After packing up my tent in the aforementioned awful RV park, I made the short trip down the highway to the city of Eureka, California. The bike route into downtown was closed for construction, so I immediately proceeded to get vaguely lost. To get un-lost, I picked the largest and most ornate building I could see in the distance and biked directly toward it. This turned out to be the Carson Mansion, a ridiculous but also quite impressive building that takes Victorian architecture to the next level.
Carson Mansion was built by William Carson, one of the original lumber barons of Northern California. It was essentially built using tree blood money – a lot of Redwoods died to built that house. In 1950, it became a private club, so the general public isn’t allowed inside, because of capitalism and class hierarchies or something, I guess. Why would we want to kill a bunch of trees just to build something everyone could enjoy?
I left Eureka and headed into flat farmlands. I said hello to a lot of baby cows as I cycled along. I’ve passed a lot of farm animals on my journey south, and I have to say that cows are by far the most inquisitive of the lot. Horses ignore you. Sheep don’t notice you. Chickens are afraid of you. But cows stop what they’re doing, lift their heads, and watch as you pass. Under those circumstances, it seems quite rude not to say hello to all the cows. Sometimes I also like to tell them that they’re doing a good job of being cows, because everyone needs a bit of encouragement once in a while.
The next big sight of the day was Ferndale, California. Ferndale has also gone to town on the whole Victorian architecture thing. I’m a bit of a casual architecture nerd – that is, I love looking at nice buildings but I’ve never actually bothered to learn anything about the different styles. I just like to gaze upon them and say “golly, that’s a nice building” and then go on my merry way. So I said that a bunch of times in Ferndale and then I carried on.
By the end of the day, I was back in the Redwoods and I had officially cycled my first 100km day of the trip. It was the first time I had biked 100km since cycling around Taiwan in 2017, so I was quite pleased with myself.
The next day was spent biking along the Avenue of The Giants, a scenic road that goes through a series of Redwood State Parks. It also features tiny cute towns and bad cell reception. I stopped at a hollow tree that you can fit a car in (and therefore also a bicycle, or even multiple bicycles), and ran into Suzanne. The day finished with a lot of uphill riding in the blazing sun.
No one slept that night because a nearby campsite seemed to be having the part of the century. All the cyclists emerged bleary-eyed from their tents, dragging their feet and bracing themselves for the climb ahead – the biggest single hill of the entire trip. I was ready for the worst.
But… it wasn’t actually that bad? It was big, sure, but the grade was gentle. I just spun right up. It was a testament to how much stronger my legs are compared to the day I left Bowen Island, when I thought the ride to East Van might be the end of me. I have three main measurements of my progress on this trip: the strength of my legs, the little blue dot signalling my location on Google Maps, and my horrendous tan lines.
Later that night, at the campground near Fort Bragg, Suzanne and I ran into a cyclist we’d met the day before named Alec. He had crashed taking a corner on his way down the big hill. His helmet was destroyed, he was limping, and scariest of all – he didn’t actually remember crashing. He said he remembered starting to come down the hill, and the next thing he remembered was being stopped by a paramedic who was asking if he had crashed. Apparently someone had seen it happen and called it in. To look at him, it was fairly obvious. They checked him out and found someone to give him a ride the rest of the way to the campground.
It was pretty obvious Alec had a concussion, but he wasn’t going to the hospital because he didn’t have health insurance and couldn’t afford the medical bills. This was a bit of a rude awakening to life in America. Obviously, I know about the healthcare situation in this country, but it was the first time I’d really encountered something like that here. If that happened in Canada, most people would go straight to the hospital – but Alec just couldn’t afford to go. I have travel insurance, so I could go to the hospital here. Alec, a citizen of this country, wasn’t able to see a doctor. This seems like a good argument in and of itself not to privatize healthcare.
Over the next few days, I went through Mendocino, Van Damme State Park, and Manchester Beach. At Manchester Beach, some lovely campers brought a whole plate of snacks over for the cyclists. The generosity of random strangers continues to amaze me.
I also biked my longest day yet in this stretch – 111 kilometres with 1600 metres of elevation gain, from Manchester Beach to Bodega Dunes. I was helped along by an aggressive tail wind, but I was still rather impressed with myself. This section along the Sonoma Coast was also one of the most stunning places I have ever been (which is good, because when the scenery is stunning, you don’t think quite as much about how hard the biking is).
After two nights in Bodega Dunes, I headed for Samuel P. Taylor State Park, on the outskirts of the Bay Area. There were a number of cute towns on the way there, including Tomales and Point Reyes (I continued my bicycle bakery tour with great enthusiasm in each of these locales). At the campground, Suzanne and I were put in a site with a lovely group of friends from the Bay Area, who were out for a weekend trip together. They had all met through cycling, and they were the funnest group of people we had camped with in a while. We all entertained each other with stories of bike trips gone well and bike trips gone awry, and at some point I was declared the mayor of the campsite, a title I take very seriously and consider the beginning of my political career.
The bike ride into San Francisco the next day was absolutely delightful. The town of Fairfax is now the place I aspire to spend the rest of my life (it is adorable and has great coffee and excellent bike infrastructure – what more could you want?). After about half a day of riding, I found myself at the Golden Gate Bridge.
This was one of the parts of the trip I was really, really excited for. It felt like an epic milestone. I was at a famous landmark. I had made it to San Francisco. I was the best cyclist of all time (maybe a bit of an exaggeration). And I was lucky – often shrouded in fog, the Golden Gate Bridge was sunny and clear that day. They’ve reserved the west sidewalk just for Cyclists, so you don’t have to worry about mowing down pedestrians (although dodging oncoming cyclists was its own kind of challenge).
I crossed the bridge. I entered San Francisco. I stared out at the beautiful bay, looking back the way I had come. I looked forward, to the road ahead. Map 3 was complete. After a few days of city life, Map 4 would begin. There was nowhere to go but south.
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