Headed south of the border...

Right now the four of us are relaxing in Lindsey's apartment in Ocean Beach, San Diego, enjoying one final day of rest before pedaling towards the Mexico border. We have been here in town four days now, slowly working our way through this transition time. All of the talk about how to prepare for this new phase over the last few months of riding has become real. For so long San Diego seemed far away, hanging off in the future to be dealt with later. All of a sudden it was 25 miles down the road, and now we are even closer to this new beginning. It was a good feeling to arrive in the city, though I must admit that our long-term, indefinite departure from the country finally did hit me the other day while rolling through the outskirts of LA near Redondo Beach. "I'm about to live on foreign soil, in twelve different countries, for the next six months," I thought, all of a sudden in a new light. I realized that the longest excursion away from the states I'd ever taken was for less than a month, and also that the final stretch to Ocean Beach would pretty much signify the end of our stint through Alaska, Canada, and the US---nearly 5000 miles. It suddenly all felt real, and has been seeming more and more this way as we near our departure.
We've been chipping away at our lists, ordering parts, putting together new equipment, sorting through our gear, downsizing, dividing up Clif product, and waiting on our bikes at the Trek shop. All this on top of partying with our friends here in the city, visiting the beach, analyzing maps, preparing packages to be shipped home, and brainstorming about challenges and issues we may have to face soon. There is so much to think about and plan; we begin to become anxious about jumping into it. The planning can be overwhelming. We would love to just get on our bikes and go, but the unsupported tour never allows this. We are always preparing for new phases, dealing with new problems, making necessary decisions. Many elements of our tour will not change at all. Yes, we are crossing an imaginary line that we call a border, but we will still wake up in the morning, get on our bikes and ride on whichever road goes south. This is our one constant, and its become the easiest part of the trip. It's everything that inevitably comes with the riding that takes so much out of us, that we have to work so hard together on all the time. We know we have to ride until we're tired, eat and find a place to sleep almost everyday. But we all have our own personalities, and to bring four perspectives together into one all the time is a constant challenge. This new phase of our journey will be yet another test for us, and I can only hope that it will ultimately bring us all closer together as a team. I know that these new experiences will change us all as friends, as teammates and even as human beings as we learn about new cultures and explore the land we must traverse. We've already experienced so much, yet it can only become more and more exciting as we move closer and closer to Argentina.
Our crazy, unpredictable days will continue. Here in San Diego we've had some time to reflect, some time to soak up all the things that have happened to us in these last few months. Sam has images of Denali flashing through his brain, and I have visions of my three friends flying down a huge dirt hill in front of me, huge mountains in the background, the pipeline to our left, and a sky so big, you can't be sure how far away the horizon might be. I have faces and places whirling about in my brain, and images of Canadian wilderness and wildlife---its bears, moose, birds, and foxes, and, of course, mosquitoes. I remember riding 40 miles through a nasty downpoor to get to lunch in downtown Vancover, crossing the border in the afternoon, and eventually arriving at the Olsen's house in Bellingham, Washington at 11 o'clock at night, at the top of a two-mile winding, steep hill, still in our rain gear, my odometer reading 105 miles for the day. I can see the Redwoods, standing with their giant trunks and towering peaks looking down at us, and the beautiful Oregon and Nor Cal coastline. I have in my mind an image of us and 15 of our friends riding across the Golden Gate that I will remember forever. All these memories will guide us into our new experiences. Thank you everyone for supporting us, and for watching over us as we tackle the remainder of our epic journey that has already gone beyond all expectations. And so we will continue to pedal, onto Baja and into oblivion...

Sunny SoCal...A day in the life...

I wake up on a couch, wrapped in a blanket. It's getting hot quick. I can feel the heat of the sun coming through the bay window over me and it is only 7 am. Duncan is laying on the carpet sprawled out across his sleeping bag. Sam is outside on the deck, folding up his sleeping bag, waking up to a beautiful morning in San Luis Obispo. Larry, our host, has already started the waffle-maker and is shuffling around in the kitchen. The first thing we need to do is call Spoon to coordinate the beginning of our day. He is at a hotel in town, dealing with a nagging case of poison oak that he needs the amenities of a hotel room to treat and maintain. Larry tells us to invite Spoon over for waffles, takes the phone and gives him directions. The four of us eat waffles with apricot jam, butter, and syrup, and sip coffee and tea waiting for Spoon to arrive. We are planning a push to Santa Barbara, a big day, and are curious to see how Spoon feels. He'd been riding through it all for a few days since leaving San Francisco and coping well, but on this morning wears a bit of a frown as he rolls up to the house in the cul-de-sac. "It's getting worse," he says. After a few phone calls, Spoon decides he is willing to get a shot at the local clinic to combat the poison oak. He and Larry jump in the blue van in front of the house, and are off. Sam, Duncan and I are left hanging out in front of this house, not knowing how long things will take, how our teammate will feel, or whether we'll even be able to make the day's ride. We just never know where we'll be or what will happen day to day. It's exciting, really, and sometimes it hits me. At this moment, I think to myself, "Wow, I'm here in this guy's house in San Luis Obispo, waiting to see what will happen to us for the day. All we did was ask Larry for directions through town, because he was on is bike, and the next thing I know, we're eating spaghetti at the dinner table, drinking beers and playing foosball in the garage. I'm waking up eating waffles, and watching this guy drive away with my teammate." So Spoon and Larry come back maybe an hour and a half later, and he says he's good to ride. So we get on the road late and power over the hill to Arroyo Grande. From there I call my friend, Phil, who lives in Los Alamos, south a bit, and let him know that I'm not sure if we can stop by to visit because of the 101 highway laws about bikes. But the route looks good and direct, so we go for it. By the time we bike across the flats to Los Alamos, it is nearly 4:30. Sitting down in Phil and Jenel's kitchen eating fruit and slamming iced tea, we look at the maps. We still have a 50+ mile push to Santa Barbara. I really want to get there, especially since Sam had forged ahead to meet us there, but we realize it would put us on the road well after dark, and I'd be leaving friends I hadn't seen in years behind in a flash. All of a sudden I realize I need to stop rushing. As I was on the phone trying to line things up for Santa Barbara, Duncan and Jenele conspire to organize a trip to the beach with the surfboard to watch the sun set and play in the waves. The plans had changed so quick; we realized what we needed to do. Duncan tells Phil. "We're going to the beach. It's official." Phil yells up off the front steps, "Honey! We're goin' to the beach!" Everyone goes about preparing things we need and within ten minutes we are in the trucks headed for the coast, our bikes locked up safely in the garage. Which brings us to the picture I've just posted. We had a great evening with Phil and Jenele. I had no idea that we'd be there on that beach when I woke up in SLO town at Larry's house. We're enjoying this jaunt down the Pacific coast, gearing up for Mexico and a whole new ball game. And so it continues on, just like this, for six more months....

Team arrives in Point Reyes

(Photos courtesy of www.ryansalmphotography.com)
So we rolled into Point Reyes last night, tired, hungry and sore after our five day push from Arcata. It was a beautiful ride down the coast through the fog and the sun on twisty, turny, hilly roads, with amazing views of the coastline from high above on ridges and grassy bluffs. Our arrival in Point Reyes was a much-anticipated event, a major landmark for us, since it represented the beginning of our long-awaited weekend in the Bay area, the closest we will be to home (Tahoe) for the whole trip. We were relieved to coast through the little town after another 70+ mile day, and as we cased the village for places to eat and hide for the night, a local woman told us we could get some good food at "Rosie's." So we put on our flip-flops, stripped off our jerseys, and as dusk settled on us, we sat down to eat. A very nice group of folks at the table next to us were curious about our project, so we fielded some questions and then ordered our meals. As we finished, one of the women in the group, Martha, offered us free dessert and left a map to her house on our table, only 1/2 mile away from the restaurant. We were quick to jump on her offer (how could we turn down free food), and before long we were sitting in Martha Danley's kitchen eating homemade fruit tort made with local fruit and topped with delicious whipped cream, chatting about our trip with some of the nicest people we've met so far on our journey. We were treated like kings...food, hot showers, and a bed for each of us in her studio. So we went from dreading another cold, foggy night in our damp sleeping bags to watching sportscenter in our own quarters, white linen and pillows waiting for us nearby. I am writing this blog from the cozy confines of Martha's kitchen, eating breakfast, and awaiting the start of a very exciting weekend for us with the group campout tonight, the ride into the city tomorrow and the party at the Velo Rouge Cafe on Saturday afternoon. Life is good right now, in fact, I don't think it could be better. Thank you so much, Martha and friends for your generous hospitality, and to everyone else who is contributing to making our project a success. With nearly a quarter of our miles behind us, we are in good spirits and ready to carry on into the next phase of our trip as we move closer and closer to Mexico and Central America...Cheers, all...Jake

Cruisin down the coast...

We wake up and have no idea what will happen to us before the end of the day. We look at the maps, sip our tea and coffee, have a bite, and agree on a goal for the day's ride. We know only that we will need to find a new home before night falls. Maps become real as we pedal along; towns which were no more than words on a piece of paper come to life before our eyes. We imbibe the sounds, the smells, the sights around us. We become a part of it all and glide along at whatever pace seems right. As long as we're heading south it feels right. We crave progress all the time, yet days off are cherished, so we work to earn those days of recuperation. But after a break, we are always anxious to move on, to leave whatever town gave us a place of respite. We begin to learn about a town, some of the sidestreets, locations of necessary resources---library, laundromat, food and drinks. We meet people, too, so many nice people who are interested in our project, and we leave them behind just the same as the towns, gone from our lives forever, but preserved in our minds like a snapshot. I sit in a computer lab at Humboldt State University now, thinking about the long road that has gotten us here. With Alaska and Canada behind us we have a newfound confidence in ourselves. We know we can ride the distances we need to now. We've gotten stronger, more efficient, more comfortable with the daily routine. We try to focus on the days or weeks by themselves, trying not to always think about how far away Argentina really is. Ushuaia hangs in the back of our minds, all the time, beckoning us. I woke up this morning under the canopy of the redwoods, huge, weathered, trunks stretching to the sky. You can feel the power of these old trees when around them---a resonance of ancient wisdom and power. We rode out of Crescent City, CA and into Del Norte Redwoods State Park, a huge climb through the low-hanging clouds and fog. Lush groves of ferns and the dank, aromatic bed of pine needles and soft dirt on the forest floor reminded me of prehistoric times. I kept thinking a stegosaurus would cross the road in front of me, or a pteradactyl would come soaring through the moss-covered branches and the fog. Near the top of the climb, we popped out of the cloud cover and into the sunshine under a blue sky. We descended the other side of the hill, and there was the ocean on our right, waves crashing against monstrous rocks and an endless expanse of bluish-green mystery. On days like this, life doesn't get better. That's what its all about for us. The Oregon coast, and now California are a treat for us, a reward for all the pedaling we did to get here. It's good to be back in the States, and so close to home. We plan to explore the Lost Coast before arriving in Point Reyes next Friday. We will be in great spirits and excited to see everyone who will join us for our ride into the Bay. Cheers, y'all...Jake