It was still dark when we left Ragged Point but early morning sunlight brightened the horizon. Four members of the San Luis Obispo Bicycle Club embarked on a bike tour to Big Sur on Highway 1 to get a taste of the Tour of California’s Stage 4, from Seaside to San Luis Obispo.
Reverse Alpenglow painted the western clouds in shades of pink and orange as dawn broke. No cars passed; we owned the road in the early morning.
The air temperature along the coast was warmer than it had been when I drove through Cambria. Occasional breaths of cooler air caressed us as we passed tiny canyon inlets. The rocky hillside was littered with clumps of pampas grass.
We had a beautiful clear morning with a three-quarter moon hanging halfway down the sky. A gray fog bank sat on the horizon. White and purple morning glories polka-dotted the rocky hillside and flowering yucca plants lit up the slopes like candles. A thousand feet below, long-plumed mare’s tails streamed off the crests of breaking waves.
The only sounds were the hum of the tires, the whir of the chain, and early morning birdsong. We shared the highway with roadrunners and cottontail rabbits. The bunnies darted in erratic zigzag patterns and the roadrunners took flight as we approached.
Chunks of sedimentary rock on the pavement reminded me that Highway 1 is built across the foot of a mountain range that is constantly trying to return to the sea.
California’s legislature designated Highway 1 as an official state bicycle route in 1990, based partly on its being a "challenging route that passes some of the nation’s most beautiful scenery." It is beautiful and it is challenging–we climbed more than 8,000 feet during our seven-hour journey, pedaling past redwood forests and Monterey pines, agate-studded beaches, sea rocks painted white with guano, barking sea lions, and hawks that hovered above foam-stitched breakers peering deep into the water looking for breakfast.
When we descended to sea level at Willow Creek, the iodine-and-salt smell of the ocean–fish and floating kelp–washed over us. I heard sea lions barking and saw a pair of them on an offshore.jpg)
rock , facing each other in pinniped conversation.
From the crossing at Limekiln Creek, Cone Peak rises three miles inland. It is a mile high and represents the steepest elevation change on the west coast of America.
We climbed the last hill into Lucia past a high rock slope on the right that is covered with black chain link netting designed to confine falling rocks and protect bicyclists.
We chatted briefly at the store with Persay Bryant, who described himself as a thespian and expressed his philosophy of life by saying, "I am content in whatever state I’m in." At that moment he was in the state of California in a state of sobriety.
North of Lucia, rolling hills provided intermittent views of the coastline. At Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, McWay Creek dropped 60 feet over a rock ledge, the only waterfall in California that descends directly into the ocean.
As the morning wore on, traffic increased. Shoulder width on Highway 1 varies from several feet to a few inches. Whenever we heard a car coming, we pulled as far to the right as we could and made room to share the road.
Only one motorist talked to us, a passenger in a dirty brown Volvo who shouted something as he whizzed by. I didn’t hear what he said but it sounded as if he was complimenting our riding technique or our colorful jerseys or our magnificently muscled legs.
We climbed to a summit at Nepenthe, then a long descent past Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park into.jpg)
Big Sur and Bob Robinson’s Fernwood Resort. Bob had a big barbecue/smoker going out front and was cooking chicken, sausage, pork tenderloin, roast beef and ham plus baked potatoes, mushrooms and corn–all we could eat for $9.99. I don’t think we put him out of business but we tried.
The wind picked up on the way back and though it was mostly coming from behind us, erratic side gusts added excitement to the final roller coaster descent into Ragged Point.
At the end of the ride, we rested and had a beer at the Ragged Point restaurant and watched the end of a wedding ceremony in the garden below. Pat suggested that we ask them to start over so we could see the beginning, but instead we sat and watched the happy couple toast their first toast and dance their first dance.
Reverse Alpenglow painted the western clouds in shades of pink and orange as dawn broke. No cars passed; we owned the road in the early morning.
The air temperature along the coast was warmer than it had been when I drove through Cambria. Occasional breaths of cooler air caressed us as we passed tiny canyon inlets. The rocky hillside was littered with clumps of pampas grass.
We had a beautiful clear morning with a three-quarter moon hanging halfway down the sky. A gray fog bank sat on the horizon. White and purple morning glories polka-dotted the rocky hillside and flowering yucca plants lit up the slopes like candles. A thousand feet below, long-plumed mare’s tails streamed off the crests of breaking waves.
The only sounds were the hum of the tires, the whir of the chain, and early morning birdsong. We shared the highway with roadrunners and cottontail rabbits. The bunnies darted in erratic zigzag patterns and the roadrunners took flight as we approached.
Chunks of sedimentary rock on the pavement reminded me that Highway 1 is built across the foot of a mountain range that is constantly trying to return to the sea.
California’s legislature designated Highway 1 as an official state bicycle route in 1990, based partly on its being a "challenging route that passes some of the nation’s most beautiful scenery." It is beautiful and it is challenging–we climbed more than 8,000 feet during our seven-hour journey, pedaling past redwood forests and Monterey pines, agate-studded beaches, sea rocks painted white with guano, barking sea lions, and hawks that hovered above foam-stitched breakers peering deep into the water looking for breakfast.
When we descended to sea level at Willow Creek, the iodine-and-salt smell of the ocean–fish and floating kelp–washed over us. I heard sea lions barking and saw a pair of them on an offshore
.jpg)
rock , facing each other in pinniped conversation.From the crossing at Limekiln Creek, Cone Peak rises three miles inland. It is a mile high and represents the steepest elevation change on the west coast of America.
We climbed the last hill into Lucia past a high rock slope on the right that is covered with black chain link netting designed to confine falling rocks and protect bicyclists.
We chatted briefly at the store with Persay Bryant, who described himself as a thespian and expressed his philosophy of life by saying, "I am content in whatever state I’m in." At that moment he was in the state of California in a state of sobriety.
North of Lucia, rolling hills provided intermittent views of the coastline. At Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, McWay Creek dropped 60 feet over a rock ledge, the only waterfall in California that descends directly into the ocean.
As the morning wore on, traffic increased. Shoulder width on Highway 1 varies from several feet to a few inches. Whenever we heard a car coming, we pulled as far to the right as we could and made room to share the road.
Only one motorist talked to us, a passenger in a dirty brown Volvo who shouted something as he whizzed by. I didn’t hear what he said but it sounded as if he was complimenting our riding technique or our colorful jerseys or our magnificently muscled legs.
We climbed to a summit at Nepenthe, then a long descent past Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park into
.jpg)
Big Sur and Bob Robinson’s Fernwood Resort. Bob had a big barbecue/smoker going out front and was cooking chicken, sausage, pork tenderloin, roast beef and ham plus baked potatoes, mushrooms and corn–all we could eat for $9.99. I don’t think we put him out of business but we tried.The wind picked up on the way back and though it was mostly coming from behind us, erratic side gusts added excitement to the final roller coaster descent into Ragged Point.
At the end of the ride, we rested and had a beer at the Ragged Point restaurant and watched the end of a wedding ceremony in the garden below. Pat suggested that we ask them to start over so we could see the beginning, but instead we sat and watched the happy couple toast their first toast and dance their first dance.
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