was great catching up.

-- Sky and Brian here in San Diego: This has been (and will continue to be) the perfect, relaxing end to my journey. I hadn't seen Sky in a good six years, since the end of high school, but she and Brian have taken me into their one-bedroom apartment and are showing me a fun time here in this beautiful city. Also, I must throw out a huge, huge thanks for picking me up from downtown San Diego Thursday night after my most physically taxing day on the bike.

Since I'm by the border, mucho gracias to all of the above.

They weren't the only people who helped make this trip enjoyable from start to finish. I met hundreds of nice folks along the way, and I can count on one hand the mean, unhelpful people I ran into.

I'm sure I'll forget some people, and for that I apologize (you know who you are). From north to south, more thank-yous...

Ernie and Mariette in Vancouver, who took me on a nice detour on my first day.

The fellas in the sports shop in Centralia, who gave me better directions than the map and allowed me to avoid some big hills.

Glen in Manzanita, who offered me a couch to sleep on that I declined because I wanted to experience the sunset. It was a very generous offer.

Tom and the other guy in Pacific City by my campground. They offered several tips about the riding ahead of me and were fun to talk to.

The guy who drove me -- and the bike -- 2 miles into Depoe Bay, OR, when I simply couldn't continue on because of the rain (yes, I guess I cheated).

The man outside the store in Florence, OR, who gave me a tip about where to stay at Honeymon State Park. I took his advice and slept under a canopy, always fearing the rain.

The librarians in North Bend, OR, who let me use the Internet for a whopping four-plus hours while the rain and wind went crazy outside. (Almost all of the librarians in the small Oregon libraries were nice and acommodating.)

The man who worked at the hotel in Bandon, OR, and offered me a bed in the one hostel room remaining for $20 cash because he didn't want to leave me out in the rain.

Emmett, the other biker staying in Bandon. He provided company during a long, dreary day and evening in the small town.

The host at the Humbug Mountain campsite, who, along with her dog, was nice company during a lonely night at a desolated spot on the coast.

A big shout out to Anthony, Joe, Shane and, of course, Corby who camped with me at Nickel Creek in Crescent City. They were great company in sharing the site and their food. Our huge breakfast was delicious, and the day of hanging with Joe and Anthony before heading to the Redwood hostel was fun and relaxing.

Most of the workers at the Redwood hostel, who were nice enough to let me hang around the place even during the day when I didn't have a room. They were easily the nicest hostel hosts, and the $16 a night was very affordable.

The man at the gas station in Arcata, who gave me perfect directions to Marnin and Tea's place. This was crucial, considering I was soaking wet.

The Red Wings fans in the Arcata pub. It was nice watching Game 7 of the conference semifinals with some other Detroit enthusiasts.

Tony, Joe and Gregory, who provided Dad and me with great company (and some warm whiskey) up in the Trinity Alps.

The Swedish biker I met at the campsite off the Avenue of the Giants. After a long day of riding, he provided great company and some s'mores!

The Gualala bartender. Great, fun-loving guy to talk to after another long day of riding.

The five people at the campsite just north of San Francisco. After yet another heavy-duty day on the bike, they were tremendous company for the night. Not only did they feed me with food besides my PB&Js, but they made a fire and we exchanged stories well into the night. Then, the following morning, they made a list of food joints to visit in San Francisco (and their choices were spot-on).

The regular at the chess table in San Fran, who was a part of one of my biggest thrills off the bike -- beating him on my third try.

Fat Joel and friends for providing company, and entertainment, in both San Fran at the Giants game and in Carmel.

My man Bubs from back home, who absolutely shocked me by texting me that he was in Monterey while I was in San Fran. I had no idea he was in California. Then I met up with him, his wife, Lea, and her sister and father the next day and they took me out to dinner in Pescadero. Big thanks to that whole group for agreeing to meet up with me and treating me to a great meal.

The manager at the hostel in Santa Cruz, who agreed to hold my stuff while I biked downtown to do some blogging. This, in retrospect, was huge, because my bike seat and lights were stolen outside of the library. I can't imagine what else might have been taken if all my stuff was on the 520.

The guy at the bike store in Santa Cruz, who helped me find a good replacement bike seat and installed it for me. Then he hooked me up with a biking hat.

The woman at the fruit stand who gave me about $1.50 worth of cherries for the lame $0.97 I had.

Larry and Fred, the bikers north of Carmel. Larry biked with me for 15 miles and told me the best way to get to Carmel -- through Pebble Beach. Larry took me the last couple miles through PB to the Carmel beach.

The bikers in L.A. who rode along with me for a while on the bike paths along the beach during what I knew would be a long day of riding.

And, I believe, that's it....

Now, of course, the people who provided support from other parts of the country....

A big thanks to Uncle Buz, who advised me in my search for a good bike and bought the maps for me at discount price. He also talked me through one of my toughest, most lonely parts of the trip.

A huge thanks to Karen, who also talked to me a couple times during the rainy days in Oregon and, of course, provided the Myra connection!

Thanks to the Boreykos for holding all of my belongings in North Carolina at no charge and (I hope) for picking me up Tuesday!

Big ups to my man Tick for providing me sports updates every week!

Thanks to Aunt Sallie for setting me up with Carol/Barton and Vicki and for consistent support.

Thanks, also, to all of my relatives and friends who supported me doing this trip instead of, you know, getting a real job or something!

And, finally, a big thanks to the parents, who never told me this was a bad idea or discouraged me from doing it. Mom was maybe a bit heavy on the phone calls, but I did appreciate talking to her and Dad a couple times a week (and, of course, it was good to know at least two people were reading the blog!).

Also, it was great to have Dad out here for three days of amazing hiking.

In conclusion, this trip was everything I thought it would be. It wasn't easy, but that's part of what made it so successful. When I finally finished my longest day Thursday, I had a great feeling of accomplishment that I don't think I've ever had.

Completing this trip is one of my greatest feats, no doubt.

I always say, somewhat truthfully and somewhat in self-deprecating fashion, that I'm bad at making big decisions, but I know it was a very good call to go north to south. There are a few reasons for this.

1. The wind: Rarely did I face a headwind, and during a lot of my difficult miles in California, I was helped by a nice tailwind.

2. The hills: I faced several difficult hills, but it would have been even worse going north. Specifically, I don't know how I could have handled the 12-mile hill heading from the ocean on the Pacific Coast Highway to Leggett. It was bad enough climbing 6 miles in the other direction. Twelve miles would have killed me.

Often, it felt like the hills I went down were a little longer and steeper than the ones I went up.

3. The ending. I'm very glad that I finished here in San Diego. For one, it's perfect because I have a place to stay here for a few days. Secondly, it's the perfect spot for relaxing right on the ocean. I can't wait to swim in the ocean this afternoon. I wouldn't have this experience in Vancouver, and I don't know where I would have stayed or for how long.

Going south to north didn't appear bad on paper, especially weather-wise. I wouldn't have experienced much cold and, possibly, could have avoided all rain. But in looking back, I definitely made the best decision.

But it wasn't my best decision. That had to be buying the Trek 520 touring bike. It might surprise you, but I really don't know a whole lot about bikes and bike maintenance. So I really wanted to find a bike that wouldn't give me much trouble even during a trip this long.

The 520 did exactly that. I never had to pump up the tires, which were rock-solid the entire way and never gave me a single issue. And nothing else broke down. All I had to do was lube the chain every few days and get one midway tuneup in Arcata.

The Trek 520 helped make my trip, for the most part, worry-free.

A big, big thanks to the amazing bike that held strong on many difficult roads and went over its fair share of rocks and minor potholes.

Here's to many more years of fun rides, big and small, on the 520.

And, finally, I'm out. I'll have my final set of pictures posted soon on Picassa and facebook.

Thanks to everyone who has followed the blog, either consistently or intermittingly.

It's been the trip of my lifetime and I highly recommend it to anyone who has some free time and wants to really experience a beautiful, diverse coastline.

Feel free to facebook me or e-mail me (jakeblloyd@gmail.com) with any questions about the trip and the area.

Peace,
Jake

Bike trip summary: Crunching the numbers

Yes, I'm in San Diego, the weather's perfect and the beach is calling my name -- I still haven't gone in the ocean during this trip -- but I know how much all of you have been anticipating the numbers from my journey so I've toiled away here on this gorgeous Sunday morning.

And here they all are...

Total miles biked: 1,984.6

Miles biked in Canada (approximation): 41

Miles biked in Washington (approximation): 364

Miles biked in Oregon (approximation): 410

Miles biked in California (approximation): 1,170

Days of trip: 57

Days on bike: 35

Days of rest: 22

Average miles per day of biking: 56.7

Most miles in a day: 101.7 (the final day)

Longest day on the bike: 8 hours, 34 minutes, 23 seconds (the final day)

Least miles in a day: 13.6 (Crescent City to Redwood hostel)

Nights spent camping: 20 (16 on my own)

Nights spent with friends: 23

Nights spent in hostels: 6

Nights spent in front seats of vehicles: 2

Nights spent in motels by myself: 2

Nights spent in a motel with Dad: 3

Nights spent in Canada: 1

Nights spent in Washington: 7

Nights spent in Oregon: 10

Nights spent in California: 38

Bike maintenance:
-- Bought chain lubricant and tire-valve adapter in Tillamook, OR
-- Got $75 tuneup and new brake shoes in Arcata, CA

Days of biking in the rain: 6

RANKINGS
Hardest day on bike: Day 57 (San Clemente, CA-Border Field State Park, CA-San Diego, CA -- 101.7 miles biked) --This is a tough call, because I had some very difficult days in Northern California and the ride on the final day was relatively flat. But I rank it my most difficult because of the pain I was in and how I had to adjust my riding style for the final 30-plus miles. Plus, it was my longest day on the bike.

Most beautiful state to ride in: Oregon -- This is another difficult call, because much of the riding in California was breathtaking, especially in the northern part of the state. But Oregon, as a whole, was a little more beautiful. I was on the coast the entire time, there was some great ocean-side riding on the 101, and the many rocks sticking out of the water were cool to look at.

Favorite big cities to visit:
1. San Francisco: Great food, chess games downtown, walkable, on the water, great baseball stadium.
2. Seattle: Perfect climate, amazing selection of cuisine, very diverse, laid back, good music scene.
3. San Diego: Still in progress...
4. Vancouver: Only there for an afternoon, but loved how nature blended into the city and the backdrop of mountains.
5. Los Angeles: Way too spread out for not having a car, nothing special about downtown, hotter than the other cities.

Favorite cuisines on the coast:
1. Mexican: A no-brainer. The northern-style burritos are delicious, not to mention huge.
2. Organic: Especially in the big cities, I've noticed many organic grocery stores as well as restaurants. They provide a great selection of nutritious foods.
3. Seafood: I haven't had much good seafood because of the prices...

Favorite highways to bike on:
1. Pacific Coast Highway: The PCH in California was scary at times, but it provided amazing views right above the ocean.
2. Highway 101: Provided great riding in Oregon, where it was just two lanes and hugged the coast.

Most enjoyable day on the bike: Carmel, CA-San Simeon Village, CA -- Obviously, there are a lot to choose from here, but this day takes the cake. The 25 miles up to Big Sur were breathtaking, providing me the most amazing views of the ocean down below and the road ahead. Then I joined up with Erica, Margot and Rusty and had company for the final 60 miles of a long, beautiful 94.9-mile day.

Stay tuned for my final post, featuring final thoughts on the trip and, of course, many thank-yous I need to throw out.

Day 53 (June 11, the FINAL DAY): San Clemente, CA-Border Field State Park, CA-Downtown San Diego, CA -- 101.7 miles biked

(Written from Sky and Brian's apartment in Ocean Beach, San Diego)

Miles biked: 101.7 (1,984.6 overall)

Time on bike: 8 hours, 34 minutes, 23 seconds

Maximum speed: 29.3 mph

Roads taken: Avenida del Presidente, bike path, Camp Pendleton: Stuart Mesa Road, Vandegrift Boulevard ... Oceanside: Harbor Drive, Pacific Street, Breakwater Way, N. the Strand, Wisconsin Avenue, S. Pacific Street, Cassidy Street, Broadway, Vista Way, CR S21 ... N. Torrey Pines Road/CR S21, N. Torrey Pines Road, San Diego area: La Jolla Shores Drive, Torrey Pines Road, Prospect Place, Prospect Street, Coast Boulevard, Olivetas Avenue, Marine Street, Monte Vista Avenue, Fern Glen, Neptune Place, Palomar Avenue, Camino de la Costa, La Jolla Boulevard, Mission Boulevard, bike path along Mission Beach, Mission Boulevard, W. Mission Bay Drive, Dana Landing Road, Quivira Road, Nimitz Boulevard, N. Harbor Drive, bike path along N. Harbor Drive, ferry from downtown to Coronado, bike path, Glorietta Boulevard, bike path along Silver Strand Boulevard, 13th Street, Coronado Avenue, Hollister Street, Monument Road, after turning around: Monument Road, Hollister Street, Coronado Avenue, 13th Street, bike path along Silver Strand Boulevard, Glorietta Boulevard, bike path, ferry back to downtown where I was picked up by Sky and Brian.

Places stopped: Del Mar (for an oatmeal lunch and a midway-point breather), La Jolla (to admire the ocean view and take a few pictures), downtown San Diego (to wait for the ferry), Coronado park (to change bike shorts), Border Field State Park (the official end point on my map), Jack in the Box (to stuff myself with celebratory junk food; the milkshake was amazing), Rite Aid (to buy something).

Looking back, it is only fitting, I guess, that my most difficult day on the bike was my last one.

Throughout this trip, I had to constantly remind myself that there's really no such thing as an "easy mile." You have to keep pedaling to earn every tenth of a mile -- or lean on your brakes if going down a hill -- and no matter how flat the road is or how crystal clear the sky is, no part of the trip can be taken for granted.

I learned this in a big way Thursday.

In truth, the riding should have been a breeze and should have been enjoyable from start to finish...

The morning riding wasn't great, but I made excellent time. I biked through a military base for the first time, Camp Pendleton, and saw dudes working out on all the typical military equipment -- bars, ropes, etc. Then after a few miles through the middle-sized town of Oceanside, I joined up with CR S21, a miniature highway, and pedaled through several beachside towns.

I passed through Carlsbad, Encinatas, Cardiff by the Sea and Solara Beach -- all, from appearance, popular towns for surfers and tourists -- and finally allowed myself to stop in Del Mar for lunch. I looked at my map and realized that I was just outside of the greater San Diego area.

For the first time of the day, I thought about how close I was to the finish line. I had biked about 41 miles and had roughly the same amount of miles to the Mexican border.

After an oatmeal lunch -- the last of my backwoods food -- I hopped back on the bike, feeling good, and biked toward La Jolla. There was an increase in traffic, but that didn't keep me from enjoying the ride.

I biked up a long hill, the only long climb south of Santa Barbara, and then passed by Torrey Pines Golf Course, where Tiger won the U.S. Open with one leg last year. It was the second famous golf course I saw this trip along with Pebble Beach.

Then I made my way back to the ocean, which I biked along in La Jolla. The waves were bigger than any I'd seen on the trip and there were hundreds of surfers riding them. I stopped for a minute and took a couple pictures.

And when I got back on the bike, I started to feel it -- soreness in my ass.

It wasn't terrible pain. I could still ride in my normal positions. Plus, it wasn't entirely unexpected. I had rode over 50 miles, and throughout the trip I had felt some soreness off and on during the afternoons of long days on the bike seat.

So I rode on, starting to sense the finish line. There was no stopping me at that point.

I reached Mission Beach and biked along a crowded boardwalk next to the beach. The problem with biking on such a path is that it's difficult to locate the next turn. So it was no surprise to me that I went a little bit past my turn needed to go to Ocean Beach.

But I didn't have to backtrack much, and soon enough I was riding into Ocean Beach. I checked my odometer, because the "OB" is where I would need to ride back to after getting to the border to reach my spot of rest, Sky's apartment. It read 60 miles. I figured I still had 20 to 25 miles remaining. That meant I'd end up doing about 105 to 110 miles for the day -- a high for the trip.

The ass was sore, but not unbearable. I didn't even consider stopping at Sky's and calling it a day. What kind of finish would it be to wait until the next day and just do 25 miles to the finish line?

So I biked through the OB and then took a bike path along N. Harbor Drive all the way downtown. The ass was starting to hurt pretty bad whenever I sat on the bike, but I knew I had a nice, extended break ahead of me -- a ferry from downtown to Coronado. I thought, hoped, that it would relieve some of the discomfort.

Upon reaching the ferry terminal on San Diego Bay, I waited about 15 minutes for the ferry to arrive. Then I boarded the boat and snapped some pictures of downtown as we headed just across the bay for Coronado.

When I got off the boat and back onto the 520, I knew I was in trouble.

The rest had made my ass even sorer -- now I could hardly sit on the bike. The pain was like nothing I'd experienced on the entire trip. As I rode gingerly along a bayside bike path, I yelled out a couple times in pain.

There was no turning around, but how could I continue like this for 17 long miles?

I didn't think I could, so I stopped at a playground area and changed bike shorts, hoping that the fresh pair would bring comfort.

They didn't.

So I simply sucked it up. I turned up the volume of my iPod and tried singing along to songs to take my mind off the pain. That didn't really work, however.

Once I reached the Silver Strand bike path, a long, straight, flat path along the very narrow strip of land between Coronado and Imperial Beach, I stood up and didn't want to sit down again.

And for about 3 miles, that's what I did. I pedaled and pedaled while standing up, putting the bike in a high gear and cruising along the strip. My legs told me to sit down on several occasions, but my ass told me that'd be a bad idea. But the Strand kept going, and eventually I had to sit down and rest.

Thankfully, I was able to shift to a sitting position that wasn't quite as unbearable as before. It wasn't your proper riding position. I had my legs out to the side and my feet were angled in to the clips. But I was able to ride sitting down again, which helped me get through the rest of the Strand and reach Imperial Beach.

When I turned right onto 13th Street, I knew I had just three more turns before the finish line. I turned onto Coronado Avenue and biked past shopping malls and a high school, still riding gingerly but sitting down. After about a mile, I hooked a right on Hollister Road.

Just one more turn to make...

But my ride on Hollister seemed to go on forever. And after a couple miles, the pain in my ass become unbearable again. As I passed a stall of horses, I had to stand up -- and stay standing up.

And that's when I reached Monument Road, which runs parallel to the border. As I turned right, I noticed the large ridge just to my left that separates the U.S. from Mexico. I also saw a section of the border gate atop the ridge. It didn't look like an easy fence to scale.

I continued riding...

I knew I had a couple miles to go on the road before reaching Border Field State Park, but I was biking on adrenaline at that point. I stood up the entire way, pumping one pedal stroke after another as my iPod played "California, here we come." (Amazingly, there's no "Border Field State Park, Here We Come" song that I know about.)

I had the road all to myself. It was oddly appropriate that I was finishing my journey all on my own. After all, that had been the case for the majority of the close to 2,000 miles.

And then I reached my final destination!!! ... and it was ... UGLY.

That's right. There were several large, sharp rocks in the middle of the road. A dirt road led off to the left. And in front of me was a locked gate, which made it known that the park was closed.

My map had said the park was open Thursday through Sunday, but the sign said that it was only open on weekends. I don't think it would have mattered -- there was nothing to see, nowhere to go.

In the days and hours leading up to the conclusion of the ride, I had imagined how I'd celebrate finally reaching the end point. I'd imagined doing all kind of fist pumps, yelling in utter joy, getting off the bike and doing a face plant in a nice patch of grass.

When the moment arrived, however, I did none of that. I couldn't lie down in grass because there wasn't any. And the scenery didn't exactly inspire a celebration.

So I simply got off the bike and managed a smile, which quickly disappeared when I thought about how many painful miles I still had to ride.

Then I lugged the bike over to the state park sign so I could take some pictures to mark my reaching it. There was no one around, so I couldn't pose for a picture (although I tried, unsuccessfully, to snap a picture of the bike and I by the sign).

After the photo shoot, I sat down in the middle of the road -- the most comfortable spot there -- and called Dad. As we were talking, a military guy on a four-wheeler rode up to me and stopped briefly to ask if I was OK. After all, I was sitting in the middle of the road.

I told him yes, and he continued down the dirt road. This happened three more times during my conversation with Dad, and twice the guys asked me about the trip. In retrospect, I should have asked one of them to snap a picture of me with the bike and sign.

Oh, well. I needed to get back on the road, anyway. Reaching Sky's apartment before darkness had become another concern.

The pain didn't subside on my ride back, but at least I knew I was headed in the right direction. Upon reaching the Strand, I stood up for three consecutive miles without sitting down. The sun was going down to my left and I started to think that if I didn't make the next ferry -- they ran every hour -- there was no way I'd make it to Sky's before darkness.

But I simply couldn't stand up the entire way. I had biked 95 miles and was going against the wind. Finally, I allowed myself to sit down and again found a bearable position to sit in. I wasn't going as fast as I could have, but the pain didn't make me want to die, either. That was a plus.

The ride on the Strand seemed to take an hour, but I eventually reached Coronado as the sun was nearing the horizon and pulled up to the pier leading out to the ferry dock. That's when I noticed where the ferry was -- just offshore, heading in the other direction.

I had missed it by about 8 minutes. It was 7:38. The next ferry wouldn't leave until 8:30.

I realized at that moment that I was done riding. I had gone 101.1 miles.

It was time to ask for help. So I called Sky to ask for a ride from downtown, and when she told me that, yes, she could pick me up and that, yes again, she had a RAV4 in which we could fit the bike, I celebrated -- at least internally.

Pending a safe ferry ride, I didn't have to worry about any more riding, about any more left or right turns. I exhaled and called Dad to get a Lakers-Magic update. Then I had a man take a picture of me, the bike and the San Diego skyline.

That would serve as my ride-is-over picture. It seemed more appropriate than a picture at the border when I still had 17 miles to ride.

Throughout the trip, I had felt pretty good physically at the end of each day of riding. But, I must admit, I felt fatigued at the conclusion of my final, long day.

My legs were sore, especially my calf muscles, and my ass had never been sorer. Sitting down on any surface, even a couch, was a tad uncomfortable.

But I drew joy out of the fact that I wouldn't have to sit down on a bike seat the next day. Or the next. Or the next...

I think the trip was about the right length. I was ready for an extended break from the bike.

And I'm sure the 520 felt the same way.

Stay tuned for my final wrap-up blog, including all the intriguing numbers...

Day 52 (June 10): Los Angeles, CA-San Clemente, CA -- 88.1 miles biked

(Written from Sky and Brian's apartment in Ocean Beach, San Diego)

Miles biked: 88.1 (1,882.9 overall)

Time on bike: 7 hours, 57 seconds

Maximum speed: 30.8 mph

Roads taken: Los Angeles: Pico Boulevard, Gateway Boulevard, Ocean Park Boulevard, bike path along Pacific Ocean, Washington Boulevard, Admirality Way, Fiji Way, bike path, Harbor Drive, Torrence Boulevard, Western Avenue. 223rd Street, Wardlow Road, bike path along Los Angeles River ... Long Beach: Bayshore, E. 2nd Street ... Pacific Coast Highway, El Camino Real, San Clemente: Ave Pico, Boca de la Playa, Calle de las Bolas, Ave Florencia, Ave Pelayo, Calle Puente, Ave Palizada, Calle Seville, Ola Vista, Ave Calafia, Ave del Presidente.

Places stopped: Huntington Beach (to finally rest after 55 miles and eat a Power Bar/blood-red orange lunch), 7-Eleven in San Clemente (to get Gatorades and ice-cream bar), San Clemente State Park (for the night).

I woke up Wednesday morning well aware of the task ahead of me: navigating my way out of Los Angeles. From my bus rides, I knew how huge the city was and that it wouldn't be a breeze to "get out of town."

The first part of the journey wasn't bad. After 4 miles of biking in traffic got me down to the Santa Monica beach, I enjoyed about 15 miles of pleasant riding on a bike path along the beach. A few people joined up with me as I pedaled.

First an older man from Ireland rode alongside me for a few miles, asking several questions about the trip and helping to pass the time. A little later, a pair of locals rode up beside me and provided company as I headed through Hermosa Beach and toward Redondo Beach.

The only negative thing about riding with them is that I missed my turn. They knew the area really well and said they could offer me a different route, but I didn't want to get off the route the map outlined -- I had too many turns to make, too many miles to bike. So I backtracked about a mile to Torrence Boulevard, where I began a more unpleasant part of my day on the road.

For over 10 miles, I rode on busy city streets through Redondo Beach, Torrence and Carson. Luckily, I was used to such things -- it might have been a little more scary had I done this at the beginning of the trip. All I cared about was staying on track.

I almost got lost upon reaching the Los Angeles River. I had to get on a bike path on the east side of the river after crossing a bridge onto Wardlow Road, but I didn't see a way to reach the path. After riding through a neighborhood, I finally made it to the path -- but it was on top of a hill in front of me. So I had to walk my bike through dirt for about a quarter mile before reaching a ramp that led up to the path.

Like the path along the creek in L.A. the day before, the path beside the Los Angeles River is not what you imagine when you hear of a "bike path along a river." The river was disgusting and reeked. It was filled with trash and maybe ankle-deep, for the most part. There was nothing nice to look at.

So I simply pedaled along, heading into Long Beach.

And Long Beach actually looked like a pretty nice place, with -- you guessed it -- a "long beach" and a nice harbor. Droves of people milled about in the midday sun; sand volleyball games were played on the beach; kids screamed and played at an amusement park.

It was a nice city, with plenty of things in a small, contained space (yes, that's an L.A. joke).

Of course, I got lost in it, however. I was supposed to follow a bike path all the way through the city, but somehow I wound up biking a circle by the harbor and then trying to figure out how far, exactly, I was on my maps. That's one of the only issues with my maps -- on the "detail" maps, there are no mileage markers so I never know exactly how far I need to go on a certain road or bike path.

But a man helped get me back on track, and I rode along another nice path out of the city and toward Seal Beach. That is where I finally joined up with the Pacific Coast Highway, officially marking my exit from the four Los Angeles "detail" maps that had dominated my morning.

I'd been riding for more than 40 miles.

I reached Huntington Beach, the "surf capital of the world," and finally allowed myself to take a breather after 55 miles of reading. I exhaled, ate a Power Bar and a blood-red orange and talked briefly with a biker who was quite cynical of the area containing Huntington Beach, Newport Beach and Laguna Beach.

The guy said that if I'd come two weeks later, I'd be "dead" because of the crazy drivers in the area. I thought he might have been exaggerating just a bit, but I was thankful, I guess, that I'd made it two weeks before things got chaotic.

He did have a point, however. The stretch from Huntington Beach through Laguna Beach was crazy, as I biked along the PCH amid lots of traffic. Between the cities, I was treated to small shoulders. But when I biked through them, I had no shoulder to work with and had to watch out for car doors opening from the cars parked on the right side.

There was no way to avoid the traffic. I just had to establish my space in the road, letting cars know that I was there and that they better avoid me unless that wanted some legal trouble (or something like that).

As I was cruising through the high-traffic zones, the scenery was often amazing. And it's no wonder, really -- I was in "The O.C." zone.

I had looked forward to biking through Newport Beach, where the TV show takes place. I wanted to see the huge, amazing houses that are on the show.

Sure enough, there were hundreds of tile-topped houses sitting atop hills along the coast by Newport Beach as well as Laguna Beach. Not a bad place to live, I thought, or to film a TV show.

I got to San Clemente around 4, having already biked about 80 miles, but when I stopped for a snack I realized that I couldn't go farther than nearby San Clemente State Park for the night. The next hiker/biker site was some 30 miles down the PCH, and I couldn't even get there at that point because my route would take me through the military's Camp Pendleton, which -- according to my map -- closes at 3:30 p.m. on weekdays.

So I slowly cruised through several side streets in the nice town of San Clemente and stopped at the state park for my final night of camping.

And it was a beautiful park. I walked down to the beach, which sat just on the other side of a railroad track on which a train passed. I watched a couple surfers take some of the large waves into shore. It was peaceful and beautiful.

Then I walked back to camp and made beans and rice for dinner. It was fun to have a backwoods meal during my final night on the road.

After eating and cleaning up, I walked back toward the beach and enjoyed the end of the sunset.

Then I headed back to the tent and got to bed early.

It was probably a good decision -- I had a little bit of riding to do before reaching my final destination.

Day 51 (June 9): Los Angeles -- 0 miles biked

(Written from Sky and Brian's apartment in Ocean Beach, San Diego)

Miles biked: 0 (1,794.8 overall)

During my final day in Los Angeles, the local buses drove me crazy -- and, of course, forced me into a lot of walking.

It's safe to say that by the end of the night, I was ready to get back on the bike. I was sick and tired of the L.A. buses.

My game plan in the morning was to catch a bus to Venice Boulevard, where I'd transfer to another bus to get down to Venice Beach. Once there, I planned to walk around and explore the scene.

But, somehow, I rode right past my stop, which I swear was never announced. And after about 12 minutes, I realized I'd gone too far and was well on my way to LAX.

I quickly got off to cut down on the damage, but it had been done. I was miles from my desired location.

After about a mile of walking, I saw a little, hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint and got a tasty burrito. That helped better my mood a bit, but I had a long walk ahead of me to reach Venice Beach -- yes, I could have tried to find another bus, but I had no idea which one to catch from where I was and I didn't have a bus map on me.

So I walked along barren streets, which featured no scenery. The thing about walking in L.A. is that you might be 5 miles, or even closer, from downtown and all the activity, but have no idea. I felt like I could have been in some random, run-down city.

After a while of walking, I reached Ballona Creek, which runs out to the ocean. I noticed a bike/walking path along the water, which looked more appetizing than the sidewalks I had been following.

In truth, it really wasn't. The creek, like the Los Angeles River, was narrow and had concrete walls on both sides. The water wasn't deep and was extremely dirty, and I felt bad for the ducks stuck in it.

Anyway, I walked along the creek for a couple miles before finally reaching Marina del Ray. Once there, I had to slide my way along busy Lincoln Boulevard and its lack of sidewalks before reaching Admirality Way, which slowly took me around the marina toward Venice Beach. I had to stop and sit down on a bench for a break -- I'd been walking for 2 hours.

But finally I reached Venice, my legs fatigued, and I actually found an interesting part of the city to explore: The Venice Beach boardwalk.

It was a nice afternoon, and droves of people were out walking the strip. Here's a sampling of what/whom I passed by:

-- A handful of "doctors" who could provide marijuana for medicinal purposes. Each place had a list of reasons why you could see the doctor for weed. Among them: arthritis, AIDS and many other medical problems.

-- Several street performers, who sang, sculpted, did tattoos, etc... One guy had sculpted an alligator out of sand. It was impressive.

-- Several sidewalk stands selling everything from beads and necklaces to T-shirts, pipes and ice cream.

-- Muscle Beach, a large, outdoor weight room. It's a great idea, really. L.A. hardly gets any rain, so it makes sense to pump iron outside in a happening place. It would sure beat working out inside a hot, indoor gym.

-- Also in athletic circles, there were paddle ball courts and basketball courts. Paddle ball is a fun sports to watch and, I presume, play. It's played on a miniature tennis court with tennis balls, but with paddles. Players hit the ball with tennis-like strokes.

Overall, Venice Beach was a one-of-a-kind experience. All kinds of activity and things to look at just a couple hundred yards from the water.

Then, of course, it was back to the bus life. After a relatively short walk, I caught the 733 bus on Venice Boulevard heading toward downtown. And then I took a nap, because I had a long, long ride ahead of me.

I ended up riding the bus for a full hour until, finally, I arrived downtown. Then I had to catch another bus, the No. 4, to get to Dodger Stadium for the main attraction of the day -- a baseball game at the oldest MLB stadium I hadn't been to.

After about half an hour, I arrived at my stop -- and Dodger Stadium was nowhere in sight.

Luckily, a sign pointed me in the direction of the stadium, which was up a large hill about half a mile from the bus stop. The perimeter of the stadium was a setup different from anything I'd ever seen. Toll-booth like stalls were set up, where cars had to go through to pay for parking in several large lots surrounding the stadium.

It seemed different, but also more simple than most parking situations outside sports stadiums -- but it wasn't beautiful. After walking a few more hundred yards, I finally reached the stadium, which doesn't exactly stand out. It's kind of tucked into the ground like Michigan Stadium, only to a lesser extent.

Still, it provides a good baseball-watching experience, and that's all that matters. I bought a $30 bleacher ticket, which included unlimited food -- hot dogs, nachos, popcorn and peanuts -- and non-alcoholic drinks (soda and water). I'd never heard of such a deal at a ballpark, but it was enticing.

And the ticket wasn't bad. I sat in the second row of the right-field bleachers, which was prime home-run territory. The Dodgers jacked four of them during their 6-4 win, including a blast that landed about 10 feet to my left. That sent my section into chaos, as fans jived back and forth about who missed the ball.

The bleachers were packed, and the crowd was extremely ethnically diverse -- an experience I'd never witnessed at a baseball game. The fans were boisterous, and they got even more excited and gregarious as the Lakers' NBA Finals game wound down in Orlando during the middle innings.

One guy about 20 seats to my right had a portable TV, and he kept updating everyone around me. It was craziness. Somebody would ask for a score and get a response. Then the kid next to him, who hadn't heard the score, would ask. It resulted in shouting back and forth that I had to chuckle at.

The excitement over the basketball game was as great as that about what we were there for until, finally, it was announced -- and confirmed -- that the Lakers had lost by two.

That did nothing to dampen the fans' moods. It was an enjoyable, entertaining experience throughout the 3-hour game, filled by fans doing the wave, fans batting beach balls, lots of eating and, of course, watching the best team in baseball win another game.

Then it was back to the buses...

Before leaving that morning, I had used mta.net, the L.A. public transportation system, to map out a plan. It had me taking two buses, the No. 2 and the No. 7, back to Tim and Sherry's house off Pico Boulevard. When I caught the No. 2, however, around 10:30 p.m., the driver told me that it didn't connect to the No. 7.

Still, she said it was my best option, so I sat down and waited. After about 40 minutes, she told me to get off at Fairfax Street and take the No. 217 down to Pico, where, finally, I could take the No. 7 back to Tim and Sherry's. Not only would i have to take three buses, but transfers weren't given at that time, so I had to pay $1.25 for each ride.

Well, the driver had said nothing about the 37 minutes I waited outside of a drug store for the 217. I considered, at one point, running down to Pico, but I knew how huge L.A. is. It'd be a long, long run in my Tevas. And, at long last, the packed bus pulled up a little after 11:40.

I got to Pico a bit after 12 -- it was a good thing I hadn't tried running, because it must have been several miles -- and had a decision to make: Should I sit at a bus stop and hope that the 7 showed up, or should I run for it?

Thankfully, the signs on Pico listed the schedule for the No. 7 -- and there would be one more bus for the night headed in the right direction. Unfortunately, even if it was on schedule, it was more than 15 minutes away. So I decided to jog up Pico and stop, temporarily, at each bus sign to see if the bus was coming.

After about 15 minutes, I was winded and decided to camp out at an abandoned bus stop. A couple minutes later, an abandoned bus pulled up. The nice driver took me within a block of Tim and Sherry's.

It was 12:30.

My L.A. experience on buses was over.

And I was ready to get back on the bike, a form of transportation I knew I could count on.

Day 50 (June 8): Los Angeles -- 0 miles biked

(Written from Tim and Sherry's house in West Los Angeles)

Miles biked: 0 (1,794.8 overall)

Unfortunately, I don't have too many exciting stories to tell from my first full day spent in the city of stars.

You can blame my lack of planning and the hugeness of L.A. for that.

A city like L.A. is tough for me to navigate, because I like to explore major cities by foot. Also, unlike your typical tourist, I don't come to a city with a predetermined plan to see A, B and C. I just kind of wing it as I go.

That kind of thinking, unfortunately, didn't get me very far Monday.

A brief summary of my day spent, mostly, walking or on buses:

1. I bussed to UCLA's campus, not far from here, hoping to see the inside of cozy Pauley Pavilion, where the Bruins play. Of course, the arena was completely locked up and I couldn't find a way to get in.

UCLA's campus is nice, the buildings are interesting and all that jazz, but I've seen many cool campuses over the years. It didn't exactly get me dancing.

2. So I walked north to Sunset Boulevard, where I hoped to catch a bus -- I'm not sure which one; all I knew was that L.A. has hundreds of buses -- to Hollywood and something, you know, cool and hip.

But I didn't see any bus stops during a long walk on Sunset, and when I reached an intersection with Beverly Glen -- right by the entrance to Bel Air, by the way -- I decided to hook a right and head back toward West L.A. where I was sure I could catch a bus down to Santa Monica and the ocean.

3. I walked, and walked and walked a little more. It wasn't the worst walk, however, and was made more interesting by beautiful, large houses and by trucks I'd see almost every mile sitting idle on the street.

What were they? I'd never seen 'em before.

What I soon realized was that I was looking at portable Mexican restaurants, sent out to the streets to serve all the Mexican landscapers and menial laborers -- and others -- who worked on the upper class' homes.

It's a great idea, really -- bringing lunch to the workers. I must have seen about 10 of the trucks, and many of them featured different logos. One, sitting by a park, drew a decent line of hungry men. I guess it's become quite the competitive business.

4. Anyway, after a few miles of walking in the afternoon heat, I finally made it back to Pico Boulevard and, after 16 minutes of waiting, caught the Big Blue Bus (No. 7) down to Santa Monica.

I walked along the touristy pier for a little bit and looked out at the blue ocean and the sun rays hitting it. Fishermen tested their luck below me. A musician tried to entertain a few hundred feet behind me. Kids screamed for cotton candy. Moms said enough sweets.

It was your typical pier, but still enjoyable for a few minutes.

After dismounting, I walked along the edge of the "bikers only" path for about a mile until I found a lonely cafe located between the beach and the streets to the north. I got a late lunch and then headed back toward Pico and the bus ride north to Tim and Sherry's.

They fed me a healthy, filling dinner and entertained me with some only-in-L.A. stories.

Day 2 totals from my stay in L.A.:

-- Bus rides: 3
-- Money spent on bus rides: $1.75
-- Estimated time on buses: 1 hour, 17 minutes
-- Approximate number of miles walked: 4.25
-- Percentage of the city I've seen (rough guess): 0.12

I guess I'll be getting around on Tuesday, my last day in the city.

Day 49 (June 7): Leo Carrillo State Beach, CA-Los Angeles, CA -- 32.9 miles biked

(Written from Tim and Sherry's house in West Los Angeles)

Miles biked: 32.9 (1,794.8 overall)

Time on bike: 2 hours, 33 minutes, 11 seconds

Maximum speed: 31.8 mph

Roads taken: SR 1, Santa Monica bike path, Ocean Avenue, Ocean Park Boulevard/Gateway Boulevard, Pico Boulevard, Camden Avenue.

Places stopped: Santa Monica bike path (to kick it for a minute and text google to find out if Federer won his 14th grand slam), Tim and Sherry's house (for the night).

I've concluded that I'm very good at underestimating how far I can go on a bike in a certain amount of time.

For instance, on Saturday I told Tim, whom I'd be staying with for three nights in L.A., that I'd probably get to his and his wife Sherry's place in West Los Angeles around 12 Sunday afternoon.

Forget the fact that I planned on getting up early and had an estimated 30 to 40 miles of mostly flat riding to do. I never expect to get somewhere quickly on the 520.

So when I arrived at their house a tad past 10, after 32.9 quick miles, it was, naturally, a surprise to them. Thankfully, they're great, accommodating hosts and let me in the door.

(And the rest of my visit, so far, has been blessed with kind hospitality, entertaining conversation and, of course, a comfortable bed.)

As for the ride into L.A., it was actually hillier than I expected. Going through the coast town of Malibu, I climbed quite a few hills. No, they were nothing like the hills I went up in the northern and central parts of the state, but they still offered a good workout.

I enjoyed most of the ride because I got an early start and beat the L.A. heat. I executed my earliest wake-up time of the trip -- I've never used an alarm; just awakened on my own -- by getting up around 5:47 a.m.

It's incredible how early it gets light here. When I emerged from my tent, it looked like it'd been light for nearly an hour (maybe I'll have to test that during my final night of camping). Whatever the case, I had no problems adjusting to the early morning and preparing for my ride.

After a cup of tea and some oatmeal, I was ready to go reach another big city.

Riding through Malibu was nice, except for all the cars that lined the side of SR 1. I had to constantly look out for opening doors, as some early morning surfers were preparing to hit the waves.

Once I got through Malibu, it was less than 10 miles before the traffic increased and I knew I was nearing the city. Apparently, Santa Monica used to be its own city, but now it's part of the L.A. sprawl. This was proven when I noticed the Los Angeles city limit sign before seeing the Santa Monica pier.

Thankfully, I was able to get off SR 1 and onto a beach-side bike path just as the traffic was getting heavy and the bike lane becoming the width of a pencil. I knew, then, that I was in the city.

The Santa Monica beach is nice -- just a long stretch of sand, featuring several volleyball nets and, of course, broken up by the pier and its cornucopia of mini roller coasters, games and stands selling overpriced junk food

I enjoyed riding roughly 100 yards from the water, passing all kinds of bikers, rollerbladers, runners, walkers, you name it. The path was supposed to be "bikers only," but what could I expect? This was L.A.

Eventually, with the help of a nice girl at a hotel, I found the street that Tim had described as the most safe to bike on and get to his house, Ocean Park Boulevard. While there wasn't a designated bike lane, there was some room to ride and the traffic wasn't too bad on a Sunday morning.

After a few miles on that, followed by a very brief stretch on busy Pico Boulevard, I arrived at my destination, ready to ditch the bike and kick it in the city of stars for a few days.

L.A. DAY 1
My plan for Sunday afternoon was to get down by the Staples Center prior to Game 2 of the NBA Finals and observe the scene. And, of course, I'd be accepting any free tickets (shockingly, I didn't get lucky in this respect).

One of the interesting things I noticed on the two-bus ride downtown, which took over an hour, was that I was the lone white person on either bus. I didn't feel uncomfortable, but instead enjoyed being the super minority for once.

(It would be the same on most of my other bus rides in the city -- and there were many.)

The bus rides also gave me an idea of just how huge L.A. is. My route was all on one street, Pico Boulevard, but we must have gone some 200 blocks before getting downtown to the central part of the city.

Walking L.A., like I walked a solid portion of San Fran, is not an option. This is especially the case because of how spread out everything worth seeing is.

There's the beach and pier in Santa Monica. There's UCLA in Westwood. There's Hollywood north and east of there. And there's downtown, and the Staples Center and Dodger Stadium, even farther East.

I bought an L.A. map, and it doesn't even show Anaheim and Pasadena -- that's how spread out the metropolis is.

Anyway, I made it to the Staples Center about 40 minutes before the 5 p.m. tipoff and wandered around. Obviously, there were thousands of yellow- and gold-clad Lakers fans milling about, but the atmosphere didn't seem too much different from that before a regular-season or early round game in the playoffs.

Of course, the hundreds of T.V. cameras and sets gave away the occasion, but there was no craziness. Maybe the Sunday afternoon sun and heat had mellowed people, or maybe they were saving their voices for the game.

I did, however, find the pregame spot to be -- outside of the VIP entrance. I walked upon a throng of onlookers who were, apparently, intrigued about the possibility of seeing a famous actor or musicians pull up to the entrance.

And, sure enough, a few minutes later I heard a few screams and shouts, turned to my right and there, stepping out of a black SUV with tinted windows, was the one and only Diddy, the famous rapper/producer/actor/man of many talents.

I decided to blend in and snap a few pictures as Diddy, decked out in spiffy sunglasses, waved to the crowd and headed straight for the front of the line. I guess some folks around here have privileges.

Among the other celebs I saw during my brief stay along VIP lines: soon-to-be high NBA draft picks Tyreke Evans and James Harden and actress Bridget Marquardt from the "Girl Next Door." (No, I didn't know that last one off hand; I was tipped off by one of the many knowledgeable picture-takers.)

So that was fun...

Then the game started, and I found out that finding a cool place to watch the Lakers downtown is quite the challenge.

There were a few fancy restaurants and the absolutely mobbed ESPN Zone -- which is overrated, anyway. Finally, about midway through the first quarter, I settled on an overpriced joint a few blocks from the arena.

I watched the first half there, but never felt any kind of NBA Finals atmosphere and didn't enjoy the $5.50 Miller Lite.

So I checked out at the half and decided to head back up Pico for the second half. Well, I quickly discovered, surprise, that not everyone in this kind of big city cares about the Lakers. As I walked through a predominately Mexican neighborhood, I didn't see one restaurant that had the game on, didn't notice one person with a jersey.

I realized that I'd have a hard time finding a cool place to watch the game, so I hopped on a bus heading back toward Tim and Sherry's with the hope of catching the conclusion at a neighborhood bar.

Luckily, there weren't many people on the last of the four buses I took during the day, and I made it to a nice spot just a block from my temporary residence for the game's final 5 dramatic minutes plus overtime.

There were several Lakers fans watching there, but the celebrating still seemed tame to me. I don't know -- maybe they're saving their rowdiest cheers for the night when the championship is clinched.

Or maybe the Lakers winning simply isn't all that important to the majority of L.A. citizens.

As an outsider, I can only guess.

I went to bed fairly early Sunday, wondering how many buses I'd take during my first full day in the gigantic city.