Home is Home

Yikes!  I'm home, and it's been about three weeks. This blog isn't going to finish itself, so here's the epilogue to more than two years of bike trips.

I last wrote in this blog from Los Angeles. I left LA with the wind at my back. I stopped for lunch on the beach in Santa Monica, then pointed it right up Highway 1.  The One. My first campsite out of LA was in Point Mugu State Park, which apparently is pronounced, "Ma-GOO". Southern Californians love to correct a Spanish pronunciation and assimilate you to their butchered airhead dialects:

-So where, like, do you like, sleep? Like, hotels and stuff?

-No usually I camp. A couple nights ago I was in Point Mugu...

-Like, where? Oooh! Point MaGoo!

Canyoneering in Pt Mugu

That's not fair of me. I had a great time in Southern California, especially north of Orange County. Camping in Point Mugu was really cool, as were all of my campsites on my trudge north. In Point Mugu I camped at an intriguing spot that was advertised as being only two miles off the road. This turned out to be two miles straight up the canyon carrying my loaded bike on my shoulder. After an hour and a half of these portages, I finally got to the site at sunset, built a fire, and sang songs and finished off the last bit of Tequila I had imported from Mexico.

Quite pleasant.

For this last stretch of my trip, which in conversations with myself I would call "my victory lap", I tried to keep it as comfortable and pleasant as possible. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to sleep by the ocean and tell people stories. I wanted to meet locals in bars and talk about basketball. I wanted to camp in parks and listen to coyotes and look at owls as I cooked. I wanted to milk these final moments, and spare no expense to do so.

The reality of Highway One between LA and San Francisco is that compared to riding from Portugal to Hong Kong, it's very short. With each day that passed I had a greater and greater sense of my impending return. At the time this was exciting and terrifying. First I was out of LA. Then I was past Santa Barbara. Then I was in San Luis Obispo. The place names were becoming more and more familiar, and the landscape more and more spectacular. In San Luis Obispo I took a great rest day at the home of Richard and David. Richard took me mountain biking in the oak-shaded hills of SLO, while providing constant intrigue and inspiration from their stories of lives well-led climbing High Sierra peaks, riding frigid Canadian roads, and hosting bike tourers for over a decade. Thanks David and Richard!

Shredding with Richard in San Luis Obispo

After San Luis Obispo I would plunge into the primordial forests of Big Sur. Having never before been to Big Sur, my cup was filled with anticipation.

Big Sur is a famous stretch of California coast between San Simeon and Carmel. It's famous for redwood forests that plunge straight into the frigidly roiling waters of the world's greatest ocean: The "Mighty" Pacific. I had heard of hot springs in the forest, and planned on hiking to the springs.  I left SLO riding north. I passed the world's largest elephant seal motel, and shortly after entered Big Sur. I whooped and sang at the majestic cliffs and the soaring sequoias. I passed a waterfall and decided to camp early in order to hang out with myself and the redwoods. I scouted a good spot, above the road in the trees by an abandoned ranger station. It was a classic spot, registering high on the "is it a good wild campsite?" meter, with high marks in accessibility, seclusion, and beauty. It was no surprise when another bike tourer showed up.

Elephant Sea Dogs

Great redwood campsites are meant to be shared, and up rolled Dr. Steven Fabes. Clothes ripped to shreds and eyes wide in pursuit of a campsite, he asked me if I worked at the abandoned ranger station. I replied that I did not and was just camping there for the night. I saw his bike and welcomed him into the beautiful site. Steve told me had been riding around the world for 3.5 years from England to Portland, OR where he is now, via Cairo, Cape Town, then up from Argentina. It's not often that I meet a cyclist who has ridden further and longer than me, but Steve was one of those cyclists. Check out his blog at www.cyclingthe6.blogspot.com as it will follow him on his journey back to England. The company was welcome, as it was a great distraction to my own ridiculous thoughts and concerns about my impending return to this more settled lifestyle. Steve and I ended up riding together for three days. We hiked up to Sikes hot springs in Big Sur, thanks to the generosity and ability of a State Park employee to hold onto our bikes while we did the hike.

Big Sur

We parted ways in Monterey when I wanted to go to Salinas to see the National John Steinbeck Center, which was totally crap and cost $16.

Steve and me in Big Sur

I left Salinas riding into the dastardly wind heading back to the coast. Heading into this wind, my thoughts swarmed again towards my impending return to my parents' house. I was ending a period of my life, such a period, and I didn't know how to approach it. As luck would have it, I ran into another touring cyclist, young Peter Salazar, who was riding from Tucson to Stanford. We camped at a State Park south of Aptos, and again the company and distraction and strawberries were welcome.

We split in Santa Cruz after taking advantage of a free bike to work day breakfast, and I headed straight into one of the nastiest winds I've encountered all the way to Half Moon Bay, which was to be my last campsite before heading to San Francisco.

The day dawned grey and bleak, the sun's light dulled by fog. This was familiar: this is May in Northern California. I packed up, tied up my rack, and headed north. I soared through the famous Devil's Slide, a notoriously dangerous stretch of Highway One south of San Francisco. It wasn't that bad. At all. I soared north. I passed Pacifica and had coffee. I passed Daly City, where BART stops. I had been there before. I soared north energized by my homecoming. I entered San Francisco. I was in San Francisco. All over the world when people ask me where I'm from, I say San Francisco (except for a brief period at the beginning of this trip in Spring 2011 when I said I was from Portland because that's what felt right. Go to hell Jaco). San Francisco is quite a city, but alas, I'm from Berkeley. I was not home yet, and I will digress:

Cycling into Istanbul from Tekirdag is one of the scariest things a person can do. The highway, which for days had been great, turned into an eight-lane freeway. Cars and trucks scream by from all sides as you have merges, on-ramps, exits, and generally insane drivers. It is terrifying, but there is no alternate as far as I know. You have to do this for a few miles, then finally you can get off it. Once you get off it though you follow the Sea of Marmara around and around until finally, famously, you round the point and you can see the Golden Horn with its hills, minarets, and landmarks of civilization. This is the city that was the capital of the Byzantine and Ottoman empires, and is one of the most beautiful and inspiring cities in the world.

With this in mind, I wanted to make a similar entry into San Francisco. I rode up Ocean Beach, up through the heights, and rounded that point among the cypress and the redwoods until finally it was staring me down: The Golden Gate Bridge. For many this bridge is a symbol of humanity dominating nature: two towers supporting an international orange span hundreds of feet above the Pacific Ocean. For me, it was an indication of homecoming, as foggy as my illusions of what homecoming would be. 

Looking East towards Home

I took the ferry across the bay for the first time and I got off at the wrong stop. I was lost in Alameda. Closer to home than I'd been on a bike in two years, and I was lost. As you may have guessed I found my way. But I didn't go straight to my parents' house. I stopped at my friends Gabe and Haley's house, where I stayed the night, electing to do the final seven miles the next day.

I woke up on Saturday, May 11 and packed up my bike. I tied on my rack, and walked out the door. I rode down the hill to Telegraph Ave, and headed north. I crossed into Berkeley and checked the prices at Smokehouse, a greasy grill I went to at 2am in High School. The prices hadn't changed since then. A victory. I continued north. This part of Telegraph at 10am on a Saturday is not the most inspiring place in the world, especially with the closure of certain book stores and the burning down of certain restaurants. The empty lots and massive homeless youth camps are signs of the times on Telegraph. After getting yelled at by a recently awakened youth, I made the left turn onto Bancroft and was soon on Milvia. I used to take Milvia home from high school.

All of these turns were surreal. I had done them so many times. I was in auto-pilot. I had envisioned this homestretch so many times while riding through the tens of thousands of unknown miles that I had been through. I turned left on Berryman. Then I was on Hopkins. And off Hopkins. I turned right onto Carlotta, went half way up the block and opened the front door of 1236 with my own key. And with that I was home.

I now type from my parents' computer. Uploading photos is so easy! I'm listening to the A's play the Brewers on the radio. There's probably a way I can watch online, but I don't know these things. I am also uploading music onto my computer from CDs I checked out from the Berkeley Public Library. There are probably ways to download these CDs, but I don't know these things. It is a changing world, and I have effectively been gone for two years. Being back is a joy. All of my hesitations and worries are things of the brain. There is no substitute for the warmth of the home I grew up in. There is nothing like familiarity. This adjustment so far has been fine. I'm writing a lot, working on talks I can give to youth groups or outdoor clubs and the like during the day. I go for bike rides in the afternoon once the fog clears. I eat my mother's cooking in the evening. Things are good.

March 1, 2011-May 11, 2013

If you liked this blog, please check out my others on www.supercontinental.blogspot.com and www.minicontinental.blogspot.com.

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Thanks for reading!