Stage 4: Las Vegas – San Diego
27 November. Lake Havasu City, Arizona. 235 miles, 2 state lines.
I made a few mistakes today. First up I managed to leave my old tyres behind in Las Vegas. I meant to bring them with me as emergency spares. How can you forget two great big tyres? Maybe I just wasn't used to loading them, anyway I hope I don't get into trouble later for illegal dumping or something. By the time I realised, I was nearly 100 miles away, and this time I didn't go back. In hind sight I think they would have been a little unwieldy anyway.
I was heading south again and crossed briefly into a corner of California. Then I lost a couple of hours because I didn't look at my map properly – I thought there was a river crossing when in fact there was just a lake. So I backtracked, went back into Arizona where I lost an hour due to the time zone crossing, and ended up here. And what is also here is London Bridge – the one the American bought when he thought he was getting Tower Bridge – rebuilt brick by brick. Perhaps in order to rectify this mistake, and get their own back, they have developed here a really cheesy 'English Village' underneath one end – fake Tudor houses , a fountain with lions but no Nelson, and the London Arms Pub and Brewery, which is about as English as a balti is Indian. The Guinness is not too bad though.
London Bridge – not falling down.
They got one thing right – the phone box has been vandalised. Nice touch.
Apart from that it has nothing else to offer, and has turned out to be a terrible place to stay on Thanksgiving (which it is today). I'm in an over priced hotel, and apart from the pub there is nowhere to go. And they were doing a special dinner which was also over priced. Fortunately after a couple of quick beers I felt the lack of sleep from the past couple of nights (2.30 this morning) catching up with me. I grabbed a very quick, cheap dinner from a fast food Mexican joint. Its now only 7.30pm and I'm about to go to bed.
28 November. Olancha, California. 427 miles, one state line and a sore bum.
I'm sort of meandering. LA is barely a days ride from Vegas, but my bike service is booked in for Tuesday so until then I'll explore a bit more of California. Today I rode through the Mojave National Reserve, basically as it turned out an area of rather non-descript rocky desert, and not too warm at this time of the year either. Although I did ride through the brilliantly named Devil's Playground.
From there it was a relatively short trip to the infamous Death Valley, where summer day time temperatures average 115 degrees, and the record is around 134 F. Even today it was in the low seventies, warmer than I have been since New Orleans. I rode around the edge of, and walked into Badwater Basin, the lowest point in the US at 252 ft below sea level. It is largely given over to salt flats – although when you walk out onto them they are actually not that flat – so someone should change that name. The salt forms into a jigsaw puzzle of ridges, and in some places the top crust has been pushed up so much it looks like lots of tiny earthquakes have cracked open the surface. It looks and feels like crusty snow underfoot, until you get up close and you can see a kind of crystalline lattice and it is much more solid to the touch than snow.
Badwater Basin salt flats, not as cold as it might look.
The basin(which is a good 50 miles long at least) is surrounded by mountains, the highest are over 11,000 ft and have a sprinkling of snow on their peaks. I stayed longer than I should have and suddenly it was getting dark. I tried to find a place to stay in the park, but this being peak season here everywhere was full. So I had to push on, riding twisty turny mountain road in the dark with the temperature rapidly dropping. Olancha is about 30 miles outside the park, with a population of 39 according to the sign, but I was told they had two motels and when I arrived I got directions at a cafe. I booked into one of them (the other said it was open, but I got no response when I rang the bell – apart from the sound of a blaring TV and a barking dog) and then discovered that the only place to eat was back at the cafe I had come from. So that is where I am now having just finished a steak dinner. It will be another early night, one because there is nothing else to do here, two because I have to ride back to the motel (so no drinks), and it is extremely cold out there, as one passer by said, too cold for biking. I'm only a short ride from Mammoth mountain after all, the west coast's premier skiing resort. I think its one of the things thats very different about this country, that despite its enormity, there are still extremes of climate and terrain in relatively small areas.
29 November. Seaside California. 422 miles, passed 6,000 trip miles today.
A word of warning, I'm working myself up for a rant. It all started so well, been a great days riding. First of all the southern end of the Sierra Nevada mountains to Bakersfield. A fairly gentle climb through steadily rising but not steep terrain, just the foothills really, covered in grass, trees and cactus. The descent was something else – a tightly winding road following a river in a narrow gorge. Snaking round the side of the mountain, rolling the bike from one turn into another; blind corners with a steep drop right next to me. Absolutely brilliant. The middle of the day was a bit boring, going north from Bakersfield on wide straight roads. Then I got off the main route and into some more hills – more empty, twisting roads with the occasional valley housing isolated cattle farming communities. Nothing to get upset about here.
My target was Monterey Bay, a holiday resort a little south of San Fransisco. Seaside is a small town just outside the main resort but still next to the ocean (as the name implies, or is it infers?). It gives my my first view of the Pacific. So I'm staying in this motel, and there are a couple of others near by. And I'm getting hungry. Now none of these places have restaurants or bars as a rule. So you would expect, in any civilised country, that such amenities would be conveniently close. Not here. This is American town planning at its worse. There is nothing here, and urban desert. The free guides and brochures offer no enlightenment so I ride around a bit looking for somewhere to go. Again nothing. Nowhere to get a drink and nothing better to eat than KFC. What is wrong with these people? So i find myself at 8.30 on a Saturday night (not that it really makes a lot of difference to me what day it is), having chowed on cheap fried chicken, back in my room with a six pack from the supermarket. So many times I have seen this problem, places to stay separated from places to eat or drink by a car journey. And sometimes no places to drink at all. Its all part of this thing about towns with no centre, and the car culture that makes it very difficult to walk anywhere at all.
This country has a fantastic natural environment, but its totally wasted on most of its inhabitants. And one other thing, the guide book is generally not good on places to drink. Its a major shortcoming. As a traveler you need your guide to tell you the best places to stay where it is easy to get out and about in the evening – and the towns to avoid where you can't.
30 November. Lompoc, California. 207 miles.
A lot fewer miles today but some good ones. I took the coastal road south, starting with the rugged coastline of Big Sur. 90 odd miles where the mountains fall almost straight into the Pacific and the narrow road is cut into the cliff edges 100 ft above the crashing surf. It seemed fitting perhaps to this coastline that it rained throughout the morning during the wildest parts of this ride. The first rain I have seen in at least a couple of weeks.
There are lots of road signs warning of rock falls on this road and I came across the results of a small one. They were mostly stones, but one was about the size of a human head. I had plenty of time to slow down and weave my way through the debris, but the car in front of me pulled over, I think to check for possible damage. At some points however the road pulled back from the edge a little, and here I was plunged into think forestation. The mountainside here were no less steep but these big trees grew straight up out of the cliff faces. There were quite a few camping areas round Big Sur itself at the northern end of this road, but also a fair number of private properties. Sometimes roads just dropped down to my, as if into the ocean, with mailboxes at the top. It must be amazing when a storm rolls in, as they must do on occasion.
The wild northern California coastline.
Further south the mountains fell back, the road dropped towards the sea and the rain eased off. A big parking area appeared ahead and I could see people walking around but there was not much of a beach and this was still not beach weather. Then I saw what they were there for and pulled over.
It was Elephant Seals. Mostly they were just lying around, one or two were just arriving, galumphing up the narrow beach. A couple of bulls started a half hearted fight, more noise and posturing than actual blows, and none of the cows was watching anyway. These animals were big, the males at least 7 feet long, and if one of these boys sat on you – you'd know about it.
In the afternoon it dried up and I rode through a couple of beach towns. I stopped off but the weather was still overcast and it was not quite warm enough to just hang out for a couple of hours. There were a few hardy surfers but everybody else on the beach was wrapped up. I stopped here in Lompoc, a bit further in land, because it seemed like a nice small town, plus the next places to stay on the road are Santa Barbara and Malibu – not exactly synonymous with inexpensive accommodation.
1 December. Santa Monica, California. 175 miles.
I pottered slowly down the coast today through some of the places where California's (and therefore the world's) rich live. Santa Barbara, what little I saw, was quiet leafy streets – wealthy but understated. I stopped for breakfast in a little town called Carpentiera, at a small cafe called The Worker Bee. From a distance I thought it might a a bit of a working mans cafe, rough and ready. However it was nothing of the sort, a very twee place with lots of fluffy bee themed toys around. It was run by a husband and wife and I think she did the decorating. However it was a good breakfast.
Then I went through Malibu, very nouveau and more ostentatious than Santa Barbara – very 'look at me'. Houses with private beaches on one side, hilltop mansions on the other. I'm guessing the higher up, and therefore longer the driveway from the freeway (no communal side roads here) the more expensive. Each house unique in style, and lots more being built, most likely to order.
I got the outskirts of LA itself fairly quickly and rode in on Santa Monica Boulevard (where Sheryl Crow looked for fun until the sun came up) to check out the location of the BMW dealership for tomorrow. I can't really put my finger on it but I don't think I'm going to like this city. Just a feeling though I don't want to pre-judge.
So having located the dealership I back tracked to the other end of the SMB to the coast and Santa Monica itself. This is a place I can like, a relaxed beach resort. I went down to the shore and got my feet wet in the somewhat cold, late afternoon Pacific, then along the pier (with usual pier type entertainments), and round the town. I watched a bloke on roller skates grab the back end of a car, hunched down so the driver couldn't see him, and hitch a lift up to the top of an incline.
Santa Monica has a discernible centre, clustered around a pedestrianised street with shopping, restaurants and bars. It feels low key – a lot less screaming neon than other places but not dead quiet, with people wandering the streets. And now I know the secret. Not one but two British themed pubs (not exactly upscale but not Spanish Costa either), and within a few hundred yards of each other, Ye Olde Kings Head and The Brittainia. So I had to check them out. I'm in the latter now having just finished a shepherds pie (not the best but okay) and a Stella. Apparently there is a sizeable British population here – and I'm guessing this may have had an influence on the town planning. We may have screwed up the Spanish coast, but here we got it right.
The only downer is the number of homeless people. Something also commented upon by the girl from Malibu I was talking to (she drove in to come to this bar because he friend works here, even though, as she said, she was on a break from alcohol because of a (at least perceived) drinking problem. I didn't pry further but in her defence she was born in Malibu and not a rich import). Anyway there are lots of homeless people here, more even than in Brighton. My friend in New Orleans would have had a field day.
2 December. Los Angeles. 28 miles.
Its been a bit of a frustrating day. I brought the bike into the dealer first thing. There were some policemen here – the California Highway Patrol ride BMWs – and they were taking delivery of a couple of new bikes. Highly modified of course, including a rack on the back for carrying a serious looking pistol grip shotgun. As well as the service I wanted a new chain and sprocket set as mine was looking worn and the chain not running smoothly. They don't have any in stock, though they say they normally do. So I will have to come back tomorrow morning for a couple of hours for them to do that.
So I spend the day wandering round the streets of LA. Its a strange kind of place. Low rise for the most part its apparently spread out over a thousand square miles. I thinks its really a series of small towns fused together, a bit like London really but without any of its history or character. There are very different neighbourhoods very close together; upscale retail next to hippy district with flea markets; or expensive housing with a sudden transition into near ghetto. I walked along a short stretch of Sunset Boulevard this morning and outside a supermarket there were a couple of hundred men standing about. I reckon they were immigrants looking for work. At one point they crowded around a car that pulled up, just an ordinary looking mini MPV, and though I can't be sure I think he drove off with a couple of blokes in the back. As in Santa Monica there are lots of homeless people, on practically every main street corner. All of them with their shopping carts or bags on wheels stuffed to the brim with who knows what. One thing though, they aren't aggressive at all, I was only asked for money once all day. It looked like most had given up.
With a bit of direction I managed to find the tar pits museum, and discovered it was 'Free Tuesday', so wandered around for a while. It was amazing how densely packed with bones these pits are (they are still excavating though I think mostly for show rather than scientific advance). They called them fossils but strictly speaking I don't think this is true, as they are the original bones preserved rather than replaced with stone.
So I got back to the dealer around 3.30 to discover they hadn't finished my bike. The guy had started then stopped because they didn't have any brake pads, even though I didn't really need them I had wanted some new ones. So the guy in charge said it could get done in another hour and a half so I can take it home tonight. So I am now sitting here writing these notes while I wait, with the sun going down. Though its been baking today its now turning a little chilly, so I hope its not too much longer.
Hanging out with the LAPD.
3 December. Seal Beach, California. 78 miles.
More waiting around at the BMW shop today, but I did get the new chain and sprocket set fitted so the bike is good for at least the next 6000 miles. I rode down to Seal Beach, south along the coast from LA, to meet up with Jon Holmes. Jon is your true modern day hobo, he's been traveling around the world for 25 plus years only stopping long enough to work when he has to. For most of that time he's been on a bicycle, but has recently added an engine to his two wheels. He's been staying here with his niece and her husband, Debbie and John Fox, since riding down from Alaska in the summer, having spent the winter working there. The are really good people, I stayed for dinner, helping to cook it, and am now spending the night on the floor of their offices round the corner from the house. It looks like Jon and I are going to hook up for a while going into Mexico. He's a great guy, clearly a very experienced traveler, and full of stories. I have two slight concerns, first he's much older – must be in his fifties – difficult to see how that would work over the long term. Secondly he's clearly used to travelling on a much tighter budget. He might prefer to camp where I would opt for a room. I am planning on some camping, and hope to pick up a tent tomorrow but perhaps not to the extent he would normally do. I guess we'll play it by ear and see how it goes.
Making fried Indian bread with John Fox at his house.
4 December. Lake Elsinore, California. 174 miles
Not much going on today. Jon is not going to be ready for a couple of days, so I left Seal Beach having agreed that we would catch up in San Diego in a couple of days to cross the border. I went to a camping shop in Santa Ana this morning, picked up a tent, mosquito net and other small stuff. I'll be heading into back country next week so might be camping out a bit. Lake Elsinore is a way inland, nestled in the mountains. There is not much here of any note but it just happens to have a reputation as one of the best places in California for a particular sporting activity. Skydiving.
5 December. Escondido, California. 46 miles horizontally, about 2.5 vertically.
WOW.
Wow. Wow. Wow. Today I sky dived. Not a fixed line, or a tandem jump. Real free fall. Its called Accelerated Free Fall, I spent most of the day in training and then when I jumped there were two instructors holding on to me, but not connected, until my canopy was deployed. It was the rush of my life.
The training was all about learning and repeating, over and again, the moves – exit form the plane, safety checks in free fall, a simple control maneouvre, canopy opening and landing. Plus hand signals and what to do if there is a problem with the canopy – which is mostly how to cut it free and deploy the reserve, even though there are two failsafes for automatic reserve deployment built in.
Then at two o'clock we took off. About 15 minutes to climb to altitude, twelve thousand feet. Enough time to run through the jump again with my instructor. I stood on the edge of the plane exit, a jumpmaster on either side of me – but it was my lead to control the jump. Nods both ways and out I went. Lots of stuff went through my head in the first couple of seconds, including my heart as it went straight past my throat. It really hit me how crazy this was, but it was also in that moment, before I any sense of rationality kicked in that I got the biggest rush of all. Then I stabilised and was in free fall and in control. My instructors there, giving me signals but I couldn't feel them holding on or correcting my posture. I ran through the first check – making sure I could put my hand on the release toggle, then did a leg straightening manoeuvre which makes you dive forward faster, and held it for 5 seconds. In all I was in free fall for about 40 seconds then released the canopy at 5000 ft as planned. My instructors let go and I was alone as they continued to drop below me – they would land long before me so they could watch me descent and coach me over the radio I had strapped to my chest. When I saw that the canopy was properly open I ran through my control checks and I could really relax. I was whooping my head off. Its unlike anything else. I steered around to get into my holding zone then prepared for my final approach pattern at a thousand feet. The landing went off great, I could have stayed standing but did the textbook fall anyway. I was buzzing for a good hour later. We had a debrief and the instructors said it was a great jump, they had very few comments on improvements.
There were quite a few people there, including some Brits who came especially for a full 8 level course (I did level one) which would give them a full license to dive solo anywhere in the world. They were all really friendly, I got lots of handshakes and 'welcome to the club' type stuff. And of course they were all interested in my trip.
Apparently this area is one of the best parts of the world for skydiving. One of my instructors was Italian, there was another who was English, and they came to live here because of skydiving. There was a guy in his fifties, Ike, who came over to congratulate me. He's been jumping for 18 years and had a suit with wing flaps that enabled him to glide over several miles during a fall. How cool is that.
The jump, captured on DVD of course, cost me a lot but was worth every penny. However the fully qualified guys, with all their own gear, were jumping for $12 a time – unbelievable. I could easily do this again. It would cost a fortune but I think I would like to get me license when I get home. You just can't beat this. After today I feel like I could do almost anything, no fear. Its just such an amazing sense of achievement. Just thinking about it now, some five hours later – I can feel the adrenaline pumping again.
View over Lake Elsinore. The airstrip and drop zone are in the flat area at the far end of the lake.
Quick subject change. As I'm leaving the States soon I want to return to my theme of the little differences. Today its adverts. TV adverts are dominated by drugs, in particular heartburn remedies and lots of prescription only drugs. The funny thing is they are clearly required by law to tell you about all possible side effects. So they start by extolling the virtues of drug X, then go on to tell you it could cause stomach bleeding, liver failure, heart problems (even if these are the things they are actually supposed to prevent), and my personal favourite, the enigmatic 'sexual side effects' – though this is the one they play down the most, as in “with minimal sexual side effects”. Then they finish by telling you to ask your doctor about X. At the end of this all I'm left with is the fervent hope that I never have a need for X as it sounds worse than anything its supposed to cure. And the other one is alcohol adverts, all of which say – enjoy our drink, but only if you're over 21.
And another thing about TV. There are loads of channels, in most motels any number between 30 and 60 easily. Several mostly show films, but they all show the same film at similar times. So one days it will be on USA, the next TNT, then a couple of days later TBS Superstation. And TBS is even crazier – it will sometimes show a film, then repeat it immediately. But they do have the weather channel and for that I can forgive them a lot. I shall miss it when I leave.
And now I'm thinking about my jump again having had a few beers. The real source of the buzz is knowing that you put your life on the line, albeit in very controlled circumstances, and came through unscathed. I can replay almost all of it in vivid technicolour (there first couple of seconds are hazy). They say you never forget your first jump, and I can certainly believe it will be my most vivid memory of the trip, so far at least.
6 December. San Diego, California.
A nothing of a day really. Spent a frustrating morning in Escondido trying, and failing to post a package home, stuff I don't need any more. Then rode into San Diego. Its a harbour town, dominated by the navy, but with some good beaches and the weather is good. I spent a relaxing couple of hours over a cafe lunch then lying on the beach. There were some people there with those big wing kites designed to pull you along on a big skateboard type thing, but either there was not enough wind or they weren't very good because nobody was going anywhere.
Found a motel early and I've spent the last few hours going through a major repack. It had all got very messy recently, which means inefficient use of space, something that I can't afford to let get out of hand. Tomorrow I cross into Mexico.