San Francisco to Ensenada

This week’s episode of Eric is a Bum is brought to you by Nutella, fish tacos, and the smell of 10 million ripe strawberries.

Day 33 - 34

I reluctantly left the hostel in San Francisco after saying goodbye to Timo. Despite the 9 cups of free hostel coffee I had on the way out I still wasn’t in the pedaling mood so I stopped at the campground in Half Moon Bay in the early afternoon and called it a day. The next day I uneventfully rode into Santa Cruz for a burrito, before stopping in the Capitolia state park for the night.

Days 35 - 37

I was disappointed to find that the coastal highway was closed around Big Sur due to a washed out bridge and not one but two landslides. I needed to make a detour inland so I headed east and the now familiar coastal landscape quickly gave way to wide open valleys and endless fields of strawberries. The temperature rose about 15 degrees and the wind began to howl now that it could flow freely. There were no campgrounds anywhere nearby and the farmland was so open and devoid of trees that I began to worry about finding a stealthy place to sleep. Fortunately as the sun began to set I found a really luxurious strip of tall thistles near Greenfield and I pitched my tent for the night. The next day the farms melted away and dusty golden hills took their place. Soon after I unexpectedly found myself in the midst of the San Ardo oilfield. The acrid sulfurous air stung my nose as I rode amidst endless rusty pipes and creaky old pumpjacks. At this point Google maps presented me with 2 route options, both of which were supposed to put me in Paso Robles within a few hours. Without question I chose the shorter but hillier one, which would allow me to avoid riding on the busy highway. A few miles onto the road Google suggested, I came upon a Not a Through Road sign. Often these signs lie so I double checked that I was on the right road and continued on, excited that there would be no traffic. Soon the narrow paved road became a narrower gravel road and I came upon the first of many cattle guards/No Trespassing sign combos. At this point I should have turned around, but I continued on anyway. After all, the best roads thus far were the ones I wasn’t supposed to be on. Eventually the gravel road became nothing more than two ruts in the tall grass and my pace slowed dramatically. I was several hours behind schedule as I pushed my bike up a steep hill. At the top of the hill I encountered a barbed wire fence across the road, with yet more No Trespassing signs. I was beginning to worry that I would have to turn around as I lifted my heavy bike over the fence. It was late in the day and I was running low on food and water, deep in remote ranchland, on a single track cattle trail. I ran into a family of wild boars as I descended the hill in the waning daylight, making me uneasy about camping here.

The road began to improve as the darkness descended but my flashlight was dead so I began to set up my tent on the side of the road. Just as I was about to crawl inside I heard the rumble of hooves and saw 3 lights on the road. It appeared to be a rancher on horseback, herding cattle with 2 dogs. As the light approached I fearfully asked if I could camp here for the night. A voice responded “You could, but I don’t recommend it”. It turns out the light didn’t belong to a rancher, but a guy named Brian going for a run with his dogs. He informed me that I was only a mile away from the village of Bradley and that the ranchers were allowed to shoot trespassers. He let me use his light while I packed up my tent and we talked about Buddhist philosophy as he walked me to a safe camping spot near some railroad tracks in Bradley. I woke up early the next morning to the deafening rumble of a passing train and, having apparently not learned my lesson, followed Google’s directions to another non-road to avoid the highway. Just like the preceding day, the final 20 km to Paso Robles took 3x as long as predicted. Upon arriving in town I loaded up with calories and water and then decided to continue to the coast, since Paso Robles was also devoid of places to camp. After a tough climb I was greeted by the big rock at Morro Bay where I was happy to find a campground for the night.

Days 38 - 40

The next couple days were boring, dry, dusty, and windy, without much to see. I rode on the busy highway, inland from the coast, to the exceptionally crappy town of Lompoc and then through Santa Barbara to Carpinteria the next day. At the Carpinteria campground I ran into a group of the friendliest homeless people I’d ever met, and two cyclists, Rob and Rasmus, from America and Sweden, respectively. I spent the evening enjoying free chicken, stories, and harmonica songs courtesy of the homeless fellows and the next morning Rob, Rasmus, and I headed off to Santa Monica. We made great time through some pretty gnarly traffic and spent the next two days drinking beer at a hostel near the pier. I also stumbled upon a truly amazing blues/jazz/soul/artistic smoking/hip-hop/burlesque act called The Toledo Show at a bar nearby.

Days 40 - 43

After a late start, Rob and Rasmus accompanied me to Manhattan beach, where we said goodbye over burritos. 6 hours of swearing at the crowded streets of LA later, I arrived at Doheny State Beach, in the dark. I had read there would be a hiker biker area but upon arrival the park host, Darryl, informed me that they were no longer offering hiker biker spots and the cheapest site was $40. I must have looked really sad because he offered to allow me to sleep behind his RV for free. In the morning he brought me coffee, breakfast, and snacks for the road. Thanks Darryl!

The next morning I headed off for another busy yet visually unexciting day of highway riding to San Diego. I checked into the ITH Adventure Hostel (highly recommended!) and spent the next 2 nights drinking excessively, attempting to join guitar jams with a bad finger, and worrying about Mexico.

Day 44

The final day in the USA had arrived! In an effort to ease the transition into Mexico I booked a hostel in Tijuana, only 40km away. After spending the rest of my American change at 7-Eleven, I arrived at the border around noon, with months of jokes about dying and/or being robbed in Mexico ringing in my ears. Crossing the border on foot was surprisingly relaxed. Had I not needed a visa for a longer term stay I could have crossed without showing my passport to anyone. The hostel I booked was right on the beach, and I assumed I could just head west through the city and arrive there without much trouble. It turns out Tijuana is huge, hectic, mountainous, and quite difficult to navigate through. Given Tijuana’s reputation, I was too afraid to whip out my phone to take photos or look at the map, so I wasted several hours climbing steep hills and swearing to myself as I realized that there were several deep canyons between myself and the ocean.

Eventually I found myself on top of a mountain, bouncing around on a horrific gravel road (calling it a road is giving it too much credit), looking down at a busy highway and the ocean. I managed to scale the side of the mountain and climb over the barrier onto the highway, where I asked a parked taxi driver for directions. I had unknowingly traveled 20km south of where the hostel was, so I was already half way to Rosarito. There was a strong wind blowing south and it was starting to get dark so I decided to head into Rosarito rather than ride back into Tijuana.

I arrived in Rosarito, pulled into the first hotel I could find and gladly payed $30 for a room. I knew it was a huge rip-off and the room was truly disgusting, featuring blood stains on the carpet and cockroaches in the bed, but I was too flustered to care. I was just relieved to be somewhere safe as the sun went down after an overwhelming first day in Mexico. I wish I had taken some photos in Tijuana because it was a surprisingly beautiful city. In hindsight my fears were mostly irrational, based solely on the words of Americans who don’t travel.

Day 45

I picked up a Mexican SIM card and a burrito before leaving the hotel. There are two highways going South from Tijuana: a toll highway with nice wide shoulders and few cars, and the crazy libre highway with no shoulders and 90% of the traffic. Bicycles aren’t allowed on the toll highway but I decided to take it anyway since it was much safer and other cyclists had ridden it successfully. I made it about 40 km before a policeman with a machine gun politely kicked me off onto the free highway. Luckily I had made it past the worst of the traffic and I spent the rest of the day riding up and down mountains and through deserts in the sweltering heat. The scenery along the coast was quite beautiful and I regret not taking many photos.

I arrived in Ensenada in the early afternoon and checked into the nearly empty backpackers hostel. Upon arrival I was feeling homesick and overwhelmed by the culture shock but after a few fish tacos at a nearby stand I felt much better. I am going to spend a few days here working on my Spanish and acclimating to a new country.