The last day of my journey—from Long Beach to Downey, CA.
My Son in law, Ed, and my granddaughter, Hallesha, joined me on the last leg of my ride. My daughter, Nerrissa, drove them over to Long Beach, including my 2 grandsons, Joshua and Nehemiah and Maya, daughter of a childhood friend of Nerrissa.
They arrived about 9:30. I was ready but there was a lot of visiting to be done. The ride began in earnest about 10:00. The riders consisted of Ed, Hallesha, age 12, and me. The course was on the banks of a river. There are bike trails on both sides of the San Gabriel River. The river begins at the foot of a mountain and winds through several towns, including Downey.
Our ride commences on the bike trail located on either bank of the river. The river flows in a very wide concrete bed, in the center of which the canal maintains the flow. We headed west to Downey, riding on the right bank of the river that supported 2 bike lanes.
Ed rode ahead, Hallesha in the middle and I brought up the rear. It was Halle’s first time riding such a long distance. The process was at a pace suitable for Halle. She was nervous and wobbly, but tried hard not to show it. I kept my eyes on her, encouraging her and helping her to make better use of the pedals. The dangers are that insufficient speed will create a problem for other cyclists. These were many.
Hallesha was a very quick learner. She used the ball of her feet to acquire better leg pressure, and accelerated up hills at precisely the right moment. We arrived at Downey at1:30 where Nerrissa and the rest were awaiting us. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining brightly and there was joy in everyone’s hearts.
I completed my journey and I have a litany of well wishers and benefactors to thank.
From Carlsbad (La Costa) to Long Beach
I left Carlsbad at 7:30 am and headed north on the Pacific Coast Hwy. The ride was a roller coaster along the oceanfront. There were thousands of people along the way. Many campers were sleeping in their cars and vans and RVs. Lots of bikers took advantage of the warm October weather. So did the surfers. The genius of many surfers who rode their bicycles with arms attached fore and aft. These arms were designed to support the surfboard, waist high, allowing the rider to pedal the bicycle with as little discomfort as possible. As I rode further north, it was evident that this creative device was in common usage around these parts.
I went through Camp Pendleton with no problems. I showed my driver’s license. The guard at the gate is from Minnesota. He lives somewhere north of the Twin Cities. He pointed me toward Stuart Mesa to get to PCH. At San Clemente, the home of President Nixon, it became the highway with roller coaster hills that began at the shoreline. The bike paths are in constant use. There were hundreds of bikers moving in the opposite direction, all very colorful. There were lots of Humvees with squads of soldiers in combat uniform on the move, going, I believe, to their training grounds. Lots of helicopters were flying in formation above the restricted area. Just before San Clemente on a 7-mile strip of bike path, I stopped for a few minutes, and then continued on.
The bike path faded in the cluster of trees bordering the shoreline. That was the end; I had to find the area where it continued along the coastline. I spoke to a few surfers, inquiring about the bike trail. I mentioned the PCH, referring to the end of my journey at Long Beach. They looked at me and grinned. A smile I suspected to be sarcastic. Long Beach is a long way from here, I replied. I know its about 65 miles away on PCH. They ushered me to the restaurant across the road.
Eventually, after speaking to a few individuals, I got the information I needed. The bike path began on the frontage road at the crossover where the busses empty their cargo in the schoolyard. I followed the path and continued north for about a mile and picked my way through the residential area of San Clemente.
I traveled across dirt paths for about a mile. At the end I stopped to ask questions and got answers. Most of the folks were quite willing but were so uninformed about the bike paths. I had to make the association that PCH was also a bike path. Once I cleared that up, I was on my way.
Leaving San Clemente, I entered Capistrano Beach and kept heading north. There were a few challenging hills along the way. At Newport Beach I stopped at an ice cream parlor and ordered a strawberry malt and cold water. Traffic began to accumulate. It is Friday and employees are closing offices and heading home. The rest of the PCH is not well equipped with bike paths. Continuing on PCH, I went through Balsa Chica
Beach State Park in Huntington Beach. This was the beginning of sites on the ocean scattered with platforms indicating some type of oil drilling. The shorelines were filled with moms and their little ones, old men catching some rays of the sun on their bent over bodies. Cars are always in abundance in these wide-open spaces. Makes you believe that Californians are mostly outdoors people. So it seems, but then you realize that most of them are tourists.
Leaving Huntington Beach I began to worry that I was well into Long Beach. The canals were filled with magnificent, expensive boats tied safely to their docks. Just like the place in Long Beach where Mar and Denny Morrill (Pam’s sister and brother in law) live.
I stopped to call Pam because I had forgotten to take the Morrill phone number along. Pam was making preparations to celebrate her son’s new office space in Carlsbad. So I continued on. I came to a split on the PCH. It read Long Beach 405. The traffic was too busy so I stayed in the bike lane and went straight ahead.
I arrived at a place that looked very familiar. I hesitated to go any further. I called Pam and she was on her way on the PCH. It was about 2:30 and I told her I would wait by the restaurant that had a large blue swordfish up in the air on a sign and across the street was a large wooden tower. I thought I was in Huntington Beach. She spent about 3 hours trying to find me. She called her sister and niece and they tried to locate the place. When they found it on Google, the address was in Huntington Beach. But she drove up and down in Huntington Beach and couldn’t find it. I finally found some young women walking by and put one of them on the phone with Pam and they talked to her until she found me. I was in Sunset Beach, which has Huntington Beach addresses.
When she finally got there I threw my bike in the van and rode the last 2 miles to the Morrills. Their daughter, Kris, was there from London and she is a fantastic cook. My daughter, Jessica, arrived and so did Morrills other daughter, Cheri and her husband and 3 children. The evening was a very splendid get together. We stayed there overnight.
A Day at the La Costa Spa
We got to the Spa about 9:30am.. Pam’s children and their spouses got together to buy us a gift certificate to this Spa.. The atmosphere was beautiful and relaxing. There were small, white buildings around the swimming pool where each person could received a massage. The grounds were very well managed. The grass was green and watered. The flowers like a tropical garden bloomed plentifully. On one side of a walk there were orange trees, 2 to 3 feel tall, laden with fruit. Everything there contributed to a peaceful atmosphere, including the piped-in music permeating the air.
When we were inside the building, we were each given a guided tour. The men and women had separate facilities in some areas, and joint facilities in others. A locker and a soft, white robe were provided. We spent time together in the outdoor Jacuzzi, pool and Roman waterfall. Then we had our massages. And then we went to the inside separate facilities. such as the Jacuzzi, sauna and steam room . When we were finished we went to the little restaurant on the grounds and had a delicious lunch. We went back to the Carroll’s completely relaxed and thankful for the best gift of all.
Greg joined us for a delicious supper outside by their pool. He had to go back to work as he is a financial planner and is very busy and very stressed these days.
Day 38 Wed. Oct 22, 2008
At Greg & Rebecca Carroll’s, La Costa, CA. Last Evening. There were children in the cul de sac waiting to greet us yesterday.. Everyone was smiling and hugged us as they immediately continued their games in the street. Grandma Pam was the main feature of this visit. We made sure the heavy articles were left in the van. It’s funny, when clean, good tasting water is available how much of it is consumed.
We had supper with the family and then made plans for tomorrow—Wed. It was going to be a long ride from Imperial Beach to La Costa.
We left home this morning about 9:30. We purposely waited until the rush hour traffic was over. Rebecca cut out 4 maps to guide me on the bike trails from Imperial Beach to La Costa (Carlsbad) or as far as I was able.
Pam drove me down to Imperial Beach. I found the bike trail and I accompanied an old (68) Mexican gentleman on the way to the Coronado Hotel. He rides 9 miles, one-way, to the Coronado every day, so that his remaining years will be filled with healthy habits. As we parted, I remembered that Bud and Ava were in a condo near the Coronado Hotel. I called Pam to call them before I traveled any further. This was our 3rd attempt to get together since we had lunch at their home Phoenix. They insisted we go up to Bud’s condo. Then Ava insisted on making lunch for us. She had made Borscht the day before, with every conceivable vegetable in it. She heated it up for us and it was very delicious. Bud has a beautiful condo in a new building near the Coronado Hotel. As we were waiting for the elevator to leave, they pointed out that John McCain has a condo in that building. I think they also said that one or more of his children have a condo there.
I continued my ride on the waterfront bike path. I was lucky enough to catch the pedestrian ferry to the mainland without waiting too long. I met a group of visitors from Chicago. They are into insurance and sales businesses, particularity the money market. Together we hurried to get aboard. I shared my experiences with them, handing them each a card.
On Broadway near a floating museum, I met Pam. We discussed the rest of the ride for that day. It was quite uncertain that I could finish it partly because of rush hour and partly because of the uncertainty of the route we had chosen. I was willing to ride but she was uncertain because of gaps in the bike trails.
I made it as far as LaJolla and the chaos began. There were no traces of a bike trail. I tried to follow the harbor route, but it disappeared among the private residences occupying the waterfront. Pacific Coast Highway goes by many names. The biking map we had wasn’t much help. I asked people for directions and got something different from each person.
Pam and I finally connected on a city street. There were 2 cyclists following me, but they kept going. We discussed the situation for a while and decided it was too late in the day to continue biking. There were so many cars on the roads, we weren’t sure where the bike paths were, the city streets were in dire need of repair, so we put the bike in van and spent some time trying to find I-5. We found it, returned to La Cost and remained there the rest of the evening. For Pam, being with her grandchildren was the best part of the trip.
From Jacumba to Dulzura
Early in the morning the ride up mountains is quite strenuous, but the pain seems less. Hope abides. Perhaps its because the first miles in the morning the sun has very little affect on the strength of the body and the will to make a success of the journey. But above and beyond those 2 factors, the spirit within has just recently been empowered by the volume of prayers of thanksgiving. Like a fully charged battery, the body outshines any signs of weakness or fatigue that permeates the mind. I sound like my father!
The first few miles were hard to dome by. But by the time I conquered my second climb, the going got much better. Thank God for little favors. The reward was outstanding. I was flying down steep declines lapping up the miles at rates from 25 to 30 mph. There were many instances I felt like stopping to capture a few mountain scenes on film, but the joy of fresh, clean air blowing against my face seemed fare more rewarding than the photograph scenes.
However, I was compelled to do the opposite on a few occasions. The stories are too numerous and too compelling. I hope I can do a good job describing the wonders of nature in this remote corner of America. Vast wastelands, minor population
I stopped in Campo to get some ice cream. I had to wait for about 30 minutes to get it. The machine had little ice and I had to await the arrival of the owner who had gone shopping with ice on the list. While awaiting my ice cream, I met a you 21-year-old Mexican. He drove a semi. He, too stopped to get something to eat. He has been driving for 5 years. Then a young woman came to the counter. I gave them each my card. Then I asked her to describe Campo. She thought for a while and responded, “Campo is as country as it gets.” Why, I asked, do you live here? She has a boyfriend who does construction, the money is good and the rent is cheap.
That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She has 2 children. One is 12 and he goes to school and has many friends. The teacher is very good to him and he likes his friends. She lives in an RV camp and the rent is cheap. That’s the same response the waitress gave me. She owns her own RV and has a job.
About 10 miles later, Pam caught up with me. It was my 7th climb. I completed it and continued on. The next descent was 13 miles long. It went down quickly at very excessive speeds. There were very few times I had to use my pedal. On one side of the road the precipice appeared to be like open jaws, ready to devour me. I held on to my handlebars and made good use of my brakes. It seems hours later I go to the bottom of the descent. I began a great deal of reflection.
Pam had stopped at a truck stop. I just happened to glance from the side of my eyes to see her as I flew by. I got off my bike at Bennetts Road Café that promised daring stories inside. When Pam arrived I told her that this was the last ride down the mountainous side for the day. The shoulders were non-existent, the curves were too shallow and the decline was too steep for a bike rider. At the café we were informed that no motel accommodations were available in any of the succeeding towns on the route to San Diego. We decided to go directly there to try to get a motel. While driving, Pam’s daughter-in-law, Rebecca called to see how we were doing. She suggested we drive to their home in La Costa, spend the night, then drive back to south of San Diego in the morning so Cyril could do that part of the ride. We had a great meal and a good night’s sleep at Greg and Rebecca Carroll’s home and spent some fun time with grandchildren, Cameron and Ashley.
From Calexico to Jacumba. I was a bit uncomfortable last night. The manager/owner of the Motel Camino Real suggested the YUM YUM, a Chinese restaurant not too far from the motel. We also noted that Jim Bassett and his group had eaten there 9 years ago and really liked it. I felt like Chinese food. I was thinking Egg Fu Yung or Chicken Fried Rice, but my curiosity got the better of me. I inquired about the Yum Yum special and the waitress recommended it very highly. Somehow I missed the part where the waitress said fried chicken with lemon. I was expecting a Chinese dish with some fried chicken in it and some rice. When my order arrived I saw huge pieces of very heavily coated fried chicken and a bowl of rice. Pam ordered Chicken Chop Suey. She ate around it and left most of it on the plate. I, on the other hand, did my very best to clean my plate. I did not wish to offend the waitress and manager. My stomach responded to the after math of my taste buds. I drank a lot of tea and water and went to bed.
I was off my schedule by a whole hour. When I left the motel, it was almost 9:00 am. Traffic was not too congested and the roads were quite comfortable. My ride was shaping up to be an excellent one. I had a wide shoulder and a favorable wind as companions.
Today my thoughts were filled with images of Brother Dietrich, the President of St. John’s. He is so very personal and open. Not so long ago he sent me a copy of a newsletter produced by the student body. That copy he sent me contained a picture of me winning the 100 yd dash against Gustavus Adolpnus. My opposition was Gabriel, can’t remember his last name. The paper reported that the 100 yd dash was completed in 9.85 seconds. He also sent another copy of my picture in the language lab. The letter was so warm and refreshing, I want to tell him very soon that each day on my ride from Minneapolis to California, I dedicated my ride to him.
The road to Jacumba was filled with border patrol and Californians moving across the state. The elevation was beginning to take its toll on me, but I took more breaks and drew my strength from the many people who were rooting for my success. The wind was soft and the sun glared down on my bike and me. The sweat was pouring out. My face looked white with salty lines of dried sweat. My spirit was sagging, but I persevered. The Spa in Jacumba is an old spa, but still in good shape. They have 2 outdoor pools with sulphuric water from a spring that comes from a volcano that is thousands of years old and is always 102 degrees. It cools down a little in the outdoor pools, but stays quite warm in the indoor Jacuzzi.
The manager/owner said people come from all over the world to bathe in this water. It was especially popular with movie stars such as John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe making use of it regularly. It happened that Jim Bassett and his fellow riders stayed here 9 years ago, too. The Jacumba Spa was a welcome sight to me. I showered and went into the sauna, which was very hot. Then I went into the Jacuzzi. While in the Jacuzzi, a young man and woman came in.. I recognized them as fellow travelers from the road. I had stopped on one of the many mountains I had to overcome to observe the landscape more closely. I was planning to take some pictures of these magnificent piles of huge boulders. As I was refreshing myself with a drink of cold water, a car traveled about 200 feet beyond me and stopped. Two people got out and began to take pictures. They then ran across the highway and began to climb the rocks, like mountain goats. I shouted to them to raise their arms. They responded with shouts and laughter.
About 2 hours later, as I enjoyed the Jacuzzi, those 2 people entered. Turns out, they lost their way and were ushered to Jacumba, which was on their way back to San Diego. He is French and is employed in Montreal and she was born in Russia and attends USD in South Dakota.
Pam and I went to a Casino about 13 miles away. It is located about 4000 feet above sea level. A climb that I will have to make tomorrow. There are 2 casinos outside of Jacumba. We had dinner at the one the was furthest away It was a long and interesting day.
Got up at 5:30 and prepared myself for the long ride to Calexico. The sun was quite warm this morning. It didn’t take me long to shed the lightweight, bright orange jacket I’ve become so used to wearing. It keeps me from harm’s way. The ride west was relatively pleasant. The shoulders were wide enough and the traffic was light enough and it was a beautiful sunny day.
The miles came quite easily; my speeds were increased to 12 – 21mph and more. The wind was side winding. My first stop was at a rest stop. On both sides of the highway there were sand dunes. Mr. B, the Bike man at Yuma, hinted that the most recent movie of “Star Wars” was filmed right there on the sand dunes. When I came up to the bridge I discovered a large canal of water running through this huge desert. Green foliage was in growth along both side of this canal as the rest of its banks were clothed in soft red sand. It reminds me of the Sahara Desert without the palm trees and no oasis.
On the hillside not too far away was a group of motorcyclists and dune buggies creating fun and pleasure. I stopped to take a picture and was about to move on when I heard from behind me, CYCLIST STOP. Two squad cars—one Hwy Patrol which was brown and gold, and one Border Patrol which was green and white and had his lights flashing. Hwy Patrolman said, When you get to the junction of S98, exit off this highway and follow 98 until you get to Calexico. Meanwhile the border patrol officer stood at a distance to my left. I told the officer what I was about, informing him of my daily log report and handed him my card. He read it within a few seconds and handed it back to me, even when I told him to keep it. I informed him briefly regarding the purpose and beginning of this ride, and my concern for finding alternative routes because of the debris on the shoulders and the frequent flats since I began.
He was quite cordial and did not inquire about the pictures I had taken. He knew immediately when I spoke that there was no breach of security or that there was no crime unintentionally committed. I was on my way and my tires were intact.
Shortly after, Pam caught up with me on Hwy 98. I was 27 miles from Calexico. I drank some cool water and rested in the van for 10 minutes. My hands were numb from gripping the handlebars. I realized too late that I had forgotten my gloves at the rest stop and we did not go back to retrieve them.
I arrived at Calexico about 1:30 pm. I called Pam and she showed up within minutes. She was just heading out to look for me. I followed her to an old motel named Camino Real on Fourth St. We were only a few blocks from the Mexican Border. Another day, another motel. Sounds like the life of a salesman.
Jeff Nohner interviewed me on the Webcam tonight. Jeff is going to edit it to place it on the website. We had to do it in several small segments because we couldn’t email larger segments. But as usual, Jeff found a way to work around the problem. Jeff is so efficient and extremely patient. That’s another story for another time.
I got up this morning and rode the bike back to the foothill of the mountains east of Yuma and then back to the motel, as I wanted to make up most of the miles I missed yesterday because of the flat tire.
The foothills east of Yuma stand guard on its eastern gateway. As one approaches the valley and gazes upon the mountain range, it appears like a rusty, abandoned saw blade. Its sharp edges pointed to the sky, its teeth worn out from battling the elements for centuries, angry at its intruders that disturb the quiet valley. On the western edge it appears like a mighty giant disposed of most of his extremities. His head is massive, his skeletal face fierce with cruel and angry sentiments., having been ruined and displaced by a western moving civilization. Hopelessly, this massive stretch of mountain stares into the eyes of those who recognize his fate as he lies there in perpetuity.
After riding out and back we spent the rest of the afternoon at the motel, writing and typing. For dinner we went to a Famous Dave’s in Yuma, came back to the motel and watched CNN for the rest of the evening.
I got up at 5:30 am. Made preparations for my long journey today. The terrain is very inviting. This journey should be quite fast and comfortable. The traffic appears to be moderate. I waited until 7:30 for the water to return. I had to go to the motel manager for ice. The accommodations did not provide for those simple amenities. She brought me a small bucket of ice that came from her own refrigerator, I suspected. The cubes were shaped differently.
Imagine the last stop before entering the desert. I was beginning to make plans to rationing whatever little water I had left. However, when she saw me in my riding
gear, perhaps that fact increased her willingness to be accommodating.
I decided to take I-8 all the way. It is straight and flat. It seems Pam and I lose contact with each other in some areas. I did not want to take the chance of riding on bike paths or back roads on which Pam would be unable to catch up with me.
The journey was going quite well. I traveled for about 5 hours. The scenery was more of the same. The mountains appeared blue and misty in the distance. The lands on both sides of the highway were in large part fenced in and signs were posted in yellow and black indicating cattle farming.
There were few trains, very long trains moving in both directions. The area was covered with shrubs, red earth and sand, with a healthy supply of cactus scattered across the terrain. The riverbeds were sandy and dry with stones and pebbles of all colors. These dried up rivers were about 3 to 4 feet wide.
The mountains were becoming clearer and the shoulders along the Interstate revealed signs of broken parts of tires. The last time I repaired my tires was in Phoenix. I replaced the tubes in both the front and back wheels.
I began to worry about my maneuverability. It is not as if it is so very frequent, but on this long journey it appears that most of the semis are running on vulcanized tires, or recaps. When they get too hot from too much travel, they fall apart and tires and wires disintegrate and become strewn on the shoulders. With speeds of about 75mph, everything is swept off the highway and on to the shoulders.
Well, guess what? I felt a thump, thump, thump. Thats right. Another flat. A piece of wire pierced my tire.
I did what I really disliked doing. I called Pam. I was so sure it would not happen again, but it did.
We stopped in a couple of very small towns, but it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t have anyone who could fix a tire. A patrol officer informed me I could get the job done in Yuma at Mr. Bs Bike Shop.
We found the shop and they informed me to return about 6:00 pm. We found a Super 8 for the night, went back to get the bike about 6:00 and crashed for the night.
I got up at my usual time. George, too, was up and his friend, Otto, came to say goodbye.
He brought me some very fine gifts. He once again expressed the heartfelt joy he experienced at last nights get together. I thanked him and he left.
Breakfast followed and the ritual of packing and loading the van began. I got my directions and proceeded to my destination, Gila Bend.
The road was level, a perfect day. The temperature was 84. Some instances there were no shoulders, but the wind was soft and pushed me along in the right direction. There were times when my speedometer climbed to 21mph. I was amazed. Problem is my discomfort impedes the consistency of that speed. My hands become numb, my legs are okay, but the seat creates a hindrance to my blood flow. My nerve endings send a strong message of discord, lack of cooperation.
I have to stand on my pedals and coast until it feels okay to sit again. My hands shift from time to time to allow my shoulder the relief it requires. Every 15 miles, I pause to quench my thirst and plaster my dry lips with a little balm. Or have a bite of my energy bar.
The Arizona countryside is decorated with cactus and short green shrubs, some of them are full grown trees. I’ve been told that plants here do not require a great deal of moisture. I’ve accumulated the names of many plants but at the moment I am not able to share them. The mountain scenes are always spectacular. I’ve stopped a few times to capture scenes I thought would be interesting. They are too numerous and should be left to the imagination.
I was nearing my destination when the highway began to look like an uneven carpet. The frequent lumps on the road caused me to wonder why the DOT would design the road in this fashion, so I stood up on my pedals and began coasting. I was coasting at speeds up to 18-20mph. My naked eyes revealed a level road, with the frequency of lumps occurring. The road was straight with slight curves along an area dominated by tall cactus and shrubs, rocky fields and short trees.
I did not recognizer a decline. To my surprise, I was moving faster. Then suddenly, POW, my rear tire blew out. I quickly stopped , checked it out and began to walk. As I did so, I realized an ever so slight down hill gait in my steps, and the pull of my handlebars leading me on. I stopped, looked back to view from whence I came. It was so minute, hardly noticeable, but there it was, a pedaling break. I was coasting for a mile and more when my tire blew out.
I called Pam and she came for me. She had traveled on I-10 part of the way and she was already at Gila Bend. She picked me up and we drove into town. We checked into the Yucca Motel and bedded down for the night, after I fixed my wheel.
The accommodations were quite poor. Small room, electrical outlets unsuitable for a computer and printer, no ice service and the water supply had to be cut off from 10 pm to 6 am so the city could work on it. I left the mote[ at 7:50am and Pam left about 9:30 am and there still was no water.
