Soon, the loan karaoke singer exhausted his repertoire and my new buddy Laeth got permission to play a song on the guy's computer. Laeth had a specific song in mind: one of the other guys in the group, Kerry, was a small time musician. He'd made a CD of cycling songs that he gave out to people he met on the road, in hopes that they would spread the word and ultimately increase Kerry's sales on itunes. I sat back, drank my beer in the sunshine and chatted with these new friends while "Chicks in Spandex" played on the speakers. This is what cycle tourists dream of.
Laeth wasn't done working his magic though. Another random guy sitting nearby caught Laeth and started asking questions about the trip we were on. Laeth chatted with this stranger for quite awhile before he came back to the table. A bit later, the stranger came over and laid forty dollars on the table. "I'm buying you guys dinner," he said.
Lunch for a solo rider is one thing, but dinner for four guys!? This was unbelievable. He went on to explain that he was inspired by what we were doing and really admired it. He wanted to support us. And his generosity didn't stop there. While we were waiting for our burgers to be made, the stranger returned, saying, "You guys need desert!" His kids came back a few minutes later with a selection of ice cream bars for us to enjoy. He offered to meet us a few days later farther south and take us out for pizza too, and when he learned that one of us (Brandon) was raising money for a charity that got disabled kids out bicycling, he made a donation to the cause. Unfortunately, the timing didn't work out for pizza down the road, but I'll always remember that man's enthusiasm for our efforts and his generosity.
I had a grand time eating dinner with the three guys, and we all set up our camps together. This happened to be labor day, and everybody had returned home from their long weekend leaving the campground completely empty. Well, almost. There were a dozen English cyclists that camped at the site across from ours and they were having a party. They had beer and whisky, and steaks roasting on a fire. We joined them for awhile, and this seemed to be their normal routine. They were all in their twenties and on vacation from jobs in England. They were cycling the whole pacific coast, and they were having a good time doing it!
From Standish Hickey, the four of us pedaled South together. Thanks to Laeth, Kerry, and Brandon's welcoming spirit, we were now a team working together to get to San Francisco in three days. Although I had been reluctant to join them at first, I had to admit that it was great to have people to ride with after so much time by myself.
We started off the day with a thousand foot climb up to Leggett, than had a nice descent as we made our way back to the coast. During the course of the trip I had started to delude myself with thoughts that I was good at descending. These guys quickly showed me that was far from true. They flew down the hill, gracefully gliding around turns. I wasn't even tempted to try to keep up; I used my brakes plenty and didn't catch up until they had to stop for construction near the bottom of the hill! Fortunately our paces were reasonably similar apart from the descents, so we were able to stick together pretty well.
South of Leggett, highway one along the California coast was a cycling paradise to rival Oregon's. The road had light traffic, and rolled over hills one or two hundred feet high. The top of each hill offered a rewarding view looking out over cliffs that dropped straight to the sea. Each climb was followed by an exhilarating, curvy descent back to the edge of the sea.
We cruised down the road, enjoying the sights and making our first stop in the little town of Westport. We stopped at the only grocery store in town, which had disappointingly little food and disappointingly high prices. I was waiting outside with Laeth while Kerry and Brandon were still in the store when a local woman came by, and told us that the tomatoes and vegetables sitting in boxes outside the store were from the community garden and therefore free. "You should go to the community garden too," she continued, "everyone is welcome to pick vegetables there." I was a little unbelieving, but she insisted: "it's for everyone," she repeated.
Well, that was sufficient for us. Laeth and I, followed by Kerry, helped ourselves to a couple tomatoes each and then headed up to the community garden. The tomatoes were extraordinary; we ate them like apples. On the way to the garden, a local on the side of the road struck up a conversation with Kerry, so he stayed behind while Laeth and I went on to the garden.
The garden was small but productive. There were beats, carrots, and various leafy greens. Laeth and I picked a few, watered the plants (this was Laeth's idea...he is a tremendously thoughtful person), and talked to Kerry when he caught up to us. The local he'd met had invited us over...he had a small winery, and was happy to share. We reconnected with Brandon and headed down to the man's house.
As it turned out, this guy may have been the most unusual character I met on the entire trip. His house was a museum...a man-cave museum. It had ancient arcade machine, record players, a megalodon tooth and who knows what else. There were a couple guys around, clearly in party mode.
We learned that they had only met each other a day or two before while diving for abalone. I didn't know what an abalone was, but they told me. It's similar to a clam, but enormous and rare. There is no commercial harvest anymore, but a few can be harvested each year for private consumption. Apparently, there is a black market for these things where they sell for $500 a piece.
I also learned that "ab diving" is tremendously dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. It's illegal to use scuba gear, so guys simply hold their breath and dive up to 30 feet deep to find these things. Occasionally, people get tangled in kelp or lost in cracks and drown. Ten years ago a great white shark bit a diver's head off. The owner of the man cave had been diving off the coast of Westport for decades though, and seemed full of experience.
We were served wine and abalone, and told stories about the dives and our hosts' lives. "Can you believe my wife left me!?" exclaimed our host at one point. "She left because I always had company over and the party never stopped...well it's been twenty years and the party is still going." That certainly appeared to be true. We'd passed by in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, and he'd welcomed us in to join his party.
We hung out there for an hour or two before eventually insisting that we needed to get back on the road. He was a terrific host: fun, welcoming, and generous...and with three other friends I felt comfortable there. He seemed to be living his dream.
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