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.

While I loaded the bike, I discovered another casualty of the broken kickstand. The trailer hitch was bent in the direction you would expect if the bike was laid on its left side and the trailer’s flexible coupling would not flex far enough. I didn’t have anything to hammer it back into shape, so I just forced it back together. As long as I kept the bike upright, nothing would get torqued too hard. After a little balancing act, I had it all connected again. I strapped everything else back on the bike, including a pile of badly drip dried clothing, and started pedaling out of Pismo Beach.

There was nothing in particular to recommend that place. It was one of those beach towns that seemed to enjoy its heyday in the time of, I don’t know… Miami Vice. It had that generic beach town look. This way to the beach, people.

I followed the 1 around to Oceano, and Pismo gave way to more space, less apparent money, and a decidedly industrial look. I was getting warmed up on one of those days that promised to feel good. Nearing the entrance to the state park, I met Kate. She and I rolled along, exchanging the typical touring cyclist stats and greetings. She and her riding partner were heading for the park. I thought she meant for the night and I wondered what was so great about it that it would get her to finish the day so early. I was barely started. I said goodbye and pedaled on.

The map showed a loop around the long way, and I was trying to decided whether it was worth going around when there were two shorter routes. I took the shortest one, go figure, and found out why the route went around. The short cut was a mile of totally flat road followed by the steepest climb in three counties. I kicked the dog out, pushed the monster up, blocking sled style, and stopped at the little store at the top to recover.

That’s where I met the four guys. They all worked for an Alaska adventure company as guides. They were touring the coast in the off season. We took a little break and then headed on down the road. By this time, I was warmed up. The day was beautiful, and it was just one of those days that clicks. I was rolling down the road effortlessly over gentle rolling hills through a landscape that was jsut spectacular, but not in the glorious coastal sense. I was well back from the coast, and this day was about the agricultural land tucked into valleys between dry hills. Beautiful in its own way.

I passed through Guadalupe in short order. It was a town of little slices of life, cut out out of the agricultural cloth of the region. I saw a political rally, heard Spanish language services pouring out of storefront churches, and was given a flyer on the name of Christ by a group working the sidewalk with their signs of religious portents. I rolled through, thinking that it was a town of people who cared about their world, and were willing to show it.

The efficient agriculture continued on the way to Orcutt. The four guys had told me their were a couple of French riders in the area, and I passed them taking a break, but I was rolling well, so I didn’t stop. I was beginning to look at the map in that time pressured way. I was thinking about how likely it was that I would roll into Lompoc after dark. After Orcutt, I started to lose the effortless roll. I was tired and having to work at it now. I was looking for Harris Grade Road, which would take me over the ridge, a respectable climb, and into the Lompoc area.

By the time I was on the road, I realized I needed to eat something to keep going. I was beginning to bonk. I was munching on granola and peanut butter, and giving bits of it to Elke, when the French couple, Sara and Sebastien, came by. They were sweet and excited about their trip. We talked for a few minutes, and then they started up the hill. Sebastien was either pushing Sara, or hitching a pull from her when they disappeared around the corner. I suspect it was the former. I decided it was now or never, and let Elke run alongside while I worked my way up the climb. It was getting late, so I pushed a bit harder than I normally would. I made it over the top jus tin time to see Sara and Sebastien admiring the sunset from the ridge. It was gorgeous. I stopped several times on the descent to get pictures. I played leapfrog on the way down. The Big Dummy goes downhill like a runway train, but I stop for pictures a lot, so I passed them several times before rolling into Lompoc.

So, Lompoc… How is it that I never heard of the place? It’s not a tiny town. It’s one of the largest towns on the trip that I never knew existed, until I looked at it on the map and said, “Well, I guess today I’m going to Lompoc.” What does the name mean? Anyone. It still feels like a weird, non-existent place. I need something to make it real.

I got some food, and ride on through town, to the city campground on the south end. While I was eating in town, I saw the four guys rolling down the main drag. I figured they had been to the camp and then back to get some supper. I showed up after dark. The campground looked pretty good by lamplight, but it had the same agricultural/fertilizer smell that permeates the whole region. It leaves the impression that the park was built on a landfill.

A few minutes later, Kate and her friend Adam rolled in. I was surprised since I thought they were staying in Oceano. Kate just meant they were stopping for a beach session. Anyway, they are a young pair, not couple, from Prince George, BC. They have been working down the coast for a while on their way to Mexico. I had a good time hanging out with them. Adam was always ready with a one-liner, and Kate was a slightly jaded version of earnest youth. The four guys rolled in later, slammed up their tents and disappeared after a brief howdy. I had thought it was odd that they were rolling around town fully loaded and their was no sign of them when I got to the campground.

I rounded up the critter and fell into the tent. After a great day of riding, I found it remarkably easy to collapse into sleep. Definitely one of the best days of the trip, even if it did end up in a place called Lompoc.