Day 35, Refugio Beach to Carpinteria State Beach, 36 miles
Legs are like glue today. Or noodles. Or asleep. Maybe that’s it, I didn’t sleep much, so no energy. A friend just asked how I could ride, when I don’t get enough sleep. Answer: not very well.
Morning finds me on the picnic table, hot breezes have cooled, lessened. I sit up, pack up, eat some food. Chat very little with my German companions, who are also shaking the grit out of their tent. The surf breaks impressively, but no danger even as it splashes on the road at places.
The winds are crossing my path as I ride towards Goleta, then Santa Barbara. The famed mission. A place so expensive the service workers at the fast food joints can’t afford to live in the city they work. Can anything be done about this? I ride through the city, just wanting to reach camp, take a nap, on the beach maybe.
I stop for coffee at the East Beach Cafe, Peet’s coffee. A cup of courage. Another. Ok, one more refill. Some cyclists show up, gawk at my ride. Impressed, they all sit down to talk with me. These are mature cyclists, by the way. The only ones who all want to talk about my trip. Not like that racing bunch who passed me yesterday, with nary a greeting.
I brag a little, talk about the destination, Cabo. On of the cyclists says he and his wife used to donate to an orphanage in Tijuana, then the border shootings spooked them. Now they let the nuns take the donations over the border. He asks if I’m scared. I shrug. Nah. But the true answer, of course. And nah. I’m glad for the coffee here, and for my journal, and for the clear skies when rain was predicted.
I ride the last 10 miles to Carpinteria with renewed energy, ready to that nap. I follow “Pacific Coast Bike Route” signs, as well as markers on the pavement from organized rides. Ah, the arriving at last. But no nap on this beach. The campground is buffeted by winds even stronger than at Refugio. Sand is blowing up off the beach across the parking lot of the day area. Luckily the hiker bike site has some low trees that seem to block the sand. I am more clever in setting up my tent, tucking the windward fly edge under, tying extra lines to keep the tent from blowing away.
I head back to Linden Street with a neighboring camper, enjoy some halibut fish tacos, then return to camp. I find a spare outlet near the campfire center of the campground, do rangers do presentations any more? Not peak season, so I don’t know.
Winds have died now that sun is set. I’m actually in my tent, writing this blog at the end of the day it happened. Catching up, on my writing, soon on my sleep. And tomorrow, Malibu!