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.

Day 48 (June 6): Santa Barbara, CA-Leo Carrillo State Beach, CA -- 55.4 miles biked

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

Miles biked: 55.4 (1,761.9 overall)

Time on bike: 3 hours, 57 minutes, 10 seconds

Maximum speed: 29.5 mph

Roads taken: Toro Canyon Road, Via Real, Santa Ynez Avenue, Carpinteria Avenue, US 101, SR 1, bike path, Ventura: Omar Raines Oceanfront bike path, Pierpoint Boulevard, Peninsula Street, Seahorse Avenue, Oyster Street ... Harbor Boulevard, Channel Islands Boulevard, Oxnard: Ventura Road ... Port Hueneme: Port Hueneme Road ... Navalair/Frontage Road, SR 1.

Places stopped: Ventura boardwalk (for a Power Bar/blood-red orange lunch and break), Point Mugu (for a snack and to admire the ocean view and the cliffs on the left side of SR 1), Leo Carrillo State Beach (to camp for the night).

It's a good thing my brakes were working Saturday morning, because they got their biggest test going down Toro Canyon Road from Barton and Vicki's house that sits some 1,250 feet above sea level.

After bidding Barton and Vicki goodbye, thanking them and discussing the possiblility of meeting up again during the week in L.A. -- where they work -- I got on the 520 just before noon and started down the hill that had nearly caused me to quit biking two days earlier.

I love going down hills as much as the next guy, but not all hills are fun to descend, and you can put the Toro Canyon beast in that category. For 2.8 miles, I didn't let go of the brakes for more than about 2 seconds lest I reach a ridiculous speed, hit a bump and go flying 43 feet in the air.

My hands were sweating by the time I reached the bottom of the hill and I had to dismount to regroup before continuing my trip south.

That was the only real drama of the day.

It was my flattest day of riding to date, which made the 55.4 miles seem like 20 miles. I wasn't pushing that hard, and I still made it to the hiker/biker campsite closest to L.A., Leo Carrillo State Beach, in less than 4 hours of biking time.

The riding was easy, but it wasn't boring. Even the 6 miles along US 101 -- I'm pretty sure I'm finally done with my major-highway riding; SR 1 doesn't quite count in that category -- was scenic, as the ocean stretched out to my right and small mountains stood in the not-so-far distance to the north and east.

It became even better once I got through the nothing-special towns of Ventura and Oxnard and merged onto the Pacific Coast Highway. As I passed Point Mugu, peaks higher than 1,000 rose steeply right on the edge of the highway. Yes, if I were a rock climber, I could have parked at a wayside and started climbing.

Not only that, but the ocean, and some decent-sized waves, was just 30 feet or so below the road on my right. I stopped on the side of the road about three times to snap pictures.

When I reached the state beach around 4:30 p.m., I really didn't want to call it a day. But I had no other plausible options. There were no more hiker/biker sites before Santa Monica, and I definitely wanted to camp a night before smelling the fumes of the city.

So I sadly got off the bike and spent most of the evening on the sandy beach, watching a large group of talented surfers take rolling waves to shore.

I got in the sleeping bag before 9, thinking about getting up at a very early hour and coasting into L.A. before the oppressive heat hit.

A COUPLE NOTES
1. I can't thank Barton and Vicki enough for welcoming me into their house and being extremely hospitable for nearly two days. It was an incredibly fun and relaxing time in the beautiful Santa Barbara hills.

2. I decided on Saturday, somewhat out of convenience and somewhat out of dedication, that I won't swim in the Pacific until I reach my final destination of San Diego. It will make running into the water -- which, hopefully, will be an accomodating temperature -- for that first time all the more intoxicating.

Day 47 (June 5): Santa Barbara, CA -- 0 miles biked

(Written from Barton and Vicki's beautiful house, Santa Barbara, CA)

Miles biked: 0 ( 1,706.5 overall )

I woke up Friday morning to the pattering of rain on top of my sleeping quarters for the first time in over three weeks...

And I was perfectly OK with it.

That's because, of course, I was under an actual roof. Instead of having to step out of a soaking tent into a rainy morning, my only duty was to walk outside, for about 26 seconds, and move the 520 under the side of Barton and Vicki's house.

And then I crept back into my super comfy bed and fell back asleep.

Oh, the luxurious life. For a day, at least, I lived it in Santa Barbara. Among the highlights:

1. Vicki prepared a delicious breakfast for me made up of eggs, English muffins, bacon, cantaloupe, blueberries and tea.

2. I relaxed during the morning, reading the New York Times and browsing an assortment of magazines while reclining in extremely comfortable chairs while watching the rain hit the pool outside.

3. Around noon, the sky cleared and Vicki and I headed out to meet Carol, who roomed with my aunt Sallie at Brown and knew the Myers as well. We met Carol and her husband, Ken, at a world-famous Mexican restaurant called La Super Rich close to downtown.

From the look of the place, you'd never guess it's world-renowned and is a common place for celebrities to eat at. It's a one-story building with a green-tile roof on the corner of an uninspiring neighborhood. But when I saw the line snaking out the entrance door, I knew it was legitimate.

As Ken described, the food served was southern Mexican as opposed to the northern Mexican burritos I'd experienced farther north in spots such as San Fran and San Jose. Carol and Ken, regulars at the place, ordered us a bunch of plates -- enchiladas, tostadas, chicken, beef, guacamole, mild and hot salsa, etc... -- and we sat down in a crowded outdoor dining room to eat.

I felt like I was in a greenhouse as I sipped a delicious rice drink called Horchata. The food was just as good, not to mention diverse, and I left the place after taking a few pictures to commemorate my visit.

After that, Vicki took me downtown to State Street and we walked around for a little bit. I admired the Spanish-style buildings with their tile roofs as Vicki told me how part of the main downtown area had been rebuilt, in a style similar to its original form, after a deadly 1925 fire.

The buildings and the backdrop of 4,000-foot mountains combine to make Santa Barbara quite the appealing small city on a hill (and I didn't even mention the ocean).

4. In the afternoon, after a much-needed nap, I woke up and was treated to another absolutely delicious, filling meal prepared by Vicki -- steak, peas, salad, corn, white and red wine, and ice cream and berries for dessert. Not only was the food good, but I got to share the meal with Barton, who was back from a work trip.

We talked a lot about the Lloyd and Myers family histories, attempted to put together family trees -- I had a hard time remembering some of the names -- and chatted about sports and architecture well into the evening. Barton is a famous architect, so it was neat just listening to any stories or opinions he had because I knew he was making perfect sense.

It was a great-tasting, relaxing, informative night that I capped off by looking out over the ocean toward an almost-full moon. Oh, and the oil rigs out on the water provided a little light as well.

This setting is perfect, really. It'll be hard to leave when I get back on the bike.

Day 46 (June 4): El Capitan Beach State Park, CA-Santa Barbara, CA -- 36.1 miles biked

(Written from Barton and Vicki's beautiful house, Santa Barbara, CA)

Miles biked: 36.1 (1,706.5 overall)

Time on bike: 3 hours, 29 minutes, 54 seconds

Maximum speed: 24.2 mph

Roads taken: 101, Hollister Avenue, Los Carneros Road, bike path (through UCSB's campus and to Santa Barbara), Santa Barbara: Arroyo Road, Nueces Drive, Modoc Road, Mission Street, Castillo Street, Cabrillo Boulevard, Coast Village Road, Olive Mill Road, N. Jameson Lane ... Sheffield Drive, Ortega Hill Road, bike path, Summerland: Ortega Hill Road, Lillie Avenue ... Via Real, Toro Canyon Road/192.

Places stopped: Chase Palm Park in Santa Barbara (for a Power Bar and water), Barton and Vicki's house (for the night).

I can't lie -- today was almost all about the finish line.

That doesn't mean the riding wasn't nice. Once I got off 101 and rode for a few miles, I joined up with a bike path that I took for 7 miles.

It was easy riding, and I was treated to plenty of scenery as I passed through UCSB's campus. It is, as I was told later, a campus overflowing with cyclists.

I could have guessed that just from my morning ride. As I pedaled along the bike path, hundreds of girls rode by me on every kind of bike you can imagine. Some talked on their phones as they rode, others pedaled along with one hand.

The riding, obviously, was nothing more than a means to get to class. Finals were coming up.

I passed by one set of bike racks, outside of an academic building, where there must have been some 300 bikes locked up. Some serious bike-seat stealing could go down there (no, I'm not suggesting it, kids).

Then upon riding into Santa Barbara on relatively calm residential streets, Erica, Margot, Rusty and I got to look at beautiful, blooming purple flower trees on either side of the road. (I'm awful at identifying flowers, so help a dude out, folks.)

When we reached downtown, we were greeted with a nice stretch of beach and a pier overlooking the water. People were all about on the sunny morning -- some locals and some, clearly, tourists.

And I immediately saw what I've come to like best about the city of a little less than 100,000: The mountains that serve as a perfect backdrop to the Spanish-style homes on the hillsides. It's amazing to me how close you can be out here to both the water and mountains.

It's one of the aspects of this coast I like best.

But viewing the mountains, which range to about 3,500 feet, also reminded me of what lay ahead: a HUGE hill.

Yes, I had climbed the map's biggest hills already. And, yes, my route the rest of the way to San Diego was relatively flat.

However, my grandfather's cousin, Barton, and his wife, Vicki, had graciously invited me to stay with them for a couple nights in the area. And -- here's the bad part -- their house is a few miles inland from the ocean, and my prescribed route, and mostly uphill.

My biking friends decided to head downtown on State Street for an early lunch. I started, a minute later, to follow them, but after a few blocks I turned around. I wasn't really hungry, and all I could think about was the challenge ahead of me, probably the biggest I'd face the rest of the trip.

I had to conquer it. There was no time to waste. I was back to riding by my lonesome.

After a few miles of easy riding, I arrived at the base of Toro Canyon Road, and I began the most tortuous, grueling, sweat-causing 3 miles of this entire journey. (I know I've said that before, but you'll have to believe me this time; it really was the worst hill of the trip.)

The road was curvy and uphill the entire way. Some parts were steeper than others, all parts were difficult.

After about half a mile, I was only using my lowest two gears. I would get in the drops and zig-zag my way up while in my lowest gear, trying to focus on the music playing in my ears instead of the burning in my lags. Thankfully, I encountered only about three cars, which allowed the massive zig-zagging.

Still, I had to take not one, not two, but three breaks for water and to rest the legs. Of course, they started burning again as soon as I got back on the 520.

My destination was 949 Toro Canyon Road, and the numbers didn't go up quickly. On one side of the road, I'd see a number only to notice, a minute later, a smaller number marking a plot of land a few hundred feet up on the opposite side.

Vicki had said I might need to walk my bike up the hill. Chugging my way up it, I completely understood.

Finally, after a last break, I perspired my way into the 900s and once I saw the number on the driveway, I celebrated internally like Kevin Garnett did externally upon winning that first championship ("I'm on top of the world!!!!!!!").

Actually, I was pretty high up, as Vicki told me later. She said that I'd climbed from close to sea level to 1,250 feet. When I rode in a car up and down the hill a couple times, I realized just how ridiculous the climb had been.

Anyway, it turned out to be well worth it...

THE MYERS' HOUSE
As I soon discovered, the house in which I'd be staying for two nights is like nothing I've ever stepped foot in. It's no wonder Barton is a famous architect.

The first thing I noticed, after pushing my bike up the steep driveway, is a pool of water in front of the house. I didn't think it was anything but accumulated rain water at first, but Vicki later informed me that the top part, about 5 feet wide and 4 feet deep, is actually a lap swimming pool.

I took an incredibly refreshing dip in the pool later in the afternoon.

While I was swimming, I looked down the hill to the south and admired a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean and the hilly Channel Islands just 20-some miles off the coast. I could sit in the pool and take in that view all day.

But then I wouldn't get to see the coolest, hippest, most fire-retardant house I've ever set my eyes on. This is what Barton and Vicki call home when they're not working in L.A. during the week, and they've had it for over 11 years. I could live in it my entire life.

The outer shell is almost completely glass, but get this -- it can also be completely air. Yes, all the windows can be pulled up into the ceiling like a garage door, creating an open space (imagine eating at your dining room table outside while looking out over the ocean 1,250 feet below).

As far as protection from those deadly California fires, there are sheets of steel that can be pulled down to cover the glass exterior and thoroughly shield the house from wild flames.

Barton and Vicki are also doing their best to protect the surrounding landscape from fires by planting as many cacti as possible. The cacti also give the plot of land a western desert touch, which feels right, and the fruit trees in the hills directly above the main house and Barton's office building make the whole setup just about perfect.

Did I mention that you can see the peaks of mountains in the Los Padres National Forest looming to the north? Well, you can, and they're the ultimate backdrop to the rustic, tranquil setting.

It's going to be hard to leave this place.

Thankfully, I have a full day here Friday before continuing down the coast Saturday toward smoggy L.A.

Barton wasn't in town Thursday, but Vicki treated me to a delicious lunch, took me on a 3-mile long walk along a dog-friendly beach -- those are always the most entertaining -- and then took me out to dinner along with a friend of hers to an Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Santa Barbara.

The food was absolutely delicious.

I expect to wake up Friday feeling rested, finally, and well-fed.

Then maybe I'll take a dip in the pool.

What more can a kid ask for?

Day 45 (June 3): Oceano, CA-El Capitan Beach State Park, CA -- 80.3 miles bikes

(Written from Barton and Vicki's beautiful house, Santa Barbara, CA)

Miles biked: 80.3 (1,670.4 overall)

Time on bike: 6 hours, 53 minutes

Maximum speed: 36.7 mph

Roads taken:SR 1 South, Mesa View Drive/SR 1, SR 1/135, 135, Harris Grade Road, Lompoc: N. H Street, E. Ocean Avenue/SR 1 ... SR 1, 101.

Places stopped: Lompoc (for lunch at cheap diner), just before the SR 1-101 junction (to mildly celebrate conquering the biggest hill and prepare for the steep downhill cruise), El Capitan Beach State Park (for the night).

I have been very, very pleased with the Adventure Cycling Association maps I've used to navigate this tremendous journey down the West Coast.

But there have been a few turns the set of maps has suggested that have left me furiously scratching my head.

On Wednesday, I looked at one of the suggested turns and said, "No freakin' way, ain't happening."

It came at the beginning of what would be a long day. The map suggested about a 3-mile detour, involving four turns, to avoid a 0.8-mile stretch of SR 1.

Upon riding up to the intersection, I could tell that the part to "avoid" was nothing but a moderate hill. So while my biking companions took the detour, I hooked a right and bike-sprinted up the hill. And, of course, it wasn't bad at all.

There was a decent shoulder, and I had reached the top after about 4 minutes. Then I zoomed down to the intersection, stopped at a gas station and talked to a friendly local for about 20 minutes while waiting for Erica, Margot and Rusty.

We had a nice conversation.

From there, it was difficult for me to take my mind off the two monster challenges that loomed, literally, later in the day.

Big Hill.

And Super Big Hill.

One thing I've failed to mention in previous posts is that the past two maps I've used have detailed elevations of the route (since it's so hilly), so I've always known, roughly, what lies ahead of me. So that's how I knew about the two large hills that we'd have to climb Wednesday.

As I've gotten closer to San Diego, too, I've found that it's harder to keep my mind off a day's destination. This isn't to say that I'm no longer enjoying riding. Simply, I'm always thinking about what lies ahead.

So, naturally, my mind was on the hills as we cruised along flat roads for the first 30 or so miles.

What I did notice was a strong, strong Spanish presence. As we biked into the small town of Guadalupe, a Verizon Wireless billboard was in Spanish -- I'd never seen a national brand advertised like that -- and for every "Open" sign in a store window, there was also an "Abierto" sign.

If I ever move out here -- don't rule it out -- I'll have to sharpen up on my Spanish. It'd make things much easier (and more interesting).

Speaking of grades of difficulty, the Big Hill was one tough cookie. I knew Harris Grade Road would provide some challenges, because the map detailed several switchbacks on the country road just north of Lompoc. It lived up to the hype, that's for sure.

With a strong sun beating down on me, I pedaled hard -- in 10th or 11th gear -- around several curves, always hoping the next one would be the top of the upward maize. Finally, after 2.5 miles and with a sweaty forehead, I saw the speedy Rusty stopped ahead, which signaled to me that I'd reached the top.

One hill down, one to go.

We then cruised down into Lompoc, which proved to be a scary stretch of riding. After one intersection, I found myself coasting on a super narrow strip of pavement with cars accelerating by me on both sides -- they were merging onto the road from my right.

Thankfully, there was a break in the chaos and I was able to get to the shoulder, but riding through Lompoc -- including after a cheap lunch at a local diner -- was no breeze. There was no real downtown to speak of, and the main road was two lanes, and busy, all the way through the city of about 41,103. No, there was no bike lane, either.

I haven't biked through many non-biker towns, but Lompoc was one of them.

But we made it through and back onto SR 1, and then the anticipation reached an unbearable level. Where was Super Big Hill?

You see, according to my maps, SBH would be my last big hill of the entire trip (not including side trips off the route; see June 4 entry). So getting up it was a big deal. Everything would be a breeze after it, right?

So as I zoomed along in the afternoon sun, I kept expecting the climb to be around the next bend. But the road, instead, would descend or flatten, and I'd exhale and keep pumping the pedals.

We'd gone nearly 15 miles since the lunch break when, finally, we stopped at the side of the road and saw what had to be the SBH. I squirted some water into the mouth and started up it.

And, as it turned out, the hill was nothing to fret about.

Sure, we climbed to over 1,000 feet. But I never even had to downshift to my lowest rung of gears. I beasted my way up the gradual slope, reached the top, ate a few smashed strawberries -- Erica bought a bunch earlier in the day -- and put on some sunscreen.

There were no huge celebrations, no Tiger fist pumps.

I didn't even thoroughly enjoy the 7.5% downhill grade for the next 2 miles because I was getting smacked by a crosswind that threatened to blow me over.

I did enjoy the part after that, when we merged with 101. For a few miles, the road was bordered on both sides by steep cliffs that rose several hundred feet in the air. I felt like I was biking along I-93 in between New Hampshire's White Mountains.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on 101, but it wasn't bad because of the scenery. We had rejoined the ocean after several inland miles, and decent-sized mountains with cool-looking rocky summits stood just to the left side of the highway.

Still, I must admit that I felt a bit tired when we arrived at the El Capitan campsite and I spent another mile of riding looking for a campsite. (Although that extra mile allowed me to reach the 80-mile mark for the day.)

After a ramen noodles and Power Bar dinner, I didn't have any trouble falling asleep a tad past 9.

Day 44 (June 2): San Simeon Village, CA-Oceano, CA -- 57.3 miles biked

(Written from Barton and Vicki's beautiful house, Santa Barbara, CA)

Miles biked: 57.3 (1,590.1 overall)

Time on bike: 5 hours, 5 minutes, 46 seconds

Maximum speed: 38.7 mph

Roads taken: SR 1 South, Ocean Avenue, SR 1, Morro Bay: Main Street ... South Bay Boulevard, Turri Road, Los Osos Valley Road, Foothill Road, San Luis Obispo: N. Chorro Street, Broad Street ... Price Canyon Road, Pismo Beach: Price Street, Stimson Avenue, Dolliver Street/SR 1 ... SR 1.

Places stopped: Morro Bay (for lunch at Mexican joint; I just had a Power Bar), bushes just north of San Luis Obispo (yes, I failed to unclip fast enough and fell into the bushes, as did Erica, who ended up beside me), Pismo Beach State Park (for the night).

This was one of those days that will be forgotten, but not because it wasn't enjoyable.

It was, simply, uneventful.

And easy. Very easy.

After taking on a handful of huge hills, not to mention 94.9 miles, the previous day, it was extremely nice to have an easy day on the bike.

Yet still rack up the miles.

The terrain was mostly flat, the wind was at our backs, and threatening clouds didn't burst open and pour on us. Instead, the weather was just about perfect. It was mild, as I rode the whole day with my long-sleeved Lakes of the Clouds shirt.

We would have gone farther than Oceano, but there weren't any campsites within some 30 to 40 miles of riding -- and getting there actually would have involved some climbing.

So Erica, Margot, Rusty and I pulled into Pismo Beach State Park around 3, ready to call it a day and do some serious relaxing.

The only problem I had with the day was the ridiculous price of campsites. Neither of the state parks in the area offered hiker/biker sites anymore, so we had to pay for a regular site -- which, really, is no better than a H/B site.

And, all of a sudden, campsites in this part of California are a ridiculous $25. They're no different from sites in the northern part of the state -- or Oregon or Washington, for that matter -- but they're extra expensive. We're talking about a small plot of land with a picnic table and a fire ring.

So that didn't make me happy.

Thankfully, I had three companions with whom to split the price. So, yes, the wallet survived.

It did much better than survive later that night when the parents, who are driving the coast as their kids bike it, treated me to a second straight dinner -- this time Little Caesars pizza, bradsticks and salad (by the way, Little Caesars has to be the best budget/tasting pizza out there; I'm not just saying that because I worked there for two months after high school).

I was very, very thankful for getting two quality dinners in a row and being able to keep my ramen noodles tucked away in one of my small panniers.

It was another night of good company, another enjoyable day.

Despite the ludicrous campsite price (and, no, it wasn't even on the beach).

Day 43 (June 1): Carmel, CA-San Simeon Village, CA -- 94.9 miles biked

(Written from Barton and Vicki's beautiful house, Santa Barbara, CA)

Miles biked: 94.9 (1,532.8 overall)

Time on bike: 7 hours, 35 minutes, 20 seconds

Maximum speed: 35.4 mph

Roads taken: SR 1 South.

Places stopped: On the shoulder of SR 1 several times (to take breathtaking pictures), Lucia restaurant (to eat lunch with my new biking companions), north of San Simeon (to view dozens of entertaining seals), San Simeon State Park (for the night).

I was scared Monday morning.

The climb had been built up, hyped up, made to seem like the hill that would finally finish me off, end my journey south.

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a tad, but Toad sure did a good job of scaring me as I prepared to get back on the bike and pedal 25 miles to Big Sur (and then beyond, I hoped).

As it turned out, the climb was the best part of my trip -- and I've been on the bike for quite a while now.

It wasn't easy, but it wasn't exactly as steep as Toad made it seem, either. And the views were so breathtaking, I wasn't even thinking about the hills I was climbing.

As I biked up gradual grades, the ocean was just to my right. And in front of me, I could clearly see a mile of SR 1 twisting its way on top of the craggy cliffs. The sky was clear and the views, both in front of me and behind me, unbelievable.

Apparently, I wasn't the only person who thought that, because I actually kept pace with a pair of driving tourists for about 3 miles of mostly uphill riding. Every time I came to a turnout, they'd be out of their car taking pictures.

Yeah, it was that amazing. And the scenery wouldn't go away all day.

In the afternoon, I found some companions to enjoy it with.

I hadn't biked with anyone the entire trip. I'd seen other bikers at campsites, but schedules had never synced up. So I'd biked alone, counting on the scenery -- and, at times, my iPod -- for entertainment.

But a few miles south of Big Sur -- after getting another delicious Big Sur bar -- I ran into a trio of cyclists who were on their way from San Francisco to San Diego. After brief introductions, I asked if I could ride along with them, and they were happy to oblige.

So I began riding with Erica, Margot and Rusty, three siblings out on an adventure together. And immediately, I found that the trip was more enjoyable. I went at a slower pace, expanded a little less energy, chatted at times with my companions when cars weren't passing -- and the miles flew by.

The riding wasn't a breeze, either. Right around Gorda, we had a pair of large climbs that were more difficult than the over-hyped Big Sur climb. The second one, especially, was tough because it was a switchback. After a nice, long downhill, we sharply turned a corner and had to begin climbing.

That wasn't much fun. But once we reached the top of the hill, it was all downhill and flat riding the rest of the afternoon. And I hardly even noticed how many miles I was logging ... 70 ... 80 ... 85.

I was feeling good, especially as the road became flat.

We stopped in the late afternoon to view a group of entertaining seals on a beach. They were hilarious to watch, as some of them flipped sand on themselves -- to stay warm? -- and others spooned with each other (or whatever that is in seal speak).

After getting back on the bike, it was just a few more easy miles to the hiker/biker campsite, which cost a trip-low $2.

When my companions' parents took me out for a delicious Mexican dinner to cap off the night, I could officially call the day one of my best of the trip (on and off the bike).

And as I crept into my tent satiated and content, I felt good physically.

And I was excited about riding with my new group again the next day.