Out of order, getting toward the border

The next week was a cushy blur. Riding out of the California Valley was an all day affair.  The peak elevation of five thousand feet was achieved with in a few miles,  the rest of the day was along the ridge,  and into some valleys. An interesting bit from our perspective,  the caltran trucks were on the road plowing. It had snowed a little the night before,  but nothing that was still around. Yet the trucks would come,  some times in groups of three, plows down scraping off the road ,  a most terrifying experience as someone who rides on the painted white line.
Four pm found us looking out at the ocean,  with  nothing but a serpentine road and a few thousand feet to descend.  We cruzed into Ojai singing a round of Barrett's Privateers,  then down the Ventura bike path to our host for the evening. A bounty of Ojai oranges was found in a small orange grove by some oil dereks.

Day 2: The road to Ensenada

Once again getting the boot on the toll road, we discovered the parallel road to be lovely and stayed on that - not overly concerning ourselves with the signs that said the road was closed for 16k outside Ensenada for construction. Bikes must be able to get through, right? We´d find out in 50k. After a gorgeous afternoon of coastal riding and lots of friendly shouts and smiles from pedestrians and passing traffic, we arrived at the road closure. A group of about ten men flagged us down and informed us that we could not continue. We must take the 3 well around and cut back to Ensenada. A significant detour. We discussed further and they decided we could take a chance - but watch out for the maquinas. We pressed on. And were rewarded with an totally open road ranging from pristine pave to loose gravel. Everyu mile or so we came upon a construction tema that either cheered us on or stared slightly disapprovingly as we smiled and glided by with - ¨Buenas tardes - Gracias - El camino esta hermosa, bien hecho!" It was a fun ride, all the more so for the joy of knowing we were getting away with something.

We arrived in Ensenada, I broke a spoke riding into the parking lot of our hotel, grabbed a few Cerveza Indios, did some maintenance and called it a day.

Day 1: Which way to Mexico?

We set out from San Diego for the border around 7:30, hoping to get into and out of Tijuana in short order. Fantasy. First of all, none of us really looked at the precise directions to the border corssing. It should be simple, right - Mexico is that way -->. Mas alla. It was in fact simple, but we must have all had the jitters - but after a bit of a run around we took the new pedestrian bridge to the turnstile out of the USA. A few ramps and bike wheelying maneuvers put us down in Tijuana. We were in Mexico. But wait - nobody asked us for our passports. Don´t we need a visa or something? We parked the bikes and sent a delegation - Carol and I - to investigate. Ultimately we sort of snuck back half way into the US past armed guards who realized somewhat late what we were up to and kind of awkwardly ignored us while waltzed past with half raised hands to show we at least were harmless idiots if nothing else. We found a desk, got our papers, warned the guard that a couple more idiots had to come through and that was it. We were in.

After a conference over a Tecate in the nearest plaza we decided on a tentative route through the city to get on the Scenic Toll Road. We had mixed data on whether or not bikes were allowed. We gave it shot. >Riding happily along the wide road with an eight foot shoulder with a gradually decreasing quantity of glass, we thought we had done it. Nope. A guard stepped out and politely informed us that we could not be here. After a moment he informed us that though we could not go through at this point, we could go up a mile and sneak onto the road. Thus we found ourselves joyfully breaking federal law within an hour of arriving, skirting a broken barb wire fence to get back on the road to Rosarito. We arrived just before sundown, had some tacos and got a large room for the not so modest price of $550 (pesos) - around $50 dollars.

Last call for bike bits and micro brews: San Diego. Ty and I had a nice train day from Riverside to Oceanside via L.A. Visited and camped outside Stone brewing and rode next morning into San Diego. Trevor and Carol joined us up at our amazing WarmShowers casita just outside Normal Heights. We did two days bike maintenance and prep and crossed the border on Wednesday.

photos

this blog needs more random pictures. so here's a few good ones in no particular order

More California than you can poke a stick at

So I was laid over in San Francisco  for a few weeks. Bringing all my possession to a point of rest,  or I to new hands. A week out I bought a bike,  and then stitched up some saddle bags.  To meet the advanced party in the middle part of the state some maneuvers were ahead.  A train was my best bet to catch them up,  but to shore my bet I made the reunion sight the carrizo plain. Lying on the San Andreas fault, the carrizo stretches 40 miles north to South and is defined by two mountain ranges. Oil fields to the east, and Pacific ocean west can't been seen or accessed from the plane without a climb out. The result is astounding quiet,  and a insulating feeling.
So I hopped on a San juaquin amtrak,  Trevor and Simon biked out of SLO, and the three stooges were a together again.
Beans and greens cooked over a fire,  bacon and whisky cold for breakfast. It rained a good rain over the night,  and we rode out of the plain the next day through wind and fog. The valley continued south, as the dirt road changed to hw 33. The popping metropolis of Ventucopa was my first water stop in 80 miles.  Marked by two merchants,  the Pistachio Store,  who wowed us with covered bike parking and ample picnic tables, but fell short of  coffee. 'only one pot per day' was their policy. Mugs still empty, we roved another minute to 'The Place'.  Located in quite the middle of nowhere, the promised coffee and home made pie was right in line with the needs of anybody who found themselves there. They also had wants covered as well,  the bartender asked us put a log on the fire,  so with 'schooner sized beers,  we sat down and stoked the umber to a bright blaze,  the lemon wood we were burning smelled sweetly,  and reminded us of the wondrous bounty California has for the picking. 

We camped in the yard,  and in the morning, after a final pour of counter top caffeine we rode towards the days peaks. 

Day zero

This is how it 'starts'. Though the trip has been in Seattle, Alaska, northern Washington. Making the rounds on motorboats, kayaks,  pedaling decades old touring bikes and hiring long distance minivans. Through storms, days of typhoons, unseasonable warmth.
The first bands of the winter rain have struck  San Francisco. I'm BART-ing under the San Francisco Bay, rolling my bike on a south-bound train. hitting the desert before my head hits my pillow.