Today was a luxuriously slow day (I didn’t even get out of bed until noon) which felt wonderful after the past two active riding days.
The weather was beautiful. My first destination was a vegan Vietnamese spot for lunch, Thanh Tinh Chay, in the City Heights neighborhood southeast of my friend’s place. The only time I’ve been to City Heights before, actually, was about ten years ago, on my initial “recon trip” to San Diego. I had been researching cities that I might want to move to for the months of December through March, and San Diego looked like my best bet. So, never having seen it in person, I hopped on a plane—in late April, as I recall—and spent three or four days here checking it out “on the ground.” (No bike, of course; I got around by bus.) At that time, I stayed in the cheapest Airbnb I could find in the whole city, which turned out to be a tiny but very cool spot in City Heights. It was a small vintage travel trailer parked in the recently remodeled backyard of a woman who owned a small two-bedroom house. The remodel added two bedrooms’ worth of outbuildings—not including the Airbnb trailer, which contained a king-size bed but little room for anything else—as well as an outdoor bathroom complete with shower, and a complete outdoor kitchen! She had a contractor friend who had done all of the work. She herself lived in one of the outbuilding bedrooms, and I think her boyfriend lived in the other. She rented out the two bedrooms in the main house on a long-term basis, and the trailer for Airbnb.
It’s funny, too, because the only other time I’ve seen an outdoor kitchen was yesterday, at the house of my Mira Mesa Warmshowers hosts! They had had a flood a few years ago that nearly destroyed their house. (Hmmm, I wonder what that’s like?) They chose to live in their RV in their front yard rather than move into temporary housing for several months (like I did, first in a hotel and then in an apartment) and they used the insurance company’s “housing allowance” to build an outdoor kitchen instead.
Anyway!
The restaurant meal of crispy eggplant was great. I ate it at a park nearby. The woman at the restaurant was extra nice and friendly, and even gave me two free desserts: some sort of sweet bean pudding, and a vegan flan!
After relaxing in the sunny park for a bit, I decided I wanted to check out a vegan cookie place I had been hearing about in vegan circles since they opened a couple of years ago. Maya’s Cookies is a Black-owned, woman-owned business, both of which I always enjoy supporting. Plus, I had heard the cookies were amazing.
They were indeed, and I even got to meet Maya herself! I enjoyed a classic chocolate chip on-site, and later, a s’mores chocolate chip.
Unfortunately, the ride over there from the park showed me some of the bike-infrastructure gaps in this city. It was a bit harrowing at times, with green bike lanes (kudos to the city for that) sometimes “pausing” for freeway on- and off-ramps. The photo shows just one of probably at least three of these situations I encountered on that one segment of the ride today. (I also encountered three similar situations in Mira Mesa the other day, traveling from the Loving Hut restaurant to my hosts’ place.)
But I made it, even crossing the 8 freeway on a dedicated bike-and-ped bridge.
When I was looking up directions to Maya’s, I noticed on the map that there was a basilica nearby. Despite all my trips to San Diego over the years, I had never been in these areas in the NE section of town. I rode over to check it out, arriving right before they closed so I couldn’t see inside, but the outside looked pretty cool; again I admired the Spanish architecture and multiple-bell towers.
Then I headed back to my home base. What should I discover along the way but the actual bike path along Interstate 15 that I should have taken yesterday. I had misunderstood Google’s directions; they didn’t mean to route me onto the shoulder of the freeway itself, but to the off-road path on the east side of the freeway.
This was much better!
When I reached the end of the path, the light was starting to dim, but I decided to stop for a rest on a bench in a lovely neighborhood park before heading back inside.
Tomorrow I’m meeting a friend for a tour of trees!
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I am tired right now! It was a beautiful but challenging day, with close to 30 miles and about 1200 feet of elevation to climb. I did indeed follow the route my Warmshowers hosts recommended last night—including UCSD, La Jolla, and Mission and Pacific beaches, before turning inland to get to my friend’s place in Normal Heights—and it took me about seven hours! I left at 10:30, and arrived as dusk fell, about 5:15. I continually marvel at how snail-like my pace is out there on the road, but I have to remind myself it’s not a race.
I’ll mostly let the pictures tell the story.
I did get lost for what felt like about an hour, but was probably less, on the beautiful campus of UCSD, in La Jolla. I was near tears of rage and helplessness as I kept going around in circles, always in the wrong direction, in this one particular spot. (I was using my newly downloaded/highly recommended app, Ride With GPS, and my hosts’ personally curated route was superimposed upon it, but the GPS didn’t seem to be tracking me exactly right, and meanwhile the pathway system was like an octopus in that forest. Good grief! But at least it was a pretty setting to be frazzled and losing my mind.)
Very shortly after I made my way out of that vortex, I found myself in front of some incredible views of the ocean. Unfortunately I couldn’t really get pictures of them, since it was a very busy road. But, it was another example of situations turning on a dime.
La Jolla itself was incredibly beautiful. The route took me along the beach, and also through the neighborhoods and business districts just a block or two away from it. The weather, the architecture, the ocean… wow.
Once again, the temperatures varied continually throughout the day from too warm to too cold to just right, and back again. I’m so grateful for my layers! Although I feel like I must look like such a weirdo to these Californians with their T-shirts and surfboards, when I’m wrapped up in my North Face fleece and REI rain shell!
The end of the route was probably the toughest: I had switched to Google Maps at that point, and it routed me onto the freeway! Like, literally, the Interstate 15, for about a mile or so. I turned skeptically into the on-ramp, which specified no bicycles. The shoulder was actually quite wide, but it was very unpleasant to be riding alongside all that speeding traffic. Meanwhile, I was keenly aware of the high cliff to my right, assuming I would need to climb a steep hill to get to the neighborhood up there. (Google had told me I would be climbing more than 300 feet in a mile.) Somehow, though, most of the climb felt very gradual.
But the daylight was waning, and the shoulder was thoroughly strewn with debris, including many pieces of steel-belted radial tires, which I had to keep carefully swerving to avoid. If there is one piece of warning advice I have heard emphatically from fellow bike tourers, it’s to avoid running over any shred of this material, at any cost. Apparently those little “hairy” fibers get into your tire and cause a flat, while being nearly impossible to detect and therefore remove. Ugh.
My tires did remain firm until I arrived, so I trust I did manage to avoid all the debris, but it was ubiquitous, and I didn’t want to swerve too dramatically on that freeway.
Yikes.
Glad I’m here! I was greeted by my friend’s housemate, as well as her two small elderly dogs, and I immediately set out on foot for the neighborhood Vietnamese restaurant for some eggplant-tofu curry, which I devoured with gusto.
I think tomorrow will be mostly a rest day. Balboa Park and Ocean Beach later in my stay.
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Today I bade farewell (for now, though we hope to meet up again before I head east) to Michele and Dawa. They were kind enough to indulge me in a selfie, although Dawa might not have been fully ready for her close-up.
I hopped onto my rig and set a course for Mira Mesa, about 18 miles south. There was about 1000 feet of elevation along the way, so it was a good way to get a bit of exercise after several mostly slothful days.
Two decent-sized segments of the route took place on dedicated bike paths, which was really cool. I went through Hodges Lake, although the lake itself was barely visible from my vantage at the far eastern edge. But the bridge was cool.
Shortly after the bridge, I got back on some busy roads. I made a couple of wrong turns, and had to double back for short distances. Google Maps couldn’t seem to make up its mind on the routing, either: after scaling a 100’ hill, I checked again to see where to go next, and it had apparently changed its mind and told me to go back down the hill and take a different turn.
No thanks, Google. I’m going with your first instinct.
At another point, I turned right where I thought the map showed me to do so, but it was onto a very wide and busy road, with multiple lanes in each direction and a concrete median bisecting it. I double-checked after going maybe 100 yards, and found that no, I was supposed to have crossed that big road, and then turned right on the sidewalk on the opposite side, to meet up with a bike path about 100 yards in, right across from where I was at that moment. So frustrating! I wished I could just cross the road right there, but there was no way I’d be able to get the rig over the median with three lanes of traffic swooshing by in each direction. I’d need to turn around again. Not a big deal in terms of distance, but this was becoming a pattern, and I was becoming cranky.
But then!
I happened to look down at my front tire, and what should I see but two red madrone berries lying right next to it on the sidewalk.
Could it be??
I hadn’t been sure if they really did grow this far south, and if they did, I had been concerned it might be too late in the season for the berries to still be good. (Google had told me that November and December is the season, at least in the Bay area.) I thought I might have had the last of this delectable treat for the year.
I glanced up at the bank to see where those two might have come from, and lo and behold, my eyes fell upon the motherlode! I had never seen a madrone tree so full of spoils! The branches were laden, and the ground—my favorite place from which to glean almost any fruit, since I know they’re nice and ripe there—was absolutely carpeted. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I clambered up the steep bank, and sampled a few.
Perfect!
Well, actually most of them were not perfect—too hard and dry, not soft and flavorful—but there were so many that even if only 5-10% were perfect, I could still enjoy a dozen or more.
And I did. And they were warm from the sun, and it tasted like eating strawberry jam. (No wonder these are sometimes called strawberry trees.)
I giggled with glee, looking up at the boring strip mall above, from whose parking lot I’m sure no one had ever noticed this tree. I looked down at the passing commuters, zipping by in their metal boxes, surely never having noticed this tree, nor even having any safe way to enjoy it. If they even knew that madrone berries are edible. Which most people do not, I’m finding—and I only found out this marvelous secret within the past couple of months, myself!
It was another reminder of the magic of this journey, and of this way of traveling. (Including my slow pace!) It was also a reminder of how situations can turn on a dime, from good to bad or bad to good—or both!—in a very short time frame.
Having had my fill, I descended the bank. Now I had a smile on my face as I backtracked to join the bike path on the far bank.
There were more pretty views to be found there, as well, as the sun began to set.
I arrived at the house of my Warmshowers hosts after dark, and was greeted warmly by the human and canine denizens. They made me a lovely dinner of vegan burritos, and regaled me with amazing and hilarious tales of the highs and lows of their own bicycle tours, in the US and Europe. (They ride a tandem when they tour, and they are waaaaay more athletic—and adventurous!—than I.)
When they showed me my room, I had to appreciate the themed comforter!
Tomorrow I will head south again, to the Normal Heights neighborhood of San Diego, where I’ll be staying in my friend’s house for a night while she’s out of town. I may take a longer, more scenic (coastal) route than I had initially planned, because tonight’s hosts have hand-curated it and highly recommend it. We’ll see how I’m feeling in the morning.
But today was a good day.
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Today was a quiet, relaxing day. Michele and I hung out and chatted; I sat in the sun for a while (even napped a bit!) and I had a wonderful hangout with my former-Portland friend Trina (and a brief hello to her sweetie Phil).
Trina and Phil live just about a mile away from Michele—having moved here about a year ago to escape severe seasonal depression in Portland—and we sat on her beautiful balcony overlooking the pool, with hummingbirds buzzing by at the feeder. Her balcony is filled with beautiful plants, reflecting her passion for them.
We talked about trauma, chronic pain, and healing. Trina is dreaming up a plan to share her own painful life experiences with others, to share her powerful healing journey and help others who may be struggling. (She gave me permission to share this info.) I love her vision, and can’t wait for her to manifest it and help others who are struggling. These are the kinds of conversations I most seek out, and enjoy, on this journey: people who are dreaming up cool ways to make the world a better place. Goodness knows the world needs all the healing it can get right now.
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my little respite here in Escondido. Tomorrow I’ll be heading south to Mira Mesa.
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What a wonderful day! I was hand-delivered from the gracious hospitality of my Newport Beach host Janna to the gracious hospitality of my longtime friend Michele in Escondido. (Some of you may recall that I stayed with Michele for a few days back in October, on my way to northern California from Arizona.)
Janna and I stopped on our way down, to visit the beautiful mission church at San Juan Capistrano. I loved how the sun hit the architecture at that particular time of day.
Shortly after Janna dropped me off in Escondido, Michele and I headed out for an excursion to the dog beach at Del Mar, with her adorable hound Dawa. While the two of them scampered on the beach with the other dogs and their people, I climbed the stairs to the serene lookout area on the cliff above. It was so restful, and I drank in what will be one of my last experiences of the Pacific Ocean until probably next September, when I complete my loop.
Today felt especially poignant, when Facebook reminded me that exactly two years ago to the day, I had been here in southern California with Michele and her friend Jennifer, visiting a wolf sanctuary in Julian. Looking at myself in the photo reminded me, in turn, that this was only two days before my life would begin turning upside down: January 7th, 2020, was when my condo flooded and displaced me for three months, beginning the nightmare that was 2020 and all the challenges that followed. In hindsight, I can appreciate that all of those “rugs being pulled out from under me” led me to this most amazing journey of my life, so I can value it from that perspective. Still, it’s interesting to look back at this previous version of myself, who had absolutely zero idea of what was coming down the pike, for myself and for the world.
Synchronicities.
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What a beautiful day! Janna was a wonderful host to the area for me. She took me first to Laguna Beach, south of here, where on the recommendation of my friend Mimi (hi, Mimi!) we went to the vegan food cart The Stand, which is in a building attached to a bike shop—so cool! I enjoyed an avocado sandwich.
Afterward, we went thrift-store shopping. For $14.42, including tax, I snagged three (three!) new-to-me activewear shirts, and a bottle each of travel-sized lotion and hair conditioner. I can now pitch at least one of my existing three shirts, which was ill-fitting to begin with and now has pretty bad pit stains at this point in my journey. I might pitch even another one that is also getting pretty grungy; we’ll see how much room I can make in my suitcase.
Then we went to Balboa Island, which was really cute. Look at the banana stand! (“There’s always money in the banana stand.” I’m assuming that that aspect of Arrested Development—which was set here in Orange County—was based on this business. There was also a nearly identical one a few doors down.) We enjoyed some chocolatey banana treats there.
Finally, we returned to the Newport Beach peninsula where Janna lives, and took a golf cart ride(!) around the neighborhood, during which we passed and waved at a number of her friends and neighbors. We got to the end of the peninsula just in time to catch the sunset: magical!
When we got home, we threw all my new clothes into the washer and dryer, and then Janna generously offered to darn one of my socks! I had planned to do it myself—after discovering the hole with dismay this morning—but she insisted, and she even had a “darning egg”! (Thanks again, Janna!) We also talked more about the historic hamlet of Waterford, Virginia, where I grew up and where some of her ancestors lived as far back as the 1600s. We even called my parents, in Waterford, to say hi and thanks for putting us in contact. (Hi again, Mom!)
Tomorrow I’m taking her up on her incredibly generous offer to drive me to Escondido—saving me a long and convoluted combo of bicycling and train-riding, which I especially appreciate during this COVID-frenzied time when it’s probably safest to stay out of crowded, enclosed spaces like trains—to stay with my friend Michele and her doggie for a couple of nights, and hopefully see a couple more friends as well.
I’ve enjoyed my brief time in this beach-town area. I know I’ll be turning inland soon!
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Well, you’ll all be pleased to learn that I did get the $20 cash deposit back, as promised, when I checked out of the motel this morning. Phew!
I exited my room into the sunshine, and soon pedaled south toward the beach. I passed some cool artsy buildings and street paintings along the way. When I arrived at the beach, I biked the length of the path to the north, then turned around to head south for the rest of the day, to Newport Beach via the Huntington Beach Bike Path.
The ride itself was pretty uneventful. The temperature was mostly comfortable, and the sun stayed out all day, with no clouds.
I was disappointed to note, however, that various stressors from many different areas of my life seemed to nag at my mental state, distracting me from the amazing Pacific Ocean to my right. I chided myself for not fully embracing the present moment, then felt extra glum for chiding myself.
Ah, well. The human condition, eh?
But I pulled in to Newport Beach in the last hour of daylight, and was charmed by the cute beach-town-ness of it.
I arrived at my host’s house, on the peninsula with the water on either side, and we shared a meal and some lively conversation. She has family ties to my hometown in Virginia—which is how we met—so that is fun. I’ll be here one more night; I hope to explore a bit of the area, probably with my host as a guide, tomorrow.
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Today was a nearly perfect day! I’m happy to be on the road again, after a restful two weeks in LA.
My ride to Long Beach was thoroughly pleasant. After some very car-centric LA streets for the first few miles, I found myself on a car-free bike path (although unfortunately not loud-moped-free) next to a canal, and it stretched for miles and miles. The weather could not have been nicer (yay!) with temps in the mid-60s, continuous sunshine, and the gentlest of breezes. I felt like my life was beginning again, after the recent rainy hiatus.
At the end of the bike path, I joined Hwy 1—the Pacific Coast Highway, a high-traffic road—to arrive in Long Beach. I rode it for several miles before arriving at my motel for the night, which if I’m honest sketched me out a bit when I pulled in shortly before dusk.
The “office” was simply a window of bulletproof glass. While I waited for someone to answer the doorbell to check me in, a haggard-looking man rolled up on a bike to use the vending machine in the parking lot.
While I was checking in, some other residents came by to complain to the attendant that they had had some groceries delivered to their room from Walmart, but the groceries were nowhere to be found.
I had to fill out a registration form, and even put down a $20 cash(!) deposit, which the attendant assured me would be refunded when I check out in the morning. I didn’t have $20 cash on me, but there was an ATM a few steps away. Hesitantly, I went ahead and took out the money, for the low fee of $2.95 (plus whatever fee my credit union will charge me.)
Wow. Hmm.
But, as soon as I settled in to the tiny but clean room, I headed back out on my bike to hit the highly rated local outpost of The Grain Café, an all vegan and all organic restaurant. I ordered breakfast for dinner: a tofu scramble with sweet potatoes and toast on the side. Naturally, I also had to sample their chocolate cake. (Isn’t it photogenic with a Brompton in the background?)
Now it’s time to rest up for my ride along the coast to Newport Beach tomorrow!
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Happy New Year to all, and thanks to everyone who waded with me through my mucky tale of woe yesterday. This trip has had its ups and downs, for sure, and I think I’m now ready to move on from Los Angeles, after two very restful weeks here in my cousin’s place. (Thank you again, Nathalie! You rock!!)
Today I took it easy again, and tomorrow I plan to head south to Long Beach.
But the cool thing is, I woke up this morning to the news that the podcast I was interviewed for in late November is now up! After a variety of internal and external challenges in the past month, it was really refreshing to hear myself talking so excitedly about how wonderful my journey had been at that time, and to reconnect with some of what had inspired me to do this in the first place. I’m excited to see what comes next.
If you’ve got a free hour, I invite you to listen. My host asked some great questions:
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Welp, by the time you read this, it will be 2022. May it be less horrifying than the last two years. (I’m not holding my breath.)
I don’t wish to sound ungrateful. I’m living my dreams in many ways. I know I’m very lucky and privileged to be having this adventure.
And I’m nearly a third of the way through it. Wow. I’ve had an amazing fall season, an amazing end to 2021, and an exciting beginning to this leap into the beautiful unknown I’ve undertaken.
But I’m not gonna lie, this time in LA (and parts of the time before it) has been challenging. The near-constant rain for days on end over the past two weeks. The mystery inner-tube problem a couple of days ago. The near-absolute lack of in-person human contact for two weeks, amid a pandemic that encroaches ever more closely into my social circles. And heck, Betty White just died. Damn.
I’m planning to head south day after tomorrow, on the 2nd.
Today I decided to scope out the light rail network here in LA. It’s actually a pretty impressive network, and yet it can seem nearly invisible if one is biking or driving here.
On the 2nd, I’m planning to cycle to Long Beach. But I want to have a backup plan in place, in case of mechanical troubles or running short on time for any reason, so I thought I’d try bicycling today to the Washington Street Station, where I could catch the train to Long Beach if need be. I wanted to see what the station looked like, how fares are paid, what the trains were like (easy to board with my rig?) and do a dry run of biking there.
It turned out to be quite a journey, more than an hour by bike each way.
I thought I would stop off first at a neighborhood bike shop, to check and see if my tire pump was working OK. After running into trouble inflating my tire the other day, and then having the bike-shop folks find nothing wrong with the tube, it later occurred to me to wonder whether the pump might be damaged in some way. How ironic would that be: that the very act of attempting to top off the pressure in my tires might be what caused them to lose all their remaining pressure?
Argh.
So I hitched up the trailer, pump inside, and headed over to Raffi’s Bicycles in Highland Park. Someone—who I’m guessing may have been Raffi himself—greeted me warmly and asked what I needed. I explained my concern, and said I just wanted to test my pump in a bike shop, so that if it ended up deflating the tire, I’d have another pump nearby to use (and purchase to replace this one.)
As it turned out, though, my pump seemed fine. He examined it visually, and said it looked OK. Then I attached it to one of the trailer wheels (figuring that would be easier for a non-Brompton-shop guy to replace than the rear wheel of the bike, in case there was a problem) and it worked just fine. Finally, he attached my pump to a tube he had sitting around in the shop, and found that it worked fine on that too.
So… I guess my mind was laid to rest, even though I’m still perplexed as to what went wrong the other day, and therefore mildly uneasy to think that the problem might recur. Fingers crossed that it doesn’t.
I spent the next hour or so cycling down to the Metro station.
I went through China Town. I passed City Hall. I went through Little Tokyo, and found a festival of some sort in progress. I overheard the music while I went to an all vegan doughnut shop (Donatsu) and got a black sesame doughnut and a churro one. Then I meandered over and happened upon a small Japanese garden! Very cool, although it didn’t appear to have an entrance; it was only for viewing from outside, apparently, at least for today.
I pressed on. The rain was gone today and the sun was out, with a high in the low 60s, but I did find that the temp seemed to vary frequently from too cold to too hot, and back again. I appreciated my layers.
I cycled through some areas of extreme poverty, with people living in tents on the street. Several of them were yelling “Happy New Year!” to each other or, in one case, to me. It felt bittersweet and sad. I wasn’t really feeling a holiday spirit.
Eventually I arrived at the light rail stop. It was above ground; I hadn’t been sure whether it might be a subway. The fares seemed reasonable, and pretty easy to get at the machine, although like so many other major cities, they require you to first pay for a plastic card, onto which you can add fare going forward. I didn’t get one, but made a note that maybe I would get one tomorrow, if I needed it.
The frequency seemed good; it seemed like trains were arriving in each direction about every ten minutes. And the boarding seemed very bike-friendly, with the floor of the cars almost exactly flush with the platform. Nice!
Having scoped it out, I turned to head back home, since the sun was starting to drop and I knew I had about an hour and a half—including some uphill—to get back.
I did decide to make a stop at a vegan restaurant on the way back, to pick up some dinner to go. I found it strangely labyrinthine and surreal to make my way to The Vegan Joint. (The naked mannequins nearby seemed both disturbing and apt as a reflection of my inner state.) When I did arrive, the street seemed weirdly deserted—as if in a post-apocalyptic filmscape—and the restaurant appeared closed. Upon closer inspection, though, I discovered it was open. The young employee inside seemed very friendly, and after poring for some time over their very extensive menu, I decided on a pumpkin curry and a slice of chocolate cake.
I was glad to have the trailer with me, to make toting this meal easy on the return trip.
Before too long, I happened past LA’s Union Station, which was a fun surprise. I did wonder if the indoor flooding from yesterday’s heavy rains had been ameliorated. That photo I saw from someone’s Twitter feed had been surreal and sobering, with passengers wading through a couple of inches of water to get to their trains. I was so glad I hadn’t been trying to push my rig through that.
I was about to encounter some weather-aftermath problems of my own, though.
As I neared the Highland Park neighborhood, Google Maps directed me down into the Arroyo Seco bike path. I hesitated a bit before descending into it; I suspected that the arroyo might not be so seco after all the rain, and I worried about getting stuck in a puddle or mucky path.
The stream running down the middle of the canal actually seemed quite manageable, though, as I joined the path, so I felt cautiously optimistic.
But before too long, I did encounter some mud that stretched across the whole path.
Great.
Deciding to proceed rather than take my chances turning around in the waning light, I pedaled through the mud. It coated all four of my tires. Ugh. I took solace in the fact that at least it wasn’t deep enough to hit the bottom of the trailer.
I pressed on, admiring the lowering sun’s rays along the path.
I suddenly had an idea: what if I could wash off all the tires in the stream? I wanted to clean them off before heading into the condo building, and I couldn’t think of another way to do it.
Right before the “exit ramp” up to the street from the path, I did exactly that. I removed each trailer wheel in turn, and walked it down to the shallow but fast-moving water, which looked pretty clear, not muddy. Each tire did indeed get pretty well cleaned this way, and I was pleased to have accomplished this. Next, I walked the bike down, and dipped each tire into the stream enough for the water to spin it around and wash off the mud.
Yes! Good! Weather, infrastructure, and ingenuity had all collaborated to solve a problem.
But then.
I don’t know if you can see it in the photo, but I biked up that exit ramp (which was sandy, and therefore undid some of my cleaning right away as the sand stuck in the grooves of the tires) and found the gates locked at the top.
What?
How could this be a thing? You can’t lock people into a bike path, can you? Was I supposed to just be stuck in that concrete canyon all night?
Argh.
Doing my best to stay calm, I looked at the map. Should I turn back? If I did, I’d lose all my progress, as well as have to go through all that mud again.
I decided to continue onward instead, even though it didn’t look like there was another exit for some time. Worst-case scenario, I figured, I would indeed just turn back and go back to the entrance I had joined the path from.
Before too long, though, I noticed a staircase.
This was not my preferred method for exiting the pathway… but I wanted to get out ASAP. Luckily the trailer was quite lightweight, with only the bike pump and my dinner inside it. I detached it and carried it up the stairs. Then I carried the bike up.
Once I got to the top, I saw that my problems were not over. If I were to go back to the place where the gate had been locked, I could see that there was another gate stretched across the path.
And I could see why: mud and rock slides. I had been a bit wary, biking in the canyon, to look up at the high walls of bare dirt and rocks. What if they came avalanching down onto me, in a rain-induced landslide??
And now, looking to the right—the direction I needed to go—I did see mud stretching along the path, as well as rocks that had indeed fallen from above.
So then I understood why the path had been blocked.
But that didn’t solve my problem; I needed to get out of there, and back home!
I decided to turn left rather than right on this upper path, hoping that eventually I could exit to a street and turn back.
But after maybe a quarter mile, I found another locked gate. No way around it.
Great.
The light was really dimming by now, too.
I turned back. I figured I would carry the rig piecemeal back down those steps again, and keep going in the canyon until I could find some way to exit.
But I passed a young couple out walking, going the opposite direction from me.
How did they get there? Where had they come from?
I asked them, and they indicated they had come from the area where I had been locked out. We went back and forth a few times, with me insisting that there was no way for me to get through, and them assuring me that there was.
I walked back to the staircase, and assessed my options.
I really wanted to get back, sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, instead of descending, I headed toward the gate, crossing my fingers that no rocks would come tumbling down the cliffs onto me. I navigated the fallen ones on the path.
Then I reached that mud.
Ohhhhh, that mud.
I didn’t want to ride the bike and trailer through it. Way too messy. (I had just cleaned the wheels!!)
I took the rig apart again, and carried first the trailer, then the bike, through it.
It was such a mess. My shoes got completely caked in the squishy mire. And then when I started biking again, there was enough mud left on the path ahead to get it all over the tires again anyway.
I ended up having to walk it around the gate, through more mud.
What a mess. My filthy shoes were now tracking it onto the pedals, too.
I exited the path onto the freeway off ramp. A car soon came up behind me, which was stressful since there was no room to pass. I hoped they weren’t drunk and/or impatient because of the holiday. Fortunately, they gave me the time to get to the end of the ramp, and onto Avenue 60.
Then I needed to stop at the grocery store again. I locked up the rig as best I could, and then tried to figure out how to navigate entering the store with my shoes caked with still-wet mud.
I wiped them on the thick rubber mat outside the store, adding brown goo to its relatively pristine blackness. I noticed that all the other customers had driven to the store. They weren’t muddy. They just walked right in. I felt like such a ragamuffin.
I took some napkins out of my backpack, and did what I could to wipe off my feet. I was having limited success, and now my hands were getting mucky too.
As I leaned into the door to throw the napkins into the trash, I noticed the container of hand-sanitizing wipes just to the right of the garbage can. Aha! This was what I needed.
I proceeded to use about a dozen of these wipes to clean off the uppers and outer soles, and then started digging into the deep grooves on the bottom, which were filled with mud.
Eventually, having removed maybe 80% of the offending material, I decided I was in good enough shape to shop. I wiped my feet again on the black rubber mat, then on the red rug-like mat inside the door. I grabbed another couple of sanitizing wipes to clean off my hands, trying to clear the black muck from under my fingernails.
I got my groceries and stood in line, hoping that my cloth mask was protecting me from the omicron that seems to be seeping around and through everyone’s masks these days.
Good lord. What a day.
I then pedaled the 200 feet up the hill. Arriving inside the lobby doors and onto the mud mat, I eyed all the tires again.
Still messy.
Ugh. I didn’t want to stain the common-area carpets. I dug out a few more napkins from my pack, and did my best to remove the worst of it. When I exited the elevator onto the carpet, I checked carefully and was pleased to see no trail of mud behind me as I wheeled the rig down the corridor.
Inside the condo, I carefully removed my shoes and the trailer, and set about enjoying the pumpkin curry and cake. Doom-scrolled Facebook for a bit, then sat around in a bit of a funk.
Yeah. Not the best New Year’s Eve, if I’m honest.
I think I’m about ready to move on to the next part of my adventure. I’m nervous about it, though, after this long and surreal rest. What does this new year hold for me? What will the road bring to me? I hope it’s good.
And I wish a not-totally-terrible 2022 to all of you.
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