Day 8: Surfwood Campground, MacKerricher State Park, California

Distance traveled: 302.8 km

Cumulative distance: 2,291.9 km

Maximum speed: 121 kph

Moving average: 62 kph

Temperature range: 14.2 - 28.4

I am working on the report but I had used up a good portion of computer juice making a booking for tomorrow night so the post will have to wait. In the mean time, here are a few pictures from my phone today. There is a story for each one!

Humboldt Forest

Cell Service Beach, Hwy 1.

Record distance on one tank.

The convenience store of grace.

The Beach.

The day started out on the grim side as there was a generous dose of London Pea Soup in the vicinity. Definitely not much to see, unless you like grey. Since there wasn’t much point in hanging around in that muck, I just packed my things and loaded up and was on the bike heading out at 8:15 am. Even though it wasn’t raining per se, the air was like rain so I was all geared up for it in my rain suit and rain gloves.

I had been somewhat perplexed by both Google Maps AND my Garmin predicting a six hour ride to MacKerricher, despite the measly 300 km distance. I had planned to stop at the park gate to ask the gals if they knew something that I didn’t but they were still in their jammies tucked under their covers so I pressed forward.

I started out on a little side road that was winding its way through Meg-sue park so I didn’t think anything was up but at a time when I thought it would have been obvious that it was time to turn onto Scenic Byway Cyberdyne 101, the GPS sent me straight on with the road that I was already riding. I don’t always remember which setting I have chosen for the Garmin but I know it is either “fastest route” or “shortest route”. If I am not in a hurry, I will often set it to “shortest” because it will take me off the well-beaten path and often on side roads that are more interesting than the way which would get me there fastest. This is my usual preference. I followed the road and at times, the pavement gave way to gravel but not like in the sense that They couldn’t make up Their minds when They built the road, I think it was leftover damage from the quake in 1905 and it was just too minor a road to worry about repairing. The good news is that this was an out-of-the-way road; so out of the way in fact that other people that I saw on it looked lost. It passed by a couple of quite pretty beaches, the first which was occupied by a lot of people and dogs and such. Keep in mind that it is 8:45 am and there is heavy fog, so it actually made for a very interesting view. Unfortunately, I hadn’t bothered with the GoPro because it was so foggy and it wasn’t safe to stop to take a picture because I was afraid the road was going to fall away into the ocean. But the next opportunity was not lost. Sadly, it wasn’t quite as interesting as the prior beach and clearly, the lost locals knew the same because it was not near as busy as the first I had seen. But I stopped because there was actually a parking area, a little park, benches and stairs down to the water. After I snapped a few pics, on I went and when the Garmin took me under Hwy 101, I smelled something fishy, and not from the ocean. I was committed to climbing a steep, moto-cross type hill but when I got to the top I stopped in somebody’s driveway (the lady driving her car out waived at me as she went by) and checked the setting on the GPS and lo and behold I had it set to “avoid motorways, speedways, interstates, autobahns, roads with six lines or more and people who call me ‘sir’”. It seems Scenic Byway 101 is one of the above in the single eye of the Garmin GPS.  Once I had changed that setting to "Whatever", it was onto slab riding on the motorway, which was, in fact, just a big, fast highway akin to driving between Calgary and Edmonton. I only stopped to change into my “winter” riding gloves at one of the many pull-outs along the way. At this one, though, clearly, nobody was lost.

This went on for a couple of hours and my increasing hunger was making me wistful for something delicious, like a latte. But out in the middle of nowhere on what is basically an interstate there aren’t too many drive-through espresso bars. However, around 10:45 I saw an exit to Myers Flats and there were the symbols on the road sign for places to buy table settings so I figured there had to be some kind of food there. A quick, i.e. 30 second ride through the entire town revealed exactly two places to buy something potentially good: an ESPRESSO bar(!) and a convenience store. There were also a few other non-descript businesses but I wasn’t paying much attention because they were not selling lattes. Not entirely sure who was the consumer base in this forgotten corner of the world but the owner of the espresso bar had told me it had been a busy summer.

Seated outside the espresso bar were two gents, one older and the other younger (than me, of course) with their road bikes. The younger was riding his packed-for-Armageddon touring bicycle, the older, a sleek road racer. The bike, I mean. We start chatting and I had to suffer the indignity of fessing up to yet another Washington tip-over. It’s pretty obvious with only one mirror on the bike so it is not like I can just subtly change the subject. The good thing is that they are both Canadian and on their own versions of U.S. trips. Tim, the younger, is from Montreal and Ed, the older (sorry Ed, because I know you are reading this) is from…. KELOWNA! It’s practically Old Home Week in Myers Flats! Both of these guys are grizzled road biking veterans. But they are not riding together, they just happen to have met for espresso, just like I showed up. Ed is camping four miles down in Humboldt Redwood Forest and implores me to take a ride down there. Tim is riding to the Antarctic, or some place far away. They are clearly chummy and I’m not sure how long they have been sitting there but Tim wants to buy Ed a muffin before he heads off.  Tim is probably in his late 20s and Ed is a couple of generations ahead of him. Actually, Ed might be a couple of generations ahead of me! He tells me he rides… what was it? Something with a “5” in it, like, 50,000 miles a year. Maybe its kilometres. Maybe it’s dog years but it was a lot. They guy is a specimen and if you ever wonder if it is possible to be fit in your “golden years”, Ed is the living, breathing example of it. I’ll see you back in Kelowna, Ed!

And this stop was perfect timing for me because by the time I had finished my go-big-or-go-home latte and bagel with avocado and cream cheese, the sun was shining so I was able to take off my winter wear.

Based on Ed’s advice, I go off down the little side road to visit the Humboldt Redwood Forest. I had come through the Redwood Forest when I first entered California yesterday but there, it was on a fast road with little opportunity to gawk at the trees.  At Humboldt, it is a leisurely pace where there are families riding bicycles and others out on the road. You can see in my one picture the bike between two redwoods adjacent the road, for perspective. These are spectacular trees. Big in this case is really big. 12 feet across, 40 feet in circumference, height to “lower limb” 190 feet. Big in every sense.

A few miles down the highway the Garmin instructs me to turn onto Hwy 1. Though I had looked at this while I was at home, I was unprepared for what awaited me: this was far and away the twistiest, gnarliest stretch of riding I had even done in my entire riding career. Plus, I was low on gas but I didn’t realize it at the time I turned onto it. Adding to the challenge that many segments of road has sand and loose gravel coating the mountain-side (my) lane because the road is cut into side of the sandstone mountain and the stuff just sluffs off every chance it gets. If you have ever been on a motorcycle, check out this Google Maps view: Highway 1 north end. This is only really worth doing if you zoom in real close; better still looking at Google Street View.

I am going over the mountain and as I am climbing in elevation, I notice the gas gauge. It's low: embarrassingly low. Immediately, my anxiety goes up and all of a sudden, what started out as a fun, adventurous ride is now a test of the bike's gas guage. It is solidly on the "E". No fuel warning light, though, which is key because once the light flashes once, I know I have about 50-75 km of range remaining... on flat land. 

I start riding extra conservatively, keeping revs low, coasting downhill as much as practical. There are very few houses out in this area but because it is a well known road, there is a reasonable amount of traffic so i know that should I run out of gas, I won't be without resources. I pull over when it is safe so that I can see if I can determine how far it is to a gas station but of course, there is no cell service. I  have a siphon pump with me however, I have always carried it because I have a large gas tank and should some OTHER motorcycler run out of gas, I am almost sure to have enough to give. Now it looks like it might be the reverse. 

I really have no idea how far it is over the mountain range so now I am just praying I have lived a good enough life. Eventually, I reach the coast after what seems like 20? 40? 60? minutes and there is immediately a roadside turnout and people are pulled over having a look at the view. Even though I don't want to stop the bike, I pull over to check for cell service, which is available and according to Google, the next gas station is 33 miles away in Fort Bragg. Still no fuel light on the bike so I am probably safe at this point. Since I am stopped, I snap a couple of quick pictures and then press on, continuing to ride conservatively. I wave any vehicles behind me to pass. 

After maybe 20 minutes, I am passing through the ocean side community of West Port and there is a convenience store with a sign that says "We have gas". This is well in advance of the Google estimate. I had been watching the trip meter since my last fill: 483 km; I so wanted to see it roll over the 500 km point for one tank but after how I had been feeling, it just didn't seem right. I stop in and announce "I have lived a good life". The owner is there with his little boy Heron and looks at me like I am from

outer space but I think he had some idea what it was about. Gas is US $6.99 a US gallon, about a buck and a half more than a regular gas station. Small price to pay. The gas pump requires me to push the nozzle into the tank in order to make the gas flow but in doing so, only allows me to fill half a tank. Even at that price, I feel like the least I can do is buy a full tank of gas so I have to hold a sleeve on the nozzle back to keep the gas flowing. US $44 for a tank of gas. Cheap. 

I ride another 20 km and then there is another convenience store with gas, so I would have made it. I think I would have made it to Fort Bragg if there hadn't been another opportunity because the fuel light never came on but that would have been another level of anxiety.

I end up riding past the turnoff into MacKerricher because it is not well marked for people on motorcycles with anxiety, so I have a little ride around Fort Bragg, a mere 6 km from the campground. There are all kinds of kids walking around town, which seems odd to me because it is not yet 2:00 pm. Why aren't these kids in school? There is also a street closed because of a farmer's market, which seems odd  to me on a Wednesday afternoon.

At the campground, it is the same routine as the night before, riding around and picking a site then reporting back to the gate to say which one I want. There are several in the area that appeal to me; what i didn't realize is that most of them are reserved so I end up with one, very open site, which is o.k. because I have learned the best thing is to have morning sun so that everything can dry off. I'm a little surprised at the $45 price, since the campground is pretty basic. I can buy a tank of gas for cheaper than that! The picnic tables look like they are about 50 years old, the bathrooms look like they are 50 years old, no soap, no paper towels, coin operated showers and they don't appear to ever have shoveled ash out of the fire pits. Adequate, but basic. What it DOES have is close proximity to the beach. Here I am, riding down the coast and I haven't even been able to set foot yet on a beach somewhere. I was determined because it was my last night on the coast.

After setting up my tent and getting my area organized, I ride back into Fort Bragg for dinner. I am so close to town that I don't see any reason to eat another meal of noodles, dehydrated vegetables and canned meat. It is either a deli with something nice to prepare or a restaurant. Easy choice, and I elect La Palapa, the best rated restaurant at 4.7 stars in Fort Bragg. It is primarily a take out place, though, according to the sign inside, has seating for 39 but there is a steady stream of take out customers while I am there.  

When I get back to camp, I am motivated to get to the beach before it gets dark. My plan is to call Nan from there so that she can see it. My next door neighbour Russell is also determined... to talk to the guy with the motorcycle. He immediately comes over to visit and likes to talk. However, as much as I would like to visit, because that is what this is about, I beg off and tell him I am going to the beach to call home. Already the shadows are long so I don't want to be doing it in the dark. 

It is a short walk, which pleases me, after my experience at Fort Stevens. It is a beautiful beach, lots of seals about and I think to myself it would be fun to swim just to say I had done it. I pull my pant legs high and let the water waves wash over me feet. 

It's freezing.