Between Santa Cruz and Monterey, on California’s central coast, lies artichoke country. Fields of them. Packed with vitamins and other healthy stuff… unless deep fried of course…
Ken's Blog
Artichoke country
November 28th, 2011Coasting towards Monterey
November 28th, 2011Ken continues south along the Pacific coast, heading for Monterey. A little less sea fog than the previous day…
Lighthouse family
November 27th, 2011
"I’m more of a landfill person" I explained. The woman had asked if the hostel, a delightful affair comprised of a series of cottages besides Pigeon Point lighthouse, did recycling. She seemed unimpressed with my teasing reply. It’s not that I’ve anything against dolphins of course, or that we shouldn’t do more to protect the environment for future generations.
But I do struggle to grasp why vendors frequently leave their organic vegetables caked in mud. And where I do have a problem is that whilst everyone is doing their little bit, laudable though that might be, there’s a danger that this engenders a false sense of progress and a failure to address the real problem. Industrial pollution.
Time, I thought to retire for the evening. Decent distance to ride the next day, close on eighty miles. In part because I’d chosen to stay at a second lighthouse hostel, a little on thirty miles from the previous one at Point Montara. Fantastic locations. Friendly staff. But at Pigeon Point things didn’t seemed to have quite gelled with my fellow hostellers in Dolphin cottage.
Rustling the map in the cosy common room had raised a few eyebrows. Silent tutting. I’d ignored this. Tapped a little harder on the computer. A late arrival had asked what one did for food – did you just help yourself? Someone politely pointed out you had to bring your own. People like that scare me. I’d found myself wondering if I was the only one not afflicted with OCD.
Two go down to the lighthouse
November 27th, 2011Ken, together with trusty steed Emma, spend the night at Pigeon Point lighthouse. Hoping for clear skies, for he’s spotted the fog horn..
Gloomy day
November 27th, 2011The sea fog finally lifts late in the afternoon, allowing Ken to catch a glimpse of the coast as he approaches his night’s stop. Pigeon Point lighthouse…
Halloween healthcare
November 27th, 2011She was swathed in clean white bandages, shades and stilletoes. Quietly amused myself as to whether this was simply for Halloween or a statement on healthcare provision. A friend sat opposite her. Conversation punctuated by frequent phone calls.
I’d headed off Highway One along California’s central coast, a few miles inland to Pescadero. Small town distinguished, in my mind at least, by the fact that it was the only place around with chance of a coffee before my next overnight stop. Pigeon Point lighthouse hostel. Short day and I didn’t want to arrive before it opened at five.
Pescadero seemed pleasant enough. Expensive looking bakery. Small cafe cum village store. My choice for refreshment. A bank that appeared to do the most brisk of trade.
Healthcare was the one thing I didn’t get. But then neither did a lot of Americans. Even those with insurance often bemoaned the extensive exclusions, the unaffordable premiums, the pitiful payouts. I’d seen the odd poster in shop windows, groups campaigning for reform. Growing groundswell? I wasn’t sure.
Lighthouse blues
November 27th, 2011
Loeva and Flo – short for Florian – were surfers. And French. Her native accent not easily discernable, the result of studying in Bangor, North Wales, and work experience in Fort Worth, Texas. Curious combination I thought. How, I asked, did one fair surfing in Texas? Tropical storms she replied. We were sharing the same hostel.
My exit earlier in the day from San Francisco had been far less tedious than I’d expected. Straightforward navigation. Retracing my steps back to the Golden Gate Bridge. Then a decent street map to lead me south. Heading a little less than thirty miles or so to stop at Point Montara hostel. With a lighthouse. Very Enid Blyton.
I’d relished the chance to return to stopping in smaller hostels and wasn’t disappointed. Friendly, convival atmosphere. Vicky at Reception had come for a year. About five years ago.
The Old Curiosity Shop
November 26th, 2011I’m not Australian and don’t like to be called as such. Which happens fairly frequently in North America. Finding myself particularly riled by this, forcing myself to ponder why this might be. Of course, I know a good number of great people, destined to be life-long friends, who happen to be Australian. My issue firmly cultural rather than individual.
True, I admire their stoicism in the face of frequent adversity. Their self-reliance. Itself a little ironic for what appears to be the ultimate Nanny State. Runaway regulation. Officious bureaucracy. Federal system unwarranted for a population less than a third of that of the UK. Governed by a mediocrity of politicians. Always grains amongst the chaff. Anna Bligh, Queensland’s Premier. Met her briefly. But not Prime Ministerial material. Not that you need to be.
Some aspects simply amuse rather than annoy. Bowling greens and old fashioned social clubs, serving meals reminiscent of school dinners. Rather quaint. Like an Old Curiosity Shop. Finally embracing EFTPOS like it was a sparkly new children’s toy. Words like free or inclusive have largely been discarded from their lexicon, replaced by the likes of gourmet – pronounced ’gore-met’ – its application bordering on the abusive. It’ll be fondue sets next. Their de facto national dish as unoriginal as it is uninspiring in a continent of unique flora and fauna. Fish and chips. Almost criminal. But that’s history for you. Made worse by the fact that a rather better model for European colonisation lies right under their noses. New Zealand.
I’d been asked by one fellow traveller why I thought all this might be? What about atmospheric nuclear testing? I paused, albeit briefly, then replied, smiling, that my diary was clear next week. In the meantime, I’ll just have to settle for a friend’s suggestion. When asked by a US citizen if you’re Australian, reply by asking which part of Canada they come from…
City of contrasts
November 26th, 2011
If at first you don’t succeed
November 26th, 2011
Works every time… Incidentally, however laudable it may be, Ken most certainly isn’t biking for world peace… But you probably guessed that by now… And whilst he has no plans to enter the arms trade when he gets home, if he did it’d be an ethical affair – or at least a frightfully honest one – company motto "We pedal death"
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