I woke up the next morning with sore legs and new neighbors: two homeless men had snuck into the hiker/biker section to seek refuge (obviously holding on to a smidgen of dignity rather than choosing to bed in a city alley). One was sleeping in his normal clothes on a piece of plastic – no tent, bivouac, or any form of shelter - a sheet of plastic like the kind used to cover goods during shipment. Not that anyone would want to do it, but I thought how vulnerable to attack I had been during that last night. For that, I was glad it was going to be my last day on the road.
I packed everything up as per usual except for the tarp I used to cover my bike with and left it next to the man with no shelter – not a solution to his problems but at least he would be in a better position that night.
Given that my legs were so knackered and that my rendezvous with my brother was going to be around 5 pm, I decided to take it easy and ride slower than usual. The hunt for breakfast began.
I made it to Ventura (or Bonaventura depending on how one feels like calling it) and asked a passerby for the usual recommendation. Busybees, an award winning diner style place, was literally around the corner from my informant. The waitress was very impressed with my saga and brought me a tall glass of lemonade; thank goodness for endless cups of coffee. I could have stayed there all morning, but I had to put a bullet in my insane journey.
I found myself riding through the city instead of the coast - yet again my damned Adventure Cyclist map led me astray. I eventually headed towards the coast however was unfortunate enough to find myself on the wrong side of US Navy Port Hueneme Battalion Center. The sun’s heat and glare was bouncing off the asphalt making the ride less enjoyable than usual. Nevertheless I persevered.
Once I bypassed the Naval base, I had to cross another large agricultural plain (celery and broccoli permeated in the air). In the distance AWACs were doing some routines that involved flying in large circles, disappearing and then returning flying low in a straight line over an imaginary battlefield. Clearly they were from the second Naval installation, Point Mugu. My legs relentlessly pushed themselves southbound.
I finally was back on the 1, which bordered Point Mugu and treated to several AWAC flybys and a peek into what I assumed were officers’ homes, a sort of abandoned fifties neighborhood. I passed a gate near an F-14 Tomcat mounted like a butterfly specimen above its missile arsenal. I then rode by the Seabees’ firing range (when the red flags are flying, so is the live ammunition).
Back on the coast for the final 62 kilometers - it was going to be a long afternoon. I eventually hit Malibu with its endless rolling hills and row upon row of parked cars – I was cycling between traffic and car doors, drained of energy and running on the knowledge that I had completed my trip. My lunch spot suggestion came from my brother: Malibu Country Mart. I ate an eight-dollar sandwich and watched uniformed schoolgirls driving Mercedes Benzes to get their afterschool coffees. A couple of paparazzi were following two women I couldn’t recognize; Hollywood…LA.
I mustered up the energy to proceed south – Malibu Sport Fishing Pier, Gladstone’s 4 Fish, Ferraris, swanky beach homes, Topanga Canyon, Chart House, Getty Villa and finally the sign “Los Angeles City Limit”. I stopped to take a photo, but mostly to take in the moment.
After the Bel Air Bay Club, I exited the 1 onto the beach path and met my brother. We rode the last 12 kilometers together contemplating what I had just achieved.
Thanks for following me.
I packed everything up as per usual except for the tarp I used to cover my bike with and left it next to the man with no shelter – not a solution to his problems but at least he would be in a better position that night.
Given that my legs were so knackered and that my rendezvous with my brother was going to be around 5 pm, I decided to take it easy and ride slower than usual. The hunt for breakfast began.
I made it to Ventura (or Bonaventura depending on how one feels like calling it) and asked a passerby for the usual recommendation. Busybees, an award winning diner style place, was literally around the corner from my informant. The waitress was very impressed with my saga and brought me a tall glass of lemonade; thank goodness for endless cups of coffee. I could have stayed there all morning, but I had to put a bullet in my insane journey.
I found myself riding through the city instead of the coast - yet again my damned Adventure Cyclist map led me astray. I eventually headed towards the coast however was unfortunate enough to find myself on the wrong side of US Navy Port Hueneme Battalion Center. The sun’s heat and glare was bouncing off the asphalt making the ride less enjoyable than usual. Nevertheless I persevered.
Once I bypassed the Naval base, I had to cross another large agricultural plain (celery and broccoli permeated in the air). In the distance AWACs were doing some routines that involved flying in large circles, disappearing and then returning flying low in a straight line over an imaginary battlefield. Clearly they were from the second Naval installation, Point Mugu. My legs relentlessly pushed themselves southbound.
I finally was back on the 1, which bordered Point Mugu and treated to several AWAC flybys and a peek into what I assumed were officers’ homes, a sort of abandoned fifties neighborhood. I passed a gate near an F-14 Tomcat mounted like a butterfly specimen above its missile arsenal. I then rode by the Seabees’ firing range (when the red flags are flying, so is the live ammunition).
Back on the coast for the final 62 kilometers - it was going to be a long afternoon. I eventually hit Malibu with its endless rolling hills and row upon row of parked cars – I was cycling between traffic and car doors, drained of energy and running on the knowledge that I had completed my trip. My lunch spot suggestion came from my brother: Malibu Country Mart. I ate an eight-dollar sandwich and watched uniformed schoolgirls driving Mercedes Benzes to get their afterschool coffees. A couple of paparazzi were following two women I couldn’t recognize; Hollywood…LA.
I mustered up the energy to proceed south – Malibu Sport Fishing Pier, Gladstone’s 4 Fish, Ferraris, swanky beach homes, Topanga Canyon, Chart House, Getty Villa and finally the sign “Los Angeles City Limit”. I stopped to take a photo, but mostly to take in the moment.
After the Bel Air Bay Club, I exited the 1 onto the beach path and met my brother. We rode the last 12 kilometers together contemplating what I had just achieved.
Thanks for following me.
No comments:
Post a Comment