Everything was soaking wet in the morning from the heavy fog. This was challenging.
After a big breakfast of (what else?) oatmeal and peanut butter (I get a gaggy sensation every time I write those two words) we set off on our way to Bodega Bay and beyond.
We rode and rode and rode along the coast encountering the ugliest of animals - the wild turkey. So many of them along the now desert-like landscape.
It was hot and we were hungry (hangry) and all we had was beef jerky and dried mango and we were running out of water. We needed civilization, stat!
During a little break we noticed a rather good-looking, tall, toned, tanned cyclist coming our way. It wasn't a mirage, it was Mike, the firefighter in all his spandex glory riding like a champ. He was doing a 150 mile ride that day, no big deal. He stopped and we chatted for a bit. In my delusional state I made it clear how hungry I was and he told us about a great bakery in Point Reyes only 10 more miles down the road. "You can do it! You're almost there!" Thanks, Mike!
We arrived in Point Reyes Station sweaty and tired and who do we see sitting and eating a slice of pizza - Mike! He was happy to see us and us happy to see him. We had a nice little chat and then sadly he had to be on his way, as he was going a lot further than we were at that point.
Sarah and I dreamily/drearily set off on our bikes and headed to OUR LAST CAMPGROUND at Samuel P. Taylor State Park.
This was a weird night to say the least. We pulled into camp to set up shop with three other cycle tenters and a nosey family of racoons. One of the tenters was a lovely man with Italian lineage who rode up and down the coast all year long, wandering from one campsite to the next. He had a very slow way about him, but he was very sweet.
Sarah and I cooked dinner of which I ate way too much and were then invited to eat chicken noodle soup with a group of Evangelicals with a roaring campfire. Too much food all the time.
Sleep that night was disrupted by some hungry racoons looking for a midnight snack, loud snoring from the tent near us and a group of vegetarian hipsters singing Disney tunes at the top of their lungs.
After a big breakfast of (what else?) oatmeal and peanut butter (I get a gaggy sensation every time I write those two words) we set off on our way to Bodega Bay and beyond.
It was hot and we were hungry (hangry) and all we had was beef jerky and dried mango and we were running out of water. We needed civilization, stat!
During a little break we noticed a rather good-looking, tall, toned, tanned cyclist coming our way. It wasn't a mirage, it was Mike, the firefighter in all his spandex glory riding like a champ. He was doing a 150 mile ride that day, no big deal. He stopped and we chatted for a bit. In my delusional state I made it clear how hungry I was and he told us about a great bakery in Point Reyes only 10 more miles down the road. "You can do it! You're almost there!" Thanks, Mike!
Sarah and I dreamily/drearily set off on our bikes and headed to OUR LAST CAMPGROUND at Samuel P. Taylor State Park.
This was a weird night to say the least. We pulled into camp to set up shop with three other cycle tenters and a nosey family of racoons. One of the tenters was a lovely man with Italian lineage who rode up and down the coast all year long, wandering from one campsite to the next. He had a very slow way about him, but he was very sweet.
Sarah and I cooked dinner of which I ate way too much and were then invited to eat chicken noodle soup with a group of Evangelicals with a roaring campfire. Too much food all the time.
Sleep that night was disrupted by some hungry racoons looking for a midnight snack, loud snoring from the tent near us and a group of vegetarian hipsters singing Disney tunes at the top of their lungs.
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