Day 53 - Half-Flat Tire, Half-Hilly Ride, Full Evening

Carlos's 6:30am spin class was canceled on Day 53 so he was around in the morning to watch me eat all his food - oatmeal with honey, banana and soy milk, peanut butter sandwich and tea. I took a shower again that morning (not a frequent pre-cycling occurrence) - but i was soothed - like how a wild beast reacts to classical music in Bugs Bunny cartoons - by his sparkling shower and bath products. I had announced the previous night after my shower that i hadn't put conditioner in my hair in 52 days. It's nice but the lack of use without any repercussions to my head just proves conditioner's a luxury (in case you thought it wasn't). There's nothing you need - except maybe intimate human contact - that you can survive without for 52 days. So throw away all your conditioners, and q-tips, and facial washes, and fresh veggies! Intimate human contact, however, i was still three days away from. Donny would be arriving Monday at noon on the train from LA to San Luis Obispo. It was Friday morning.

I wasn't in too much of a rush to leave San Francisco. I wished i had planned to stay longer, and i would have bummed around the city for a couple days if i hadn't the time available to ride the final 500 down to LA. I seriously have a hard-on for that city, the Bay Area on the whole, always have. She's like a good friend college friend who i sleep with every couple of years when we see each other. Even though i'm gay. And it's pure NSA fun.

Hendrik woke up a little bit later and helped me figure out the route from their place to pick up the Adventure Cycling Pacific Coast route - no more Western Express - from their apartment. The last section of that map ended at the Golden Gate and was folded and put away in my rear pannier. I needed to get to the 35, aka the Great Highway, a grand name for the road to take me out of the city and on my way toward the it's-all-gravy portion of the journey. As i hauled Whitey from the back stairs of their building, i noticed that his front tire was quite low - and i had just filled it at a bike shop in Placerville two days before. Was i having my first flat of the entire trip? I had been cagey when answering the inevitable question along the route: how many flats have you had? I hadn't met anyone on my trip thus far who hadn't experienced at least one. (At least those riders who brought up the subject themselves, because i never did.) I did not want to jinx my good luck. It's true that Whitey has new, fattish tires, made for touring, so it's not that shocking that they never went flat. The trade-off has certainly been speed. At dinner the night before with Carrie, Jeremy and Carlos, i had confessed, for the first time on the trip, that my tires (and spokes for that matter) had remained totally intact (with pumping of course) for the whole nine yards. I should've been coy. At least i can say that i made it across the country without a single flat.

A tour without flats is not exactly an achievement; it's just durable tires and some luck. But flats are not a big deal anyway, if you have the tools to fix them (and know how to do it). They're more of a pain because they mostly happen at inopportune times - e.g. during a race, on a highway, in the rain, when you're with another rider who you are inconveniencing as you replace or patch your tube while he/she foot-taps and expansively sighs. I guess there's no real convenient time for a tube to blow - but right before or directly after a ride is certainly not the worst. Since the tire was low but not flat, i decided to fill it up and ride it around the block. It was still fine. And I was willing to take the chance and change the tube later if necessary, but Hendrik convinced me otherwise. He's very cautious. So i removed the tube and searched for the hole. Didn't see anything. Hendrik ran inside to get a bucket full of water so we could check for air bubbles and came back with a large salad bowl (good choice since his bucket had residue of cleaning chemicals). When we submerged the tube, there was a barely perceptible bubble every 5 seconds or so. I couldn't even see a hole; Hendrik couldn't either but he didn't have his glasses on. I patched it where i thought the hole might be since we had gone through the trouble of removing the tube in the first place and filled it up. (Note: the tire got low each morning for the remainder of the trip, but i never had to change the tube, just pumped it!)

The ride through San Francisco made my heart ache a little (cuz i just love it so), though i had no intention of leaving my heart there. Hendrik's directions were perfect - I rode through the Haight and then alongside of Golden Gate Park to Ocean Beach. I had never been to the western edge of the city before and hadn't realized that there was an actual beach, with sand, right there. I had my first real sniff of the Pacific right then and the salty brine stung my nasal passages. I could live there, i really could. As it was Friday, the 3rd of July, there were plenty of cars on the Great Highway and i rode due south toward Daly City, where pedaling up an absurdly steep hill in a residential neighborhood, i overshifted my weight toward a parked car and my rear pannier caught on its fender. I didn't fall off exactly, more like stumbled forward, and for the third time in a week, i bloodied my fucking right lower leg, this time on my ankle. At least i knew where the first aid kit was.

From Daly City, the route continues south (obviously, as LA is the final destination) through various seaside surfer towns (up and down, up and down, up and down the hills) where i occasionally got a whiff of weed smoke to mix with the ocean and eucalyptus scents. For a few miles just past Pacifica, Highway 1 (the main coastal drag) narrows considerably and takes you through a eucalyptus forest. This stretch on any day would be a white-knuckler without adding the Friday-of-the-holiday-weekend traffic to the mix. I kept my wits about me as car after car after car whizzed past me practically grooming my leg hairs.

The rest of the day's ride wasn't too eventful. Jeremy had been correct when he told me i'd have a tailwind down the coast. For once, i was traveling the right direction! When i ride my bike on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway - what Highway 1 is called in Southern California, in case you didn't know) during the summer, the ride out (north) is always headwind but the way back is golden - just as i was experiencing it now on Day 53.

I took a photo of the Santa Cruz County line sign and immediately emailed it to Heather. I hadn't been back to SC since well before she moved down to LA over 6 years ago. Several miles into Santa Cruz County i passed the gay beach where i did my first outreach back in college handing out condoms and talking to guys about safer sex. As i remember correctly, my presence there was met with mixed reactions. It's a lot easier doing outreach to injection drug users; you have something they for sure want. I always say: if you hand them a condom, there's a chance they'll use it, but if you give them a syringe, you know they will. Just a little public health wise-saw. Anyway, it was Heather who hooked me up with that first HIV gig at the Santa Cruz AIDS Project - you mean they'll pay me to talk to people about sex and drugs? I'm there!

I stopped just outside the Santa Cruz city limits to call my hosts for the evening - Chris and Paula. They are in the middle of preparing their new place to move into it, so they'd been painting all day. I got directions on where their current home is, and, since they were still forearm-deep in paint, i had a little time to kill before getting to their place. I rode down Mission St. jogging my dim memory. It's been 16 years since i graduated from UCSC, and i was there for less than 2 years. Plus, the occasions i had to visit SC post-graduation were always to spend time with Heather. Memorable times - but foggy due to assorted levels of brain function. Plus, we didn't leave the house much. I snapped a pic of Yogurt Delite, amazingly still there and hoppin'. Susannah worked there for what seems, in my memory, like years. Back in 1993, when i would stop by during her shift, i rarely had cash to buy a full portion bedecked with the mini-malt balls i loved so, but she gave me as many samples as she could. (Within reason, of course - since the establishment was under constant camera surveillance). I thought the peanut butter flavor was disgusting. Suz loved it. She crazy. I rode down the big hill on Laurel St. to the Pacific Garden Mall which was in a constant state of reconstruction when i lived there (the '89 earthquake destroyed it). There's still a ton of homeless kids there, stoney college kids, and hippie street musicians, but it's way more fancy and touristy now - like the 3rd St. Promenade in Santa Monica (minus the homeless people of course; they've relocated to Venice. Hadn't you heard?)

I crossed Water St. and rode up to the end of Pacific where it dead ends at the mobile home coop where Chris and Paula are currently living. Carlos, Carrie and Jeremy had laughed at the possible seedy reading of the title of the touring cyclist hospitality site, warmshowers.org where i posted my need for accommodations for the night of July 3, but they're just dirty-minded sodomite Gomorrahns from San Francisco! Chris had seemed a little reserved on the phone so i wasn't sure what to expect. I was a little wary of staying with complete and total strangers, despite having done it earlier in the trip. At least when i had stayed with Tom and Gail in Missouri, i had heard about them from a fellow cyclist who had crashed there.

In a word, it was a great night. Paula and Chris are extremely nice and hospitable; they made me feel welcome immediately. As it was Santa Cruz, they even had a yoga mat for me to stretch on. Like a lot of people who live in Santa Cruz, Paula and Chris have resided in a bunch of different places and are the sorts who absorb the cultures they visit or live in (also a very Santa Cruz thing). Paula lived for many years in Italy with her second husband, who unfortunately turned out to be loony tunes, and loves all things Italian - including the cuisine, which she is expert at preparing, i am grateful to report. Pasta, salad and swordfish! Bread, olives and organic chocolate! Fizzy water! Conversation never faltered throughout the evening (great for me since i find it insufferable to abide silence with strangers - besides when you're supposed to, like in an elevator) and they were intent listeners as well as expert storytellers. I said to Chris and Paula in the morning that i had been nervous and didn't know what to expect - and they had felt the same. (i was the first cyclist from the warmshowers site that they had hosted). We all verbalized that the experience had exceeded our expectations. I really hope i see them again.