Shell on 2 wheels: Central California

Between 5-6pm is my favourite time to ride. Sun is just setting.
And the main graft for the day is over.

And at last the sun came out in Central California. From SF south I was promised blue skies and that is indeed what was delivered. This section from SF, through Big Sur and on to Santa Barbara has been a feast of company. Below is a picture of Herbie from Galway, the first Irish cycle tourer I think I have ever met. He and his girlfriend Laura are doing a big Vancouver to Patagonia trip. It's amazing how an Irish accent feels on the ear after not hearing one for six weeks. They are largely going in the same direction albeit at a faster pace, but hopefully we will meet often and share random camping nights along the way.

Delighted to meet an Irish cyclist.

Kerri (AUS), Laura (UK) and Herbie (IRL).

I had bumped into Kerri from Melbourne a week earlier at the hostel north of SF, so it was great to bump into her randomly again here at the Half Moon Bay campsite. A funny thing happened that night which was to lead to a merging of 2 cycling groups. Us four (above pic) were cooking dinner in the dark at a picnic table when two other cyclists approached us asking if they could build their campfire in our fire pit. To which I replied, of course as long as 'us four' are invited to the campfire.

Herbie from LA then proceeded to introduce herself to Herbie from Ireland. Both not quite believing that the other persons name was Herbie. It was like a comedy act to listen to. 'Hi I'm Herbie. No I'm Herbie. Did you say Herbie? Is your name Herbie? Oh my name is Herbie. Are you sure your name is Herbie? Yes, I'm Herbie. Neither Herbies really know any other Herbies. Just hilarious. As it transpired I ended up cycling with both Herbies for the next week.

The lot of us including both Herbies.

This is Herbie from LA.

Herbie from LA was riding with four friends from various parts of California. Two of the friends rode with plastic buckets on the back of their bikes. They seem to be waterproof, super cheap, durable and best of all - with the lid on they make great seats around a campfire. Jackie from Toronto but originally from Mexico, is also riding with buckets. She also built her own bike with the help of the Bike Coop in Victoria, BC.

Plastic buckets as panniers.

Jackie also rides with buckets on her back rack.

Santa Cruz was one of those towns that you could hang out for a week. But as usual I arrived late and left early. However I did get to watch 'salsa on the prom' for about an hour. Just lovely. A random local hooked up his laptop to a speaker and possibly 100 people danced salsa. I was so impressed by the 'all shapes and sizes' easy vibe.

Salsa dancing on the pier in Santa Cruz. Had I known any
steps I would have joined in.

Castroville is seemingly the artichoke capital of the world.
I was informed by some customers that yes, it would be possible
to cook an artichoke in a pot on a camp stove.

In Monterey all I had to do was follow the smell and the barking
to find hordes of sea lions.

For two days in a road cycling issues made the
front page of the SF Chronicle. Imagine that happening at home?

The town of Carmel was the first place I actually felt like swimming
or walking along the beach. The Pacific, up until now, has been so aggressive.

I thought this was a creative way of warning
the public against drink/driving.

On a random day on a random part of the route a car stopped up ahead of me. An arm was sticking out the window of the passenger seat holding a slice of watermelon. So I stopped to say hello. The couple from Hawaii just saw me climbing a hill and thought I might like some watermelon. A random act of kindness.

A random couple give me watermelon.

The five lassies from California became my new best buddies for the next 3-4 days. They had pre-booked a camp space (75$) in private campgrounds along the way through Big Sur so each night I just camped for free with them. And each night we lit a campfire. And each night we feasted on smores. For those of you, like me, who have never heard of a smore, it is an American camping delight. You squish a toasted marshmallow on top of a piece of chocolate and squash it all between two crackers/biscuits so that the chocolate starts to melt. The girls made me smores and watched and laughed as I tried to eat them without melted chocolate dribbling down my face. They are called smores because you always want some more.... get it?

Sitting on pannier buckets around the campfire.

My first smore.

I'm very fond of this pic. Saying goodbye for now to great travelling companions.

The 5 Californian ladies, Herbie & Laura and Jackie.

A good friend and Navan neighbour and follower of this blog is Fergus. He is an avid cyclist and used to live in California and had kindly connected me with various American angels on my bike route. I was never so happy to be rescued in the pouring rain at a random highway junction as I was when his friends of old Anne and Glen found me in the dark and threw me and Sherpa into the back of their truck. They put me up for the night in their mobile home in Moro Bay and I soon turned it into a Chinese laundry, hanging up every item on a chair, door etc. The next morning I set out in the rain to buy some breakfast. You can't quite believe the delight of going to a store, buying some eggs and bread and coming home to cook breakfast. Such a simple action. But after 6 weeks of camp porridge, I was loving the kitchen.