WATCH OUT! It is a long story this time and the last one before Margit and I will see each other again on Sunday. We will be touring for two weeks from San Francisco to Los Angeles, but I won't be writing any blogs then. Just some private time with my lady:-). In three weeks time I will be on the road again, resuming my journey (and stories) in Cusco, Peru.

What is there to be said about a man and his bike? A bike is a means of getting to your destination. It has allowed me to have all the wonderful experiences I have had so far. But what happens in the mean time, when you sit on your bike for many hours a day? Often you reach a stage where you don't really realize anymore that you are pedalling. Instead, thoughts come and go, and in that way it is kind of meditative (at least for me it is sometimes). Something else that happens regularly are memories popping up in your mind and you re-experiencing these memories. A couple of days ago I suddenly found myself bursting into laughter when reliving the last night around the fire in Portland with Markus, Coleen, Dave and Randi. Dave was reciting a line of a comedian which (at least for me:-)) took some time to sink in: 'I used to be indecisive but now I am not so sure anymore..'. Funny! And then there was this story about a biker that Louap and Matt (two bike friends I ran into several times) met on top of a hill one day when it was getting dark. They were about to start the descent when they noticed this guy did not have any lights nor brakes: he was swerving from left to right to slow himself down and he used the soles of his shoes as brake pads on the asphalt..Apart from that his equipment looked like it could fall off anytime. Louap and Matt were afraid he would be ran over by some car. But, they never saw him again..

While reliving memories like these, I am often vigorously woken up by a noisy truck, or somebody horning really loudly just to irritate cyclists. Luckily, the majority of the drivers respect bikes on the road and will pass you with caution. But every once in a while you have this loonatic trying to prove something (I still did not find out what exactly). One of the more scary moments on a bike must be when entering a tunnel. Although cars are often warned for the presence of cyclists in a tunnel (some tunnels have signalling lights at the entrance of a tunnel that are triggered by pushing a button), the sound of car engines in a tunnel leaves you completely disoriented. The problem is you can not really make out if the noise bouncing back from the tunnel walls is coming from the traffic approaching you or from that behind you. When I was passing through one of those tunnels the other day (I always start pedalling faster in order to be out of there as quickly as possible), somebody found it necessary to start horning the entire length of the tunnel. I almost panicked, thinking an accident was about to happen. Not having a clue as to where the car was coming from, I stopped in the middle of the tunnel, frozen. Eventually, I could make out some youngsters in a car at the approaching lane. They must have thought it was funny, for me it was terrifying. Boy, was I glad to be out of that tunnel! Now, a bike can also be some sort of defense. Last week, on my second night in California, I managed to find a camping just before sunset and while pitching my tent, I hang my food together with my toiletries in a tree (clearly not far enough from my tent). That night, at 1.30 (I looked at my bike's clock), I was woken up by a dog barking loudly. My tent, being the only one at a camping full of trailers, was tucked away at the far corner of the camping premises next to the forest trees, as appointed by the camping host. A clear snapping of branches could be heard coming from the forest. Well, I can tell you I was scared then and there and I hoped for the animal to take off. But it didn't. Then the dog left, leaving me alone with what could only be a bear. My breath was caught in my throat and I could feel my heart pounding. I had my knife and mace close at hand and decided to make a loud noise by banging my pans. However, that did not scare the bear away. I did not see any other option than to leave my tent right away! I had already put on some clothes, unlocked my bike and retreated to the camping facilities, while holding my bike as a defense barrier between me and the bear in the forest (at least that gave me some sense of security). This time I was happy I chose to stay in an official camp site as opposed to sleeping out in the bush. Although I reached safety (I stayed in the laundry room) I did not close an eye anymore that night. The caretaker found me there around 3 o'clock in the early moning, stretched on a hard wooden ironing table. Apparently, he always got up early to clean. He said two bears were spotted two days ago in the early morning not too far from where I was camping. Around 4 o'clock he thought it should be safe again to go back to my tent, as bears do not tend to linger too long at one spot. He accompanied me to be sure I was safe. As I checked the tree where I had hung the bag of food and toiletries I found out it was gone! At the 'crime scene' we found bear poo too. 'Well, that bear sure got what he was looking for!' the caretaker said and told me I was safe now and should get some (remaining) hours of sleep. Being all fired up, the last thing I was able of doing was sleeping. So I started writing my blog:-). Looking back, it was unlikely the bear would actually have come up to the tent since I had put all odour containing items in the tree. Then again, he could have: black bears sometimes come up to a tent just to sniff it. Well, that kind of curiosity is just too much for me!! The next morning I went back into the forest trying to retrieve what was left of my toiletries. I must have looked like a rather bad imitation of Indiana Jones with a wooden stick in one hand, pepper spray in the other hand and a whistle around my neck. But no such luck. After finding out my ordeal, people in the campground were very nice: I was invited over for breakfast with some members of a local club (which I forgot the name of) who had reserved the communal room for the day. They resupplied me on a couple of toiletry items I had lost and prepared lunch for the road.

Now that incident with the bear happened just after passing the town of Klamath (northern California), where the locals (First Nation and others alike) were playing slots in the local gas station. I cannot remember seeing something like that before. It looked more like a worn down casino than a proper gas station. Many of the people inside were covered in tattoos, making me feel like a complete stranger (which naturally I was). Klamath was one of the first towns in California I passed coming from Crater Lake. It was not my initial plan to visit the lake but people had been telling me great stories about it so I figured to fit it in. So I ended up cycling back inland, going up higher mountains again and into the heat (over 40 degrees in the sun) towards Grants Pass. There I could stay with Bert and her family. I had met her and a friend in Cannon Beach in northern Oregon where I stopped for a cup of coffee. Bert and her husband Dennis had adopted four boys (!). I got to meet two of them, Tom and Andrew (who was quite the piano player). After nine days of cycling I was longing for a day of relaxing and not cycling. So I agreed to join Bert on her creative workshop for older people in a care home. I was introduced as Bert's assistent but they soon found out I was a novice in the field of art-design. That afternoon taught me two things: 1. my creative skills are not as bad as I always thought; 2. old ladies are the worst gossippers..

For two nights I ate as a king at their house. But I still wanted to go to Crater Lake, so I decided to stretch my luck by going hitchhiking. I soon found out that was easier said than done. People passing didn't even seem to notice me. I started picking at myself for not having rented a car when this big truck pulled over. The man inside told me I could ride with him and his wife to his home town about 20 km up the road. We talked a bit and I explained them the details of my trip and that this was the fullfillment of my childhood's dream. After they dropped me at a good spot in town, they wished me good luck, only to be back again after a couple of minutes. He (his name was Jason) offered to take me all the way to Crater Lake! He said that I had traveled too far and had come too close not to see it. That was just a huge favor, since it was still another 60 miles to the lake and he had planned other stuff to do. He called in his nephew who joined us. So I got to Crater Lake which was awesome. The lake (in the vulcano crater/caldera) is merely fed by rainwater, snow and ice giving the water a distinct deep blue color, as if looking right into the blue sky. Apart from the vistas we told each other stories and shared experiences. He had been playing professional baseball for the San Francisco Giants for 5 years but was a really down to earth guy. Apparently just after dropping me he had called his neighbour who has a helicopter. Jason told me he would have taken me over Crater Lake flying no problem! However, he was working that day so he couldn't take me up. I was awestruck.. Just half an hour ago I was standing at the road feeling sorry for myself, now somebody that didn't even really know me was trying to arrange a helicopter flight. No, I would not have declined! One of the things Jason told me was that he was a bit anxious to travel to Europe with his family for holidays, as he thought that many Europeans would not treat them nicely, for the mere fact of being Americans. I told him that as far as I knew, most people (fortunately) can and do distinguish between American foreign policy with which many disagree (as do many Americans) and individual Americans. He seemed to be somewhat relieved by that. All in all, Crater Lake turned out to be a great day!

That brings me to the last couple of days, many of which I spent (mainly) cycling. I had to cover some ground and distance as I rode my bike through different Redwood forests. They are majestic forests with the oldest trees being over 2000 years old. The coastal Redwoods can grow very tall - over 100 meters - due to the favorable weather conditions (temperate climate with sufficient water through rainfall and fog); the biggest stems have diameters up to 8 meters. It was a special place to be at and it smelled great (fresh and healthy!). Just after the Humboldt Redwoods I passed a town called Garberville that is home to a large number of hippies. And with hippies I mean hippies! You know, how I pictured them in the 1960's and 1970's. There was little contemporary about them (and with that I mean cleanly washed and shaved but with a fresh, hippie-like spirit). I couldn't help thinking back of Nick's story and his tree saving hippies.. I saw them on either side of the town trying to get a ride and in the town itself smoking marijuana and cigarettes. That is exactly the reason why they are drawn to Garberville: a lot of cannabis is grown in the area. Some of them find a temporary job in the area cutting marijuana plants. Officially, marijuana can only be used for medical purposes (in the state of California that is). But logically its use goes beyond that. There is this episode of Southpark where people cripple themselves on purpose just to get a doctor's prescription.. Of the many people you see living on the streets, some are actually homeless, others are panhandling (asking for money) even to sometimes pay for their mortgage. To fight some of these 'fakers' some cities like Reno (Nevada) require people to have a special permit for panhandling. From the Redwoods and the hippies I went back to the coast again, following highway 1. Beautiful scenery again but also foggy each morning, sometimes lasting an entire day. And I had to pay close attention to the traffic as the shoulder (vluchtstrook) was often absent.

Well, I am in Sausalito now, only a stone's throw away from San Francisco. That means I made it through the first leg of my journey! And I am quite proud of that:-). Out of the last 7 weeks I cycled for 38 days covering 3000 km and had 10 rest days in between. My average daily distance has gone up from 65 kmto almost 80 km per day. That means my knee has kept up well, giving me confidence for the rest of my trip. The longest day so far has been over 7 (effective) hours sitting on my bike, whereas the largest distance I have covered was 125 km (or clicks as they say in Canada:-)).

Big hugs from San Francisco!