Ken finally finds the genuine article. Highest point on the route between San Diego and Phoenix. Laguna Summit. There were signs…
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Laguna Summit
December 6th, 2011Pine Valley
December 6th, 2011Ken takes a brief break in Pine Valley. Contemplating the road ahead.
Alpine encounters
December 6th, 2011
"An armed society is a polite society"
Regaled in Alpine attire – Lederhosen, traditional hat sporting a feather tucked into the band on one side, long stockings – he’d entered the cafe through a side door, picked up a newspaper and found a seat in the corner. Late seventies. German immigrant I thought, but he never spoke so I was left unsure. Didn’t look much like a retired car worker.
I’d stopped in a Fifties styled diner in the small town of Pine Valley. Imagery of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, of classic cars, on the walls. On the road since seven, it was now gone ten and I’d only managed sixteen miles. Struggling with the climbs. Realising my intended night’s stop at Brawley was quite out of reach. Only question was how much further I’d get tonight.
Leaving San Diego a bit later than planned, progress up into the hills inland had been tediously slow. By four, less than an hour of daylight left, I’d managed little more than thirty five miles. Barely crawling into the town of Alpine. Desperately tired. The hills hadn’t helped but it was mostly my own fault. Chatting until gone midnight. Now a compelling need for sleep.
I liked the diner. Tasteful. It felt homely. Locals drifting in, some sitting along the counter, others at tables. Two men in Sheriff’s Department uniforms. Ill-fitting. Radio on the table, barely audible chatter. No firearms or utility belts. Then the realisation these were volunteers. Left wondering what use they’d be in an armed society.
Still climbing
December 6th, 2011Still climbing.. Ken takes a short break at Quatay’s village store. Possibly the highest point between San Diego and Phoenix. But he’s not that sure
On the up
December 6th, 2011Short coffee stop at three thousand or so feet…
Adventure Travel magazine
December 5th, 2011
If you prefer to read of my antics in a more conventional, printed form, take a look at the forthcoming January / February edition of the UK’s prestigious Adventure Travel magazine. Due out in selected newsagents 19 December 2011. Or order online at www.adventuretravelmagazine.co.uk. Must confess I haven’t seen the finished piece so full of festive excitement – not least curious to see which of my photos have made it into the page and a half spread!
Heading for El Paso
December 5th, 2011Close by the Mexican border might be, but crossing close to San Diego leads to pretty much a dead end. The Baja California peninsular. So east towards El Paso. Following the US Adventure Cycling Association’s Southern Tier route.
Over a thousand miles, it’s a journey through coastal mountains, across scrubby desert, sand dunes and past endless cacti. A series of mountain passes to cross, climbing up to over 8,000 feet. Over the Continental Divide, the backbone of North America.
Challenges ahead. Desert winds strong enough to bring progress to an abrupt halt. Terrain affording little cover. Warm days bitter nights. At altitude, always a risk of winter snows.
Sightseeing in San Diego
December 5th, 2011Actually I wasn’t. Sightseeing that is. Get to see quite enough from the handlebars. Time off the road a chance to catch up on domestics, writings and ramblings. And often a chance to chat with fellow travellers. Or at least observe. Endlessly fascinating.
A middle-aged chap whose efforts at flirtation with those less than half his age bordering on the contemptible. But never when his elderly mother, with whom he was travelling, was around. I think she knew.
An English woman. Londoner. Musician. Saxophone, mostly modern jazz. Drawn to hostels to escape the suffocating isolation of bland, lonely motel rooms. And a Swiss long-haul cyclist I rather liked. Chatted with her late into the night. Then the next morning. The reason I was late leaving San Diego. Enjoying her company.
Reduced to pulp
December 5th, 2011
The final push into San Diego, a few days off the road in a small hostel close to the coast, was, at best, turgid. Mostly steady, heavy rain. Icy cold, the only respite the odd hour when it eased back a little to drizzle. It felt warmer but probably wasn’t.
A generously sized cheese and bean burritto had raised spirits a little, bought from a small campground cafe. Even the odd sip of warm coffee did little to improve matters. It was fundamentally a terrible day.
The ride into San Diego should have been relatively short – perhaps forty miles at most. To a carefully chosen hostel, expectation it would be quiet, and conventionally located. And it was. Problem was the cycle route had endless twists and turns, necessitating frequent stops to check the navigation. Quickly reducing my guide book to pulp.
Romanian quick-step
December 5th, 2011I’d not, I explained, actually been to Romania. But I had at least seen the place, across the Danube from Serbia. But Diane, my host for the evening, had visited, studying traditional dance. She’d travelled a good deal with husband Dennis. Had forgotten more Mandarin than I’d ever learnt.
I’d slept on the floor of their study. In the early morning light lying there gazing at a world map covering an entire wall. Pondering. In awe of its physical enormity, struggling to reconcile this with a new sense of smallness. Sometimes I dozed.
Equally intrigued by a couple of familiar works on their bookcase. Pulitzer Prize winner Jared Diamond’s analysis of societal developments across the continents. Third or fourth copy I’d seen in North America.
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