Big Sur

Our ride from Monterey to Big Sur seemed short. The weather was kind of overcast, but there were still some beautiful views of the rugged coastline. The hills were mostly tame with only one cape that swung in and around a cove, swooping low to sea level before climbing steeply back up. As soon as we left the small town of Carmel behind, we were already in Big Sur territory, which gets its name from a phrase in Spanish: el pais grande del sur. Big Sur is famous for being sort of wild and isolated. This section of Highway 1 was one of the first to be declared a National Scenic Byway. 

Along the way I passed a woman who had pulled over and was pacing nervously as she looked out over a field between the road and the coast. I was going slow enough on a steady uphill, that our eyes met and she felt she needed to share with me that a cow just over there was going into labor. "What?" I said, as I pulled over onto the dirt turnout. Sure enough, there was a large caramel-colored cow lying on her side with a bloated belly. Every once in a while, she would pick her head up and sort of roll her eyes before thumping heavily back onto the grass. The lady I was standing next to had grown up on a farm and seemed to know what stage the cow was in, contractions were close together. Eventually I left, knowing I didn't have all day to stand there and watch a cow give birth, but the woman stayed, saying she just wanted to make sure she was alright. "I've had 3 natural childbirths of my own..." she said, trailing off, not really making eye contact with me as she sent encouraging mental vibes over the fence to the cow.

Part way we met Thomas and Tim, two touring cyclists from Oakland, CA. They were just out for a week and had taken off without any maps or books or anything. They figured they could just following Hwy 1 the entire way. That worked for them, they said, until it was time to find a campsite, or when the highway turned to freeway and didn't allow bicycles any longer. Using our guide book, we directed them to the best place to stop, just before a large hill: Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park, and there would be groceries in town just before the park. We parted ways and said, "See you there." It was clear that this park was a destination for lots of people. The hike and bike camping area was gigantic, but we still had to share a table and fire pit because they were all taken. And the next day while roaming the park looking for a shower and laundry, we realized just how big the park was with 200 plus campsites. The benefit of staying in a state park that also happens to be an international destination, was that there was a fancy lodge with a fire place and leather couches, a cafe and a restaurant. But we spent that first night hanging out with Thomas, Tim and 3 college kids also from the bay area who had decided to hop on their bikes, lash all the camping gear they owned to them, and head south. One of the kids, Fernando, road his single speed! "People said I couldn't do it," was his response to our incredulity, "so I had to." Apparently he was so used to riding a single speed (or "track bike" as this specific genre was called), that the hills were no problem. And his bike does have breaks (both of them), don't worry.

Tim and Thomas told us stories about life in Oakland, mostly involving cops, marijuana, a gun chase and living in "squats" with no running water and parts of the roof missing. These anecdotes sort of corroborated the craziness I'd been reading in a memoir I picked up by a local San Francisco author called, Everybody into the Pool. It was nice spending one of our last nights out surrounded by other young people who like riding their bikes. It was also a good excuse to finally go all out and buy marshmallows, Graham crackers and Hershey's chocolate. Oh, you know what happened next! (And no, for those of you who know about my marshmallow addiction, I did not throw up. Lyon kept an eye on me.)

The next day we felt strange not packing our tent up and getting a move on. Tim and Thomas took their time getting on the road, and talk of rain in the next few days didn't make me envy them. Stephanie was at the campsite as well. We've probably camped with her 4 or 5 times times over the trip, and Big Sur was her destination as well. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, she'd ridden all the way across the country. So, seeing her pack up to get on a bus and head north was really sad. "Well," she said at some point late in the morning, "I'm going to head out," and she stood up from the picnic table. "Are you going for a ride?" I asked, not realizing how late it was, and thinking she'd want to go exploring before leaving the park. "No, I'm going to wait for the bus!" I gave her a big hug and wished her luck integrating back into the "real world." She'd been out since May. Then we all watched her with kind of pathetic sighs as she walked towards her bike.

That day we had planned to ride to the top of the hill just a couple miles south so we could really see Big Sur. But it turned out to be sort of a dreary day, and we knew the coastline would be covered in fog anyhow, so we didn't even go those last 2 miles to the top of the hill. Oh well, we didn't care. We were there. Instead, we went for a hike (in our bike shoes which made for awkward footing because of the metal cleats). From the Valley Viewpoint we could see the entire Big Sur valley, and even some of the Pacific in the distance.

We spent a lot of time reading our books, Lyon finishing up Cannery Row and me concluding Everybody into the Pool. Then for dinner we shared a can of chili before heading to the cozy lodge for glasses of wine and an appetizer of roasted cheese. The next day, we had no problem catching the bus in Big Sur and getting our bikes on the racks (thank goodness we didn't have to fight any other cyclists for rack space). As we headed north toward Monterey, retracing our route from a couple of days before, it started to rain. It was a tease to think that we were only 300 miles from Los Angeles. Just another week riding our bikes would get us there. But I think, as we peered out from the warm, dry bus at other cyclists riding through the rain, we were happy to be closing this chapter of our adventure. We'll continue coasting for a little while, just without our bicycles.