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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