The 4:58 am express train rendered the 5 am alarm pointless. With Julie and Imka no doubt still sound asleep just a few metres away, we packed up camp on tiptoes, although there is every possibility Nelly could have done it quieter.
Today was one of those rare days where we started the day without a clue where we would be sleeping as accommodation along the planned route was either too close or too far away, with the section in the middle that coincided with an average day’s cycling being devoid of even the lowest of rates RV parks.
We cycled up a different road to the one we came down just last night before Deborah pointed out the fact that we were going the wrong way. As I was leading I insisted that we were not going the wrong way, we were cycling up this hill just to get warmed up for the hill that would lead us back on to Highway 101. With the first two hills of the day in the bag, we tackled the third almost immediately after rejoining the route. We also had an old pal back to ensure that today was a memorable one, a strong headwind. After almost a mile, with Deborah never missing an opportunity to visit the loo, we pulled off the road into a rest area. After a quick loo visit and a second breakfast of trail mix, biscuits and tepid water, we rejoined Highway 101 and prepared to enter our first road tunnel of the trip so far, and quite possibly the last.
The tunnel was set up for cyclists, with a button to press before entering the tunnel that sets off flashing lights to alert other road users of slow-moving obstructions in the tunnel, although with no sensors insight the lights started to flash as we approached. Deborah pressed the button anyway for good measure and we proceeded into the dark, dank and gloomy abyss. Actually the tunnel was only about 100 metres long and was little more than a road with a lid, so a little bit of an anti-climax, but a tunnel to tick off the experience list never the less.
Shortly after the tunnel we took a left turn off Highway 101 and back onto Highway 1, or as it is now named the Cabrillo Highway. We had just completed our first big climb of the day when Deborah’s rear tyre became all squidgy. We pulled over and Deborah kicked into her well-tuned inner tube changing routine, while I took a look at her front wheel which she had reported as being a little wobbly. Thirty minutes later and with two functioning wheels we started turning pedals again, just in time for us to hit the brakes 2 minutes later at the sight of a fellow tour cyclist packing his gear away after having just changed a tyre on his bike.
Steven was on month seven of his round the world cycle, having just landed in San Francisco from New Zealand just a few days earlier. Steven travels a little lighter than we do, with his entire kit combined being about the size of the 30-litre rack bag that I carry our tent and other bulky stuff in that doesn’t fit into any of the other four panniers weighing our bikes down. More amazingly than the size of his bags was the fact that he is from Durham, less than 10 miles from Houghton-le-Spring where Deborah and I grew up. We chatted for a while, but as Steven was hoping to make it to Los Angeles in a single day and we were hoping to find somewhere, anywhere, to stay tonight, with some big hills between us and any chance of a bed, we exchanged contact details, wished each other safe travels and headed in our separate directions.
UPDATE: A few of months later, on February 29th 2020, we headed down to England from our home in Scotland to cycle the last 5 miles with Steve across his finish line.
We continued along Highway 1, with big ups and equally big downs, passing through Lompoc and Orcutt just a little too early to find somewhere to sleep and call it a day.
By the time we reached Guadalupe, the sun wasn’t far from the horizon, but a quick search of Google and Booking.com drew a blank on accommodation and as this appeared to be the centre of the local farming industry there didn’t appear to be anywhere to erect a tent without squashing a fruit or vegetable, although the local service station did sell the energy drink of kings, a brain freezer.
The only option, which we ruled out only yesterday due to its distance away from Gaviota was now Oceano, although 13 miles along the route.
The road to Oceano appeared to be mainly downhill, with only a couple of short steep hills that might impede our progress, but not wishing to set up the tent on a bed of strawberries we decided to go for it, even though we would definitely be cycling in the dark on a narrow road with a very narrow shoulder.
Apart from the two steep ups, the road turned out to be quite a fast one with only the occasional short stretch where the road surface resembled a broken mosaic. Deborah had only agreed to make the push to Oceano rather than camping in a field of strawberries, knowing that she is quite partial to the odd strawberry, if we were to stay in a motel. The cheapest in town was listed on booking.com for the princely sum of $73, so we get Google Maps to take us there as we headed off at speed.
We arrived at the hotel in darkness after witnessing an amazing sunset over our left shoulders, checking in directly instead of through booking.com, beating the online price by $15.
With a town full of restaurants we decided we both had a craving for granola and yoghurt, so headed to the nearest supermarket instead.
Fed and watered we have a vague plan for tomorrow and have decided that we will have a lie-in until 7 am, just in time to sample the motel’s free breakfast offering…