Greetings from Pendleton, Oregon

I arrived in Pendleton around noon today, capping off a truly fantastic week of bicycling, first in and around the Columbia River Gorge area with my friend Carrie and then, back on my own, I took a five-day journey looping through the John Day River area in north central Oregon. The riding conditions were outstanding if you, like me, enjoy climbing and can put up with some tough, gusty winds. And the weather finally cooperated: the weather story of my solo journey has been a little like "Goldilocks and the Three Bears": first for days it was too hot, then it was cloudy and rainy, climaxing with an all-day downpour, and now for the past week the weather has been just right - cool mornings and bright, sunny days, the temperature peaking in the 80's. And the John Day area is maybe the best kept secret in the country. In all of my travels I have never been an area so scenic with so little traffic. I've virtually had the roads to myself. As an example, over the course of three days, I rode down six major descents - that is, a downhill of at least several miles where I reached speeds over 30 mph. The longest was an 8 miler with a six percent grade that took me 18 or so minutes to descend. And yet, never once in all six did a car pass me from behind, or even show up in my helmet mirror.

Here's a recap since my last post:

Day 13 - Thursday, 8/21 - an off-day in Corbett, OR, with no riding at all. I took my bike to a bike shop for repairs, dried out all my gear after the soaking it all took the day before, worked on my blog at the public library in Gresham, etc.

Day 14 - Friday, 8/22 - a semi-off-day: more work on the blog and then an afternoon 30-mile ride in the Columbia Gorge from Corbett to Multnomah Falls and back via the Historic Columbia River Highway (U.S. 30), the first planned scenic roadway in the U.S., build between 1913 and 1922. The views of the gorge were wonderful, and the road deeply shaded as we descended from the top to nearly the bottom. The return trip was tough, though: uphill against a a stiff westerly headwind.


Along the Historic Columbia River Highway


The Columbia River Gorge


Multnomah Falls

Day 15 - Saturday, 8/23 - Carrie and I drove east to the town of Hood River, a major recreation spot within the gorge, world famous for windsurfing, parasailing, etc. - because of the strong, near-constant wind. We rode for two days here, on this first day taking another 30-miler inland from Hood River, following the "Fruit Loop," a suggested tour of the Hood River Valley's local orchards and fruit stands. We were a week too early for the beginning of apple and pear season, but we could see all the ripe fruit on the trees, and we passed by a llama farm, where the llamas were in good form, every season being llama season!



Llamas!

All in all, it was a lovely ride; the roads were quiet, and as wee rode south to Parkdale, we had great views of Mt. Hood towering over the valley.


Mt. Hood, with young fruit trees in foreground (apple and pear trees with ripe fruit were elsewhere)

Day 16 - Sunday, 8/24 - A longer, 80-mile loop ride on the Washington side of the gorge from Lyle to Goldendale. The highlight was the first 20 miles as we followed the Klickitat River upstream through a canyon, the road shaded both by pines and the tall cliffs. Then after a steep three-mile climb that brought us out of the canyon, we rode through high, treeless prairie, with views of Mt. Adams to the north, enjoying a stiff tailwind all the way east to Goldendale. The bad news was that we then had to turn around, and the 25-mile return against the wind was a hard slog, riding through the prairie with not another soul around except one small rattlesnake and, once we reached the treeline, a rafter of turkeys.

Day 17 - Monday, 8/25: 67 miles from Hood River to Maupin, OR. Carrie got me started, riding the first ten miles or so with me east from Hood River, back on the Historic Columbia River Highway (the first miles of which was a section where cars are prohibited); and after saying goodbye at an overlook, I was back on my own, sailing along with the usual westerly tailwind eastward to The Dalles. From there I headed south on Route 197, and a hard ride it was, first climbing out of the gorge and then riding through very lumpy prairie land, where nothing was flat, either climbing or descending amid gusting, ferocious wind. At times the wind was aiding me, but most of the the time it was was westerly, billowing over the Cascades, which were visible as a blue wall off to my right, and the crosswind was so strong that I had to work hard to keep my bike from swerving into the road.


Mt. Hood from the high plains south of The Dalles

The day ended really well, however, as I descended to the town of Maupin, which has a lovely town park on the Deschutes River. I arrived late - 6:00 p.m. - but had time to soak in the Deschutes before dinner; and that night was the first of several where I spent time gazing at the stars, as all the past week the night sky has been moonless.

Day 18 - Tuesday, 8/26: 81 miles from Maupin to Fossil. A rugged day of biking in an extremely remote region, as for the entire 80 miles there wasn't a single open store: the store in Antelope, OR (pop. 37) was closed, and the only other dot on the map I passed through - Clarno - wasn't a town at all. The day began with an arduous 11-mile climb that took me two hours up and away from the Deschutes and back into high prairie, as I continued south on Rt. 197. The wind was already a factor - again mostly a slowing crosswind - and after a little bit of rolling, I was climbing again. In all it took three hours to cover the first 20 miles to Criterion Summit, elevation 3360. At the top, though, there was a real treat: an overlook featured a "mountain identifier," pointing out the names of all the Cascade peaks visible in the distance; and from that spot you can see them all for at least 150 miles, from Broken Top, south of the Three Sisters, to Mt. Adams in Washington. An hour later I was riding on one of the most beautiful roads I've ever encountered, east on Rt. 218 toward Antelope, OR - beautifully paved and completely empty of traffic, winding through a canyon of picturesque mountains, the colorful outcrops surrounded by grasses and pines. I was entering the John Day River area, noted for the tremendous fossil record embedded in its eroded cliffs. It's a rough landscape, however. As my route had been ever since The Dalles, none of it was flat; and after a relatively mild climb and descent to reach Antelope - where luckily I found a water pump across from the closed store - I faced a steep six-mile climb and then an eight-mile descent to Clarno, where I crossed the John Day River for the first time, and then a tortuous 14-mile climb before a final six-mile descent into Fossil. By then it was nearly 6:00p.m.; I'd averaged a mere 8 mph all day. I camped in the town RV park next to the fairgounds, again saw a sky full of stars, and heard coyotes howling in the distance.

Day 19 - Wednesday, 8/27: 100 miles from Fossil to Mt. Vernon. It was payback for all the harsh wind and the climbing: a day of relatively flat riding, aided by a strong tailwind. After an initial six-mile climb out of town amid a cold, gray sky, I had a chilling 14-mile descent to Service Creek, a small outpost alongside the John Day River. From there the sky cleared, becoming blue and cloudless, and the route followed the river upstream. It was wonderfully scenic, rich in color - the blue water framed by bright green banks, with the eroded cliffs creating a dramatic, ever-changing background.


The John Day River between Service Creek and Spray, Oregon

I simply sailed along, taking it all in, riding east on Rt. 19 through the towns of Spray and Kimberly (the latter consisting of a single general store and post office, but surrounded by fruit orchards), then south, stopping at the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument headquarters, and then east again to Mt. Vernon, the wind following me all the way. From Dayville to Mt. Vernon the road is less scenic and the river disappears from view within a broader valley, but it was a fast, flat ride, and Mt. Vernon was worth reaching: the biker-hiker campsite at Clyde Holliday State Park is a thick patch of grass (good for sleeping) and only $4.00. And once again that night I was treated to a black sky filled with stars and serenaded by coyotes - this time much nearer by.

Day 20 Thursday, 8/28: 83 miles (including 9 miles of shuttling between town and campground) from Mt. Vernon to Ukiah. A harder day featuring four summits to traverse, but overall another wonderful day: warm and sunny, on quiet, well-paved road, traveling north on U.S. 395. None of the climbs were particularly tough, but the cumulative effect wore me down by the end. The longest was the first - a 16-miler from Mt. Vernon to Beech Creek Summit, elevation 4708, that took me two hours. Then after a short decent through Fox - another town without a store - there was a steep, three-mile climb to Long Creek Mountain Summit, taking me above 5,000 feet for the first time since Crater Lake. I took a break at the one store in Long Creek and another in Dale, and then once again there was a lovely stretch of riding along the John Day River - this time its north fork - before reaching Ukiah.


North Fork of the John Day River

In Ukiah I hoped to find a motel in order to watch Obama's convention speech. No luck. There were two "motels" and one hotel in Ukiah, none of them offering a room with a television. The one place I was told that I might watch it was at The Thicket, the only place that served dinner, but it really was just a bar that also happened to serve food. I ate amid the locals and a group of motorcyclists from Idaho. The jukebox was blaring a lot of country-rock songs, and I didn't dare ask to turn on the convention. After dinner I retreated to the state campground outside of town. No coyotes this time, but it the morning I heard the plaintive cry of an elk, which sounds like a cross between a cat's meow and a trumpet.

Day 21 - Friday, 8/29 (today): 53 miles from Ukiah to Pendleton. Needing a rest, I made it a short one today, and it was exceedingly easy, as after an initial 11-mile climb to Battle Mountain Summit (elevation 4270), I left the trees behind and started descending 3,000 through prairie to reach Pendleton (elevation 1,200), passing through one town - Pilot Rock - along the way. The most amazing part of the day - beside the elk calls (I heard another on Battle Mountain) - was the rapid shift in temperature: it was 38 degrees when I woke up at 6:30 a.m., 77 degrees by 10:00 in Pilot Rock, and 83 degrees by 11:30, when I arrived in Pendleton. From here I'll be continuing north into Washington State, passing through Walla Walla, and then start angling west (against the wind, I'm afraid) to reach Seattle in approximately 10 days.

Greetings from Corbett, Oregon

After 12 days of solo riding I've reached Corbett, Oregon, which is along the Columbia River Gorge, east of Portland, for a few definitely needed days off.

A summary of the ride through Oregon:

Day 7 (Friday, August 15 ...) - 77 miles from Weed, California via U.S. 97 to reach Klamath Falls, Oregon. I'd intended to head northwest from Weed through Yreka toward Happy Camp, but there was a big fire in that direction so I cut northeast instead. U.S. 97 is really a bigger highway than I like to be on - not as scenic or intimate as less traveled byways, but it had a big shoulder, making for safe riding, and it was the best way to continue north. Again it was hot, reaching 98 degrees, but I got an early start and the toughest part - climbing over the Cascades - was in the earliest, coolest part of the day. On the other side of the mountains, I rode through the very flat Butte Valley, where the sagebrush and grasses were replaced by agriculture, mostly strawberries. Another short climb out of the valley brought me into Oregon, and from there it was a final 20 hot miles to reach Klamath Falls, where I hit the Wal-Mart for supplies (Powerbars cost 98 cents there and up to $2.79 in small markets elsewhere) and then holed up in a Motel 6.

Day 8 (Saturday) - 89 miles. A great, beautiful, challenging day, riding to Crater Lake and then down to Diamond Lake (elevation about 5,000 feet), where I camped. This was the last really hot day, making the climb up to Crater Lake - 3,000 feet higher than Klamath Falls, to over 7,000 feet at the rim - fatiguing. The temperature at the rim was in the high 80s, which was nearly a record, I was told. But the climb was through beautiful forest, featuring gigantic ponderosa pines, and the view of the lake made it all worth it. I got some great photos just before the clouds rolled in, a lightning storm visible in the distance.


Crater Lake

Luckily the storm stayed south of Diamond Lake. There were lightning flashes and thunder rumbles in the distance, but only a few sprinkles overnight.


Sunset over Diamond Lake

Day 9 (Sunday) - My biggest mileage day thus far: 96 miles from Diamond Lake to Oakridge. The Cascade Mountains are so rugged that only a few paved roads traverse them, so to continue north and avoid the Willamette Valley, where temperatures were still hitting triple digits, I had to backtrack east, climbing to nearly 6,000 feet. From there I rode north on U.S. 97 Then after a short climb over the Willamette Pass, I had a long, speedy descent to Oakridge - dropping 3,000 feet in elevation over the final 27 miles. The day was overcast and fairly humid, but the cloud cover kept the temperature at least a bit more comfortable. I was expecting to have to stay in a motel - there are no campgrounds in Oakridge - but luckily the town park had hosted a big group of bicyclists that weekend, an event called Mountain Bike Oregon, and a few of the bikers had gained permission to camp there one more night, so I (fellow biker) was allowed to pitch my tent also. The park was right alongside the Willamette River, and so I slept well amid the white noise of the rushing water.

Day 10 (Monday) - 74 miles from Oakridge to Delta Campground near Rainbow, Oregon. A truly wonderful day of riding on the Aufderheide Highway (forest service road 19), a scenic byway through the western Cascades that was nearly deserted: perhaps a dozen cars passed me all day. The road was converted from an old railroad line, so the long uphill grade was relatively easy, following a branch of the Willamette River upstream, and the deep forest scenery all along the way was spectacular. It was another overcast day - again it had sprinkled overnight - and finally cool, the temperature staying in the 60s, and the muted light served to enhance the experience as I slowly climbed through the damp, dark old-growth forest, moss growing from tree trunks and hanging from branches.


In the deep forest of the Aufderheide Highway

There were groves of Douglas firs hundreds of feet tall, and when I reached the top - Box Canyon Summit, elevation 3.728 ft.), an old sign explained that the forest was protected on behalf of the spotted owl. This, then, was ground zero for the environmental movement; and it made me realize that the issue of the spotted owl (perhaps the most famous case of the Endangered Species Act pitting environmentalists against logging interests) is really just a buzz word for preserving old-growth forests. If these rare owls prefer to nest in ancient, pitted trees, surely so do a whole array of other creatures. It's an entirely different ecosystem. Being in an old-growth forest in the Pacific Northwest is a special experience that has a whole different look, smell, and feel than being amid younger (smaller, hardier) trees.


Old-growth forest along the Aufderheide Highway


North of the summit, the road paralleled a branch of the McKensie River and then rose above the Cougar Reservoir, created by the Cougar Dam. After the climb I was taking a break, overlooking the reservoir, when a bald eagle flew right by, nearly eye-level to me, displaying tremendous command presence - seemingly owning its environment - as it speedily cruised along parallel to the water. It was the first time in all my travels that I'd ever seen a bald eagle, and I found it thrilling, sorry only that I didn't have my camera ready.


The Cougar Reservoir, where moments later a bald eagle flew by ...

I camped that night along the rushing McKensie after a truly memorable 68-mile ride, and then added six more riding to Rainbow for dinner, after which I slept well.

Day 11 (Tuesday) - 78 miles. Another cloudy and cool day in the western Cascades, not nearly as memorable as the day before because I was on more traveled roads: first Route 126, following the McKensie upstream, and then after climbing for 25 miles or so, much of it relatively easy, with just a few steep sections, following the Santiam River downstream, northwest to Detroit. The forecast was for rain overnight, so I was looking for a good place to hole up indoors. My solution, having been suggested by a bicyclist I met in Oakridge, was to spend the night at Breitenbush Hot Springs, a private retreat - very hippie/new agish - ten miles beyond Detroit. Reservations were required, so I called ahead to secure a place: $63 including three meals - the food all organic and vegetarian, served buffet style in a communal dining room. I arrived at 4:00 p.m. as the first raindrops started falling, and it sprinkled throughout the late afternoon and evening. Meanwhile my visit was tremendously restorative. I spent the two hours before dinner sampling the natural hot springs, first trying the "sacred pools" on one end of the grounds. Signs said clothing was optional, but nearly everyone was naked, and people of all ages and body shapes were enjoying the mineral waters in pools several feet deep lined with smooth rocks. The nicest of these was at the far end of the short walk; it overlooked the Breitenbush River, and it was designated a "silent pool," so no talking was allowed. I stripped down and stepped in, enjoying the cosmicity of the atmosphere, when all of a sudden I saw another bald eagle flying right above the river like the one the day before. No one else was noticing - all of my fellow bathers were lost in silent contemplation - so I had to resist my urge to shatter the silence, calling out "Bald Eagle!" or to stand up and start waving and pointing frantically, for fear of becoming an utter pariah. Instead, then, I just watched it soar past in silence, amid the rushing of the river and the misty sprinkle of raindrops.

Really, Breitenbush was a lovely experience. There were cold showers by the sacred pools, so I spent an hour or so bouncing back and forth between the hot baths and some cold soaks, finding the contrast invigorating. Similarly, at another end of the grounds, I tried the "spiral tubs," a circle of round, tiled pools of increasing temperature, the hottest of which was followed by a cold one. Again, liking the extremes, I switched between these two before heading up to dinner. The food was great and I slept well that night. My accommodation was a large tent mounted on a wood platform and with a tarp tied above it - cheaper than the dorm rooms and cabins that were also available. It rained steadily all night, and I was glad to be dry.

Day 12 - 85 miles from Breitenbush to Corbett in nearly constant, pouring rain. "You chose this," I kept telling myself. I knew the forecast was for heavy rain all day, I hadn't taken a day off since leaving San Francisco, and here I was at a lovely hippie enclave, warm, comfortable, and surrounded by friendly naked people. Why not spend another day here and wait out the weather? That's what I told myself I'd do overnight, but after another morning soak in the sacred pools before breakfast, I guess I felt I'd had the whole Breitenbush experience, and at times the rain was lightening from a steady downpour to a misty sprinkle. Also, I planned to take a few days off once I reached Corbett, so why not suck it up and press on. "No matter how miserable this day is," I told myself, "at the end of it you'll be inside, and you'll have time to recover." So after breakfast and then another hour of waffling, my thoughts ping-ponging between "C'mon, let's get go!" to "Why? Are you nuts?" I headed out. And in response the skies erupted. The first ten miles were a steep climb, so at least I kept warm, but the rain was relentless and I was thoroughly soaked. Under normal circumstances it would have been another lovely day of cycling. Like the ride two days before between Oakridge and Rainbow, I was on a virtually traffic-free forest service road through dense forest, misty clouds clinging to the surrounding peaks. But instead the day was a tough endurance test, as I rode nearly nonstop to stave of the chill. The rain stopped and the sky lightened once or twice for several minutes, but then once again the boom was lowered, drenching me anew, and it seemed to rain especially hard whenever I faced a steep downhill. The good news was the my mood held throughout the day as I kept telling myself the challenge of it was self-inflicted.

So that's it. After 12 days I'm in northernmost Oregon, taking a few days off from self-contained riding to rest up for the next leg, heading for Seattle.

Greetings from Weed, CA

Six days into my solo journey to Seattle, and it's hot hot hot! 103 degrees right now in Weed, elevation 3466 feet. A brief synopsis of the ride so far:

Day 1 - San Francisco (actually Pittsburg, CA, after taking the BART train out of town) to Sacramento: 74 miles, including a tour of downtown. A very flat ride beginning with a wonderful tailwind to Antioch, then a ride over the Antioch Bridge despite signs posted that bicycles were prohibited. There was no alternative, and a good shoulder on the bridge; nobody stopped me, and poeple I talked to afterward (including Steve Rubenstein, who suggested it) were surprised by the signs. It was a great way to go. After reaching the town of Rio Vista, I had a wonderful ride north within the Sacramento River delta. For a long stretch the road ran atop a levee, offering great views of the surrounding farmland.


Sacramento Valley farm, viewed from the levee road

Day 2 - Sacramento to Colusa: 69 miles through the Sacramento Valley with a few peaks of the river along the way. Again a flat ride with headwinds through incredibly fertile fields growing a tremendous variety of vegetables, fruits, nuts and grains. I was able to identify, in no particular order, tomatoes, wanuts, plums, watermelons, cucumbers, sunflowers, safflower, rice, corn, and alfalfa. The day grew very hot, though, approaching 100 degrees, and I was told the next several days would be even hotter in the valley. I camped at the state part in Colusa, swam in the Sacramento River, and went to the local 7:00 p.m. showing of Hancock, enjoying the air conditioning and finding thwe movie entertaining.


Squash field


Sunflowers


Plum tomatoes that didn't reach market


Day 3 - Colusa to Forest Ranch: 67 miles. The first 45 miles was more of the same - riding in the Sacramento Valley north as far as Chico. All the same fruits and vegetables plus a nearly ripe field of squash and some lovely almond groves, the trees planted in perfect rows.


Walnut grove

There were even more rice fields today, attracting lots of herons and adding humidity to the air; I could feel the moisture on my skin as I rode past them.


Rice field (with heron in distance)

Reaching Chico, though I had a problem. It was noon and already 100 degrees, and I had to start climbing into the mountains with no clear destination: the campgrounds seemed too far. Chico was the first town with triple-digit elevation, and the first town, Forest Ranch, which had only a general store, was 15 miles away, and 2,000 feet in elevation. The climb there was brutal; the road had no shade, and by the time I reached there, I was thoroughly exhausted. I bought food for dinner and the next day's breakfast, but with no choice but to press on, after a long break I kept going. In the end I only made it six more miles, climbing another 1,000 feet. Reaching a fire station, I begged for mercy, and after checking up the chain of command, the firefighters obliged, allowing me to shower and pitch a tent on the premises.

Day 4 - Forest Ranch to Childs Meadow - 44 miles. An easier day, although with more tough climbing, rising from 3,000 to nearly 5,000 feet with no services en route (all campgrounds closed due to fires in the area and the one store I expected to be open also closed) and the temperature topping out in the high-80s. I'd camped at Childs Meadow four years ago. It's a lovely spot, and I couldn't go farther. There are very few services in this area of mountains, and to continue I would have had to ride another 35 miles through Lassen Park, which for me was impossible (see day 5).

Day 5 - Childs Meadow to McArthur Burney State Park - 82 miles. Riding through Lassen Volcanic National Park meant a climb of 3,500 feet from Childs Meadow, as the road summit was at 8,500. It was a beautiful climb, though, with views of Mt. Lassen that are much more impressive riding south to north (I'd gone the other way in '04). From there I descended to 3,000 feet, so it was downhill nearly all the rest of the day, but once again I was in tough heat, the temperature about 100.


Climbing Mt. Lassen


Atop Mt. Lassen - just me and my bicycle


Day 6 - Hot and hilly through deep pine forest (as it has been all the way since Forest Ranch) and with views of Mt. Shasta looming ahead. The good news is I'm heading north. Hopefully Oregon will be cooler!

Greetings from San Diego, CA

The Tour de Rubenstein has reached the end of its road after our two-day ride from Los Angeles to San Diego and a drive into Mexico yesterday, through Tijuana to reach Rosarito, 20 miles south, for a few hours of sightseeing and relaxing on the beach. Here's a recap of the essentials:

Day 9 - Monday, August 4: Los Angeles to San Clemente, 97 miles.
Day 10 - Tuesday, August 5: San Clemente to Coronado, 77 miles.My 10-day totals: Miles biked: 562. Miles missed (driving support van): 90. Flat tires: 0. Runs along the beach: 2 (L.A,, Coronado) Swims in the ocean: 7 (Santa Cruz, Cambria (coldest), Ventura, Malibu, Coronado (twice), Rosarito). Best wildlife sightings: sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals, elephant seals, dolphins, pelicans (lots), ostriches (at Ostrich Land in Buellton), a roadrunner.

Day 9 was a long, hard day, first weaving through Los Angeles streets from the Hotel Rubenstein (Steve's mother, Florence's house, where we took a day off on Sunday) to Marina del Rey. From there we rode the long bike path along the ocean to Hermosa Beach, where we took a break, and on to Redondo Beach, then traveled on quiet roads with nice wide bike lanes, following the coast through expensive neighborhoods in Palos Verdes Estates and Rolling Hills.


Bike path at Hermosa Beach


Palos Verdes Estates

Actually we mistakenly stayed along the coast too long, heading toward a dead end on the San Pedro peninsula, but we all enjoyed the long switchback climb that resulted: the grade was easy and it was our toughest climb since leaving Big Sur. A winding downhill led us into Lomita, and we then rode through the ugliest stretch of the whole trip - 5+ miles on Anaheim Street through a seedy area of auto junkyards, fast-food joints, and bodegas, the Port of Los Angeles off to our right, to reach the city of Long Beach, the downtown area of which was much more upscale, featuring an array of chain stores and restuarants near the waterfront: Borders bookstore, P.F. Changs, etc. By then it was after 1:00 p.m. and we'd ridden more than 50 miles to escape L.A. County.


Port of Los Angeles, approaching Long Beach

It was also hot in Long Beach: this was our sunniest day of the trip, with little of the coastal fog that we'd been encountering, and we realized we still had a long way to go. But a strong, cool coastal breeze kept us from overheating as the rest of the day took us through a series of attractive beach towns - Seal Beach, Sunset Beach, Huntington Beach, Newport Beach, Laguna Beach, Dana Point and San Clemente. Offshore oil rigs were visible from the north end of Huntington Beach, but the water looked clean and the white sandy beach inviting. Overall I liked the look of Huntington Beach the best, as further south the beaches were more crowded.

Huntington Beach, CA

The ride also became draining as it was very stop-and-go - lots of traffic lights through each town - the route became hilly, and we had to stay alert for opening car doors as we rode between lines of parked cars and the heavy flow of traffic. By the time we reached the Hampton Inn at San Clemente, it was nearly 6:30 p.m., 11 hours or so after we'd left Los Angeles. But overall it was a fine day. Southern California is certainly more crowded, but the beaches are beautiful, the ocean inviting, and the air warm and breezy, so there are plenty of compensations. Some of the streches had traffic that was surprisingly light, and nearly all of the route had either bike paths separating us for the road or wide, well-marked bike lanes. Bicyclists' safety and enjoyment is very much kept in mind.

Day 10 - our last day of riding - was similar. We had a quiet morning, riding in cloudy weather through the Camp Pendleton military base. The northern end of the base was limited solely to bicyclists, and it was there that I saw a roadrunner, which dashed off before I could aim my camera. South of the checkpoint we shared the road with a few military vehicles, and along the way there were heartfelt handmade signs welcoming officers back from duty overseas. When we finally emerged from the base and rode through Oceanside on Route 101, our ride from then on resembled much of the day before, as we passed through a long strip of beach towns, dealing with streets lights and moderate traffic, and having periodic views of the surfers and sunbathers along scenic stretches of sandy ocean beaches. I particularly liked Carlsbad, the first town south of Oceanside, but Leucadia, Encinitas, Cardiff, and Solana Beach were all similarly attractive. The traffic was heaviest in Del Mar, home of a major thoroughbred race track, and after a hot climb through the Torrey Pines State Reserve, the sun finally emerging from the clouds, we wound our way along elegant coastal streets through La Jolla, in the poshest residential section I'd seen since Malibu. David Frankel was also particularly struck by La Jolla, saying that for his wife's sake (he's not a beach person) he'd like to retire there.


La Jolla, CA


House in La Jolla

We emerged from the residential section onto a busy main street, but then escaped the traffic by turning onto another beachfront bike path that took us to Mission Beach, a bustling spot just a few miles from downtown San Diego. Another bike path took us into the downtown harbor area, where we caught the hourly ferry to Coronado. Our final destination was the home of Susan and Randy Bookout in a gated community across the street from Silver Strand State Beach. Susan is the older sister of Big Rube rider Alice Nelson, and she was exceedingly gracious in hosting our whole group of seven riders, and then six of the seven for a second night. I rode ahead to the house, champing at the bit to get in the ocean after riding past so many beautiful beaches, and while was body surfing, some dolphins passed by, swimming southward about twenty yards beyond the breakers. It was a wonderful end to a great ten-day bike ride.


San Diego harbor


San Diego Bay

Yesterday we celebrated with our drive to Rosarito, where the surf was rougher and the water colder and beautifully clear. Before swimming, though, we walked from the Rosarito Beach Hotel to a local arts and crafts mercado featuring nearly 100 stalls of merchandise, where big-hearted Carol Tremble spent at least an hour buying gifts for her loved ones, refusing to bargain with the merchants, insisting on paying them the price they first quoted. A typical purchase went like this:

Carol: How much?
Merchant: For thees? $30.
Carol: Okay then. I'll take it.
Merchant: How about $25?
Carol: No, you said thirty. Stick to your guns! That's what I'm I'm paying you.
The merchant is shocked.
David Frankel (aside, sotto voce): Carol, he said twenty-five.
Carol (aside to David, loudly): But he said thirty first, so that's that! (Quieter by one decibel): He needs the money.


The arts and crafts mercado in Rosarito


One of the stalls at the mercado


Carol buying a hat for Eric

Later she bought one of the stack of 20 or so hats that another merchant was wearing, soliciting sales on the beach. All the merchants seemed Mexicans of Indian descent. I was struck by the hardness and expressiveness of their faces; and heading back to Coronado, we were all amazed at the cottage industry at Tijuana border, where merchants offer an array of food products and gifts to the captive audience of vehicles waiting to pass through U.S. Customs.




Salesmen working the line for U.S. Customs in Tijuana

The wait was an hour long but very entertaining, and Carol and David acted extremely conspicuously when they hopped out of the van and danced the polka while Steve played Carol's favorite song, "Ya Sure, Ya Betcha" from a CD she bought two years ago in Minnesota.

The Tour de Rubenstein 2008 Rolls On Toward Mexico ...

Carol posing next to our decorated van


Riding in the Los Alamos Valley between Orcutt and Lompoc, CA



I took these profile photos in Cayucos, CA.

David Frankel from Washington, D.C.


Carol Tremble from Vermont


Steve Rubenstein from San Francisco


Maria Nardella from Washington State


Eric Knudson from Seattle


Alice Nelson from Rumson, NJ


Lenny and Louis from San Francisco


Me among the artichokes near Castroville, CA


Carol and me on the Big Dipper in Santa Cruz


After this trip I'm getting new shoes!