From Paso Robles to Phoenix

From April 11, 2006 to April 30, 2006, I rode from Paso Robles, CA to Phoenix, AZ. In order to save weight and because I had ridden much of the route before, I didn't take a camera along with me. Instead, I sent 3 emails describing my experiences. These emails formed the basis for this journal, each email makes up one of the parts.

Part 1

My original plan was to leave on Tuesday, April 11 from Carmel, ride down to San Diego and then head east to Phoenix, arriving on April 30. However, on Monday night, Highway 1 was closed just south of Lucia, just about where I was planning to spend Tuesday night. Instead, Bob, the sweet guy that he is, offered to drive me down to Paso Robles, several hours further south.

It was an enjoyable drive down with Bob, watching the gusts of wind from the south blow the vegetation all around. It looked like horrible biking conditions and I wasn't all that disappointed in missing the ordeal.

At Paso Robles, I bought a sandwich and started biking on Highway 46, which runs west from Paso (as the locals call it) to Highway 1, just south of Cambria. The ride was through pretty central California hills and farmland. The hills were many shades of green and there were enough wildflowers to keep drawing my eye. Highway 46 rolls along with much more up than down and eventually hits a summit at 1760 feet. I doubt I did that much climbing (Paso isn't at sea level), but there were definitely several looong up grades.

The way down was very scary and I was constantly braking to a stop. The problem was that the wind, which was blowing very strongly at an oblique angle was pushing me around as I picked up speed on the 5 mile-6% downgrade. The wind screaming in my ears didn't help, either. Every turn of the road provided yet another angle of side wind. I managed to get down without incident but I didn't like it.

A right turn at Highway 1 and an easy three mile wind-aided coast took me to Cambria. The total ride was 25 miles. I asked about a room at "The best deal in town," but found it too expensive. After some prodding, the manager mentioned that Cambria had a hostel. I found it and for $20, got a bed in a small dorm. This included a pasta dinner and a toast/bagel breakfast.

The next day, the weather was scattered clouds, normally great cycling conditions, however, the wind was blowing right up the road. For the most part, it was a steady breeze that only felt strong while I was moving the pedals. When it would gust, I would suddenly find myself going under 6 MPH! I had lunch at the usual Chinese place in Morro Bay's wharf area. It was very nice to get out of that wind if even for just a short while.

As I was leaving the restaurant and Morro Bay, I met John, a Lutheran pastor and a fellow tourer who clearly needed directions. I told him to follow me and we went through Morro Bay state beach, and took a left turn on to Turri road to head toward San Luis Obispo. The 90 degree turn did nothing to change the fact that the wind was still blowing directly at us. It was a bit frustrating to be constantly pushing all that extra force. I am now convinced that the wind doesn't actually come from a direction. That is a fiction being perpetrated by the weather people! Talking with John, who was on a 4 month sabbatical, made the ride much easier than it would have been solo. While I noticed the wind, my mind was employed in the conversation instead of focussed on my thighs.

John pushed on for points south (he was in a major hurry, doing 100 miles a day (against the wind!)), while I headed for another hostel in SLO, stopping at the 40 mile mark. This hostel was much bigger and had many more people in it. I read a bit and then walked through the SLO downtown and ate. I read a bit more after returning to the hostel and then went to bed. Two hours later, I came awake certain that some kind of farm animal was in the room. I eventually realized that one of my roommates had a serious snoring problem. Since I had all my camping equipment, I took out my sleeping pad and moved into the living room. It wasn't optimal and I got little sleep.

The next morning, Thursday, I ate hostel-provided pancakes and left about 10am. There was less wind and about the same amount of clouds, another good biking day. I bought a large sandwich in SLO and ate half of it 90 minutes later in Pismo Beach, where I had a good conversation with a couple from Toronto.

On my way out of Oceano (just south of Pismo Beach), I met up with another John who was out for a day ride. We rode together and talked about bike riding (he was into 200 mile/day rides--and some people think I'm way out there!), farming (he was a farm manager), computers, and whatever else came up. The road from Oceano to Guadalupe is undergoing serious development. There are many new housing projects and they now have a golf course, which I saw them building in June, the last time I took this trip. Even Guadalupe is experiencing a building boom. John and I stopped at a cafe where I finished the other half of my sandwich and consumed 3 huge glasses of Sprite.

After lunch, John headed back to Oceano and I continued south. The road out of Guadalupe goes through farm land that sits in a wide valley. Again, the hills were beautiful and the wild flowers were abundant. What's more, for some of the ride, the wind swung around behind me and I had that wonderful feeling of flying along in the quiet of a backing wind. Eventually, the route leaves Highway 1 and takes 135 instead, but not before climbing steadily for a couple of miles. Highway 135 takes you to Harris Grade Road, which, as the name implies, goes uphill. It is a tough, winding 3 miles up to the top. From there, you can almost coast to Lompoc. I got a room for the night there and ate Chinese food at the usual place across the street (I've been to these places before).

The weather forecast was for thunderstorms on Friday (not a good thing when riding a steel bike!) so I decided to take a rest day in Lompoc. This wasn't totally because of the weather. My thighs were quite tired and needed a rest, as well. I hadn't really ridden very far (25 + 40 + 56 = 121 miles), but it was the first time I'd done three straight days since my last tour in June. As you might imagine, there isn't much to do in Lompoc on a rainy day. Luckily, I was reading an interesting book and had 80 channels to surf. I was going to go to a movie, but managed to find something on AMC to watch (The Great Escape). When it was over, I went for another round at the Chinese place and then finished reading the book.

This morning, Friday, the weather was sunny and still and I couldn't wait to get going. I started by eating a large waffle and two eggs and buying some food for the ride. One of the nicest sections of the entire ride is Highway 1, just south of Lompoc. It is a gentle 15 mile climb through a deserted (cows and llamas, only) valley full of trees, rivers, and wild flowers. At the top of the climb, is a two-mile straight down hill that connects up with Highway 101, just north of Gaviota Beach (which is right past the rest stop that is about 30 miles north of Santa Barbara, if you are familiar with 101). I coasted the 5 miles to the rest stop, where I ate more food.

At the rest stop, the weather looked much darker and was colder. I put on more clothes and wondered if rain was in my future. As it turned out, once I moved past the rest stop, it got warmer and it never did rain. However, the sun never came out either.

After the rest stop, the ride is on the shoulder of 101. This is not pleasant. I put in both earbuds and listened to music, which made the ride a bit better. Also, the further south I went, the more abundant the wild flowers got (by now they were almost constant on the roadside) and between the music, the flowers, and the ocean views, I managed to ignore the traffic, for the most part.

The ride was uneventful to my current location, a friend's house, in Santa Barbara, a day total of 53.5 miles. My legs feel good and I am looking forward to seeing my family after a 60 mile ride tomorrow.

As I am coming to find out, every tour, even if it is over previously covered ground, is different. In my case, I have stayed in different cities and even ridden a new road. I've met some very nice and interesting people and seen more wildflowers than ever before. I could be in better shape, but that is always the case, no?

Part 2

I have made it down to Laguna Niguel where I am resting and relaxing for a few days.

Since my last email, I have ridden from Santa Barbara to Santa Monica (61 miles after a much appreciated ride to Ventura), Santa Monica to Long Beach (40 miles), and Long Beach to Laguna Niguel (40 miles). For those keeping a score card, the total mileage so far is (25 + 40 + 56 + 53 + 61 + 40 + 40 =) 315. The weather has been improving and the wind has been more co-operative.

The ride from Ventura through Oxnard and Port Heuneme moves along the periphery of military bases and eventually out through agricultural fields. The transition from agricultural to coastal is Point Magu. The area from Point Magu to Malibu is one of the trip highpoints. On the day I was there, I could see along the curving coastline all the way to the end of the Palos Verdes Peninsula and out to Catalina island. The road follows the natural contours of the coast and there is a fair amount of up and down.

From Malibu to Santa Monica the moving and parked cars claim virtually all of the asphalt and the riding reqires heightened awareness. Once in Santa Monica, I rode along the beach bike path that goes from there all I follow on the next day all the way Palos Verdes. The odometer read 61.66 when I wheeled my bike to my niece's house in Santa Monica for the night.

After a nice visit with my family, I headed out to Long Beach about 11am. I had a very nice talk with my niece and there is something I like about riding in and then just riding out.

The ride to Long Beach involves continuing on the beach bike path down the length of the coastline from Santa Monica to its end, just down the hill from Palos Verdes (20 miles). Palos Verdes is up a long grade, which is followed by mostly level ground through some beautiful housing areas.

The descent from Palos Verdes through Torrance and then Wilmington is also economic, going from affluence to working class to industrial in a few miles. I got the distinct impression that no one wanted to be outside too long. I sure didn't. The ride through Long Beach went past many personal memories and in no time I was at John's house taking a shower (another 20 miles, 40 overall).

After having a very nice Ravioli dinner and good company, I left John's place at 9:30 the next (Tuesday) morning. The ride south goes along PCH to Huntington Beach were a bike path takes you to Newport Beach. The area just south of Long Beach (Seal Beach) is another area where houses line a Navy Base. There are still some wet lands, but not much. I had lunch with Rick and Fred and then continued on to Rick's place in Laguna Niguel (38 miles).

After Newport Beach, the route gets much lumpier. Once into Laguna Beach (3 miles?), the parked and moving cars require vitually all of the asphalt and the riding, up some meaningful inclines, seems a bit dangerous. This section may be the worst of the entire ride so far. This is odd, given that I have such fond memories of hanging out in Laguna Beach in college. In fact, while I was pedaling along, I went past a house that I distinctly remember visiting in 1974!

There has been one change in my itinerary. My friend, Roby, in San Diego can't host me next Sunday, so I have been planning how I am going to schedule the next half of my trip. For the moment, I figure on leaving Laguna Niguel Saturday late morning, riding to San Elijo State

Beach and camping for the night. On Sunday, I will continue down to San Diego, turn left and parallel Highway 8 up into the mountains, likely stopping in Alpine, 2000' above sea level.

When I am riding I am either listening to music or a book or just musing along to myself. As I slid past house after house precariously tethered to the hill side, I couldn't help but wonder what the future of the homes between Highway 1 and the ocean north of Malibu will be. If the ocean rises 5 feet, many of these houses will be uninhabitable and the road will be swamped in places.

I also got to thinking about the "costs" of touring on a bike versus driving in a car. Other than the purchase price, it might be cheaper to drive a car than to ride a bike. In the past year, I've had to spend over $1,000 to repair and maintain my bike. I've spent much less on the car. The Honda requires half a gallon of gas to go 20 miles. Me on a bike consumes a meal. From my recent experience, a meal will run you about $10, making a gas much cheaper than calories!

I don't think the wind comes from only one direction. The weather people always predict where the wind will be coming from. However, it seems to me that sometimes the wind's direction is "coming right at you." On such days, turning 90 or even 180 degrees has no effect on the wind's direction. I believe the official term for such wind is "breeze."

It's nice to have made it to Laguna Niguel and a bit odd. I am usually at the end of the tour when I get here. Knowing that I have more riding to do keeps a bit of adventure in the air.

Part 3

This is a long email as it covers 9 days of biking.

My last email bike report ended when I arrived in Laguna Niguel to stay at Rick and Gloria's place for 4 days.

On my first day there (Wednesday 4/19), I decided to walk to the nearest grocery store/strip mall to eat breakfast and buy food for the next two night's dinners. I really should have ridden my bike, but I just didn't want to subject my backside to any unnecessary time in the saddle. I was surprised at how far and how hilly the walk was.

There was no restaurant in the strip mall, so I had a smoothie and a sandwich at a health food store there. While I was talking with the woman serving me, she asked me where I was from. When I told her I was from San Francisco, she frowned, telling me that there were too many hills there for her. I was shocked. I had just walked over serveral hills to get to her store and they all seemed steeper than anything I ever dealt with in San Francisco. I'm sure this woman never walked over the hills near her store! I spent the rest of the day resting.

Gloria was off on Thursday (4/20) and we went for a walk in Crystal Cove State Beach. This is a state park that was created as a trade-off to the development of the rest of the coastline from Newport Beach to Laguna. While it is a bit of a shock to see the entire coastline developed, Crystal Cove is a very nice beach that has been greatly improved from what it used to look like. It happened to be low tide and we were able to meander at the edge of the water and explore tide pools.

Dave Piety managed to get Friday (4/21) off and the three of us (me, Gloria and Dave) had lunch and went to the movies. We saw "Thank You for Smoking," which is a thoughtful satire on our political system. I highly recommend it! In the evening, I went with Rick to his weekly "jam session." I sat in the tiny room listening to the guys tear through several songs.

On Saturday (4/22), Rick, Gloria and I went out to the pancake house for breakfast and when we returned, I started preparations to leave. My San Diego connection wasn't able to host me on Sunday, so I decided to head out on Saturday and stop short of San Diego. I was off fairly early and headed for San Elijo State Beach, which is about 20 miles north of San Diego and contains a hiker/biker site, where for $3 I was guaranteed a place to sleep.

The ride down the coast improved greatly once I was past San Juan Capistrano, which is densely populated. Past San Onofre (just south of SJC), the route goes through state beaches and on separate bike paths all the way to Camp Pendleton, the marine base that is the real dividing line between Orange and San Diego counties. After showing ID, I rode the 10 or so miles through the sparsely populated military base. At one point, I was passed by a gaggle of riders who all seemed to express wonder how someone could ride a bike so weighted down. When I asked how far they were riding that day, they said about 120 miles, which shocked me. Effort, like beauty, all depends on one's viewpoint, I guess. I saw a sign at the entrance to Camp Pendleton, which read, "patrolled by Marine working dogs." I couldn't help but wonder if it was referring to the enlisted men there. I also got a close look at a Russian artillery piece and tank captured during Operation Desert Storm.

Past Pendleton, Highway 1 went through old coastal towns (Oceanside, Carlsbad, Encinitas, etc) that were in various stages of growth and decay. I have very clear memories of driving through these towns as a college student on my way to Black's Beach, down near La Jolla. They aren't all that much different today, but with more houses and businesses. The riding required much more attention as the shoulder was narrow and the road well travelled for much of the ride.

When I got to San Elijo, I paid my $3 and shared a campsite with 4 other bike tourist there when I arrived. There was a Brazilian and three guys from Riverside. Bruno, the Brazilian, and I talked while we cooked dinner. He was a triathlete who was touring around after flying in to visit friends. That evening and the next morning, I swapped stories with the Riverside trio. it turned out we were headed in the same direction the next day as they were ending their tour in San Diego and I would see them on the road later that day. It rained just a bit during the evening, which was my first time camping in the rain on a bike tour.

After the kind of rest you would expect from a night spent in a tent in the wind and rain, I started riding about 9:00am, after first fueling up at a local breakfast place recommended by one of the park rangers. It was a sunny Sunday morning and the ride through Cardiff, Solana Beach and Del Mar was very pleasant. I knew that a "big" climb was coming up as many people had told me about the Torrey Pines hill. There is, in fact, quite a long uphill just before UC San Diego. It is the kind of hill that people in cars would notice as it is long and straight. While it did make my thighs burn it (a gain of 500 feet or so in elevation), it wasn't anything like the grades I would see later in the day. The ride through La Jolla went right along the beach and the views were fantastic. The traffic was a bit snarled due to the La Jolla Half Marathon that was finishing just as I rode past the finish line. After La Jolla, the route meanders through residential streets until finally emptying out onto Mission Blvd, a main drag through prime San Diego beach culture. I stopped at a sandwich place to fuel and water up and then rode on the beach path past sand volleyballers, vacationing families, and oiled sun bathers.

At an opening in the beach condos, I made a left turn and switched from one map (Pacific Coast route) to another (Southern Tier Cross Country). I rode through Mission Bay park and then along a bike path next to the San Diego River. I saw lots of wading birds and even watched as a large raptor dove and snatched a fish right out of the river. After a few miles, the path ended and the route followed busy San Diego streets. While most of them had bike lanes, there were dangerous intersections where a street would enter from the right and I would suddenly find myself between two lanes of merging traffic. It was a harrowing 10 miles until I got past the baseball stadium and the major freeways. Eventually, the condos gave way to open spaces and the route spent a few miles on the Junipero Serra Trail which is a paved path that follows a river through preserved lands in the beautiful San Diego foothills. After that, the route went along large suburban streets with lots of Sunday afternoon traffic that gave way to empty lots and industrial areas. By the time I got to Lakeside, about 25 miles from the coast and about 45 miles for the day, the grade was definitely going up. As the road got steeper, the surrounding area became more open, greener, and less populated, with both fewer cars and houses. By now, I was in low gears going up for miles on end. It was tough going and getting late. My goal for the day was Alpine, 2000 feet above sea level and 33 miles from San Diego. When I got there, I was beat. I stayed in the only hotel in town and had a serious Mexican meal to finish the day.

At the hotel breakfast the next morning (Monday, 4/24), I had a nice conversation with several veternarian students who were in Alpine for internships (mostly on horses and cows). I was feeling the 115 miles of the previous 2 days facing another 2200 feet of climbing. I stopped to get some fruit at an Alpine grocery store and headed off in a low gear toward Pine Valley. The route paralleled Highway 8 for 5 miles and was on Highway 8 for another 4. I then turned onto state route 79 and stopped a mile or so later for a real breakfast.

While I was still going up, the terrain was very scenic and the road virtually empty. I hit one summit at 4050 ft. and then coasted down into Pine Valley, where I ate half of an avocado sandwich I had purchased in Alpine and had a chocolate shake. The road out of Pine Valley was also quite picturesque, hitting another summit of 4250 ft. Past that summit, the terrain turned to high desert and I went down and up (and up) again, eventualy passing a huge casino right next to Highway 8, which I had been next to all day. I ended the day in Jacumba, about 100 yards north of the Mexican border (which is marked by a three strand barbed wire fence). I stayed at the only motel in Jacumba, which has a spa fed by a hot spring, and is somewhat run down (it reminded me alot of the Yucca Inn!). The warm pool was welcomed after 47 tough miles. I cooked some lentil pilaf in my room and watched some basketball until I conked out for the night.

The only restaurant in Jacumba, the one in the hotel, was closed Tuesday, April 25. I was told this the day before so I had purchased some eggs at the store and combined with half the avocado sandwich that I had from the day before, I made a bit of breakfast in my room. The road out of Jacumba was deserted but went past farm fields, the Jacumba airstrip (!), and a large INS facility under construction. After six miles of gentle up, I entered Highway 8 for the 9 mile, 6% down grade that is the transition from the In-Ko-Pah mountains to the Yuha Desert. The grade had a gusty crosswind and the descent was scary when combined with large trucks zooming by 6 feet to the left. I stopped whenever I had my brakes on too long to let them (and my hands) cool off. When the wind was still, I managed to get up toward 40 MPH, but probably averaged about 25 MPH for the entire time. At the end of those 9 miles, there was no doubt that I was in a different place. The Yuha Desert is flat, hot, and mostly sand.

I stayed on Highway 8 to the Ocotillo exit (2 miles) and saw a cafe sign just off to the right. The short road there was completely torn up and it was hard to navigate a loaded bike past all the holes and rips. I was the only person at the cafe and the food was of low quality. The waffles I ordered were Eggos out of the toaster and the potatoes were heated up from a frozen bag. I wondered about the old couple that was staffing the place but didn't get much conversation out of them.

The route left Highway 8 and continued on State Route 98. This road goes through some desolate terrain. When I think of the desert, this is the vision I will have from now on. After a 10 mile jog southeast, the road parallels the Mexican border for 13 miles. I saw a vehicle about every 3-5 minutes and passed dirt (sand) roads on the right with names like Coyote 1 and Coyote 2. About every half-mile there was a brick well identified by a flag with Agua/Water hand lettered on it. These were somewhat off the road and I never did look into one of these to see what was actually there, though I did feel good that they were there. It is hard to imagine wandering through this place without adequate food, water, or shelter in a land where you aren't welcome.

Riding in such a harsh environment gave me an awkward feeling of being all alone on a bike in a place so hostile to life. It wasn't worry, so much, as the sense that I was whistling past the graveyard. It wasn't that I was in any danger; I was carrying plenty of water, food, and shelter. It was more that I was the only one who was "outside." Everyone else was inside an air-conditioned vehicle. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, but it was an "alive" one.

Eventually, I crossed a canal and turned north on the worst road I've ever ridden a bike on. It looked like people had been driving vehicles with metal treads on it for a long time. The road was so torn up, that I could only get some semblence of a ride by weaving from one side to the other. Luckily, this, too, was a deserted road through fields that were being readied for planing, which means it was quite dusty.

After 8 teeth and bike rattling miles, I arrived at the "town" of Seeley, really just a gas station and grocery store. I was hungry but didn't feel like eating anything the store had on offer, but took down an apple, a bottle of Gatorade and a bag on M&Ms anyway. I could see that El Centro, the largest city between San Diego and Phoenix on this route was only 7 miles away.

In El Centro, after a bit of riding around trying to find a bike store (that didn't have what I wanted), I stopped at a recommended Chinese restaurant and consumed a huge meal. It was still early in the day and my legs were feeling good, so I decided to ride another 14 miles to Brawley, the last bit of civilization before the 70 mile stretch of no service wasteland that is the North Algondones Dunes Wilderness Area. The road between El Centro and Brawley is a straight shot that used to be all farm land but is now slowing giving way to housing. Riding along the road was more a lesson on homebuilding than a bike tour as I believe I observed every stage of building a house. If I was looking for a place to invest, this would be one to consider. And, Brawley is certainly a place that could use some investment! It looks like my vision of a old, beat-up, agricultural town in California's southern desert. The main hotel in town, directly across from city hall is shuttered. There are lots of empty stores and vitually no tourist services, besides cheap motels and fast food places.

While I was in Brawley, most of my thoughts were centered on my next day's ride. The map says, in bold type and all capital letters: "Services are extremely limited between Brawley and Palo Verde. Plan accordingly and carry food and water. Be prepared to camp by the road, if necessary." I bought 3 liters of water (at 4 pounds a liter) and a pound of pasta. For dinner, I decided to order the largest pizza Round Table had and to save what I couldn't eat (half of it) for lunch the next day. I also persuaded the server to give me about half a cup of Parmesian cheese and several packets of crushed red peppers.

The next morning, Wednesday, April 26, was clear with the wind out of the west. This was great fortune as I was going due east for 20 miles and then northeast for 30 (I'd end up doing 67 by the end of the day). I knew that Brawley didn't have any breakfast places (I'd taken a short tour of the town the night before), but I managed to find a cafe that was willing to make me a custom omelet. I got to talking to the server who told me about his desire to own a cafe. When his company (American Linen) tried to move him back to the corporate office in the midwest, his wife pushed him to fulfill his dreams. He wasn't so sure, but did it anyway. He was a nice guy who created an attractive cafe with a real customer service ethic. I hope he florishes.

Brawley quickly fades and the road (State Route 78) is bordered by farm fields and then rolling scrub where jet trainers from the nearby El Centro Naval Air Facility screech over. When I see low flying military jets, I often wonder if they are targeting me for practice. It certainly is clear that a guy on a bike has little chance against a guy in a jet, at least without a shoulder fired missle! The scrub gave way to rolling sand dunes. The wind was now coming from over my left shoulder and the sand being blown on the road made surreal, moving patterns. At one point, I saw several turkey vultures on the road. These are big birds! They were beak-deep into a coyote whose back third had been sheared off by some gas fueled predator. A decaying carcass in the middle of the road in the hot sun made for a distinct aroma.

Thirty miles into this emptyness is a trading post called Glamis. It is right next to train tracks that draw a straight line through the desert. I'd heard about this place and the crazy prices it charges, such as, $3 for a liter of water, $1 to use the toilet, and $8 for a shower. They stocked a huge assortment of things and I was glad that I didn't need any of them. When I walked outside, four people on ATVs growled to a stop, went in, and emerged with ice creams bars. I not only wondered how much that must have cost them but what kind of fun it must be to ride around sand dunes on miniature tractors in 90-degree heat wearing leather outfits. I'm sure they thought that riding a bike loaded with 40 pounds of gear through the desert was the stupidest thing they'd ever seen. To each his own, I guess.

While I was there, resting under the enormous awning, I got to talking to some guy who was sitting there. It turns out that he runs a repair stall just down the way. He told me about the history of the store (a plot of land surrounded by BLM tracts given to the railroad as part of the original land grants for the transcontinental road that is now privately owned) and of his own problems trying to get permits and run a business there. The flat area surrounding the store was completely empty. He told me that during an average holiday weekend, there would be 10,000 people milling about there. It was hard to imagine. After about 20 minutes of interesting back and forth, I continued on.

Did I mention this was barren land? While there were some desert plants, there was nothing else. It was so empty that I couldn't even find something to lean my bike against when I had to take a pee. Instead, I had to hold my bike up with one hand while taking care of business with the other, hoping, at the same time, to get the wind direction right and keep my shoes dry. It wasn't easy!

After Glamis, the road started climbing and rises started appearing on both sides. At the top of the incline (12 miles later), there was a series of "dips" where the shoulder narrowed and road got lumpy with limited sightlines. Luckily, there wasn't much traffic. The dips continued for quite a while, then they went away and came back again some miles later. The road smoothed out as it approached the Colorado river. I finally made it to my day's destination (after 67 very dry miles), the Palo Verde Recreational Area. It was a free camping spot that had a single cement room containing a toilet, a sink, and a trash can housing a family of noisy crickets. The "park" consisted of a patch of dirt dotted with large trees adjacent to a water hole of some sort, most likely an overflow pond of a nearby canal.

I set up the tent, washed up as well as I could, given the pressure value on the single (cold) water faucet, and then simply sat a while watching a woman with a fishing pole but no reel catch fish after fish. She much have hooked a dozen fish in the hour that I watched her, most of which were thrown back into the pond. I decided to cook my pasta, parmesian, olive oil and red pepper dinner and then went to sleep feeling like I'd passed some kind of wilderness test.

I woke up with the sun on Thursday, April 27. The sun rise, which I happen to be looking at out my tent's portal, was a bright colorful affair that was a great welcome to yet another day of bike riding. I was up and packed for the short ride to Palo Verde where I hoped for a quick breakfast on, what I planned to be, a "short" day. Palo Verde was 2 miles along a canal and irrigated fields and was another tiny town whose main building was a gas station/small grocery store. Next to that was a diner that happened to be closed on Thursdays. Tough luck. Instead of riding further into "town," (I had been told there was only one diner in Palo Verde) I decided to see what I might eat at the grocery store. There wasn't much. I ended up eating a microwaved bean and chili burrito, an 800 calorie fat bomb containing half the recommeded salt for the whole day! I managed to gag it down, burning much of my mouth in the process. Let's just say it wasn't the best meal I had during the trip!

The next "major" town on my itenerary was Blythe, just at the California-Arizona border. From Palo Verde, the route jogged north then east a few iterations until I crossed over US Highway 10 and followed it into Blythe logging a total of 22 miles. Blythe is the kind of place you'd expect to find along a major Trans-US highway. It has a dense corridor of gas stations and fast food places along US 10. I was ready for a real breakfast but I passed by the first couple of breakfast places for no other reason but that I wasn't attracted to them. I stopped at a place near the end of town where I could get a good view of my (unlocked) bike as I chowed down.

While I ate a meal of pancakes, eggs, potatoes and toast, I saw a pair of bike tourists ride by and wave. Moments later, they entered the restaurant and sat down with me. Martin and Karen were from the Netherlands and had started in Florida (the other end of the Southern Tier route I was doing just the western end of) 4 months earlier. They had followed the Southern Tier to Phoenix and then headed north to visit the Grand Canyon and the national parks of Utah. They told of being snowed in for several days in more than one Utah city and about other adventures they had. Both expressed some disappointment that it was all coming to an end in a few days. I showed them my San Diego route map so they had some idea of places to camp in and around San Diego. We also swapped information about each other's upcoming miles. They wanted to know about the 70 mile dry spell I had traversed the previous day and what the Palo Verde Recreational Area was like. I had similar questions about the road to Phoenix. They suggested a few places to stay that I made note off.

I greatly enjoyed spending time with these two and in the next few days I often thought about them and how they were getting on, given that they were heading into the wind and had to climb that 9 mile 6% upgrade. They were unconcerned by my descriptions of what lay ahead for them, simply saying that after 4 months they didn't really notice uphills much anymore. I found out that Martin was into collecting license plates from the side of the road. He had picked up about 60 of them so far, mailing most of them back to Holland. I mentioned that I had seen one the previous day and he quickly asked if it was from California! While I couldn't recall where it had been from, I could see that he was a serious collector. Karen seemed to be interested in roadside cell phones, replying to Martin's skepticism with "You collect license plates, I collect cell phones!" They even had a feel good story about finding one cell phone that was still working, calling a number on the phone. and getting their hotel room paid for by the grateful owner.

It was interesting to know what these people would find a "crazy" thing to do on a bike. They had come across someone who had been riding for 30 hours straight being followed by an RV blaring music from front-mounted speakers to keep the rider awake. Apparently, he was preparing for the RAAM (The RAce Across America). They could only shake their heads. They also wondered about a group of riders who were on an organized van-supported tour from San Diego to Florida. They weren't carrying any bags and were doing about 150 miles a day! (Given the reports I had received, this group had started a few weeks ahead of me). What amazed Martin and Karen was that several riders had chosen this tour because of vacation limits at work. As Europeans, they couldn't understand how someone would have to choose a sub-optimal vacation because of work restrictions. They were even more baffled by one rider who quit his job to do this tour because he couldn't get the time off, otherwise.

Karen said that she hoped her next tour would be of Bolivia and that she also hoped to do an Afganistan-Pakistan-Nepal trip. These aren't places on my short list but Karen seemed excited, after 4 months biking, to be planning for her next ride. I had to admire her spunk. We went our separate ways after exchanging email addresses, heartfelt good-byes and handshakes all around.

Blythe peters out to a frontage road that then peters out to a bike path along a bridge over the Colorado River. With that, I was in Arizona and a huge truck stop at Ehrenberg. In addition to a huge gas pump selection (gas is about 30 cents cheaper in Arizona), there was an enormous convenience store that contained two fast food outlets inside. I wasn't hungry but went for a bag of M&Ms, anyway.

It's onto US Highway 10 from Ehrenberg to Quartzsite, that day's destination, 21 miles distant. There was a steady, but gentle, upgrade that climbed about 1000 feet in the next 10 miles. Between the zooming trucks 10 feet to my left and dodging all the flotsom at the side of the road, I can't say that I particularly noticed the grade. After cresting the hills that came closer as I rode, the next 10 miles were a mild downhill (not enough to coast) into Quartzsite. Total miles this day was 46.

One of my personal goals was to get to Quartzsite on this trip and call my friend Bob (the fabulous guy who drove me to Paso Robles to begin my ride) from there. He had called me a few months earlier to report on the "retired guy's Burning Man" held there each winter, when tens of thousands of RVers converge on Quartzsite, camping in the desert around the town. Calling him from there seemed like closing a kind of circuit.

I checked into the Stagecoach Inn, the place recommended by Martin and Karen as the cheapest place to stay in Quartzsite. The room, all $35 of it, was perfectly acceptable and had a choice of two double beds. After showering and washing my biking clothes, I needed to eat. I had passed a Chinese restaurant and I asked the hotel woman about it. She sternly recommended against it (though she did say it "was clean!"), but I was undaunted and went there anyway. I ordered my usual meal of broccoli, fried tofu, and cashew nuts. It was delicious but not quite enough, so I ordered a second plate of the same thing. This amused the restaurant staff no end, but they didn't speak English well enough to engage me about it. Nonetheless, there was a lot of meaningful head nods and smiles. After dinner, I went back to the motel, watched some basketball, and conked out early.

Since I was staying in a motel, I didn't have to unload the bike. As a result, on the morning of Friday, April 28, I was able to get up and out quickly. The motel's restaurant wasn't open that early, so I continued going east, looking for an open cafe. Near the end of town, I found an open restaurant and ate a large bowl of oatmeal, eggs, potatoes, and toast. The clientale seemed to be what one would expect at a place like Quartzsite during the off-season: older people personally known to the waitstaff, mobile home dwellers, truckers, desert rats. I kept my head down, ate quickly, filled up on water, and left quietly. Quartzsite in the off-season has too much space for too little people. There are huge lots advertising RVs, back-to-back mobile home parks, and discount stores. Everywhere I looked was empty parking lots and unoccupied buildings. It is a bit hard to imagine hundreds of thousands of people milling about the desert. That said, they certainly have the room for it!

At the end of Quartzsite, it was back on US Highway 10 through increasingly empty desert landscape. After 12 miles, it is off onto US 60 heading northeast, away from Phoenix, and into a flat, barren plain. The road was a slight upgrade, essentially traffic-free, with towns that were little more than glorified RV parks. At Hope, which is just a restaurant at the crossing of two state highways, I stopped for another breakfast, pancakes with a chocolate shake this time. After Hope, the road got steep enough that I noticed I was going uphill and I went over a bit of a bump into the next valley. I rode through Harcuvar, Salome, stopping in Wenden to have a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Gatorade. From Wenden, Highway 60 is a straight ribbon of asphalt. My stop for the evening was Aguila, 26 miles past Wendon (for a day total of 70 miles).

I didn't like riding on a road that I could see going straight off into the distance. Occasionally, there would be a house or a cement bridge over a dry wash but for the most part it was the same scenery, mile after mile. I did begin to notice yellow and orange flowers by the side of the road and would notice a lizard every now and then. The road had mile markers and I even took note of my odometer reading and concluded that it was off 1 part in 100. On this stretch, I met a guy who was riding to Lake Havasu City on a beat-up bike with plastic bags hanging from his handle bars. He looked weather-beaten and tired (I probably did too). He had very little money and appeared to be riding in order to save money. He hoped to get a job in Lake Havasu City. His condition occupied my thoughts for a few miles thereafter.

I had heard that the RV park outside of Aguila was a good place to camp. For $8, I got a prime spot on the lawn right beside the laundry room and bath facilities. I set up camp and rode an empty bike into Aguila for an "authentic" Mexican dinner. It was odd riding a unloaded bike and I can't say that I was all that comfortable doing it. I kept over-correcting the steering and it just didn't feel right. I was in the tent and dozing by 8pm.

On Saturday, April 29, I was again up at sunrise. I lolled in the tent for a short time and then got up. It was too early to find an open breakfast place, so I decided to walk around the RV camp just to hold my body in a different position for a while. As I was wondering around, one of the park's tenants came out of his trailer and we started talking. I never did get his name but I did enjoy the 45 minutes we spent conversing about what he was doing, which was prospecting for gold. He filled me in on how he searches, the kind of equipment and chemicals he uses, and how claims are filed on public lands. I would have talked longer but he kept smoking cigarettes and as he was lighting up his third, I excused myself.

By the time I packed up my bike, it was time for breakfast. I rode to town (2 miles) and went to "Mama's Place" to eat. I had a standard meal and got back on the road. I continued on Highway 60 (I would be on it all the way to Phoenix), 26 miles of straight-through-the-desert road to Wickenburg, the next town.

Wickenburg is not a very large town, my map says 5000 people, though it is probably larger now as it looked like it was expanding. As usual, the outskirts had new housing going up and distribution centers. As I got further into the old town, I noticed that Wickenburg didn't have the usual assemblage of national brand names. This probably meant that there aren't enough people there to support them. I noticed a meaningful difference between small towns and larger ones. The small towns were characterized by a lack of brand names. The stores and restaurants were locally owned and probably staffed by family members. The larger towns had Circle-Ks, Subway sandwich shops, and Motel-6s. The cities had mini-malls whose store names even I recognized. Wickenburg fit into the larger town mold.

When I got there, it was before noon but I was hungry. I stopped at the first (only) Chinese place I found and had my usual meal. Wickenburg is an old Arizona town (1860s?) that is on the old approach to the Grand Canyon from Phoenix (there is a "new" wider freeway, now) and it has prospered, as a result. The main street is full of shops, a cowboy motif, and was attractive. I found a grocery store, bought some fruit, and stopped at an ice cream store for a good-sized sundae. Then, I was off for the 36 mile run to Phoenix.

The temperature was beginning to rise into the 90s and I was sweating pretty good. As you can imagine, the traffic increased as I got closer to Phoenix. But, the shoulder was plenty wide and I never felt in any danger. The saguro cacti were plentiful by the side of the road and I liked seeing them. I did notice that the cacti closest to the road were often quite beat-up, like someone had hacked on them or, most likely, shot at them. The ones growing in people's yards were undamaged and very attractive.

I passed another bike tourist walking his rig. He was skinny, very tanned, and looked liked a very experienced biker. He was well equipped, using a road atlas for directions, and on his way much further east. He was walking his bike because he felt it gave his bike riding muscles a rest and made it more comfortable to ride all day. It seemed like a good theory to me, but I don't like walking my bike. I'd rather get off and rest by sitting or standing, which is what I do.

My only stop on the way was at a general store to get more water. Given the people hanging out there, I locked my bike. It was the first time I had done that since leaving Paso Robles. Eventually, more and more signs of a big city starting appearing: off-ramps, billboards, even more cars. The first place I hit was Sun City, a retirement mecca that was all gated communities and large malls. This was followed by a long stretch of a lower-income section of town that had the name Surprise on the map. It had no name brands, at least not in English, lots of liquor stores, and taquarias. I kept looking for a motel but didn't find one until I saw a Motel-6 on the street where the route calls for a left turn into a residential area. I booked a room, took a shower, and walked around to discover that there was nothing I could eat there. Instead, I went back to the room and made the rest of my pasta, olive oil, parmesan cheese, and red peppers mix. I ate while I watched the NBA playoffs.

Julia, my wife, didn't arrive until 1pm on Sunday in Phoenix. Check out time at the Motel 6 was noon, so I decided to sleep in, eat breakfast, read, watch TV and leave about noon for the 13 mile ride to our rendezvous spot. The only place to eat was the Denny's next door. I had a servicable omelet and went back to the room. By noon, I was packed up and headed out the door. The ride from Surprise to Phoenix was through residential neighborhoods on wide roads or those with bike lanes. There was one short stretch on a narrow, busy road, but it was over quick. The temperatue was climbing (low 90s?) and I was sweating freely. Residential Phoenix is not particularly inspiring. Most of the homes have front yards either containing weeds, dead lawns, or some desert plants. The homes themselves are tract homes. No one was outside.

Eventually, I got on the Arizona Canal bike path which is a ribbon of asphalt that runs along a canal that goes under cross roads. At these roads, you have to leave the path and cross the road. Sometimes there are stop lights; sometimes not. Since Julia was driving up from the airport, I stopped where the bike path crossed US Highway 17 and found a restaurant for lunch, where I could wait.

It was a nice reunion when Julia showed up, about 40 minutes later. It took me about 30 minutes to unload the bike and disassemble it enough to get part of it into the bike box and the rest into the trunk. Then, it was all over and I climbed in the car for the run to the Grand Canyon.

Since I've been home, I been trying to craft the one line description about my trip to answer "How was your bike ride?" that I get asked constantly. The best I've come up with is that "it was a challenge and I'm glad I did it."

The touring section of www.bikeforums.net is a great place to discuss bike touring topics. I have learned a lot from the site and try to participate when I have something to add. My first post there after returning was this:

I have been a serious bike tourist for about 3 years. I have toured down the California coast, throughout Utah and England and just finished my longest tour to date--Central California (Paso Robles) to Phoenix via San Diego (just over 800 miles).

I did a number of touring firsts: