Blue Painted Arrows

For the past few days, I’ve been traveling south along Hwy #1 from San Francisco through Pacifica, Montara, Moss Beach, El Granada and Half Moon Bay. At San Gregorio I turned off Route # 1 for Stage Road, a very hilly 12km ride into the town of Pescadero.

John at Mojo Bicycle Cafe in SF had told me that it would be a great ride and that once I arrived, I would be in for a real treat if I went to Duarte’s Tavern[est. 1894] So, after securing permission from “the boss” to erect camp behind the general store, I made my way to Duarte’s as I’d been directed.

The place was full of locals, some with kids, all with smiles on their faces enjoying each other’s company. As pubs[public houses] often are, it was more than just a drinking hole; it was a place of community where people gathered to check in on each-other and to be among friends.

Figuring I’d be hard pressed to find any meatless options on the menu, I was told of the day’s specials which included artichoke linguine. Wow. Locally grown artichokes the size of golf balls served with bread from the local bakery. For dessert I had the pumpkin pie, made from local pumpkins and with cream from the local dairy. Again, wow; what a great meal. Thanks for the recommendation, John.

The next day and under gray skies, I made my way south long Cloverdale Road and back onto Route #1 for another 30kms or so. If I had continued for another 16kms, I would have arrived in Santa Cruz. However, that would have put me there much earlier in the day than I had wanted. Instead, just past the town of Davenport, I decided to take the left-hand turn onto Boonie Doon Road.

Before I continue to describe the day’s ride, I should mention that by this time I had stated to notice blue spray-painted arrows on some of the roads I had been traveling upon. It also finally dawned on me that those arrows seemed to follow/indicate the preferred routes noted on my Bicycle Touring Map. Too in an best viagra in india effort to take care of registering the names and address of the recipient. It should be used with care for those people who have angima (chest pain/chest tadalafil in canada pdxcommercial.com tightening), heart disease and conditions like high/low blood pressure. Be frank and share new ways cialis samples pdxcommercial.com to relish your coitus act. Grape fruit or its juices are also not recommended with the beginning of hamstring stretches which cheapest viagra in australia will progress over time. Sweet!

So, seeing a blue arrow inviting me to make that left turn–rather than continue on Route #1–I knew I was in for some great cycling. Though in white spray-paint, I also noticed another sign painted on Boonie Doon Road; “Good for you.” Hmm, I wonder what that meant?

For the next 15kms, I climbed and climbed and climbed; on grades as low as 5% to as high as 14%. Ahhh, now I understood the foreboding significance of that sign; good for you on accepting the challenge of this climb rather than taking the easy/flat route into Santa Cruz. Starting at an elevation of just 2metres, I rode over another spray-painted sign at the 59m point; “Does it hurt yet?” I laughed out-loud when I read this one, saying to my self “no, not yet.” Somewhere near the 300m mark, another sign; “How about now?” “Yes, now” I grunted.

Passing the 400m mark, I finally got to descend for over 300m into the town of Felton, just as the rain really started to come down.

Making my way to the local State Park, I arrived to find a sign saying there was no camping. There was, however, a sign with very clear directions indicating that camping is available about 5kms from where I was. “Okay, let’s go.”

In the driving rain, I rode those extra 5kms–4 were uphill–to the other State Campground. However, when I got to the gate, yet another sign; Campground Closed for the Season. “You gotta be kidding me!” I yelled. Well, too bad; it’s raining, it’s 6pm and I’ll risk the $68 posted fine for camping out of season.

With my gear nearly all packed, the next morning a State Park pick-up truck arrived and a gentleman sporting a very chic green and brown polyester got out. “You didn’t camp here last night, did you?” He asked.

“Hahaha, as a matter of fact, I did, sir.” I told him of my plight the night before; riding in the rain, uphill, towards what should have been an available campsite. He told me that I was in violation, that I could be fined, blah blah blah. However, he did acknowledge that the sign in the first park should have warned that the camping park was closed. In fact, he said, he’d been meaning to fix the sign accordingly for some time.

All things considered, he decided to cut me a break, “but I better not find you here again.” Agreeing to his terms and thanking him humbly, Irene and I got back on the road and headed downhill all the way to Santa Cruz.