Final Days of the Coast

Emerging from the inland hills, the coast greeted us with its customary Hello-- a big cold exhale of Ocean's Breath. Way back in Washington a ranger described the constant wind and moisture whipped up by the Pacific as Ocean's Breath, and it is FOR REAL. Descending round a sharp curve, it fell on us like a blanket as we finally met California's Highway 1, and as we rode the fog chilled temperatures 15 degrees cooler. 

The coast is its own adventure of unknowns, some of them more preferable than others. If I put on another layer, how long before the sun comes out and makes me uncomfortably warm? Twenty minutes? Five minutes? What kind of rock formations will poke out of the water once I round this bend? Will I have a shoulder to ride on as I ascend this cliff? What color will the water be today- Grey? Cerulean? Aquamarine?

The route is serpentine and hilly. Freshwater streams flow down from the hills in gulches to meet the ocean in little inland coves. Each gulch carves out a mini-canyon that a biker must first descend on one side at breakneck speed, changes direction abruptly in a hairpin turn and then snakes up the opposite side of the cove. Though we climbed no mountains on the coast, these gulches sometimes gave us a total of 2000 feet of climbing in a days ride. 

Most of the parks we camped at during our last leg of the journey showed us a side of the coast that we had only heard about, and hadn't yet discovered. In contrast to the frigid, sandy Oregon beaches or the foggy, forested Washington beaches, the California beaches offered stark cliffsides, rocky shore playgrounds, sandy dunes, hidden coves, and even a few WARM, SUNNY days. 

For the first time I explored tide pools, the tenuous ocean refuges that emerge in the rocks after the sea retreats. The black, craggy rocks hold shallow islands of water, each populated by a startling array of technicolor species, like anemones, snails, crabs, kelp, and little fish. We searched for the elusive starfish but couldn't find any. 

We also got up close and personal with the coast's cuddliest creature, the harbor seal. 

My, my are these guys adorable. They hang out in colonies on flats of rock close to shore, and they hang HARD. I don't know what they're doing with the rest of their time, but when they're out the water the spread all their blubber out, soak up as much sun as possible and pass out. Sometimes they wake up with a start, streeeetch out their tails, flip over on their backs and get back to sleep. I even saw some baby seal pups. I just want to raise a baby seal and a baby manatee in the same bathtub, is that too much to ask??

Following the Rivers to the Coast

We made our way back to the ocean the same way water does-- by following a river to the sea. The Eel River winds its way through the southern Redwood groves, and we used it as our guide. One afternoon we had the choice to continue burning our way up and down hills for another 15 miles, or stop early in the afternoon, buy some beers and take a swim in the Eel. This is a lesson of bike tour: sometimes you should stop and take a swim. 

There were some German boys down at the river when we emerged from the canyon trail. They were wearing tiny matching bathing suits and they were straight out of every teenage girl's or gay man's dream: boyish faces, six packs, and one had thighs like tree trunks. They asked if we were also biking (they could tell by our tans). They had enjoyed the Eel's swimming hole so much they had taken a rest day there.

Though the entire state of California is experiencing severe drought, somehow they Eel's 15 foot swimming hole is still holding water. Big warm rocks lined the shore edge, and steep cliff ledges rose up around the hole. They were perfectly jumpable. 

The park attendant explained to us that the river didn't used to be the turquoise green it is now. As beautiful as the shimmering river was, the color is a result of algae blooms caused by massive over-fertilization. And who is fertilizing up in Humboldt County? Illegal grow ops hidden deep in the National Forests. There is so much illegal marijuana being grown irresponsibly with chemicals in this tiny region that it is poisoning their waterways. A few dogs that ate that river algae have died.

And back to the drought. The entire West Coast is experiencing extreme dry climate, causing some California municipalities to impose water restrictions. We picked up a local Humboldt county magazine to read up on the new laws. Some cities have restricted their water use by half, and some cities are forbidden to use potable water to spray on sidewalks or irrigate their yards. In rural municipalities, water has to be trucked in in huge tankards, and then it is distributed to homeowners and businesses. The water truckers are only allowed to haul a certain amount of water now, and some truckers are resorting to stealing water from fire hydrants to provide their customers. City officials don't know how much water has been lost to theft. 

This is the future as most scientists see it. Changing climates are causing weather patterns to become more and more extreme, so the West can expect longer and dryer droughts. It's not going to get better, and the best folks can hope to do is adapt to decreasing water supply by using less.

And how did Californian's respond to critical drought water restrictions? They used more water than they did before the laws were put in place. 

Cranky Car Complaints

It's days like this that I remember that America wasn't built for moving people, it was built for moving cars. 

We were climbing up a windy section of 101, with no shoulder and complete with blind curves. Like normal, we stayed over to the right as much as possible to allow cars to pass us if they could, but sometimes the cars just have to wait till we can pull over to a wayside or till they have a straight shot.

A car had been behind us for probably ten whole seconds waiting for a chance to pass us. We heard a honk. Fine, sometimes people honk to let us know they're back there, but there's really nothing I can do besides drive my bike over a cliff to let you pass until I reach this pullout in another 30 feet. Another two honks and I got enraged. I turned around and screamed "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO??" She waved her arm at me to get out of her goddamn way. We reached the turnout five seconds later and let her ass pass. 

As a cyclist in America, I probably shouldn't have even engaged her at all. She could have hit me on purpose and gotten away with it with no punishment, as many motorists do when they hit and even kill cyclists. And we're actually very lucky that's the worst interaction we've had with a car in six weeks, which would be unheard of in Florida. Luckily the motorists out West are used to cyclists and the VAST majority of them drive courteously and give us plenty of room when they pass. 

But biking alongside two ton vehicles all day long does take its toll. The states of Oregon and California designated these highways as bicycle routes, but the fact remains that they are HIGHWAYS. An RV passed by us on a winding canyon road, and seconds later its tire blew out like a gunshot. The driver maintained control, but a more skittish driver could have easily swerved dangerously. I wasn't paying attention on the Avenue of Giants and I totally pulled out right in front of a car and almost got myself hit. I saw the headlights coming straight on at me till they swerved last second. You have to be on full alert ALL THE TIME or you could die. Easy as that. 

After the Redwoods incident I've felt a little shaky biking in high traffic zones, which unfortunately is most of what the Pacific Coast Bicycle Route consists of. I cherish the detours that take us off the main route. Maybe one day there will be change in American attitude that sees bikes not as obstacles to avoid, but as valid forms of transportation. And if anyone wants to put a whisper in the ears of their billionaire friends, I wouldn't mind seeing some dollars put into ACTUAL cross-country bike routes that follow the main highways without sharing them. Think of the awesome views without the cars. Think about the increased cycling awareness. Think about all the rural tourism. Just saying. 

The Dyerville Giant

Exploring the Redwoods has been the most epic part of this trip. It's impossible to wander through trees that have been alive since the birth of Christ without feeling awe-inspired. Walking into a forest means walking into a different world, one that's much older, more still, and very tall. On one of our hikes Travis accused me of being high because of the amount of times I squealed and pointed, "Ooo look babe, there's a REALLY big one!" He said I did that at least 20 times. The original groves only covered a strip of land 40 miles wide and 450 miles long up the coast of California, and to experience what's left of them after they were logged feels almost sacred. 

Clearly I'm not the only one who has been moved by these trees. I'm reading a book  called The Wild Trees by Richard Preston follows tree climbers obsessed with finding the tallest Redwoods. Until very recently- like 1991 recently- the canopies of the ancient Redwood groves had never been seen up close by a human. Scientists and tree enthusiasts in the early 90s used intricate arborist tree-climbing techniques to accurately measure the tallest trees-- by climbing over 360 feet to the top of them and dropping a weighted line to the bottom. 

Scientists believe that half of all life on Earth live in our forest canopies, areas that are very difficult to explore for obvious reasons. Turns out there is a complex system of life forms all dependent on one another living in the ancient Redwood canopies, like salamanders that survive in the treetop dew without ever setting foot on the ground and lichens that turn the nitrogen in the atmosphere into a form that's usable by the trees. After centuries of dust and soil settling in the treetops, literal tons of soil have accumulated in the canopies. Huckleberries, salmonberries, and elderberries grow here, as well as entire forests of  bonsai trees grow out of this soil- dwarfed Douglas firs, Sitka spruces, tan oaks- and earthworms of a previously unknown species bury within it. These explorers discovered groves of ancient trees so tall they broke world records, groves that only a few people alive know how to find.

Though I'll never see the world's tallest living tree, I do have a taste of how big they truly are. We traveled through the Avenue of Giants, a tract of land preserved by the 1920s rich Republicans of the Save-The-Redwoods League. There, we passed signs with peoples' names on them, commemorating the people who spent their own money buying the land from timber companies. Finally we reached Founders Grove. 

Founders Grove is named for the founders of the League, and it is a truly magnificent grove. And it was there that we met one of the trees mentioned in The Wild Trees. 

The Dyerville Giant was named for a tiny town nearby that was wiped out in the massive 1964 flood. On the morning of its death, a neighbor who lived up the hill from the park heard a tremendous noise and ran outside, thinking a train had jumped the tracks that run by his house. It was the noise caused by a 1600 year old tree slamming into the forest floor, taking several other trees with it. It was 17 feet in diameter, and it was measured to be 370 feet tall as it lay on the ground. It was the tallest tree ever recorded. In the days after it fell, someone left flowers at its roots.