When a geezer decked out in neon, a fat German dude on a folding bike, and a hypercaffeinated hiker all tell you you are going the wrong way, perhaps they are right. There is a very good reason the guidebooks describe the the Pacific Coast bike route from North to South (as if there were no other possible way): the wind will kick your ass otherwise. After 3.5 days of grinding our way along the most beautiful stretch of highway in North America, we agree.
It wasn't all grunting, straining, and quads begging for a rest. We had the great privilege of meeting "Bucky" at Morro Bay State Park. This very sociable chap with a desert boonie hat circa Desert Storm was peddling around the Western US (from Alaska, originally) with a solar paneled trailer containing a dog, bongos, a guitar, and a hearty supply of frothy beverages (no sleeping bag, oddly enough). He makes a living as a starving poet/videographer who films "reality videos" of his dog in places where no dogs are allowed. Not a very lucrative career, but when you are a bike-riding homeless vagabond, money is a matter of small importance.
Commando camping: the true spirit of the Pioneers condensed into a night of crashing in a veritable rain forest of ferns and waterfalls. About as pristine as a primitive campsite can be within 200 yards of a major thoroughfare. The sort of setting that makes you forget you are halfway through a 215 mile ride slurping down instant mashed potatoes and ramen noodles. All in the name of a good time!
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