Contest
Pacific Coast Highway (by Graham Grundy - United kingdom)
Pacific Coast Highway: water, water and more water. I had always dreamt of travelling down the West Coast of America. Highway 101. The Pacific Coast Highway or PCH as the locals call it. Oregon, San Francisco, The Giant Redwoods, Los Angeles and Big Sur. Names and places I had only ever seen in movies and in books. By chance I had discovered an excellent book called ‘Bicycling The Pacific North West’ by Tom Kirkendall and it was that book that helped make my dreams come true. I decided I would follow Tom’s route from Vancouver, Canada down to Los Angeles, California. On a sunny August morning I struggled out of Vancouver airport with my bike still in its protective box and took the ferry to Vancouver Island. I spent my first couple of nights there, in a hotel room preparing the bike and trying to convince myself that I hadn’t gone totally mad. Emerging from that room with my possessions strapped to my bike I pedalled those first few miles very slowly. I had never ridden with luggage on my bike; in fact I had never done anything remotely like this. Prior to this trip I would have called myself a weekend cyclist, so this was a new experience for me in more ways than one. The weather was good and my spirits soared as I cycled to the harbour and the ferry crossing from Vancouver Island to Widbey Island at the northern tip of Washington State, USA. It was here that I would make the first of the many climbs of my trip. Deception Pass. That twelve mile climb nearly killed me and I had to get off and push more than once. It was at this point I realised I was not fit enough to ride this route. I was absolutely exhausted, but after a days rest I tried again. On and on I rode, my daily mileages increasing with my level of fitness. Fifty miles a day now seemed easy as I left Washington State and cycled over the Columbia River Bridge into Oregon. Cyclists were plentiful in Oregon and I started to make friends. At times it seemed like a small cycling community as each night on those ‘biker’ campgrounds we would gather around a fire and tell our stories of the road. Riding over the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco was a wonderful experience, as was my time in the city. I spent a week in Frisco, relaxing and seeing the sights. Re-energised, I continued south towards what I hoped would be one of the highlights of my trip - ‘Big Sur’. It was here that things took a turn for the worse. The rains came and the famous Californian fog swept in. I was soaking wet, cold and tired. I wanted a steaming hot bath, dry clothes, a hot mug of coffee and one of those king sized beds. I could have none of these as I was miles from anywhere. I was riding alongside one of the most beautiful stretches of coastline on the planet and I could not see a thing! I had no option but to keep pedalling and hope to arrive into civilisation before nightfall. Just as the sky was turning from gray to black I came across a motel and gladly paid the $75 for a bath tub and a king sized bed. The following day the sun shone and the sky was the bluest of blues. It felt good to be alive as I rode alongside The Pacific Ocean. I thought about life and how things become amazingly simple when you travel by bicycle. You have no appointments, commitments or duties. When its light you ride; when its dark you stop. All that is needed is a willingness to pedal. It’s a kind of mobile Zen existence, cycling for hour after hour, alone with your thoughts and at one with your surroundings. I now call it low-level ecstasy. It is something we could all do with a lot more of in our lives. After almost three months on the road I finally cycled into Los Angeles. I felt proud and happy that I had completed this incredible ride, but a little sad too, because for me, Big Sur is still a dream and pictures in a book.
