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With that out of our systems and our ears still ringing Evil and I packed up a sub 60 lb BOB and headed south once again. Amazingly daylight savings cut into our riding time. I know there aren’t actually fewer hours in the day, but somehow we never seemed to awake, and start riding any sooner… The ride down Hwy 33 to Ojai (pronounced Oh-Hi for Canadians) was really cool. I was changing my first flat of the ride there, while Evil was seeking out lunch, when I was propositioned by a slightly passed middle aged woman, who invited us back to her house. Tough luck, but we had several more miles to ride. Yeee Haw Malibu. Of course we rode a little in the dark, but we had our lights, which gave us a perceived notion of safety. 3 things caused us to shut it down before our planned destination.

1) a car traveling towards turned into us (we had some bright flashy headlights…)
2) we didn’t see, and nearly careened headlong into the giant traffic pylons
3) After crossing the single lane bridge with road construction successfully we realized from approaching traffic that we were riding in the middle of the road.

The next day was Endless Los Angeles. I mean we spent 7h riding and we didn’t really get out of the sprawl, or really see down town, or anything else. Santa Monica was fun, headwind, cold overcast weather, and beach front bike path.

Then we had a cool section and rode past the New Trump National golf course, which was followed by the Shipping port (really sucky, but there was a squad of cops practicing tackles with their cars. Then there was a LOT suckier container terminal stuff, which transformed into a pretty sketchy area, and Jesse James’ Custom Car place, and then Long Beach and sandier bike paths.

The host in Laguna Beach had lived there his entire life, and explained how the hills of sand and dust don’t take well to having large houses built on them. Also in his youth he and some friends had taken a trip down to Panama. The federali’s rolled them for their jeep. He thinks that it will be to my advantage not knowing Spanish on my trip, because people trying to roll me will give up with frustration.

(Aside: is it possible that only English speaking people know about money belts, and the Bandito’s have never though of this concept? Do you think it will really work?

People tell me that I should take a knife for protection. How would that help? It would mean someone would easily be able to get a knife with which to stab at me, or maybe pull a gun to protect him(her)self. Nah, I’ll just continue my Ninja training in between Spanish lessons.)

The last day was a pretty good ride, past the nuclear reactors which look like a giant set of ho-ho’s complete with red flashing nipples on top. After that the Marines, Sir, yes Sir, allowed us to pull BOB through Camp Pendleton, which was a scenic variation to taking I-5 as people where forced to in post 9-11 years. The odd thing about riding on the base is that drivers were polar, generally giving us lots of room, but otherwise full horn blasting by with centimeters to spare. Sir, very odd Sir. From there it was a quick scamper through the chain of costal towns and we found ourselves in San Diego’s net of streets.

Somehow we were showered, cleaned up and drinking a Red Trolley (they sponsor a race after all) by 4:30 pm.

So there you had it. 16 stages and a prologue to ride top to bottom, the Ride Down AMerica complete. Somehow 2 days later I found myself on Amtrak heading north to meet a friend and spent 7 days pulling BOB and self contained camping.

It’s hard to compare the two, because I really liked traveling faster with Evil, but hanging out at the campgrounds we met some really cool people. We were also blessed with the tail winds, and sunshine that eluded us earlier.
From the other bike touring people we met, a 5 strong group of British Columbians, and 3 siblings from New Hampshire, it’s apparent that cyclo-tourists are an odd lot. We first met up with 2 from New Hampshire in the no-frills (hot water, shower, and electricity free) Big Sur Campground. When I asked them where their tent was, they replied that their brother had it. In the 2.5 months since they’d left Fairbanks they’d become saturated. The last time he took off had been in Washington and because of the rain; they’d locked themselves in a public bathroom and spend the night on a tarp spread over the tiles.

The Canadians were little different, each seemed to be on a different schedule. Some were planning on ‘living’ in Baja for the winter, others flying him, or continuing on farther south. They didn’t have a stove and were simply eating raw foods. So we joked that the continuous roadside track (and smell) of brussel sprouts was how we could track their progress.

Rolling into Santa Barbara I passed a rider (on a beautiful steel Fondriest) who annoyed me by keeping up. When he rode upside to chat, I asked him where I could find a Trader Joes and Laundromat. His reply was inviting us back to his place were we had fresh squeezed OJ and went to lunch with him and his wife. I had a great time, and Sunday morning when I headed off to ride up 33 back into Bako he rode out with me so I could find my peanut-butter-cup-eating-way. After turning back Mike hopped on his Motorbike and rode out to check my progress. Good People.

I took some more pictures but they’re not at inspiring because it was so cloudy and bleak.

I have to note that 95% of the cyclists in San Francisco are complete pricks who don’t wave back. Sure they stare at you, but they can’t take their hands off the bar to wave, nor even nod the head. So riding through LA I actually recognized Mariano Freedich riding the other way (like a Jelly Belly bobble head cyclist) and manage to call out ‘Hi Mariano’ as he rides buy. But even though he’s cruising on the bike path, too cool for –Beh!