Monday, May 13, 2013 I left the Caspar Westport Campground in the morning---I don’t know what time it was but it had been light for at least an hour. The camp store with its free coffee was’nt open yet, but I was on a mission to climb a mountain. So I forewent the morning joe for some serious hill climbing.
The road left the coast pretty quickly and began its momentous climb of about 1700 ft from sea level. The Shoreline Hwy gave way to the Usal Rd and “Redwood Hwy”, all still considered PCH, hwy 1, or the Pacific Coast Hwy. While it remains the “1” or PCH, the various localities give it a regional name. HD and I were deep in the redwoods in virtually seconds. The road harbored sharp turns and steep grades, but the vehicles continued to give me a wide berth. Redwood laden trucks zipped by and reminded me to pray for good forest management. There appeared to be only one crazy driver, someone in a white or off-white pick up who was speeding so fast I wondered how he could drive at that pace and not go over the edge. So, I figured it was a local who knew the roads. Luckily, he also gave me a wide berth.
I love this area!!! For so many reasons...
Three locals passed me and gave me waves or high fives or some other hand signs and yelled out the window that they are praying for me. Some gave a polite toot-toot just after they passed me. Which brings up a point which I don’t know if I’ve mentioned in previous blogs. This is a little advice for drivers.
When you see a cyclist and you want to give a friendly hello, here are some rules of the road which should be published somewhere. They are not published probably because they are my own person observations. If you are on the opposite side of the road, honk your horn and wave and yell and whatever, when you are still clearly ahead of the cyclist and that cyclist can see you. We love that. If you are on the same side of the road, DO NOT HONK WHEN YOU ARE DIRECTLY BEHIND THE CYCLIST. This is alarming, jarring, surprising, and can make an unwary cyclist startle, causing him or her to turn the handlebars in surprise. This could be bad for everybody. Instead, when you are about 10 feet past them, give a toot toot (short little honks) and wave in the rear view mirrow or stick your hand out the window and wave. This means hello, hi, good job, whatever positive message. If you are behind the cyclist and honk loudlly, we tend to think it means, “get the hell out of the way!”. Since we are often hugging the shoulder but trying to keep off the broken glass that people throw out their windows or trying to stay out of the sand or gravel and having an accident, we really don’t like those kinds of honks. We are really trying, here!! And we actually know you are there. We don’t have windows closing off the street traffic or the radio blaring so we can hear you coming and long distance cycllists usually have a rear view mirrow, so we can see you.
If you think, however, that we are taking a bit too much road, honk when you are fairly far behind us so that the honk is done by the time you reach us. This is a nice warning for us to scoot over if we can, without scaring the living daylights out of us.
OK, now that this rule has been established...
There is so much to say about this part of the coast. This is a temperate zone--it does not get too cold nor too hot. The coast mountains here are considered rainforest. Not a tropical rainforest, of course, but redwood rainforest. It snows on rare occasions and can get to freezing levels. But, mostly, it just rains from late fall to spring. Summer is dry season. I haven’t seen any rain and it is May, so I missed it. Locals tell me that spring and summer usually start with fog in the morning, burning off by 10-11 am, and then sunny all day. This is what I experienced today. After I left the marine mist in Westport and started to climb, within about 5 miles, it was sunny and warm and I was able to start peeling layers. The sunshine was very welcome, indeed!
The weather and temperature is perfect for growing marijuana, which is a major crop here, grown in back yards, in meadows, or between the trees. It is a laid back area, with people living private lives, making local friends, and living very simply. It is the true counterculture here. People aren’t into collecting massive possessions but love the out of doors, breathing fresh air, and growing their own food. The towns are tiny and spread apart but farmers’ markets are still a big deal.
I’m always amazed how beautifully honest people have been with me, to tell me their stories and share their views and ways of life. There is an interesting trust. They go with their gut instincts.
I could live here.
I met several people of note today. The first person I met was a cyclist from Switzerland who stopped to chat with me while I took a water break on the side of the road. The cyclists I’ve met often tend to be in a bit of a hurry and I’m usually the one to initiate a conversation out of my undying curiosity. Well, this gent pulled over to talk to me---this is remarkable in that he was heading south and had to cross the curved road to say hi. He was traveling the coastal route and has taken numerous long cycling trips. This young man was a beautiful Swiss man---dark curly hair, beard, mustache, dark skin, perfect white teeth. He really was incredibly handsome. He reminded me of Cat Stevens with a good nose! I have a good friend in Carlsbad from Switzerland, Susanna. She is also dark and beautiful. Anyway, he said he was blessed to have the time to travel, so he does just that. There was a story there but the road beckoned. Before he took off, however, I asked him what he thought of Americans, or more accurately, US citizens. He said we are hospitable, friendly, and the drivers are, for the most part, quite courteous.
I liked hearing this, because I believe it to be true. If you have been to some foregin countries, you might appreciate our drivers, our road laws, and our tendency to be courteous and friendly. We have many things that can be improved in this big, beautiful country, but there are some fine things too.
Then, I met Todd. I was coming up to a road construction zone where the hwy turned into a single lane. I have run across this numerous times on PCH. In such cases, there is a stoplight that is, of course, triggered by a car coming up to a certain point. The light will turn green and will then turn red when that car or line of cars has past a certain point, thus allowing the cars in the opposite direction to come through. Well, the traffic had been light in my direction as I was approaching the stoplight and I wondered how I was going to get through because the cycle won’t trigger the light. Up behind me came a big white cargo van, so I slowed and pulled sideways so he could move ahead and trigger the light. This friendly gent rolled down the window to wish me safety and I thanked him and suggested he pull ahead to trigger the light. He told me that, halfway up the hill was his cabin (I thought he said it was blue) and that I was welcome to stop and rest a minute before finishing the climb. I said I would do just that and then he said he would drive slow through the construction zone to make sure I made it through safely. How nice, eh? This, of course, he did as promised. About 6 miles later I passed a long green cabin and saw a man sitting on the porch with his dog. He raised his hands as if to say, “well, are you just gonna keep going???” And then I saw the big white van. I pulled over and realized that this was Todd and the cabin was green, not blue. Gotta get those ears cleaned!
So, I spent a bit of time with Todd and his old dog, Ginger. Ginger is pretty old and gray and has some serious crippling arthritis, such that she has to drag her back leg and can no longer jump or climb. Todd had a serious motorcycle accident several years ago and about 1 year ago, the damaged spine began to affect his left leg. Todd and Ginger are two best friends who are there for each other every minute of the day. Todd rescued Ginger after Ginger was left on the side of the road, seriously injured by another human hand. It took several days for Ginger to accept him, but once she did, the two have been inseparable.
Todd is a real sweetheart. He told me about his family and his mother’s death. She lived to 90 years old and never saw a doctor in her life. She was a devout Christian Scientist, not to be confused with a Scientologist. Todd gave me a quick religious education on the difference and I must say that I really enjoyed the story about his mother and I would have adored her, I just know it. She was artistic and skilled and independent and sounded a bit saucy. Todd took care of her in her last years. He took care of both parents, actually, although his dad had died earlier at 82 with Alzheimers.
Todd has never been married. When he was a youngster, he did not want to get married. In his 30’s, he fell deeply in love with a “wild one” and maintained a close relationship for 4 years. He then asked her to marry him and she said, “Oh no!”, and left that day. He has never really recovered from that romance, even though it was over 20 years ago. So, he grieves for his mother and his lost love.
Todd has friends in this area and is a very generous person. Sometimes his friends and colleagues have taken advantage of him, but he is forgiving and continues to be who he is. He cannot be any other way. At 61, he has led a very active life up until his spinal injury caught up with him. He loves sports and was a hair’s breadth shy of becoming a pro golfer. He misses golf.
We took a short walk around some of his property. He has a nice garden with raised beds but is unable to plant this year, because of the leg. He has a young friend who may help him this year. He has over 100 acres of forest which includes a meadow, but he doesn’t get back there now. He is not sure if he will just stay where he is or sell his land. No decisions until he has an MRI to see if his spine and left leg paralysis can be helped. He invited me to camp on his land, but I felt the burn to get to the top of the mountain.
Well, the last 6 miles to Leggett, CA was downhill. Thank god! Then rolling hills for another mile to the Standish Hickey campground, right in the redwoods. I met the camper behind me and the 2 cyclist campers about 3 sites down. The cyclists are about 60 years old, buddies since childhood. Their wives dropped them off this afternoon and they will cycle PCH back to the Bay (SF).
Their passions are similar: outdoors activity, cycling, seasonal sports, enjoying each day, and their wives. Gunner and John. Very nice men with a zest for living.
As I started my daily calisthenics, this time outside as the weather was so delightful, who should appear but Todd and his young helper Dillon. They asked if I would like to have a drink with them at the restaurant across from the park. I said sure and we shared margaritas and chips and salsa. The margarita was strong and tasty and hit me square between the eyes. So, we had a great time chatting, laughing, swapping stories, and, of course, me asking a million and one questions. I can’t help it. It was a delightful early evening and Todd dropped me back off before dark.
We talked about family, travel, micology, cooking, organic gardening, romance, and friends. They really like this area and feel there is none better. Still, Todd is considering pulling up stakes, although he has loved the mountains all his life. I can’t picture him elsewhere, from the bits and pieces he shared with me today. However, he continues to harbour grief, and this may be affecting his decisions. I understand that. Nothing like a broken heart, twice, to make you want to leave an area.
I understand.
When I got back to camp, I finshed my calisthenics and ate my salad. Now the tent smells like vinegar and oil and I imagine some critters will come calling, so I should remove the smells, brush my teeth, and hunker down. Last night, there was a lot of rustling on the front of my tent near the zippered flap. I kept kicking it and the critter or critters would leave me alone for a few minutes before returning. At one point, I awakened and had the feeling there was a larger critter nearby. I growled. Yes, I actually growled.
And something growled back, loud and deep. I didn’t growl again and the canine left. It had to be a canine to growl like that. Whether domestic dog, coyote, wolf, or whatever---I don’t know. Do foxes growl low? I don’t think so.
Anyway, I know there are a lot of people praying for me. They said so!
Good night! I love you, whoever you are reading this!!
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