The Big Dummy Project

Hi All,

I’ve been doing several things, none of which involve keeping my blog up to date, and I apologize for that.

The first is that I needed some recovery time in two ways. It turns out that it’s pretty hard to transition from the mental state that lets me get up and pedal all day to the one that involves real life, and taking care of all the things that happen in real life. Along the way, people frequently said something along the lines of, “You’re so lucky to have the time for this.” In a way, riding a bicycle over long distances is a a good thing simply because it reduces your life to: ride, eat, sleep. All the myriad responsibilities fall away to reveal the core. The second is that I got a checkup in Ventura. It was aimed at my heart, which thankfully was doing fine, but we ended up talking more about my hands, which had gone numb before San Francisco and had never really recovered. The doctor made a big point about taking time off the bike to give my hands some relief before the numbness became permanent. Here I am, three weeks off the bike and while my right hand has just about come back, the left is still quite numb in three digits, so I guess I pushed it about as far as I should have.

The second piece is that I have been pursuing a number of options to set up the rest of the ride, and it turns out that it’s a big job. If I were a smart man, I would have done all this before I ever set out in the first place. The thing is, until I actually had a serious ride under my belt, there is not a potential sponsor in the world who would believe that I could do a cross country ride with a 400-plus pound load. In all honesty, I couldn’t blame them. I had my own questions. Part of me believed without question that I could do it, but other parts, quite noisy parts, were telling me that I wouldn’t make three days. That annoying voice popped up quite often along the way, telling me that I couldn’t do it, and I spent a good amount of time stuffing that crazy devil back into his cage.

So, I need to finish the story of the Pacific Coast, and in many ways, it was the toughest part. I also spent time with some great new friends, and they need their piece in the story. Very soon, that story will appear. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who made this ride work and to those who will make it work again. Let’s all take a little time to remember what it all about. We’re all, in one way or another, riding for the cure.

Elke and I are staying at The Pearl, a cool, 60’s modern styled hotel in Point Loma - good food too. Jeff’s friend Kurt set it up, and the owner is footing the bill. I haven’t met him yet, but I hear his name is Greg, so a big thank you to Greg, and to Kurt. After the difficulty getting through LA, it’s incredibly nice to have a good place to stay.

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I’m less than a week away from the Mexican border, which is a really odd feeling, since I have spent most of the ride thinking of San Diego as being way off in the future. Now it’s easily within four or five day’s ride. I couldn’t have made it this far without help from a great many of you, and I’m profoundly grateful. Thanks to all of you, the Pacific Coast Route is within reach.

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I woke up early again. Between the rain, the train, and the crashing surf, it was a restless night, but I still woke up eager. I was heading to Ventura to stay with Janeanne and Fred. I’m pretty sure I met them long ago, but that was practically in another life, so I wasn’t sure what I would find. Ventura was less than 20 miles down the road, and after the deep grind down from Monterey, that seemed like a hop and a skip. My legs didn’t entirely agree. With all the hard riding, and my new trick of going faster than ever before, I was about as sore as I had been since the first week. The difference, of course, was the knowledge that I could go as far as I needed, and then some.

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I may be riding a bicycle across the country, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am basically lazy. I hate the morning when I have to walk 200 yards to the restroom. I hate the packing and unpacking. I hate the beginning of each ride, and there’s a lesson in that. Every time I hesitated at the beginning, it was probably a mistake that made life harder later. Procrastination.

On this morning, I really resented the distance to the restroom. In some campgrounds, it’s no big deal to wander off into the woods and water a tree. In this one, wedged ungracefully between a farm field and a sluggish, muddy river, that wasn’t really an option. By the time I made it to the restroom, things were pretty desperate. I felt fortunate to make it in time. Ahhhhhh. Much better. My outlook improved radically in less than 60 seconds. That didn’t really improve the city park. It was grubby.

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I picked a good night to get a room. The predictions of heavy rain finally came true. I could hear it lashing the windows all night. The morning swept the sky clear and promised a day of puffy white clouds and tailwinds. I milked check-out time even more than usual since the daylight time shift occurred last night. I got an extra hour of goofing off. Nice.

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Once again, the sound of the space shuttle prodded me awake. That was after some kind of tarp flapping followed by rain incident before daylight - the general vicinity of Team Tim and Cindie’s tent. The large birds in the trees were beginning to stir, competing for airspace with the pair of owls that had worked the campsite all night long. Elke must have slept well, she bounded out of the tent in full-on play mode, knowing perfectly well that I don’t play for the first five minutes of near consciousness. Being a smart girl, she went after the team instead.

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The threat of rain never really materialized, but the wind was busy flapping tarps all night. Once again, I woke up early, most likely prompted by the space shuttle taking off from Tim’s picnic table. Cindie and I stared at each other with baggy eyes and decided that the three day crossing of the Big Sur coast had taken its toll on us. Fog, rain, mist, big climbs, long stretches between overpriced services. It all adds up to tired.

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Since Monterey, I have been waking up earlier. Today was no different. I got up in time to see the sun paint pink clouds all over the southern sky, and tint the northern coastline with a hint of warm peach light.

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I woke up early, just as the campground was starting to stir. I did my usual brainless stagger in the general direction of the facilities, waiting for my mental hamster wheel to start spinning, which usually happens on the way back to the tent. That’s on a good day. Some days, it never quite spins at all. I took advantage of my last shot at cell data for a while to post a quick note on the blog and check on things that needed checking. While I was doing that, I saw one, then two girls walk by wearing nothing but towels. Ok, that was new.

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