Just thinking out loud about motivation and scribbling it down whilst sat on the ferry, back in the USA’s 49th state. At the moment I’m making my way up to a port near Anchorage (just below Denali National Park), on the Alaska Marine Highway. A journey north into the heart of the land of the midnight sun.
It’s a pretty indirect journey spread over two weeks of travel. I set off from Prince Rupert last week, the ferry then pulled into Wrangell, where I’ve spent the last four days battling the mosquitos. Now it’s a 3 hour journey to Petersburg, then Juneau, and finally Whittier in 10 days time, which marks the next section of the route – the longest one of all – from Alaska across Canada. It’s odd how such seemingly meaningless corners on an map can have such personal meanings.
Looking out from the railings is a thrilling sight. In between small towns, signs of human activity is non-existent, it’s just shimmering green water and dense forest as far as you can see. I’ve yet to see them, but there’s orcas in the drink and grizzlies amongst the trees. It’s an inspiring place to just look upon, reflect on the last several months, and look to the near-future knowing that this is the land that so many adventurous tales have been set in, and it’s clear to see why.
Motivation. When I was nearing the end of the East coast leg, and then again on the Southern states leg, on the hard days, knowing that I’d cycled the whole way meant it was easy to overcome any motivational struggles, because there was a rationale that went something like, ‘Well you’ve come this far, what’s another few days / miles / state lines?’. But on the West Coast leg, taking the bus ride from Northern California to Seattle was like an instant break, and I didn’t feel as attached to it.
I’m still totally focused on making this a project about the people along the way, and stopping in certain places when it seems right. Otherwise there’s little difference between rocking the exercise bike whilst typing ‘road sign’ into Google. Alaska is one of the places I’ve been most excited about all along, so I’m definitely going to spend time to soak it in, and have a few plans that if they come off will make for interesting and unusual experiences.
But, I know that everything will seem disconnected if the final stretch isn’t done by human power. That may seem a bit ridiculous, and that it really shouldn’t matter, even a contradiction when there’s been writing about constant movement being tough, but there’s a snowball effect attached to de-motivation and it’s something I’m keen to avoid on the biggest stretch of all. Just showing up, getting on with it, and creating a flow does a lot for your psyche, but when that synthesis breaks your motivation can soon follow.
People keep talking about the prairies in Canada, and how tough they are mentally, even when driving across them. There’s stories of people looking at a mountain in the distance and just driving for days without it getting any bigger. Driving, and being driven crazy by the endless and beautiful-at-first-but-soon-monotonous surroundings. Another cyclist I met in BC couldn’t hack it and jumped on a bus to ‘end the torture inside his head.’ Strong words that can drum up dread in anyone’s moments of insecurity or self-doubt.
There’ll surely be mind-games. You can take your ‘days in a car’ and convert it to ‘weeks on a bike’. But nothing with worth comes easily does it?
Customs. There hasn’t been a trip-post for a while, as a lot more time than expected was spent in the city of Prince George chasing up a new set of wheels through customs. It was nice to settle for a while, and explore the city, but a few days would have been plenty. By the end of a two week(!) stint in PG, I was getting frustrated. Several days were spent taking shelter in this doorway, which was an unusual but functional base. And there were obvious upsides to an extended period of static time – mainly a solid amount of work was done, but by the end I was absolutely ready to move on.
But maybe these are all just soured memories, as Prince George was the place that has caused the most physical pain so far. It wasn’t in some kind of epic crash, or brake failure, or in fact anything bike-related. As it turns out, walking face first into an air conditioner just really hurts and will leave a lump on your head for days.
It was the afternoon of day 206 when the wheels finally showed up. Being a fairly critical part of the project, I was over the moon to see they’d arrived, and ran to a bike shop to get them to swap over the cassette, making the bike a working item once again.
Outside the bikeshop, I met local resident and all around top dude Erik (on the bike below), who in the last couple of years had racked up some serious cycling experience, taking 6 week trips in Yukon and Alaska. He’s got a big plan taking shape right now that involves taking an extended leave from his job as a prison guard, to cycle across Canada, West to East, meeting with long lost family in various cities along the way.
Erik had some hilarious stories from his cycling in remote places, offered a place to crash in his basement (no more doorway!), and made it clear that he was the CEO of the BBQ, when he grilled up some stellar steaks. It was a great way to end a long spell in BC’s northern capital.
The morning of day 207. After the last couple of weeks, my motivation for cycling was at an all time high. It was a cracking day, the bike was working like a dream, and I was gunning for it. Standing up and pushing down on the climbs, face to the handlebars on the downhills. They don’t come much better than this.
CRUNCH. Are you serious?
Crunch. 70km, and now I’d somehow managed to rip the rear derailleur out of the hanger, bending and de-threading the hanger in the process. If you’re thinking I might have been frustrated by this, then you’re totally right. Fuming. Luckily there was a spare hanger kicking about (they’re unique to each frame so it’s a good idea to carry a spare – often bike shops have to order them in), but on closer inspection of the derailleur it was knackered and completely out of shape. I ended up hitchhiking 30km west to a campsite in the town of Vanderhoof.
The next day, the folks at Omineca saved the day. They had the right derailleur in stock, and were cool about letting me use their workshop and expertise to get the bike into a decent condition. The aim was: this has to stop happening. This service, right now, is going to fix the bike for the foreseeable. Luckily it has so far.
The day of the service, there wasn’t much progress made, but since then it’s been a great phase of being on the road. Motivation for progress is high, and I’m back in the swing of things. There’s been some horrendous headwinds, incredible downhills, uphill slogs, jaw-dropping landscapes of snowy mountain peaks, and loads of ‘Beware of Moose’ signs. I’ve been frantically looking around excitedly but am yet to see any. Hopefully in due course.
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The route for the last few days has been: Prince George – Vanderhoof – Fraser Lake – Burns Lake – Smithers – New Hazelton (where this is being written). From here it’s West to Prince Rupert (Canada likes the royal names huh?), and then it gets super exciting. All going well, the plan is to get a boat into the depths of Alaska and continue from there.
Back in Seattle, I made this film with John Canfield from High Above – his cycling / outdoor bag design brand. It turned into a fun and inspiring conversation about entrepreneurship, getting fired and breaking barriers.
“Yeah, 2 years since I got fired from my last job… For the people that dump their heart into their work, and their boss doesn’t see it, or doesn’t care, then I would highly recommend to those people, entrepreneurship. Highly recommend it. It’s hard to break out of working for somebody else, it sucks. It’s terrible. At first. And then you pay the bill. “
A few days ago in BC, a local called Ted from HQPrinceGeorge wanted to do an interview about Vague Direction and what the project’s about. It was a fun conversation about some stuff that’s been written about on the blog and other stuff that hasn’t been covered as much. Here’s a 5 minute snippet that focuses on the lifestyle aspect of the project, and a couple of the takeaways so far – hope you dig it.
Leaving One Hundred Mile House was wet – really wet. There hasn’t been any significant rain for weeks, so in many ways it provided a forgotten type of riding and one where you are more ‘in it’ – getting blasted by the elements is good at that. It was a fast ride over to Williams Lake, in the spray of passing trucks, being mostly flat and ever-so-slightly downhill.
This trip has a way of teaching you stuff fast. Back in California, I thought I’d learnt the hard way never to sleep near sprinklers again. So how I ended up getting absolutely drenched by sprinklers in Williams Lake and having the coldest, dampest and overall most miserable nights sleep so far, was confusing, hard to take and more than a little frustrating. The moment was captured in video-form, so at some point you’ll get to see how ‘effin far those things can reach. Maybe twice is a charm, and the same mistake won’t be made again, or perhaps hidden sprinklers that rise out of the grass will continue to be a nemesis until the end.
Williams Lake to Quesnel was a challenge. Purely because of the previous nights sleep. It’s not often you’re woken up with a dog headbutting the sleeping bag. Tell you what, that’s a bit of a fright. Everything was soaking wet and it was freezing, and it was inevitably a slow, unenthusiastic start to the day. Hot drink please. After some liquid warmth the rest of the day went OK, as soon as the sun decided to show it was actually really warm, funny how that works. Ended up in Quesnel where the Billy Barker Casino & Hotel provided a room, which was incredible after last night. Out like a light.
Leaving Quesnel was a bit intimidating. I half expected Will Smith, Jeff Goldblum and Bill Pullman to show up. Seeing this on display and knowing that the route to Prince George was through it wasn’t that appealing.
It unsurprisingly started to pour down and there were some super sketchy drivers on the roads cutting it really fine. The rain eased for a while, maybe an hour or so, and then the mother of all dark clouds showed up. All of a sudden it became really dark, there was an instant drop in temperature, and the first car to appear out of the cloud had its fog lights and wipers on. You can imagine what happened next – there’s a rain theme. It wasn’t pleasant but didn’t last too long before getting in to Prince George, the capital of Northern BC. I arrived late not knowing what was what, so shout out to City Centre Inn for their hospitality on the first night in town.
I’ve been using the cycling-equivalent of Couchsurfing, called Warmshowers, which can be really useful especially in built up areas, and was invited to crash at the house of PG locals, Barb and Les, who have been amazingly kind with their hospitality and amazing home-cooked dinners. It wasn’t long before Les mentioned he was into fishing, which is something that’s been on the Vague Direction list since the earliest iteration of the project, so when he mentioned there was an opportunity to go out on his boat, it was an instant yes. Here’s a snippet video of an afternoon fishing with the man himself.
I’ve been in Prince George for a while now, and with more days to wait it will end up being the longest stint of stillness on the entire trip. The bike is currently rocking a rear wheel that’s about as round as a square, has several loose spokes and a snapped derailleur, so I’m waiting for a new wheelset to arrive from pals over at Velocity which’ll arrive next week. Being able to ride without the near-hourly issues that my current wheel has been providing is a happy thought to say the least. There’s been yet more good natured and generous people in town, a good example being Les and Barb, who are letting me stay in their camper van until the wheel shows up. So in the meantime, whilst staying in PG, there’s time to explore, tick off some to-do’s, and try hard to avoid the thousands of caterpillars that dangle from the trees in Prince George – what’s that about, any locals know?
There’s a weird constant battle on a project like this. It has a destination, and a time limit, so whilst constant movement is sometimes frustrating, it’s also necessary. But I heard this saying from a fellow cyclist the other day – “Smiles, not miles”. Cheeseball as that is, there’s something in it.
“The one talent I think I have more than anything else is persistence. I just won’t give up. So when I was trying to be a director, I put myself 35 thousand dollars in debt, but I was determined that it was going to work out. I wasn’t going to stop until I figured it out. It just was unfathomable.”
Meeting Ruben was something I’d been looking forward to, partly because I dig his work, but also because he questioned the traditional path and carved a unique route to get to where he wanted to be. It takes guts, determination and a belief in what you’re doing to commit so much, financially and otherwise, in chasing where you think you should be, especially when at the time it was such an untested path.
“I used to dub my reel onto VHS, and send it to production companies, and it was expensive to make the tapes, to buy the tapes, to send them to the companies, so I just started putting videos on my website, and this was before Youtube, so I would just host them all. And then I also had a news site on my website, which was kind of like an early blog type thing, where I would, in HTML, type the date and write stuff like ‘this is what I did today’ and ‘this video just fell through’. Just trying to figure out how to make it as a director.”
Back on the road again, back into the swing of things. Pretty simple ride out of the city, with well-planned roads and cycle tracks where possible. Vancouver’s a cycle-friendly city for sure. A few hours of riding put me at the top of the Squamish valley, where there were subtle indicators of what was to come. Perfect roadside swimming lakes, with a glimpse of granite on the not-so-distant horizon. A five minute ride from there, around a corner, and there it was. The Chief. The rock climbing mecca, and for good reason. This place is on the same level as Yosemite in California only quieter, it’s spectacular. Huge granite walls, 700 metres high, towering overhead as you look up in awe, wondering how on earth such a thing can exist.
Sorry you lost me there for a minute. I ended up at a campsite, after visiting Shannon Falls – the third highest waterfall in BC which is quite-a-sight, which made a nice change from the stealth camping that had been the only method for days and days now.
178: Squamish to Whistler
It’s tough leaving a place like Squamish, knowing that you haven’t scratched the surface at all. Being constantly on-the-move is one of the toughest parts of this whole project, and was something that, in all honestly, I didn’t expect to be a problem at all. That was wrong. There have been similar moments on the journey, of leaving a place that you could happily stay in. That momentum can be draining, not having a base and fleetingly passing through. It’s something that I struggle with a lot, but at the same time the journey is a big part of this trip, as is the mental challenges that it brings, so I’ve tried to adjust my framing to think more like – “This place is awesome, so I’ll come back at some point and explore properly”. Squamish is right up there. It’s leading the way on top of the come-back-to-list.
The ride was just awesome, I set off late (as in 7pm late) after bouldering about a bit and generally hanging out in Squamish, and the road just got more and more impressive. The mountains were in full view, still with a bunch of snow on top, there were the first ‘Bear’ signs, all in all this was the first time for a while where it’s felt like it’s getting really adventurous. Ended up at the campsite in Whistler, after snapping yet another spoke on the journey (but with a landscape like this it’s easy to forget about), which had some in-situ bear nets to hang your food in. A sign of what was to come.
179: Whistler to Pemberton
Hunted around all morning for a bike shop who had the right size spokes – I’d run out of spares because of multiple recent replacements. Apparently a touring wheel is an awkward size, and most bike shops in Whistler just stock mountain biking parts, which are the wrong size. I was getting concerned, as there was only one shop left. Maybe there just wasn’t going to be any spokes in town and I’d have to either wait or ride with a super weak, and quickly-wobbly wheel. But there was still one last shop to try – Bike Co – and as fate would have it they had loads. I wasn’t going to risk getting caught out again so took 16 spares off their hands. Overkill? Maybe. The wheel got fixed and there was an all-downhill cruise to Pemberton. I was getting a drink and a couple of policemen walked into the same place. They were really cool, and when they weren’t chatting about their skydiving and bungee jumping exploits, they had a lot of advice. Official advice too, like the fact that you can camp anywhere in BC as long as it’s not private land. What that means is, even if your camping just off the road, it’s legal and there’s no need to worry at all as long as it’s public land. That’s a massive relief and removes a lot of the nightly stress in choosing an appropriate place. Turns out one of the policemen, Steve, is a keen cyclist and XC motorbiker, and offered up a couch in his basement to crash on. Happy days – shelter!
180: Pemberton to Lillouet
There have been times on this trip that people have advised, and warned about something that’s imminent. But never to quite the same degree as this morning. I couldn’t escape the constant warnings about ‘the hill’. This ominous, intimidating climb that by the sounds of it would be a teeth-chattering scare fest.
Because the project’s been on-the-go for a while now, I feel fairly confident with hill climbs. Being warned of ‘the hill’ has actually happened in a few places and you quickly learn that there’s just no point even thinking about it. It is what it is. There’s only one way to get up a big climb and that’s to pedal until you get up it. So this wasn’t a worry. What was a worry, however, was the alarmist warnings and rumours about what was lurking at the top of the climb. Animals – big ones. I’ve spent a lot of time reading guidelines, advice, and strategies in dealing with North American animals, but with sentences like these from Pemberton locals suddenly that research seemed not worthy. For a moment it was as though Jurassic Park had just opened on top of ‘the hill’, and the people of Pemberton were happy to provide a voice of doom.
“When you get to the top, be really careful of the moose. They’re really aggressive. My grandad once got chased by a moose and hid up a tree. The moose waited at the bottom of the tree for 2 days before getting bored. My grandad said he’d never been hungrier.”
“Look out for cougars up there. They’ve been known to climb trees and jump out on humans.”
“The bears are really hungry at the moment. Make sure you don’t surprise them.”
There were some big animals up there. I bumped into loads of deer, and a couple of bears, one big and one small. In fact, whilst cycling downhill, I didn’t see the big bear until the last minute. Luckily it dived into the bushes rather than into the path of a blundering Brit on a bike. The smaller bear was hanging out by the side of the road, and we were really close at one point which was, at the time, a small part amazing, but mainly bloody terrifying because the mother was nowhere to be seen. It doesn’t take much reading up on bears to know that being in between a cub and a mother is the worst possible scenario, so my heart was pumping like never before, and my eyes were scanning the area like a lunatic in search of a bigger bear. It was nowhere to be seen, so eventually I slowly walked around the cub. It was a terrifying but in hindsight an altogether incredible experience being one-on-one with such a switched on and intelligent animal. But any closer than that would be quite a different proposition. Roar. Here’s a really crap photo – in the moment, taking a photo was the last thing on my mind, so it’s taken from a fair distance away and looks like one of those UFO hoax conveniently-pixelated images.
181: Lillouet to Marble Canyon
So lethargic. Late start and absolute snails pace after ‘the hill’. Made a bit of progress and was happy to keep moving, albeit unenthusiastically and slowly, but when I was riding past the awesome Pavilion lake, the enticing blue water, and saw a sign saying ‘Camping: 6km’, the decision was made.
182: Marble Canyon to One Hundred Mile House
It’s been really hot for the last few days, perfect weather for swimming, so to wake up just feet away from a magnificently-clear lake brimming with fish and surrounded by huge cliffs was a wonderful sight. Who knew such blue water could be so bitterly cold? Locations like that are going to be more frequent for a while now, so I’m excited to experiment with some fishing line and a hook. Maybe fish will be on the menu at some point – it could be a fun learning curve and interesting experiment. I haven’t got a clue how to catch fish, or how to prepare them, but anything to spice up the trailmix bars and noodles has to be a good thing right?
As for the day’s ride, it was going well, and wasn’t too hilly. Less forest than before, it was a ride through agricultural plateau’s mainly. It was all going so well until that now-familiar *PING* sound, another spoke snapped. Drive side this time too, which makes things a bit more frustrating. It’s about time that this problem gets fixed for good.
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Thanks to Ramada for providing a room in One Hundred Mile House after a long stint of mainly roughing it!
The final section of California riding ended in Eureka, which is where the mayhem ensued. Not got long to write this so it’s more like a photo timeline.
For the last few weeks there’s been a looming whisper attached to the journey – the Canadian border. Much more time was spent in California than first anticipated so the project was way behind track for a while, and crossing in to Canada would make all visa concerns vanish. Ah.
It means I’ve skipped cycling through Oregon entirely, and most of Washington state too. I don’t mind jumping ahead too much though, as there’s new plans in momentum that will provide much more of an adventure than the original route. So anyway, the looming deadline. The start of May means being in Canada. It just wasn’t going to be possible by cycling. After some googling, the most suitable option from Eureka was the bus. Not just one bus though. It went: Eureka, CA – Oakland, CA – Sacramento, CA – Portland, OR – Seattle, WA. That should have raised alarm bells. And it took an entire millennium (not 100% accurate but that’s how it seemed).
It was a truly awful bus journey – in hindsight I’d have tried hitchhiking instead, or crawling for that matter. Putting a bike on the bus shouldn’t be that complicated – but for whatever reason (Jeremy Jobsworth’s who enjoy making life difficult) the ‘policy’ is a nightmare for bikes, and maybe it was just a bad stroke of luck, but the staff at the terminals were the worst people to deal with. Probably ever, but certainly on this trip.
Anyway after jumping through the most absurd hoops, getting in to a ‘heated discussion’ with a staff member at Sacramento who proclaimed that he ‘ain’t gonna pull no fucking dollars out of his ass’, dismantling the bike, shoddily boxing it up, and sitting down for a 32 hour bus ride, we pulled in to Seattle. And at that exact moment I vowed never to ride the Greyhound ever again. Is that a vent? Because just writing that down felt great.
On a more positive note, Seattle was brilliant. I stayed on Emily and John’s couch for a couple of nights, who live up in the Wallingford area (they also make High Above Designs bags). It was quite a novelty to be able to leave the bike and explore the city on feet, free of the heavy weight for a while and without burden. Also, there’s a neat bike shop called Recycled Cycles who did a stellar job servicing the stead.
Numerous people in Seattle suggested avoiding the mainly-urban mainland route up into Canada, and taking the ferry-hopping San Juan Islands route instead. It was great advice. From Seattle it was a quick hop over to Bainbridge Island and an amazing bivvy overlooking the downtown Seattle skyline.
The ferry hopping and island riding was in some jaw dropping areas. Hopping a couple of states means that the geography has changed significantly, and now it’s very much a snow-topped and serious-looking mountain landscape. It’s the first indication of the remote nature that’s to come over the next couple of months.
After several ferries and some awesome riding, I boarded the ferry which would mark the end of the US section of the trip (for now). Getting on at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, and docking in Sidney, BC a couple of hours later. I always find border crossings a little intimidating, until that wonderful stamp hits the passport and puts ink on the page. Welcome to Canada, eh! And breathe.
I hung out in Sidney (which is on Vancouver Island, a bit north of Victoria) for a few hours and got the last boat from there to Vancouver proper. Although where it actually drops you off is actually 40 miles from Vancouver. Damn. Maybe being in a new country acted as a catalyst, but at the stealth camp (behind a concrete bollard by the highway – luxurious) this morning I had a sort out of gear and all the unnecessary weight that has accumulated in the pannier bags over the last couple of months. There was loads, so I sent a package to a buddies house back in California, and holy smokes the bike felt great. It was lighter than ever before, and it had just been serviced. It was the best the bike has felt for months. And then two spokes snapped. Of course they did. Is that sods law? Luckily they were both non-drive side so were easy to replace on the fly.
I was lacing the new spokes in a park when a red pickup truck pulled over. It was a local couple from Richmond, Gary and Wendy. “You know you can’t cycle under that tunnel, right? You need to go back to the service station. Bikes are put on a shuttle through the tunnel.”
Several people have mentioned Canadian friendliness and generosity, but I didn’t think it’d happen so fast. Gary and Wendy ended up acting as the shuttle, we piled the bike in to the back, and drove over to their house where I could finish fixing the wheel, do laundry, take a shower, have some lunch, and all that good stuff. The first full day in Canada and the rumors are true.
It’s all go from here. A new section of the adventure begins now, it’s getting wild and that’s super exciting. Eh.
Brad is originally from Boston, and as a teenager sold drugs, until he was caught. On the day he was released from the jail that he’d spent the last 10 years in, he had a couple of options. Do something that would land him back inside – like punching someone, or choose a different path away from the place he’d now become comfortable. He chose to literally walk away. He’s been walking for the last 13 years.
“After 10 years, I had 60 dollars and one piece of paper. They dropped me off, right downtown Boston. Thousands of people, I didn’t understand what, who. I was taken care of for 10 years. I didn’t know how to live. I was scared and nervous, because I didn’t know how to react around these people. So, I seen a crossing guard, across the street. And I said, well, if I go and hit this guy, I can go right back home. But inside, my emotions in side me said no, just give it some time.”
Here’s a short film made in collaboration with Brad. Hope you take something away from it and share it with anyone who may be interested.
Motivation for the riding part of the trip has been lacking for a couple of weeks now – probably a mix of lack-of-sleep, visa deadlines, hilly cycling, headwinds, and diet. A fortnight’s nothing in the grand scheme of the trip, and down periods were, and are, part of the trip appeal. The mental game is a challenge that can be retrospectively fun to contend with and adds to the overall story, but it’s easy to forget that sometimes. It seems like months ago (it was months ago) since triple-figure days in the saddle. At the time, those big days in places like Texas could actually be a little dull – most of the day was spent cycling, constantly moving – but right now I’d bloody love to just have a stretch of relatively flat road to just remember what a big day is like. No deal on the pacific coast!
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Day 156: Bodega Bay to Sereno Del Mar (6 miles)
The strongest wind so far, to the point of getting blown off the road into the ditch several times. Quite exhilarating for about an hour! Making such slow progress is just a bit demoralising after a while so I ended up calling it a really-early day and camping on the side of the coastal road, using a bush for wind shelter and chowing down on ramen.
Day 157: Sereno Del Mar to Gualala (45 miles)
Still gusty but nowhere near as bad as yesterday. Ultra-steep downhills (and up’s) through huge trees, and coastal landscapes. Initially went past Fort Ross, but then made a quick U-turn to get some water. Ended up running into Lindsey, and shooting a film piece. She’s an interpreter, which basically means she lives as the Russian settlers lived back in the early 1800’s (thanks Wikipedia), with the aim of teaching kids about history. Always fascinating talking to people about the choices they made that landed them in such seemingly unusual situations.
Back on the road, and despite the hills, which are good at halting any momentum you build up, it was the first time getting into the swing of things for absolutely ages. Pedalling is no longer a chore, time flies by and you end up being really focused. Seems like the last time that happened was sometime in the Southern states, so it was very much welcome.
Day 158: Gualala to Fort Bragg (59 miles)
Bit of a bizarre run in with an elderly chap who thinks the FBI are following him every where he goes, and have been doing so for the last 55 years. Wouldn’t they have said something after all these years? Wind pretty much non-existant for the first time in a few days. Such a simple thing makes all the difference. Cruising. Not much to say other than it was mainly a saddle day in typical stunning Northern California landscapes. A day where nothing went wrong, and some progress was made.
Day 159: Fort Bragg
One of those days that make you a year older. Did some work and got some nachos. Had a run in with a tough-looking tattoos-on-his-head dude, who demanded an answer to a question. “Have you seen the aliens?”.
Day 160: Fort Bragg to Leggett (44 miles)
A day battling with more lack-of-energy from the start. There’s an easy short-term body hack though and that is to sink a load of sugary soda to give you a quick high. The hope is once you get into a rhythm, you forget about lack of energy. Seems to work quite well sometimes. It was uphill most of the day, but led to the most incredible full-speed-ahead downhill which lasted for ages. Signs like this are complete mental-wins:
Ended up in Leggett. Hunted around for a while to find a place to bivvy on the down-low, but ended up going for the obvious. A patch of grass in the middle of town. At the moment there’s hardly any activity, most places are closed down (which is a shame because it’s an amazing area), so there didn’t seem to be much of a need to be discreet.
Day 161: Leggett to Garberville (23 miles)
Leggett is the home to the ‘World Famous Drive Thru Tree’. You can’t learn about a tree that you can drive through and not check it out. Hilarious to see a van that was clearly never going to get through, attempt the challenge. A few high revs and some reversing later, it was free. Other than the tree, the rest of the day was a bit of unmotivated and unenergised cycling-through-awesome-landscapes, break, repeat, break, repeat. Ended up in Garberville, which wouldn’t look out of place in the Swiss Alps.
Day 162: Garberville to Fortuna (51 miles)
This stretch involved cycling through the ‘Avenue of the Giants’ which was just insane. It’s an appropriate name – basically it’s a 31 mile highway through Humboldt Redwoods State Park. It’s epic. The biggest trees imaginable, and the just as impressive Eel River which is a swimmers dream river. It was one of those moments where any struggles with words like ‘progress’ and ‘mileage’ and ‘schedule’ just aren’t an issue at all. You’re in the most epic place imaginable and could happily stay for ages.
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Day 163: Fortuna to Eureka (after this blog goes live)
Fortuna’s within cruising distance of Eureka, which is where some decisions will be made to do with the next couple of weeks. After an un-expectedly long time in California (which I wouldn’t change at all – it’s been awesome) unfortunately there’s no way that by cycling I’ll get into Canada within the visa deadline. So there’ll be some non-cycle transport that comes into play to win back some time. But hey, the project name indicates the looseness of the route!
