Category: Big Ride

Meet Rachael

It is so fun having guests in town who have never been to Seattle before. Floyd, a Big Rider from Pennsylvania, is here for a few days before he takes off on his cross-country adventure. Needless to say, we went to the market to meet Rachael (the pig) and buy some of the delicious Copper River salmon. 

Big Ride Slideshow

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I finally compiled my pictures from the Big Ride Pacific Coast that Nick and I did last fall. Rather than post hundreds of pictures in a list, I put them in a slideshow to music. (Now that they are all together, I think it was worth the wait.)

Most of the pictures were taken by me, Nick, and Tim Byer. A few from Dave and Karen Derrig snuck in there too.

I’d recommend watching the small one if you’re on dial-up. The medium and large sized shows seem to play pretty well if you have high-speed access.

Big Ride - Final Update

Posted by Nick:

Greetings from home.

Following a rest day in Fort Bragg that included another vegetable-intensive breakfast, lunch at the brewery, and my lurking cold finally fully developing, we set out on a 112-mile death march to Bodega Bay, filming location for Hitchcock’s The Birds.

While the other Big Riders were laughing at me behind my back while doing their laundry, I was talking to a well-tattooed local who was interested in our trip, thought what we were doing was awesome and, most importantly, told me to visit Glass Beach.

Glass Beach is an old garbage dump on waterfront in Fort Bragg. I don’t know the specifics, but it looks like somebody covered the dump with fill dirt and tried to turn it into a park. As the ocean eats away at the shoreline, it exposes buried garbage that has become fused to the dirt and rocks. The beach surface is equal parts small pebbles and tumbled glass from broken bottles. It sounds sick to admire the tenacity of the garbage, but it’s really quite beautiful. It’s a wild experience to stand on a shimmering floor of green and blue and white and brown and purple and red. Dan, the guy who told me about the beach, said people go there and collect bits of glass to use in mosaics. Jutting out of the glass were rocks with sparkplugs, shoes, hubcaps and bits of rebar embedded. Fossils already. As I said, the tenacity of our garbage was amazing and shocking. It doesn’t go away.

With my cold now in full swing, I wearily pedaled back to camp and tried to take a nap while our campsite mates Dave and Karen cleaned bikes and Carry read the latest Northwest Brewing News. We walked to a very cool and pretty crowded Mexican restaurant just outside the campground for dinner. I had meatball soup and was grateful for the salty broth.

The day after our rest day featured the same relentless rollers that characterized the last part of the day before. A never-ending series of sweeping descents to the left followed by a sharp right-hand bend and a climb back to the level you started from. “Why not just build bridges?” we wondered. This was a long day. I rode with Carry the whole time and we rolled into camp at about 6:00 in the evening. Dinner was at 6:30. Many people came in on the support vehicles, with the exception of a few riders who managed to miss the sweep cars and cruised into camp, 24 oz. cans of Fosters held triumphantly aloft, well after dark.

The last two days were uneventful from a riding and scenery perspective. Carry and I had been craving a dinner of bread, fruit, cheese and wine for a week now. En route to our final campsite, we stopped in Point Reyes and purchased said items. The entire group was jealous. “You guys have cheese. Oh my, you guys have (gasp) strawberries!” Good times at the campfire.

On our final cruise into San Francisco, we passed through Sausalito. If I were a billionaire, I would move there. I loved its pedestrian-friendly layout, narrow streets with wide sidewalks, abundance of useful shops including the coolest bike shop I’ve ever been in. I loved how the houses are built almost on top of each other on the hillsides, attempting to maximize the number of people who could live with the view.

I’d visited San Francisco often during my sailing career, racing frequently out of the St. Francis Yacht Club, practically underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d never been on the bridge though. It’s a major bicycle route so it was busy. The temperatures were chilly, the bay was foggy and of course windy. Nonetheless, I was pretty excited to be up there, looking down on the Saturday morning yachting scene, riding my bike through throngs of tourists exiting their busses at Golden Gate Park.

I relished the cruise through the Presidio and along the waterfront, visiting the beach where, while competing in a major collegiate sailing invitational regatta about nine years ago, under the watchful eyes of competitors and coaches alike, I turned my boat parallel to the beach to land oblivious to the huge wave about to hit me beam on. The boat rose up on the wave and suddenly dropped away, leaving my crew, Tracy, and I to gracelessly back flip into the Bay. Fond memories.

Just when we thought the end (hot showers) was near, calamity arose. It was about 12:30 and our hotel wasn’t ready for 41 sweaty cyclists to arrive in their lobby wanting to change clothes and clean up. Refusing to check anyone into a dirty room, we were left to park bikes in the lobby and sit around looking kind of gross. Rooms came available as they were cleaned, but it had me wondering why they couldn’t simply let us in our rooms so we could drop off luggage and take a shower, cleaning the room when they could get to it. Somebody tell me why I can’t take a shower while the sheets are still dirty. We wrapped our bikes in our Big Mr. Squishy Therm-a-Rests for the truck ride home, took showers and hit the town.

Transitioning back to civilization was not as difficult this time. We’d visited towns all along the coast so the shock of walking down a crowded street was not as pronounced as it had been when we returned from hiking the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island a few years ago. What was shocking, however, was how slow it felt to walk. I usually walk a little faster than most. The crowds packing the sidewalks at Fisherman’s Wharf and along the waterfront were spending a lot of time stopping, walking suddenly diagonally, and generally not adhering to the iron-clad rules of traffic management. We just about went nuts! All these people are going, what, four miles per hour? Ridiculous! ?If you can’t handle the pace, get off the sidewalk!? I wanted to shout. I had, after all, spent the last two weeks traveling at an average of 17 miles per hour.

I would do this again in a heart beat, though I would prefer to do it properly, with a small group of friends and carrying our own gear, like Carry and I did on our honeymoon. I’ve always wanted to ride this stretch of road, particularly in Oregon, but I’ve always been curious about California as well. I would like to finish the west coast, from San Francisco to Mexico. I’d like to go north into Canada.

Riding your bike is an incredible way to tour. You get to see more, smell more, stop for coffee in more interesting places and meet some very interesting people. I feel like a more complete cyclist.

Big Ride - Update #2

Posted by Nick:

I’m in Fort Bragg (not the military base, that’s apparently on the East Coast. I was confused too.)

Yesterday was the highlight of the ride. We left a campground in the Redwoods yesterday morning and continued on 101 to Highway 1 to the coast. You get on 1 in the town of Leggett, CA. The road here goes straight up. For those who know the course, this was like the big hill in the third day of Columbia Plateau. Exactly the same, only it was four miles up instead of 13. It was sublime. I got in touch with my inner Marco and rode the thing in the drops. 42x17. It was killer.

Then the descent. Look out people, we actually had to use our brakes for the first time on the trip. When barreling into a corner marked “10 MPH” for cars, I thought scrubbing off some velocity was prudent. Awesome. I feel I’m learning to corner better. I almost didn’t notice how the climate was changing from warm and dry to cold and damp as we reached the coastal weather system.

There were two of these climbs with awesome descents, the last one depositing us on the coast. The rollers on the coastal highway never ended it seems. I stopped at the Lost Coast Inn for a cup of coffee with Dave Derrig. We sat on the front porch and watched the ocean for a bit before continuing. On the way into camp I sipped on a lovingly de-carbonated Coke prepared by Carry who was sitting part of the day out due to knee and ankle pain.

We spent the morning eating a massive vegetable-intensive breakfast at Cafe 1 in downtown Fort Bragg. And had drinkable coffee for the first time since leaving home. As much as I make fun of this state, the coffee is getting progressively better.

Big Ride - Days 7-10

It’s been a while since we had internet access, so Dad’s been filling in for us. Here are a few extra details that I missed on the brief call to them from Eureka two days ago.

Day 7:

As he mentioned we departed the coast and road through forested hills most of the day. The true highlight of the day - in addition to the Coos Bay bridge - was a rolling road called Seven Devils Road. It culminated in an awesome twisty descent. It’s only fault was that it was too short. Nick wanted to ride at least 5 more turns before it ended.

Day 8:

Breakfast made the day for us. You can’t know how deprived we feel by only having access to donuts and coffee for breakfast. Where are the bananas?!

Day 9:

Most of the day was spent on lightly traveled farm roads; it felt just like home! The campgrounds in California are just aweful compared to Oregon. What’s up with that? No towels, no soap, expensive cold showers! The insanity!

We heard that San Fransisco had a 6+ earthquake yesterday. Nick says: “The sooner this state breaks off into the ocean, the better!”

Day 10:

I made it every mile of the way on my bike until yesterday. A nagging knee pain, which had transferred itself to my opposite ankle got the better of me, so I sat out most of the end of the ride. One day in the RV, though, is enough to make you want to get back on the bike no matter how much it hurts. Boring hours spent waiting for the riders to come by. Arrrgh!

The fact that I wasn’t on the road gave Nick a chance to really ride the ride. He and Dave pounded up the hills and rode down them at break neck speed. He said, the hills were easy. The toughest part of the ride were the relentlessly rolling hills on the final 10 miles into camp. No rhythm.

Day 11: REST DAY!

We started the day with a huge breakfast at Cafe 1. Mmmmm! Then we went off to do laundry. This afternoon we’re going to hit the Lost Coast Brewery for lunch and a pint (or two). Today is all about rest and rehydration for our 109 mile ride tomorrow. (I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing tour!)

There is a pair of riders (Dave and Karen) who are also posting pictures and stories for the road. Here’s their web site for perusing in case you’ve got some time to kill. They’ve got some great pictures!

Dave and Karen Derrig’s Web site