We spent three relaxing days in Sebastopol visiting my cousin Eric and his wife Amy. Thursday Amy helped us run errands. Friday we cycled with Eric to Santa Rosa then to a dentist where Rob had a sore tooth checked out. Saturday we all went wine tasting then Amy cooked up a feast for eight - leg of lamb, potatoes, brussels sprouts, roasted figs, and plenty of wine. Rob and I are both thankful for Eric and Amy's generous hospitality. Eric's mother, my Aunt Harriet, said that guests are like fish - they begin to smell after two days. Hopefully, we didn't smell too bad after three.
One of our errands was to the bike shop in Sebastopol where Fergus, the mechanic, replaced Rob's rear rotor and both his brakes and we spent a lot of money buying new chains, shoe covers for Rob, and handlebar tape, in addition to the brakes and rotor. And I have to say this right now, if I haven't said it already. Bicycle mechanics are the best. Without exception every mechanic on this trip has taken time to check out our bikes and give us advice, with an attitude of having all the time in the world. Fergus didn't even charge us for labor, and he let me change one of the brake pads while he watched.
 |
| Florence Street in Sebastopol, California, is the epicenter of Halloween trick-or-treating. Eric took Rob and me over there to check it out. |
 |
| We visited two local vineyards with Eric and Amy. |
Eric joined us for the first 18 miles on Sunday, November 3, when we left Sebastopol for our final push to San Francisco. We followed quiet back roads, Eric got a flat tire, and we stopped for a leisurely picnic lunch on the pier at Nick's Cove in Marshall. (It might not have been so leisurely if we'd realized that Rob had a tire slowly going flat while we ate and enjoyed the sun beaming down on us.)
Traffic was light in the morning, not so much after lunch. We passed one oyster house after another and had to watch out for cars pulling in and out of crowded parking lots. Everyone was out celebrating the beautiful day. I suspect they were also celebrating the end of the evacuations and power outage and that the Kincade fire was finally under control.
When we arrived in Point Reyes Station we saw a crowd of loaded touring bikes parked around picnic tables in the center of town and cyclists milling around. We recognized Sam, the young man from Belgium who we had last seen in Astoria, the northernmost city on the Oregon coast. The other cyclists were a family from Montreal headiing to Mexico and a couple from France.
While in Point Reyes Station we stopped at the Bovine Bakery as Amy had directed us and bought a double chocolate cherry almond chunk cookie, which was as delicious as promised. Then we had to go across the street, also on Amy's strong recommendation, to the local grocery store for some water buffalo soft serve ice cream. I had the vanilla and salted caramel swirl. My taste buds will remember that ice cream for a long time.
We camped that night (after 42 miles) in the Samuel Taylor State Park campground, in the hiker/bike site with nine other cyclists. Sam was there and also John, the fellow we met who has been cycling around the country for 18 months. The showers were cold but the company warm.
Monday, November 4, it was time for the final push to the Golden Gate Bridge. We rode through the charming communities of Marin County and stopped for tea in downtown San Anselmo. Rob and I have been talking about maybe taking up residence somewhere along the Oregon coast or northern California. San Anselmo would be on my list, but I don't even have to look at the housing prices to know we couldn't afford it.
Biking across the Golden Gate Bridge brought me back to another time, another bike trip. In 1980 I finished an eight-week, 3000-mile ride by crossing over the Golden Gate Bridge. It was dark and when I got to the other side I called my brother Frank and he met me in a restaurant and brought me to his home on the Great Highway where he was living with his partner Rick.
Frank had to be away that week while he was taking a telephone pole-climbing course to start a job with AT&T so I was left hanging out and getting to know Rick. From that time I have always enjoyed Rick's easy-going personality.
My brother passed away 25 years ago during the AIDS epidemic but thankfully Rick has been able to thumb his nose at it and still lives in the house in Glen Park that he and Frank bought together so many years ago.
 |
| At times during the crossing we were engulfed in fog. Then it would clear enough for me to catch a few pictures. |
After crossing the bridge we rode along the waterfront of the Presidio then along the Embarcadero to Market Street where we caught BART to Glen Park.
We took an elevator from the street to the station where we bought two Clipper cards for $10 each. Then we got on an elevator to the train. We never had to put our cards through any machine so I thought the cards worked like the ones in Portland that just magically read the card, kind of like an EZ-Pass in your car. But then we had to put the card in a turnstyle to get out of the station in Glen Park and the card didn't work. We couldn't get out. The sign in the ticket booth said, "Back at 4:00." It was 3:30. I wasn't going to wait that long. A woman with a stroller put her card in and the turnstyle opened and I jammed it to keep it open and pushed my bike through and helped Rob with his.
After that, every time we took BART Rob wanted to wear a disguise so the security wouldn't recognize us as the bicyclists who broke the machine.
No comments:
Post a Comment