San Francisco – El Grenada – Santa Cruz – Fort Ord Dunes – Big Sur – Cambria – Santa Maria – El Capitan – Ventura – Venice Beach – Los Angeles San Diego: 890 km

I’m having a hard time leaving San Francisco. It’s the place and even more so the people who I’ve been dying to meet since arriving in Calgary, about three months ago. Now I’m leaving them and the city behind. My heart is filled with love from the last two weeks, for Huib, for Jeff, for everybody who helped me out with getting a new bike. In the mist, I cycle away from the city alone. Marijn is about a week ahead of me, trying to meet his friends in San Diego before they leave. It feels somewhat strange but good at the same time. A bit of extra freedom in exchange for a bit of extra loneliness. The plan is to take the highway one all the to San Diego. It’s a route that hugs the Pacific coast constantly. It feels good to cycle next to the sea again. I’ve missed the open waters, the opportunity to lunch and camp in the sand. I get flashbacks of Europe, where the Mediterranean and being alone felt similar to now.

My new bike and me are getting to know each other. After a year on the Trek, I trusted that thing with my life. I knew it’s little behaviours, I knew what it liked and didn’t like. I knew it would be there for me, hardly ever missing a beat. It’s like losing an old friend, and at the same time finding a new one. Toda (that’s its name) doesn’t take away my grief, but it sure is comforting to have it around. I’m overly excited about this new ride. Toda is a bit more lively, racier, a little lighter. With the hydraulics, I can actually brake now, feels pretty good. And God, it’s beautiful.

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That first day out of San Francisco, I stop at a small local flea market. A woman sells Risk, a board game I’m into, but in a version I’ve never seen before. We talk a little. I explain I can’t take it with me on my travels. I cycle onwards. About an hour and a half later I see the same woman, car parked, waving at me from the side of the road. I stop, she and her husband invite me to dinner. I decline, I have to catch up with a friend who’s ahead of me I explain, and I haven’t covered enough distance today. As she walks back to the car, I’m thinking; “What the hell am I doing? This is what travelling is about. You have to say yes!” I wave them back and say I would love dinner. I’m happy I did. They live in a beautiful refurbished farmhouse, in a town called Granada, where the streets have names of Spanish cities. They take me to a veteran bar they’re involved with, where everybody’s a character. We play table tennis and I have the time of my life talking to all these men and their wives. They share the craziest stories, and don’t seem to take life so seriously.

The ride to Santa Cruz is dreamy. Hazy skies over the water to my right, and seemingly every wave down the coast has surfers on it. I stay with Lydia. I’m her first Warm Showers guest. She cooks me a somewhat strange but tasty pasta and we stroll along the shoreline with its boardwalk afterwards. With her burgundy curls and green eyes, she’s stunning, I can’t take my eyes off of her. On top of that, she also makes sense when she talks. Good combination.

We hit it off and she rides with me the next day on her rusty old bike. We pedal through farm land, strawberries as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell. We find a camp spot at the beach, just over the dunes. The sun slowly disappears into the water, dolphins swim by in the now orange-yellow water. It’s a perfect night. The dolphins either stay or their friends come over, because when we wake up, they’re their again. Perfect morning. Lydia cycles back.

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Then the road gets seriously beautiful. I understand it’s fame now. Steep hills follow sharp descents. On the left always the dark brown, almost black rocks, often half hidden behind low hanging clouds. On the right the majestic endless deep blue Pacific Ocean. The shores, the cliffs, the vegetation; succulents and Eucalyptus trees, it reminds me of Portugal. On one of those days, I see whales in the distance. Just the ripples in the water as evidence of their existence, and the water sprouting from their backs. Dolphins with breakfast, whales at lunch, pretty magical day. And as if it’s not enough I make some new non-sea creature friends too. The road takes me to Big Sur. A dedicated cycling camp space has brought a bunch of us together. We share wine over the campfire. It’s been a while since I’ve met other cyclists. This group is eclectic; a Japanese guy who lives in Canada, a Canadian girl making her way to the Mexican border, two older brothers, a French guy living in LA, a super friendly American guy and still I’ve left some out. It’s good to share some cycling stories, check out each other’s rigs, tell big tales of the road. It feels like it’s been for ever since I’ve seen other cycle-tourers.  

Another day in paradise along the Pacific Coast Highway. Much the same as yesterday; more rocks, beaches and ocean. I’m having a pretty perfect time here. My Warm Showers stay that night in Cambria is a little strange however. The father of the family, Rick, cannot talk about anything else than what road I have to take out of there. All these names, all these numbers, all these crossings, I cannot keep up with him. But he rambles on. I’d like to know a little more about his son’s animations, or I’d like to ask his wife if she’s an Olympian, judging by her shirt. But I cannot seem to interrupt him. “Or if gravel is not your thing you take the whatever-road to the so-and-so-crossing towards the little this-and-that-town where you take a right at the whatsoever-gas-station and it’ll take you to the anything-trail.” Etcetera. When he finds out I smoked after dinner he almost kicks me out. But it’s too dark and too late, and he’s too polite. Still grateful!

More beautiful scenery along the Pacific Coast Highway, or the Highway One. I’m almost starting to get used to it. I stay underneath a tree house in the garden of a beautiful family that cooks me a Filipino chicken dinner. Right what I needed after my latest Warm Shower experience. I get to stay with a couple more great people. Dennis takes me in for instance. I get to sleep in his vintage campervan out in the garden in Ventura. He’s incredibly relaxed, and we drink a couple of beers, talk about the world, while we cook and eat tacos together. I tell him I feel somewhat guilty sometimes, taking so much from the world, taking so much of people’s generosity and hospitality. He assures me that I’m also giving back with my presence and energy. I would’ve liked to stay here longer. I find yet another ridiculous camp spot in El Capitan, on a cliff overlooking the ocean and the sunset. In-between the towns are whitewashed from the sand and the sun and the salty sea air. But they’re beautiful and the homes of affluent surfer communities. Then comes Santa Monica, where I stay with Zach. A Warm Showers host actually my age! Which means we go out for beers. And going out for beers we do. We have an adventure of a night, in and out of all kinds of bars, meeting all kinds of people. Hungover and smelling of alcohol I feel somewhat like I got caught, when I meet his parents in the morning. They turn out to be old hippies and mostly laugh at the both of us.

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Then comes Los Angeles. It’s a short ride from Zach’s place in in Venice. LA is not high on my list of placed I’d like to visit, but now I’m here I’d like to check it out. I book a hostel for two nights, that’s been a while! The hostel is nice, LA is terrible. My experience might be tainted by the fact that it’s labour day. If Independence Day was any indicator, Americans either stay in their gardens or go to the beach/forest. There’s no life on the street, the city is quiet, closed almost. Empty streets, empty buildings, the occasional car zooms past, the occasional local walks their dog. Absurdly rich and absurdly poor neighbourhoods are in close proximity but never mix. The Hollywood sign in the distance gleams out an air of success and the American dream over the homeless tent cities right beside me. I cycle along the glamorous sunset boulevard. It’s over the top like Las Vegas. It’s also the only place in LA where people walk. America is a car country, but this place is the epidemy of that. So many places over the last couple of days I would’ve liked to stay longer, here, I’m happy to leave. I must admit however, that if I had a guide with me, my experience might be very, very different.

I leave by train this time. Los Angeles has grown and absorbed the surrounding cities, so the urban environment is huge, and I’ve decided to skip all the traffic and the lights, all the way to San Diego. After two and a half hours on the train, where a lady with an oxygen tank listens to conspiracy podcasts over her phone speaker – to be fair she asked if she could, and before I grasped the audacity of her question completely, the other passengers said yes – I arrive San Diego.

I’ve been looking forward to San Diego. People have been speaking highly of it. Marijn used to live there he, and me by proximity, have friends there. It’s good to see Marijn again. We exchange different stories from the same road. It feels familiar and reliable. We stay with some of his former colleagues. It’s 90 minutes cycling to down town from where we are. It’s a surfer city. The beach is eminent always, in the way people dress, in the way they talk and how they carry themselves. I don’t get to experience San Diego that much, because we mostly rest, not feeling up for the long ride into and especially out of down town. Todd, from our time in Saint George is here this weekend. We make plans to meet, and before we do so he sends us to a baseball game of his favourite team he has season tickets to. After the abdominal game in San Francisco, Marijn and I don’t have high hopes for this one. But it’s awesome. Ninth inning walk off victory for the San Diego Padres!

Todd and Sherrie pick us up a couple of days later and we drive around town, seeing some of its beaches and neighbourhoods. It’s great meeting them again. It feels like we’ve truly made some new friends in the US. We make plans for them to come to Europe, and I honestly hope I can host them back home.

These past days along the Pacific Coast Highway have been filled with adventure, meeting great people and enjoying the coast. They have been the last American stretch, in the country I’ve spend the most time in of any country during my travels so far. The country I’m dying to understand, and I do feel I’ve gotten much closer but fully understand it I do not. We’ve been treated perfectly here, and I’m thankful for everybody we’ve met, all the places we’ve got to experience and the things we’ve seen. I’m also very ready to the next experience, for the next adventure and for whatever lies ahead. In Mexico.