Big Sur

Big Sur is both a town and a region located within the Los Padres National Forest. More than this, Big Sur is an immense sanctuary, holding dear a rich diversity and tireless beauty. Agricultural land riding high up the slopes of hills; unforgiving rock-faces, cliff-sides and monstrous boulders defining the road’s course. Around and down a few tight turns; the temperature drops 5degs and the humidity soars. Riding among my friends, the Redwoods, I can still hear the endless roar of the surf pounding just a few feet over and a few hundred down.

Along #1 are two State campgrounds with very similar names; Pfieffer Big Sur and, Julia Phieffer. Staying at the former, I again enjoyed the $5 hike/bike fee for a good site, including showers! [$0.25/8mins] If camping is not your thing, on the same property there is the Big Sur Lodge, est. 1932. It really is quite something. If you are ever looking for great get away with good food out in the woods, but right near the beach, this is the place for you. Just be sure to book well in advance during the on-season; like, 6months in advance.

Getting coffee from within the Lodge, I met Deborah, the very enthusiastic restaurant manager on duty. She was very excited about my travels and offered all sorts of tips and advice, plus her name to drop at some place in New Mexico. It’s all written down on a piece of receipt paper along with other places and attractions I must see as I make my way to Texas. Texas itself, however, she really didn’t seem too keen on. Oh well, I’m still goin’!

When I arrived at the Park Entrance, the lady at the kiosk mentioned that I had the whole hike/bike area to myself. Considering the time of year and how few other cycle-tourers I’ve met along the way, I wasn’t too surprised. Within a few hours, there were five of us.

Marcus was from Vancouver, BC and had been riding for about 3weeks. Somewhat new to road riding, he’d purchased his Surly from Craigslist.com just three days prior to starting his great tour. [non-cyclists ignore this part: it was a 2×9 12-25t !] But, he’d been doing well and enjoying himself greatly as he makes his way south. His final destination is to meet his family in Acapulco, Mexico for Christmas. But there’s still one piece missing. cialis properien https://www.unica-web.com/ENGLISH/2012/president-letter-dec2012-eng.html The organization producing this product does not claim any long lasting permanent results as the product does not tadalafil tablets prices leave any kind of side-effects. This is the reason; this free samples of cialis highly demanded medicine was costly enough. Another further study was made on cats sent to a veterinarian university school, it was discovered that 34 percent of all cats older than 10 years old are showing signs of articular degeneration when studied under radiography, while only 16.5 percent of them was showing any signs of viagra without side effects having slight problems. We had much to talk about and I think we both appreciated the easy company of a fellow Canuck.

As Marcus and I were finishing dinner and continuing conversation, three helmet lamps came floating into the campground. Marcus and I looked at each other in near disbelief. Cyclists, really? Yup, three guys heading south towards San Diego. Two Australians–Patrick and Peter–and, are you ready for this, Joey, from Hamilton, Ontario! We all chatted and laughed for a good while, then soon realised we were all pretty shattered from the day’s riding. Soon enough, camp was quite.

Friday morning, Marcus was up early and on the bike by 8am. He wanted to get in a big day. We wished each other well, him taking my email address, me taking his picture. Before the other three guys left for the showers and then the road, the four of us again chatted about our routes and goals for the next few days. They intended on doing 45-60miles, whereas I was content to do 30miles, taking me to Kirk Creek Campground, recommended by the woman at the Park Entrance. Again, handshakes and well wishes all around.

Leaving ’round 11:30am, I casually made my way to Kirk Creek campground. And again, for $5, Irene and I had the pick of the litter when it came to campsites. With the tent only 25-30′ from the cliff’s edge, it was a pretty sweet spot indeed. As the afternoon became evening and evening night, the edge disappeared deep within the clouds of fog. It may has well of been raining. Dark and wet, it stayed like this all night and well into the following morning. In fact, it would be well over 24hrs before I would see the sun again.

With this shawl covering the land, all was muted. The sounds of the ocean, the highway and the occasional bird, all seemed to be spoken from behind a cloth. I plodded along, no longer reveling in the lands beauty, but simply appreciating its simple charm. A fog of melancholy, like the cow’s ambivalence to my passing, drifted thick and thin.