Friday The 13th

Friday, July 13, 2007 - Day 22

Distance Traveled - 41 miles

First of all, I want to say that I'm sorry for the lack of posts for the last week. I haven't been on my computer for a while, with just a short bit in San Francisco to figure out where I am going for the next week. There isn't much in the way of towns out here. The ones that I do pass through are tiny. I could ride through many of them in a matter of a minute. I have pictures for these days, and I'll post them soon, and I'll try to fill in some details of what has happened. That will come later, I promise.

Now I'm not a particularly superstitious person. Every now and then I'll avoid some ladders or toss a little salt over my shoulder, but I don't generally subscribe to that kind of stuff. So today was Friday the 13th. I was aware of that this morning, but I really didn't think too much about it. Actually, it's funny, if you really want to know what I was thinking a lot about this morning, it was that song "Black Velvet" sung by Alanah Myles. I listened to it yesterday. Not gonna lie, I like that song. Anyway, I couldn't get that one line out of my head - 'Black velvet and that little boy smile. Black velvet and that slow, southern style.' I was just thinking about the slow southern style and how I have respect for it. Staying cool when things get hairy and just generally taking your time and doing things right, not rushing.

So I had that line in my head throughout most of the day. I wanted to work on staying cool, on having that slow, southern style. So I was taking my time rolling out of camp. I had to wait for my clothes to dry in the sun anyway, as I washed them in the sink last night. So I chatted with Ken while waiting and getting my stuff together. He's interesting. He reminds me of a cross between David Letterman and Norm McDonald, mostly on the Norm McDonald side. He seems a bit crazy, but in a good way. He's had every sort of job from bus driver to olive picker to now a dock worker. He knows how to get by.

I rolled out of camp around 12:30, headed north. Not 5 minutes had gone by before I got a broken spoke. Not a big deal, I still had 2 spare spokes. This would be my first roadside spoke replacement. Pulled over at the first spot with ample spare concrete, unloaded the gear, removed the wheel, and went to work. To replace a spoke, one has to remove the tire and tube, discard the broken spoke, thread the new one through, screw on the nipple at the rim, then true or straighten the wheel by adusting spoke tension. It's not the easiest thing to do roadside using just the brakepads as guides. Usually you have a truing stand that allows you to precisely true the wheel. I did the best I could, which wasn't bad. Put tire and tube back on, replaced the wheel, adjusted chain tension, and remounted the bags. Took me just over an hour for the whole operation. I thought that wasn't too bad. Set on my way after a few goldfish crackers.

About an hour later I stopped to see if I had cell service. Set my bike next to a no trespassing sign at the entrance to a residential road. As I sat there listening to messages, POP! There goes the rear tube. Figured it was from a thorn or sharp stick or something. Flipped the bike over without taking the bags off and checked out the tube. it was from the rim. Bastard. So I patched it up, pumped it up. Seemed to hold air. Just before I got to fixing the flat, security came around and hassled me for being there. I told him I had a flat, and the guy told me to move along as soon as I got it fixed. What is this place. I wasn't on some person's property, just off highway 1 at the entrance to a small subdivision. Must be old republicans up there or something. They had those stupid signs at every road. I wonder if someone called security on me? I don't think I look too particularly suspicious or scary with a yellow and orange bike and a polka-dotted helmet.

Set out again after the repair, but didn't get more than a half mile before the rear tire lost all its air again. Pulled over at the next street, with the same no trespassing sign, and began repairs. This time I put a new tube on there. That seemed to work. I guess it was a bad patch job. It was a while before the next one. It must have been around 7pm. I knew I was about 7 miles from camp, maybe less. Another flat on the rear. Pulled over, this time in front of a cemetary. Creepy. Same deal, the puncture was from the rim, not a nail or thorn. Decided to try patching again, this time taking some extra care to do it right. Patched it up, pumped it up and waited for a little bit. Everything seemed fine. Rolled off, but I stopped after a quarter mile to check the pressure. Good. Kept going. Quarter mile later it's all flat again. Right in front of a cemetary again. This is not cool. I kept my cool, but what a bitch. That was just how it was going to be. I was fed up with fixing flats, so it was walking for me. I wasn't sure how far from the campsite I was, but I thought it was less than five miles.

Off I walked. I think it ended up being just over 3 miles. Took me an hour to walk the rest of the way. It was misty. Crazy coincidences. It was a foggy day most of the day, but it was particularly weird that whenever I had to stop, it wasn't too foggy. Then, whenever I pulled over, while doing repairs, the fog would roll in off the water, thick and heavy. It was a dense fog, especially as the evening matured. I swear it happened like that every time. After the last flat, the fog rolled in really thick. The air was moist and covered me with dew. I was quite moist by the time I got to camp. It was just before dark. I had to finish setting up my hammock, on the ground, in the dark.

Also, realized that the stove fuel I bought earlier today, although it is the same size cannister and the same type of fuel, does not fit my stove. Son of a bitch! You gotta have the exact brand. So it was a can of cold chili for dinner. Whatever I just wanted to end the day, get to sleep, and start a new day. I couldn't help thinking about all the ominous happenings or sightings of the day. I saw two dead deer and at least 3 dead birds on the side of the road. As I was walking through Manchester, a little town, most of the time on the right hand side there were these really ominous dead-looking trees. They were something almost out of a Tim Burton movie. I was just waiting for something really awful to happen.

The campsite isn't that great. Hiker/biker section is a small patch of not so flat land. No trees. The bathroom is a hike away and doesn't have a sink or paper towels. I'll have to fix my flat in the morning then get some supplies at the bike shop at Fort Bragg. It's the next big town along the way. I hear they have a decent bike shop. I hope this last tube will get me there.


the first stop, not a half mile out of camp


brand new spoke - the third


i couldn't resist taking a picture of this. i find it so interesting


these signs were on every road that turned off the highway. i figured it must be a bunch of old republicans. maybe they are some cult or something.


this was the best part of the day. i considered just going down there and sleeping on the sand. one day i want to make sweet love down there. interested partners - you know how to reach me...



the third flat and fourth repair stop of the day. the first of two graveyards that I stopped in front of


these cows were awesome. maybe it curiousity about the helmet, but i like to think they were drawn by my natural charisma and leadership qualities. whatever it was, they felt the need to be as close to me as possible. some of them walked down from the top of that hill.


everything just seemed weird today


not much of a town

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Why you no call?

Dre

Holy shit, [Otis], I thought you were toast. You have to post/return phone calls more regularly than this. Glad you're still kickin. Give me a call, I have many a friend up the coast. Safe travels.