[Did I tell you that I broke a spoke? I think that I forgot that story in the earlier posts (raccoons were more interesting). So, yeah, the reason that my wheel was a wobbly taco was because the weight was too much for it to handle. But I made a quick trip (or three) to a Monterey bike shop, and got that puppy squared away.]
And off we went...
Our destination was Big Sur, and the coastline between there and Monterey has some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet.
As you can see in the photo above, the road hugs the coastline for the entire stretch. We rode along the Pacific Coast Highway the entire way, and shared the road with meandering vacationers and painfully lucky locals. The cars cruised along at no more than 45 miles per hour, and there was plenty of space along the shoulder. Since no one was in a rush, the car drivers were very bike-consiencious, and gave us plenty of room. In fact, we talked with a lot of them at the many scenic pull-offs, and they were all really supportive of us (even though several of them couldn't understand why anyone would want to attempt those cliff climbs on two wheels.).
But since this was a still a vacation, and definitely not a race, we took plenty of stops.
Around hour four, we started getting a little loopy.
"We're almost there...we're almost there..." We weren't almost there. The last few miles were especially brutal. This was partly because they were a constant climb, but also because every turn we made was supposed to reveal our campsite, but it was just one stab in the chest after another as we realized that it was only a gas station, a cafe, or a total mirage.
But we did eventually make it to Big Sur. We were thrilled to be on two feet, and couldn't wait for a drink. So we vomited the contents of our bags all over the closest picnic table.
It was good to be there.
-M
