Monday 24 October 2011

Race Day


Sometimes when you are traveling, you get a funny feeling that something is not quite right. This is what happened to Justin and I the day after our stay at Stillwater Cove.

Breakfast of champtions: pb and j oatmeal

Skies of grey loomed above as we set out from the campground for our day’s ride. The route began over a series of steep, isolated cliffs overlooking the ocean.  Highway 1 was winding and narrow, with more cattle guards than cars on the road. As we sketched our way along the stark landscape, a police motorcycle zoomed by us at top speed. Not long afterwards, we spotted a helicopter hovering around the coves below.  The sky darkened eerily over the cliffs. Something was definitely up.

 The answer was obvious: the hunt was on for the Fort Bragg murderer.  Our suspicions were confirmed when we got to the top of a big hill only to find several police cars and ambulances parked together, with accompanying officers surveying the area. “Anything we should know about?” Justin asked. “No, just don’t get run over,” the officer responded. So whatever was going on was a secret. Very suspicious indeed.


The descent which followed took us through a series of sharp switchbacks. Standing at the top, we observed the ant-sized cars following the curve of the road through dusty headlands, feeling as though we had accidentally landed in some sort of bicycle Western.  We watched three racing bikes that had just passed us zip down the hill at a terrifying pace, before taking the plunge ourselves.

A few miles on, another group of racing bikes passed us – remarkable, as they had been few and far between on the trip up till this point. Perhaps this signified that we were close enough to the big city for roadies to be coming out on day rides, I ventured. My theory was abruptly disproved a few miles down the road in the town of Jenner, where we encountered our friends Donnie and Sarah once again, along with a handful of other cycle tourists. They were standing along the side of the road, cheering on the participants in the cycling race.

“Race? There’s a race?”  (I blame my slowness on repetitive road vibration syndrome). “Ahh……”  Suddenly it all made sense. 

Our friends filled us in on the details. For one thing, despite our growing certainty that the helicopter, ambulances, police cars and officers were all part of a man hunt to chase down and capture the Fort Bragg murderer, we learned that all of this was in fact related to the major cycling event unfolding before our very eyes. The other crucial piece of information: McDreamy of Grey’s Anatomy was in the race (I myself have never seen the show, but some of the ladies were pretty excited).

We dawdled in town a little while, cheering the racers on with our mightiest hoots and hollers, before setting back out on the road to be cheered on ourselves. Crowds waving signs and applauding the competitors did not falter when we came along, shouting “yay touring!” as we passed with half the speed and a tenth of the glory.  Although a little hectic, it was fun to be caught in the midst of the action (and to get some words of encouragement!)…at least until the motorcycles came along.      

Whether Hell’s Angels or family reunion I’m not sure, but a fourth lane of traffic soon formed on the road. Cars passed motorcycles, motorcycles passed racers and racers passed us, while throngs of people waved, cheered and ate hot dogs on the side of the road. Needless to say, the novelty of finding ourselves in the middle of a cycling race soon wore off, as the moral support we were receiving was outstripped by the stress of the traffic.  Not even a steady stream of McDreamys (which they may as well have been for all I could tell) could have kept me on that race route a meter longer than necessary. 

Unfortunately, even after escaping the actual route, the crowds and traffic around Bodega Bay remained. The afternoon was quickly advancing, we had errands to run, and the chaotic masses were making me grumpy.  After stopping for an overpriced lunch, we made our way to the only coffee shop in town known to offer wifi. With San Francisco only a few days away, we needed to get in touch with family and friends to make plans for our stay in the city.  The wifi was not working (why does this always happen to me?)  but the shop had a friendly owner, who chatted with us and offered us leftover baked goods while we waited for the connection to come back.

The day was getting on, and we still had 40 miles to go until the next state park, a distance we needed to make if we wanted to catch the free bluegrass festival happening in San Francisco that weekend. Between the crazy traffic and making plans for the city, stress was mounting, and Justin and I took a moment to think. Tempting though the festival was, we decided to take some of the pressure off by making camp at a site just a few miles down the road, along a sandy spit (unfortunately there were no options in between 5 miles and 40!).

Although beachside, the site was hardly relaxing. For one thing, there was the ongoing foghorn. Justin, who grew up on an island, did not even tune into this familiar sound until I mentioned it.  I, on the other hand, could not, for the life of me, tune it out. We were also somewhat lacking in privacy. Just when we thought we had finally escaped motorcycle madness, the leather crew turned out to be our camp neighbours!  On the other side was a family of five, who invited us over for s’mores before we had even started to cook dinner. While Justin chatted up Dad, I attempted to follow the dizzying pace of conversation with Mom and the three girls.  Mom tried to ask me questions about my trip but was repeatedly interrupted by her incredibly loquacious middle child who talked in a continuous flow, barely stopping for air and only occasionally yielding to her younger sister, while the eldest daughter sat listening calmly and quietly. After being repeatedly admonished by Mom, the chatty one complained in a precious burst of frustration that if she didn’t interrupt people there was no place for her to come in! This family was full of life, and it was interesting to see the different personalities and interests of the girls come through. 

Finally we got a chance to eat and relax.  The day had been hectic, but with the city a mere 65 miles away, we knew it was only the beginning.  

Madly, 

Dana

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