Man's best friend.

Before we get onto the subject of this blog. The more observant of you will have noticed Precious' new hairdo. Precious is acutely aware of the mighty Millwall R.F.C.'s impending tour to Malta. Plus , you can hardly blame her for trying to attract a new mate - it can't be much fun having the same pair of testicles flapping about your saddle all and every day long.
Which brings me to the title. As you head North up the West Coast of the US, you are constantly aware of the need to duck under the snarling fangs of a variety of different dogs hitching lifts in the back of pick-up trucks. However, and this could easily be imagination, more and more of our canine friends are allowed to ride in the front passenger seat. More and more appear to have their driver's arm around them. On one occasion, a Chocolate Labrador was positively cuddling it's driver.
This will have got you thinking about what, exactly, have dogs down to earn the soubriquet, 'Man's best friend'. Of course there's their unquestioning loyalty, their protective instinct (those bred for fighting aside) and their damp smell. Given the attractive qualities we attribute to other mammals, particularly those found in Wales or New Zealand (Can you make a U-turn? No, but I coud make her eyes water.), there has never, so far as I know, been any hint of bestiality concerning our canine friends. And yet they're our best friend. Hmmm.
Where's his sanity? you're thinking. Has he finally cracked? You're almost certainly right - the official diagnosis is a matter of days away.
However, we breed, that is, genetically modify, some dogs in order to make them pretty. Crufts, which should hand out the 'Best in Show' to a Border Collie every year, routinely lauds a fluffy thing with a ribbon in it's coat. They even have a 'Toy' category for heaven's sake. Now what's the point of a dog that is incapable of being taken for a walk without pulling your shoulder out of it's socket in order to chase a rabbit?
There's no doubting our propensity to scratch them around their ears, the canine equivalent of whispering sweet nothings. We're all acutely aware of our dogs tendency to hump anything that wears polyester slacks, when aroused. They certainly aren't showing much shame - and why should they? I, for one, am certain that dog-lovers?!? are to be found in all corners of the globe. And who would've thought of rimming without their example? And why, pray, has the phrase, 'The Dog's Bollocks', come to mean what it does?
I'm not saying, as I pedal relentlessly into Oregon, and more and more dogs are to be found in the cab of pick-up trucks rather than the back, that men are more likely to be found conducting relationships with their dogs. It is almost certainly the weather. All I'm saying is we could all do a lot worse than a Chocolate Labrador. I know I have.

Curly fries: Crazy but true.

Curly fries - How do they do that ? And why ?

What do you want to be when you grow up ?

Here are some Coast Redwoods. As you can see, they're very big. They do, however, have one thing in common with Palm Trees. Answers via e-mail to fleximillion@aol.com and the first correct answer will win a still to be determined prize.

Dear Exalted Ruler

Dear Exalted Ruler,
we, the people of Crescent City, California, would like to extend an invitation to you to come visit our City. We are situated 5 miles South of Pelican Bay State Prison, which houses California's most incorrigible prisoners and 16 miles North of the 'Breathtaking' Trees of Mystery, home of a larger than life carving of Paul Bunyan (which bears no resemblance to Desperate Dan) and an accompanying carving of a cow (again there's no connection to Desperate Dan). Further afield you can visit both Mexico and Canada. We feel sure your transportation is both swift and timeless, however, the attractions of Crescent City itself should keep you occupied for an entire weekend. As you can see, we've reserved you a parking space.
We are the ONLY incorporated City in Del Norte County California. We boast a cute little Lighthouse (opens May through October), a harbour from which fishing boats depart to go fishing, a selection of Grocery stores including Safeway, Rays and The Grocery Outlet. In addition we have a gift shop which is both large and unique.
Furthermore, errr, that's it.
So whenever you find yourself with some free time on your hands, you can be sure of a warm welcome here in Crescent City - Where the land meets the sea, whatever your non-Catholic, Christian domination is (excluding The Church of the Latter Day Saints and it's polygamist off-shoots).
Regards,
The People of Crescent City.

Precious takes a room.

After a few days above and beyond the call of duty, Precious took a room at the beach. And it's a very good one at that. The back, via patio doors which open onto the sand, looks out over the Pacific and the setting sun. There's a Restaurant next door called, inevitably, The Beachcomber. The front casts it's eyes towards the mountains that you've just cycled over. The room has it's own bath. You are allowed to smoke and the Wifi is free. As an added bonus there's a free oiling service. Possibly, I can't say for sure that there isn't. In short the room has everything you could possibly want.
Availing yourself of the free facilities, to whit, the wifi. You find youself presented with the latest news from, would you believe it, Reno. Reno's residents have been bombarded recently with a number of tremors of ever increasing ferocity. That's a bit odd, you might think, geologically speaking. Normally, you get hit by a big one and then the tremors tail off having moved their load, so to speak. Girls the world over will know what I mean. Anyway, Reno's tremors are enough to dislodge your favourite brand Baked Beans from their Supermarket shelf and that, if I'm honest, is quite enough movement for one year. Excluding the ones caused by the beans. May I remind you that as I write this the Pacific's waves gently reclaim the sand not 20 metres away.
Reno's experiences are reported with a number a number of statistics. Here's just two. Oregon, a gentle morning's cycle away, is the 10th most likely State in the United States to host an Earthquake. California, the State I'm in, is the 2nd most likely. Thrill seekers should head to Alaska, where they can almost guarantee a tremor filled vacation. Remind me, how far away is the Ocean? Also, and I quote, "..there's a 99.7 percent chance that a strong earthquake will strike California in the the next 30 years..". No time like the present, I hear you cry. Looking on the bright side there's a 0.3 percent chance that it won't.
During the last two days, the highlight of most climbs has been passing the sign that says 'You have now left a Tsunami Hazard zone'. This happens whenever you've gone high enough to be able to record the devastation below with your mobile phone. The nearest high ground to this amost perfect Motel is, and I'm guessing, two miles. That's a gentle morning's sprint away. There are signs that help you judge when a Tsunami is on it's way. None, however, so far as I know, can be perceived when you're asleep.
So, on the off chance my sleep is disturbed by a cascade of gate-crashing water, I'm going to take the only option available to me, (I am in California after all), and buy a surfboard.
Sweet dreams everyone.

Oh no, not more math!

April 17 10:10.16 Santa Cruz to San Francisco 78.79 miles
April 20 4:25:27 San Francisco to Napa 45.06 miles
April 21 8:28.29 Napa to Cloverdale 63.26 miles
April 22 10:17.21 Cloverdale to Ukiah 35.47 miles oops don't forget to stop the clock!
April 23 3:43:52 Ukiah to Willits 24.18 miles
April 24 10:24.42Willits to Garberville 71.9 miles
April 25 10:26.37 Garberville to Arcata 84.82 miles
April 26 10:29.91 Arcata to Crescent City 72.74 miles
April 28 06:31:50 Crescent City to Gold Beach 60.93 miles
April 29 08:17:40 Gold Beach to Bandon 55.44 miles - see April 22
May 1 12:36:01 Bandon to Yachats 102.8 miles
May 2 9:4:39 Yachats to Pacific City 74.67 miles

It's Magic!

You may recall mention of Precious hard at work perfecting a magic trick - well here it is. How any bicycles do you know that can cycle through the middle of trees. Unfortunately she needed to hire an assistant, the lovely Nigel Webb, to pull it off. I do hope it doesn't spoil the snap.

A whisky for the Jar.

No matter where you are on the planet, events from overseas cannot help but impinge on your consciousness. Today, it is the impending England v Rest of the World Rugby match. It is with deep sadness that I note Shaf is to be the manager of the England team. I had previously considered them to be favourites for this year. However, well done for stepping up Shaf, someone always has to do it.The point of this piece is a bit of a soliloquy to Mr O'Brien. Obviously, I can't wish him luck and frankly, I don't even know if he's playing. What I will say is I hope he is (even if he's on the losing side - you can't help where you're born) and that it could easily be the last time a Millwall side is inspired to victory by his mere presence. You'd never think it to look at him but Jar rolling up on a Saturday morning at the farm would instantly raise the game of everyone else who'd bothered to turn up. There would be no more, 'how can I slide away without anyone noticing?', no more 'when will this hangover go away?', no more 'oh you're kidding, is Rachel really driving again?'. Instead, backs would stiffen, shoulders would go back and heads would lift with everyone thinking the same thing, 'Hello, we've got a chance here!'. You see Jar is one of those men that others would follow, yea even unto the next bar, and it is with deep sadness that I contemplate this simple fact, I am unlikely to follow Jar onto a Rugby field ever again. Damn you Barnes! Good luck Jar, in everything you do, but not tomorrow. Come on England.

Reap no horn!

For the record the title is nothing more than an anagram. It bears little, if any, resemblance to the following verbosity. However, to give you the chance to work out what the anagram refers to, the following contain a series of clues. During the course of the build up to the Democratic Primary in Pennsylvania, the screenwriter responsible for 'Sleepless in Seattle', from which they earnt 12 minutes of fame suggested that the Democratic Primary election will determine whether White men are more racist or more sexist. Upon such questions are elections in the United States dependent. Healthcare? piffle. Budget deficits? pah. Social Security? who needs it? Alien invasions ? Pure tosh. Are they White and Male? Then wheel them in.
Anyway, it occurred to me that Ron Haprone (the H and E are silent), which is the aforementioned screenwriter's previous incarnation maybe. Let's face it, if you were a man and responsible for writing 'She's got Mail' (2 minutes of fame), would you want your friends to know? Thought not.
Then it occurred to me that he/she might be right. What if all the world's ills were caused by the inherent isms of White Men. Let's face it, most wars include an element of racism and failing to put the toilet seat down is undoubtedly sexist. You thoughtless oaf.
As a consequence of this revelation, I've decided to nominate Nora Ephron, for it is she, for President of the United States. There is no doubting the incisive social commentary that is 'She's got Mail' or the striking relevance of the need to bring the world closer together portrayed in 'Sleepless in Seattle'. Michael Moore should form the other half of the ticket. He did after all write 'Stupid White Men'. And when has he ever been wrong? Plus we'll need a White Man to get elected. However, once we've attained the most powerful position on the planet, we could get rid of him. A heart attack should do it. Then, sisters, the world will be our oyster. I don't want to explain this step by step but we will slowly rid the world of white men. We'll keep the black ones for obvious reasons.

Woodworm(s?) have feelings too!

Willits is a town that lies about 25 miles North of the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas. The road between the two is U.S. Highway 101. It's fairly flat for the first 10 miles then it climbs for the next 12 miles before dropping the last bit into Willits. It's largely a four-lane highway with shoulders either side that are mostly two yards wide. On occasion, this shoulder narrows to not much more than a foot. This is where the woodworm (they look like tiny armadillos and I don't know their real name) choose to cross, when the road is at it's narrowest. When cycling this bit, it's a little hairier than when the shoulder is two yards wide. Primarily because you're uncomfortably close to the traffic. To digress, it's not the trucks you need to worry about, it's the RV's and the Pick-ups. The RV's are troublesome because they're essentially coaches being driven by a man with a nagging wife beside him (sorry ladies but there you are) and several quarrelling kids in the back. The Pick-ups are slightly more worrying because when they come up behind you, the rabid dog, snarling in the back and waiting to sink his teeth into your neck can't be heard until the very last moment.

Why the woodworm cross the road is a moot point but on this occasion the woodworm was crossing West to East. This meant that by the time it reached the shoulder where it could be seen, it had already successfully completed 99/100ths of the traverse. It had, maybe, 6 inches left to go. Nevertheless, Precious, with no manouevrability, except to veer directly into traffic, put a stop to the woodworm crossing the road nonsense, crushing it mercilessly. Precious had clearly paid no attention to the previous day's encounter with Buddhism. Over the course of the next thirty seconds, a great deal of mulling took place. How, exactly, would whichever of the Ten Thousand Buddhas had seen the ruthess murder (I need hardly remind you that we're in California where murderers aren't known for their shelf life), choose to restore the Wheel of Life. Would it be a quick side swipe from an RV followed by a painful, ultimately fatal, fall down the side of the mountain or a high speed blowout followed by a swerve in front of a logging lorry whose fender would catch a collar and drag a lifeless bicyclist half a mile down the track. Who knows? What I do know is, before 30 seconds had past, another woodworm chose to cross the road, this time in the opposite direction. Perhaps he was looking for his mate, I don't know. Now what, my friends are the odds of bumping into two woodworm crossing the road. This time, Precious was clearly in a more benevolent mood, her blood lust sated for the day, and veered away allowing possible subsequent generations of Willits woodworm. Hurrah!

It's a good thing too, because there's lots of wood around Willits, not for nothing is it called the gateway to the Redwoods.

Here comes the rain.

Ukiah is, so far as I know, mainly famous for hosting the notorious Jim Jones cult and for the shops closing when it rains. It does boast an extremely polite California Highway Patrol Officer.

However, back to the point, as it was raining, in an attempt to get the wheel of life back into alignment , Precious visited the local religious outlet. If you look really closely through the arched window (the one on the right), you'll see a peacock. Isn't that nice. Anyway, Precious visited 'The City of Ten Thousand Buddhas' (How can they be sure that's enough?) which is just outside Ukiah. Unfortunately, we couldn't find any Buddhas. California's a big place you know. So we set off in search of Denny and his bike shop. Denny was also absent but he's due back tomorrow morning at 11 am, it's now noon. He's obviously busy running all those restaurants. Anyway, Precious is going indoors to practise her first magic trick. You can't blame her for seeking a hobby. The trick involves cycling through a tree, which is to be debuted tomorrow if we make it to Redwood country in time. Until then, feast your eyes on a Buddhaless City of Ten Thousand Buddhas.

A day of vines in rows.

The Napa Valley is about 30 odd miles North of San Francisco and the banners proudly proclaim that 4% of Californian Wine is produced here. 4% doesn't sound like a lot but it's still enough wine to drown a small town. Wine buffs should look away now. How many Californian wine areas can you name apart from Napa? Thought not (unless you're a wine buff and cheating). So why exactly have you heard of the Napa Valley. Let me tell you. Are you sitting comfortably? All the following is based upon uninformed observation.


The first thing you notice is the Tourist offices who will ignore your request for a cheap motel with smoking rooms and wireless internet capability and direct you to a hotel just around the corner (owned by their mate Bill) that charges three times what you're prepared to pay and doesn't let you smoke but is right next door to a Coffee Shop that does have wifi. Well, if you wanted these things, why on earth did you specifically request them? Really. Places like Napa Valley Tourist Offices are precisely why you should not be allowed to own a gun. Ever.

The second thing you notice will be the wind turbines in, seemingly, every vineyard (I will not call them Wineries / Vineries). Then they'll turn them on and you will think that the helicopters in that scene from 'Apocalypse Now' are just about to fly in from over the hills, until you realise that, no this noise is a bit louder that that. More like a Motorhead concert. I should know I've been to both.
Then, I've no doubt you'll be invited to a wine tasting, almost certainly at a Vineyard (nor will I say Winery/Vinery. I just won't) owned by soneone's cousin. Here you'll be subjected to a series of florid adjectives masquerading as a sentence such as the following (which I've just made up), 'The subtle almond hue combines with the blackberry aroma producing an oaky, almost cherubic aftertaste culminating in a smooth, franky orgasmic, heavenly finish'. I also refuse to use the word 'Tannin', because I simply don't know what it means. Frankly I think it's made up.
You will then be presented with a variety of wines to taste, probably from Chile, which will be palatable.
Then a salesman, almost certainly an heavenly one, will hawk you some wines (that even the supermarkest daren't foist on you) at $50 a pop. You will take them home and diligently follow the advice that they should be laid down for at least a decade. You'll then try one. Then you'll present them to your friends and say, "we bought these on our holiday at a Napa Valley Vineyard".
Your friends will thank you for the way it gets those stubborn stains off their toilet bowl. If they've forgiven you.
In short, if you're middle aged with red cheeks and you fancy a holiday that involves your favourite grape oriented beverage, camp in your local bus shelter and get to know the bloke with the beard and the supermarket trolley. What he doesn't know about wine isn't worth knowing.
And why, oh why, do the insane idiots plant Rose bushes next to their vineyards ? Surely not for the headlines, perish the thought. I'm not a botanist, but if I were, I'd be compelled to do the decent thing.
Then you'll pass into the next valley, mysteriously, without going over any hills. It's the Alexander Valley. Another Californian valley with lots of vineyards. And do you know why you've never heard of it? Becase when youve drunk one of their wines, you haven't recoiled in horror and looked at the label exclaiming, "what the f**k is this?"

A confirmed Catholic

This is a mission building. They were put up by the Spanish in order to convert the indigenous population to Catholicism. One of the cute catholic traditions is that of confirmation. This is where you confirm your adherence to the religion at the age of 14. In return you get to choose a name. What would you trade at the age of fourteen to pick your own name? Anyway, this mission is named after the same saint of my chosen confirmation name. Is it;

A) Mission de San Francisco de Asis

B) Mission de San Iarlaitho de Putney

C) Mission de San Jeffrey de Vinaigre

Precious versus the trams.

Was the score:
A) 2:0
B) 1:1
C) 0:2

Napping in Napa

It is hard to leave San Francisco without leaving something behind. In my case it was a bicycle helmet. Accidentally leaving San Francisco is the best way as the place has a hugely seductive aura. It is a place of immense beauty. And if it thinks that you're planning on leaving, it will not let you go. Some posts will shortly follow which highlight it's looks, as well as it's soul, and they will take the form of a questionnaire. But for now a bed beckons in Napa and an early afternoon nap seems rresistible.

All those in favour ?

The Greatest Bridge in the World. Fact!

In which City is the bridge featured in this picture? Is it:

A) Southend on Sea, Essex.

B) San Francisco, California.

C) Carnforth, Lancashire.

Hint - There's no Co-op.

Sixties - Santa Cruz style!

As the Los Angeles Times gives way to the San Francisco Chronicle, palm trees recede, bicycle locks proliferate and Chris 'The Cat' McCafferty goes to Utah to pick up another wife or, as he puts it, 'get some skiing in'. Thoughts of San Francisco inevitably lead you to wonder what happened to all those hippies once they'd got rid of Nixon. Well, I can report that the sixties are alive and well and living in Santa Cruz. They're all surfing now, from the looks of it..that is the ones that haven't opened smoking paraphernalia shops - Licquorice Rizlas, joy of joys!

If I remember rightly, in the good old days, we were beseeched by the forefront of the Flower Power movement, never to trust ninety year olds. Which now means, unfortunately, that we can't trust them. Oh well, Septuagenarians with Mohicans can be expected down your street anyday now.

Just in case you thought I was joking about the wind!

Flex: A self portrait (contains strong language)

Subtitled: One for the front bottom feeders.

One for the bottom feeders....

.....Arse Magic Circle members need not apply!

Oh to be an otter.

Having mentioned Otters in the title, I ought to (ho, ho) mention them and I will. Later. In the meantime, here's a picture of Cannery Row in Monterey, it features amongst other things, a man on a ladder.
The better read amongst you will have heard of Cannery Row and know what it's all about. The rest of us will have some vague notion of somewhere or something involving cans and maybe a gun, or perhaps a punch-up, or if you're really weird, sturgeon eggs. Nevertheless, here's the juice. The ladies of the town were summoned to work every morning by a whistle. Presumably the men had made the catch and were off home for a quick nap. As they confronted the day's catch of Sardine, yes Sardine (hands up every one who knows where this is going), cans crossed from one side of the street to another on one of those new fangled conveyor belts (you'll have seen one most recently in The Generation Game), whereupon the ladies of Monterey packed sardines into them and sent them back over the road. The ladies of Monterey are to be thanked.
Now to the otters. At the end of Cannery Row is an Aquarium (one that I'm sure Mr Beech should, if he hasn't already, visited) funded by the Packards of Hewlett Packard fame - well done! In this Aquarium are some otters. I only saw three but I expect they work in shifts. One of these otters was sunbathing on an upturned bucket, another was playing with one of those balls with holes in it (possibly a bell inside) and the third was floating on his back. Talk about a dog's life. These otters must be the luckiest critters in Christendom, oops sorry, captivity. And for the first time in my life, I saw a captive animal and thought, would it be happier in the wild? Ooooh errrr missus!

Stay, stay like the wind!

While you're sitting in a bar in Big Sur, relishing the Firestone Ale and trying to think of a song which the Juke Box can't play. It will cross your mind, time and time again, to stop for another night, just because you can and, because people are a bit thin on the ground there, perversely, you chat more. However, you will have been rejuvenated and, whatever it was that brought you there, will seem eminently attractive because it had brought you to this mini Eden. You will want to carry on, not because Big Sur drives you away, you'll just feel compelled to find other Big Surs.

Anyway, that road which I've described earlier will continue further on up the coast and, as I've said, it's great. So, it's early up and off you go.

This time, the gentle calling of the ocean and the friendly mountain slopes will not seem so welcoming. You will drop down from Big Sur, seemingly out of the sky and to greet you will be a wind. And what a wind. It whooshes around the headlands and diffracts to fill the small bays and inlets. You will struggle like fury against it to attain the peaks, coincidental to the extreme of the headland.

Here be monsters! You will have found a small hurricane-free patch, just as you rise the last few metres of the climb, where the wind has travelled too fast to turn quickly enough to fill a void on the leeward side. Blessed, blessed relief. Then you will hit the crest. It will be all you can do to stay on the road. There's no point worrying about the traffic, you must simply bully it by hogging the entire lane while the wind decides what to do with you. If you're quick enough (thank you, Precious) you'll have rounded the crest before the wind has decided exactly how to torture you and be on your way down to the beginning of the next lump.

Don't think for a moment that the downhill bit will be any easier. You will struggle just as hard and find that ascending is as quick. This is the most exposed bit as you're hit full on by the main thrust of the wind, punching you into the craggy rock and the ancillary branch which has turned at the oncoming headland and, unable to progress inland, wheels round to deliver the uppercut. Truly you will understand the value of combination punching. So next time you're at the bar, mulling over what to do the next day. Check the Juke Box for 'Should I stay or should I go' and stay, stay like the wind.

Big Sur Prize

Between San Simeon and Big Sur, headland after headland juts out into the sea. There's a road that's carved into the cliff edge. It rises and rises as you alternate between heading out to sea and back into land. It falls, very occasionally. As you round each headland, breathless from the effort (that's me, Precious' gearing makes it as easy as possible), Nature plays a nasty trick. She presents you with a vista that takes what's left of your breath away, compelling you to stop and admire the unparalleled views. With the sun on your back you cannot help yourself. Soon, as the stops rob you of your hours, you'll have no choice but to climb and climb without the pleasure of the rests. Then with your legs still surprisingly fresh after their exertions, again oh the gearing, but your mind now reeling from the incessant glory of the Big Sur coast, you will reach your final climb of the day. It leads into the village? of Big Sur. Ahead lies a 30 mile ride into the Monterey peninsula, or you can stop and smell the pines. My advice is to stop. The Fernwood resort got my vote. Hey, it had a room. Here, you will quickly regain your faculties as you find yourself in a motel room, perhaps the only one in the United States without a television. You will go to the bar. In the bar, you will find beer. Girls will walk in and drink Absinthe. There's a juke box which can play, so far as I could tell, anything you want it to. Conversations will take place. And the staff will tell you, without the slightest trace of smugness, that they've won first prize in life. It will be hard to argue.

A Roads Scholar

If you're an avid Jeremy Clarkson fan, you'll remember that the Top Gear team went on a mission to find the best driving road in the World, I think. They eventually settled on a road between Davos and somewhere, in Switzerland , again, I think.

If you look really closely at the accompanying photograph, you'll see a road curving with the cliff edge. This road goes on for a very long way (55 miles and counting). As it meanders along, this road goes up and down hlls, over bridges, alongside beaches, next to Sea Otter and Elephant Seal sanctuaries. It occasionally seeks shelter by ducking up creek beds and, every 20 miles or so, some kindly soul has had the good sense to open a cafe. As if that were not enough, there are some Llamas at a small place called Gorda (if you're reading this Rachel, more recruits). Perfect. If the Top Gear mob feel like another holiday which would make spectacular television, they should come here. I'd watch it.

Morro tea, vicar.

If the signs are to be believed, forgetting to tip is a capital offence. As we're in California, failing to leave a nickel after a fry-up could end up in a very different, much more painful type of fry-up. Flex and eggs, anyone? Moreover, never knowing whether you've left a big enough tip can cause a very tentative getaway, ears peeled for the volley of abuse from an outraged waiter. My advice, leave the bike in a low gear. The people at the Bayside Cafe in Morro Bay will place you in a quandary from which there appears no escape. You will order a tea and drink it while inspecting the local wildlife and watching the kayakers crash into the rocks. Then you'll go in to pay. Their kindness will stretch to taking pity on idiot Englishmen and they will say,"That's OK it's on the house." You will pause and the inner workings of your head will start making clunking noises, while you try to work out how much to tip. You will give up eventually and say,"Well how much should I tip you?" The good people at the Bayside Cafe will then say,"That's OK, its on the house."

Three cheers for the Bayside Cafe in Morro Bay,"Hip Hip!" "Hip Hip!" "Hip Hip!"

More Math! - You've been warned.

April 10th - 07:51:53 Carpinteria - Lompoc - 66.09 miles
April 11th - 10:54:00 Lompoc - Morro Bay - 76.91 miles
April 12th - 04:13:37 Morro Bay - San Simeon - 26.66 miles
April 13th - 10:55:18 San Simeon - Big Sur - 68.40 miles
April 14th - 06:03:05 Big Sur - Monterey - 29.71 miles
April 16th - 03:43:43 Monterey - Santa Cruz - 34.93 miles

Public life in Pizmo.

This is a picture of Precious, nonchalantly leaning up against the brand new Pismo Beach promenade. The promenade juts out about 10 metres into the beach then turns right for about 5 metres. It is, in every sense of the word, completely pointless. It goes neither this way nor that and before you've had the chance to begin strolling and fill your lungs with the bracing seaside air, you've fallen off the end and into the sand. Less tha 20 metres to it's south is a reasonable looking pier that manages to extend itself all the way to the sea. Appalingly, immediately adjacent to the new promenade (which was the subject of a mayoral dedication at the time featuring, Pismo Beach's great and good) are some public restrooms. Should you wish to sit down in these restrooms, don't bother locking the doors. There aren't any. Hands up all those who think the Mayor's in the building trade and easily confused by hinges!
Alternatively, there may be more to the name 'Pismo Beach' than immediately obvious.

One night in Lompoc.

That was enough.

Edna makes the tea.

As you meander up California's Central Coast, you may , or may not, find yourself in a very small town called Edna. It contains a tea shop. And what a tea shop. If you happen to be English, you will become part of an impromptu tea tasting session. Frankly, cancel anything you had planned, sit back and, as they say, enjoy a nice cup of tea. The delightful host, whose name I impolitely forgot to ask, but fervently hope was Edna, is one of life's pleasures. If you can think of a better name for someone to serve your tea, let me know, unless it's Elsie.

Anyway, Edna's teas are gorgeous and the number of customers, despite it being off the beaten track, suggest that many others think so too. So, Ladies and Gentlemen, next time you have a tea, before you take the first sip, lean back and say to yourself, "This one's for Edna!"

Doing the math! (DO NOT READ)

Surgeon General's Health warning, this page may be seriously harmful to your enjoyment of the day. Plus, it includes numbers. Sorry about that. This page is for me. Sometimes self indulgence just can't be beaten. Incl. breaks.
5th April - San Diego to San Clemente - 69.73 miles -08:08:57
6th April - San Clemente to Santa Monica - 82.90 miles - 09:33:09
7th April L.A. loop unrecorded
8th April Santa Monica to Carpinteria (God's own town) - 75.49 miles - 08:58:53

Hey now. Hey now. Don't dream it's over.

There are dreams. And there are dreams. Dreams of delight, dreams of desire, of flight, of fancy. Then there are dreams. Dreams of death, dreams of destruction, of fear, of failure. Absorb and ache after the first. Ignore the latter or, perhaps, lie back on a sofa and tell someone who's being paid for the privilege.
Here's a dream for you. You've just left the biggest urban sprawl in the world and you're cycling along a busy highway with no end in sight and out of the blue, blue sky comes a sign. The sign says Carpinteria. Impulsively, you take it and you cross a bridge. Underneath the bridge is a brook which, unbelievably, babbles. Once across the bridge, you are presented with a small town. A faultless one. A town which urban planners should be forced to visit. A town whose seniors still care about politics. Obviously, it nestles between the mountains and the beach, gloriously combining to limit its growth. A town with a train station. Compact yet spacious. Busy yet relaxed. Friendly yet reserved. Solicitous yet understanding.
When you have this dream, act upon it and you will find yourself in a paradise for jaded eyes. Life will become more precious than before. Then, just when you think things can't get any better, you will happen upon the Corktree Cellars (Oh, and you will). Here you will find yourself in an oasis of humanity that doesn't do the math. A place where they have meat for dinner and the chocolate is calorie free!* Revel in it, thank your lucky stars that you happened upon it but never, ever expect to keep a secret.
Carpinteria is a town designed for life. It is to be cherished. Along with the chocolate.

*Except for the chocolate that isn't.

Leaving Los Angeles

All in all Los Angeles suffers from a bad press.The sprawl does go on forever and should you be from any other place on the planet, the distances between A and B are unsettling. However, it is in a staggeringly beautiful setting. The weather must be perfectly acceptable all year round. Despite all this concrete, it's surprisingly easy to head for the hills and there's no denying the urban magnificence when viewed from up high and afar.

Nevertheless, one feels it is a place designed to be left. And lo, it was written.

The mystery of the missing eggs!

Late this afternoon, the Santa Monica police department responded to a 911 call to the Hostelling International Hostel on 2nd Street. Met at the front door by an unidentified British 41 year old caucasian male demanding of passers by "Where are my eggs, dammit?". It emerged later that the unidentified male had visited Vons Groceries the previous day and purchased some Spaghetti, a Pork Sausage, Tinned Tomatoes and 6 Large White Eggs.Upon returning to the hostel, he had neatly marked them as belonging to 'Nigel' and then headed up into the hills for an afternoon bike ride. You can imagine his thwarted hunger when he discovered that the eggs were no longer safely ensconced in the fridge. After a brief, voluble interview he was thrown back out onto the street and was heard muttering, "I was really looking forward to those eggs".

The Palm tree - A critique

For those who care (that's you, Mum), after a brief sojourn to the Mexican border yesterday, the ride has begun. The stretch from San Diego to San Clemente proved relatively uneventful. Highlights include road signs in Spanish, for example 'Avenida Donde esta El Fibrillatore'), gently undulating hillocks, unnecessary winds, lots of colourfully clad cyclists, alliteratively accelerating ahead and more Palm trees than you can shake a stick at.
Today's discussion point is - of all the things you look for in a tree, which, precisely, does the Palm tree provide (you may not include the provision of footwear for the Son of Man)? Is it the source of Palm Oil (whatever that is)? Where's the shade, the furniture, the treehouses, the swings, the wind indication? Also, how on Earth are you supposed to climb one?
We do have some more trees to look forward to, and if we're to believe UNESCO, more and better ones, so more tree related stuff later. Until next time, adios.

A good place to start?

Lie back in your chair and read aloud the following in your best Churchillian oratory, " Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."
In other words, it's Midway which makes it, surely, the end of the end.

All about the bike.

The photo accompanying this post is entitled 'Peter and Precious'. Peter is the one on the right. His right hand appears to be pointing towards Precious and his left towards the sky. This subtle piece of 21st century imagery indicates that the sky is the limit for Precious. Frankly, given the sterling work put in by Peter of San Diego Bike Hire to get her on the road, the sky isn't a particularly optimistic limit.

On a lighter note, should anyone have occasion to visit San Diego, you would be well-advised to pay this guy a visit.

Boringly, Precious is a 2008 Janis Aurora and she is kitted out with Axiom bags and all sorts of other really technical stuff. According to Peter, that is.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Just in case you need another reason not to shop at Starbucks, there is no such thing as free wireless internet access there. Maybe this is something that's been common knowledge but there are those out there who consider this surprising. No-one ever expected the world to be fair but when, exactly, did it become so stupid!

Laptop luxury ?

Quite how these things work will remain a bit of a mystery to those lacking a 1:1 in Physics. However their usefulness is probably unparalleled. Although accessing AOL for email presents one or two surmountable problems, this piece of kit (photo to follow) will be solely responsible for keeping you up to date with events. For that may you be truly thankful.

Cruel and unusual punishment.

Good morning everyone. Without setting foot anywhere near Terminal 5, it's still possible to turn up in a strange land without your luggage. Kudos to Delta Airlines. It's not necessarily an unusual punishment but definitely cruel. A heartful thank you to Vita at the HI San Diego Downtown for not insisting on reservation details.

Nevertheless, most things stay the same, it's still next to impossible to stay awake for 20 odd hours ticking off time zones as you go and getting a decent night's sleep (even after an entertaining hour or two in 'Whiskey Girl'). As they say, check the time this blog is posted and you do the Math.

With any luck they'll be a picture of a bike for you to look at next time. You'll just have to hold your breath until then.