We lost a week convalescing from a sinus infection (Kurt’s) in Hanksville, garden spot of Utah. Lisa rescued us during a planned vacation as we were climbing out of Hite, UT, still slinging snot but with meds on board. She caught us back up with the car and we’re now in Gunnison, CO and will attempt to cross the continental divide via Monarch Pass today. Denver Saturday-ish. Blog updates whenever-ish.
Taking a cue from the Muppets, we decided to travel by map. When we pressed the button, our friend Paul appeared in his RV. It wasn’t amphibious but barring any unplanned detours into the Colorado that wouldn’t be a problem. So we loaded up the trikes and set off down the same path we were planning to ride, averaging 50 MPH instead of our usual 10-ish.
Cheating? No, that’s the beauty of a trip like this—we get to make up the rules. We were a bit behind schedule so we reckoned we could straighten out our meandering route a bit and get back a week or so which might help avoid rushing through the latter parts of the trip. We’d been planning to meet Paul and family, Heather and Pepper, in the Canyon anyway and they offered to pick us up anywhere and shuttle us there which made logistics easier and more predictable.
Heather and Pepper met us at Mather Campground in the canyon where we stayed the next couple of nights. They have RV camping figured out pretty well so we got home cooked meals and even a big tent with a big, plush air mattress. Luxury! Zoe had been looking forward to playing with Pepper for weeks and they had a good time reading stories, playing tag, and generally goofing around. Paul helped me inspect the trike and set the tow a little more accurately than I was able to on my own. We had a great time catching up and poking around the south rim.
After Paul and Heather and Pepper left, Zoe and I did a short hike down the Bright Angel trail and listened to an excellent talk on California condors. Here are some interesting condor facts courtesy of Zoe:
Later that day Cap’n Rob showed up with his recumbent stuffed into the ol’ green Geo Metro. He’s Captain of the tall ship we sailed back in San Pedro. He was off duty for a while and wanted to do some bike touring so we decided to ride together a bit.
The next day we biked around the south rim, exploring the view points as Rob readied his ‘bent for duty. Cycling is a great way to see the rim of the canyon. Bikes are allowed on any paved road, including shuttle-only roads, which made the ride out to Yaki Point very nice. There are also dedicated bike trails connecting portions of the park. Bikes aren’t allowed on the rim trail except at the eastern and western portions where they do allow bikes. This seems to be a fairly recent change as the current maps contradict some of the older kiosk maps which still show these portions pedestrian-only. It looks like they are slowly moving toward making the rim car-free but if they want bikes to be part of that solution they have one big flaw: no place to park and lock your bike. We rode / walked all around the Bright Angel area, asked rangers, and no one could come up with a bike rack. We eventually found one tucked away near the Bright Angel trail head but by then we’d already (no doubt illegally) locked to a fence.
At Yaki Point we hoped to see some condors; during the condor talk the night before the ranger mentioned they had been spotted here. We had given up hope and were preparing to leave when Zoe began shouting “condor! condor! “. We looked up as three mature California Condors glided overhead. Awesome! We couldn’t read their tags but they were definitely condors, a satisfying payoff from the condor talk. Maybe the thirty or so other people standing there when Zoe began shouting didn’t understand English or maybe they had their 9-year-old-kid filters on, but only Zoe, Rob and I bothered to look up to see the condors. We saw the same three again later that day further west, near Bright Angel, and two more the next day. I’ve always been fascinated with condors because they soar so efficiently and beautifully and I finally got to see some in the wild. Way to go Peregrine Fund and compliant hunters who switched from lead to copper shot for bringing these majestic birds back from the brink.
All along the south rim of the canyon we noticed dramatically more interest in and tolerance of our recumbents, including Rob’s short wheel base ‘bent. Wherever we stopped we’d get a barrage of questions, usually from people who’d never seen contraptions like these, but sometimes from ‘bent or trike riders. If we weren’t near our trikes we’d find people taking pictures and theorizing about what they are and how they work. Some French tourists wanted pictures of themselves on my trike and Rob’s ‘bent. That seemed like an odd request to me but we obliged. On the roads other motorists were courteous to an almost absurd level– at one point we were tailed about 25 yards back by a motorist with flashers going. He could have safely passed many times and when he eventually did pass us he drove all the way into the left shoulder. At Desert View Zoe and I were given a standing ovation by a group of Japanese tourists. I wasn’t quite sure how to react to that—uh, thanks? We’ll be playing here all week? We just smiled. Who knows why the interest and courtesy were so amplified at the canyon. My theory is that these people want to be here and aren’t so stressed out about getting somewhere else.
Here is Zoe’s wildlife count at the south rim:
Today was an easy, sunny glide into Blythe where we planned to meet our friend Paul. Blythe is in California so we crossed the bridge over the Colorado and stomped on Arizona soil to wrap up our first state and first major section of our journey.
The BLM rangers sent us on our way with more bottled water, granola bars, and a “Get your Head in Gear” safety Frisbee that came in handy as a crosswind protection device for Zoe. Many thanks to the BLM for helping us out in a jam.
Sand toy appears to be the general term for the motorized ATVs, dirt bikes, and dune buggies buzzing around the place and Glamis, a few miles down the road from last night’s emergency tent site, is the self-proclaimed world headquarters. Here the internal combustion engine rules and the BLM tries to keep the peace. There are impromptu RV towns scattered here and there on the dunes, complete with a musical ice cream truck. I expected Mel Gibson to appear out of the swirling sand with a gas can in one hand and an assault rifle in the other. We were happy to avail ourselves of the convenience store that surely wouldn’t exist without the sand toys and then took advantage of the screaming tail wind to push us on down the road.
We had the occasional crosswind blast of sand as we were propelled along by the tailwind but nothing like the day before. The wind eased and the downhill flattened as we rolled into the Palo Verde Park just south of the town of Palo Verde, CA. Run by Imperial County, the park is very simple but had what we needed– a bathroom w/ electrical outlet, trees to break any further wind (we didn’t get much more), and a camp site. As a bonus, we camped right next to a beautiful section of the Colorado River. Emory, the campground host, gave us a rundown on the local wildlife including the Great Horned Owls nesting above our tent. He was so impressed with Zoe’s adventure that he let us stay for free as his guest.
Flat, straight roads; big desert skies; mountains all around; wind at our back. Life was good until we noticed the wind picking up, and picking up sand. We watched a cloud of sand far to our left slowly track toward us, mostly parallel to our track. By this time we were near the Imperial Sand Dunes area that seemed to be managed either by a special set of recreation rules unknown to us or by the military as a bombing range, neither of which seemed like a good bet for stealth camping. We pressed on to a BLM campground called Gecko. I was pretty excited about checking out the campground—my experience with BLM campgrounds is that they tend to be nicely integrated into geographically interesting portions of the desert.
As we were congratulating ourselves on reaching Gecko Rd—only three miles to go!—a cloud of sand engulfed us. When we made the right turn onto Gecko our tail wind turned into a searing cross wind. Zoe tried to cover her face while I frantically pedaled the couple of hundred yards to a BLM ranger station, spitting sand and barely able to see. It was late afternoon but the station was still open so we parked on the lee side of the building and went inside. When we inquired about camping options we were told we can’t stay here, even though we were at an RV village in the sand, because they feared we’d be run over by an ATV in the night. The campground we were seeking was still three miles down the road, was nothing more than a sand dune where RVs park, and would cost us a $40 recreation permit to camp there. Their suggestion was to back track a mile directly into the sand storm and camp near a canal on the north side of the road. The land was owned by the canal company so wouldn’t cost us anything and offered some protection from the ATVs and dune buggies. “… but whatever you do don’t camp on the south side of the road– that’s a bombing range. And we’re closing soon but feel free to use our bathroom to clean up.” We thanked them for the help but were in a pretty lousy mood contemplating these horrible options as we entered the bathroom.
Perhaps we didn’t hide our mood well, or maybe Zoe gave them the look of longing and expectation only a 9-year-old can give, but when we returned from the bathroom they’d worked out another option—just stay here. They pointed us to a huge bush behind the building that offered protection from both wind and crazed ATV operators and told us to pitch our tent there, right next to the no camping sign. They gave us bottled water, helped me move the trike through the soft sand so it would be nearer the tent, and told us to call 911 (we had good cell coverage here) if we ran into any trouble. And then they were gone.
The wind was still howling as we pitched the tent, and even though the bush provided a huge wind break we couldn’t get the tent to stay put in the soft sand. I ended up using the flag poles for stakes, which were long enough to get some purchase in the sand, and tethered the fly to the bush. This arrangement seemed secure enough so we hunkered down for the night.
Today was my birthday and Zoe had purchased a hostess cake (and I some beer) to celebrate. Zoe arranged the tent with a special birthday corner and we had a great evening with no more drama from weather or ATV operators. Hunkered down with Zoe in the middle of nowhere on an epic bike ride– I can’t think of a better way to turn 50.
Weather reports were forecasting another big storm soon with snow level down to 5000 ft. At over 4000 ft, our mission today was to get out of the mountains and into the desert below. We were aided in this effort by strong tail winds and eventually a 3000 ft drop into the desert.
Near Jacumba we passed within a stone’s throw of the Mexican border and got a good look at the physical manifestation of our immigration policy. It was tempting to hike toward the fence for a better look but the preponderance of border patrol– on the roads, in the skies, no doubt peering at us from hidden places—kept us obediently on the road. We saw far more border patrol vehicles than civilian, I wouldn’t be surprised if border patrol agents outnumber local residents in this area. The fence was pretty fascinating and sparked a lot of discussion with Zoe: What is the fence for? Who is keeping out who? How far does it go? When we were at Imperial Beach I wanted to hike toward the border and see how we protect the border along the beach—does the fence run into the ocean all the way to the low tide mark?—but I didn’t get a chance.
We were delayed a bit by construction of a transmission line that will carry power from the San Onofre nuclear power plant we passed about a week ago. We watched helicopters string wires between the poles using long lines dangling below. Traffic was stopped to avoid impact with falling objects or long lines.
Interstate 8 is the only option for the descent into Ocotillo. Shoulders were wide and we screamed down seven miles of six percent grade. In Ocotillo we barely made the 3:00 closing time for the Old Highway Cafe, the only lunch option in town, where Brenda made us some excellent sandwiches that erased our disappointment in missing the Subway at the top of the hill.
We still had a 25 or so MPH tailwind directly down Old Highway 80 and camping options in Ocotillo are stark so we pressed on. Downhill and downwind we maintained around twenty MPH while being beaten up by the extremely rough road. I’ve been on the fence about the value of the new full-suspension trikes; this is the road that changed my mind. I’d love to see how full suspension performs on this stretch between Ocotillo and Plaster City.
On Brenda’s advice we stopped at Sunbeam Lake near Seeley. There is a really nice community park there but unfortunately the showers weren’t working yet for the season and they don’t allow camping. There is also an RV park there but it doesn’t accept tents. We played at the park until dusk and then moved to a nice spot in the trees alongside the southeast portion of the lake where the rules about camping are more ambiguous.
Last night the fog gave way to heavy rain which didn’t let up until mid-morning. Our one remaining lighter got wet overnight and wouldn’t spark and we couldn’t get our matches from the waterproof container to strike so a hot breakfast was looking unlikely. We were cold and wet so we wadded up our sopping tent and clothes and road a few miles into Guatay, which had a convenience store. The breakfast burritos were bad but they had a microwave so at least they were hot. We hung around until feeling returned to our extremities which resulted in a very late start.
We climbed another 1000 feet in occasional rain which gradually ended with clearing 
skies. Along the way we passed the Boulder Oaks USFS campground which we had intended to use until we learned it was closed due to breeding season for the endangered Arroyo Southwestern Toad. The Cleveland National Forest contains critical habitat for this handsome critter. We didn’t see one but were happy to let them procreate in peace.
We spent the night at the Live Oak Springs RV Resort. We’re learning that if an RV park has “Resort” in the name, it’s anything but. In this case the camping area had trash strewn everywhere and the one bathroom that wasn’t padlocked shut was disgusting. I hope this place hasn’t passed a health inspection in this condition which makes me wonder how they justify charging $25 to pitch a tent there. The restaurant, however, balanced the score nicely. Good bar food, local beers on tap, friendly service, good music coming from the juke box, wifi that worked, and the place was heated in part by a roaring fire. The temperature was dropping quickly that evening so we hung out by the fire and then dashed to the tent in the dark, imagining beautiful, clean surroundings.
We gained over 3000 feet today, topping out at an elevation of about 3800 feet and averaging about 5 MPH. A slow grind. As always, these kinds of statistics can be found here.
We stopped at a conveniently placed fruit stand where we augmented lunch with some awesome strawberries and pears. We enjoyed playing with the fruit stand dog who started out barking from a distance. After we sat down to eat in a little garden area, the dog sat down a long distance away, staring at us. Every couple of minutes we’d look up and he’d be sitting another few feet closer, still staring expectantly. Eventually of course he was begging at our feet. We didn’t feed him but did have a lot of fun playing with him. I think Zoe misses her dog Sammy.
This was the first time we had to travel on the Interstate. We jumped the gun and got on one entrance too early—oops. This worked to our advantage as the grade on this section of Interstate 8 was a lot better than the frontage road we prematurely left. The only difference I could detect is that the drainage grates along the (very wide) shoulder were cris-crossed where they expected bicycles. Before that point the grates ran in a tire-eating long, wide configuration that was parallel to the road. We had to ride around these grates. Another difference: no signage prohibiting bicycles on the section we were supposed to be on. Guess that should have been a clue but by then we were kind of committed.
This was also the first time we were able to camp outside an often non-existent campground without being considered a criminal. Hallelujah! We stopped at a Forest Service station to get a look at the map and so Zoe could hear first-hand, from a uniformed person, that it’s OK to camp out on forest service land. In this area he said you technically need a permit (I don’t think that’s usually the case) but that they understand a permit isn’t practical for touring cyclists and that no one would care.
It was near dusk before we finally reached a Forest Service trail marker. We pulled off, set up a nice camp, and achieved another first: filling our water containers by filtering from a nearby stream. It was not a first that by nightfall we were completely fogged in. Hmmm…
Today we transitioned from the Pacific Coast to the Southern Tier Adventure Cycling route. By staying in Imperial Beach we overshot the start of the Southern Tier route a bit so I rode solo about twenty miles back while Lisa and Zoe spent some more time together exploring Old Town San Diego. San Diego has a pretty good network of bike paths and I was able to get much of the way to Old Town on nice trails, though it is the usual, often incomprehensible patchwork. At one point I was riding on perhaps the best bike path I’ve seen and was then dumped into a big parking lot with no signage or other clue how to continue.
After a tearful goodbye, we rode through Mission Hills Regional Park on the way out of town, a beautiful city park that highlights the plant and animal life in the area and trumps most of the state parks we’ve seen. They have a nice interpretive center that we briefly explored before they closed on us. The park includes the beautiful Kumeyaay Lake Campground that is, say it with me, closed due to budget cuts. The ride through the park was a nice break from the urban traffic we were dealing with most of the day.
Toward the end of the day I lost a screw to one of my cleats, making it very difficult to twist the shoe so that it would release from the pedal. Through the following day I kept the shoe attached to the pedal and hopped around on one foot until I finally borrowed a screw from one of Zoe’s identical shoes. She has a non-cleat platform on one side of her pedals so it’s not as big a deal for her. I have a whole collection of these screws at home but didn’t think to pack one. Paul will dig one up and deliver it to us when we meet in the Grand Canyon.
We spent the night at Rancho Los Coches RV Park near Lakeside, a very nice, very clean park. So clean and manicured and full of RVs that until we scored a key to the bathroom later in the evening (we arrived after hours) we had to hike out of the park to find a private place to pee. 
Friday we split our activities– the girls went to Sea World and I rode the trikes to our motel in Imperial Beach. I managed to stuff the Trets into the front passenger seat of Lisa’s Hyundai rental car but it was a little precarious so I pulled it out and took it with me. Lisa had most of our gear so the ride was pretty fast. We considered meeting at Torrey Pines to watch the hang gliders fly but there was a long line of cars to get into the park and when I rode by there was only one paraglider in the air, scratching for lift at ridge height. It was a fun, multi-modal ride for me including various bike paths, a ferry ride from downtown San Diego to Coronado Island, and a screaming fast tailwind-enhanced cruise along the Silver Strand, a narrow, utterly straight strip of land that connects Coronado Island with Imperial Beach. On the ferry I met Matt, another touring cyclist who knew Gary, the Catrike rider from San Luis Obispo we met a couple nights earlier . Meanwhile Lisa and Zoe had a blast at Sea World, closing the place down.
With no one to talk to, I listened to music while riding. When we’re riding with traffic together I prefer to pay more attention to the cars around me and we’re usually jabbering back and forth anyway so this was the first time I felt like breaking out the headphones. I use a behind-the-head non-ear bud style headphone that fits under my helmet and doesn’t completely block traffic noise. I connect it to my Windows phone.
When I arrived at our motel in Imperial Beach there was a new tire waiting for me. I’d been monitoring very rapid wear on my rear tire and back in Long Beach had called my friend Chip for a replacement. With only about 900 miles on the tire it is looking like I’ll have to replace it several times during the trip so Chip suggested switching from the existing Schwalbe Marathon Plus to the Kenda Kickzumbutt which is about half the price. I expected rapid wear on the rear tire because it is carrying a lot of weight and the Trets, I think, creates some sideways force on the wheel. This was worse than I expected but I don’t think is a reflection of the tire– I’ve had Marathon Plus’s on all five tires and they’ve performed extremely well with zero flats so far. We’ll see how the Kenda does. While waiting for the girls I installed the Kenda and swapped tires between the Trets and the Trice fronts to get the the tire that was asymmetrically worn by the loose headset onto the Trets, where it should wear better. Thanks Chip for the quick tire delivery! Chip of the Recumbent Trike Store in Denver, ask for him by name.
On Saturday we drove back to Coronado Island and wandered around the beach and Hotel Del Coronado, a grand old Victorian hotel built in 1887 and one of America’s largest wooden buildings. It has been used in a number of movies including Some Like It Hot w/ Marilyn Monroe. It also has an old time elevator like the one we used in San Francisco, but in much better condition and with an operator to work it. That night I had the voting power necessary to steer dinner toward sea food, something I’d been craving since the awesome crab sendoff my mom gave us at a restaurant in Fort Bragg. We chose an interesting looking Mexican seafood joint in Imperial Beach called Marisa’s. I knew we were in trouble when their tap of Mexican beer blew and I was stuck with Bud. The service was extremely slow and they ran out of chips!? But their Seven Seas soup was incredible, with more sea creatures staring back at me than I could identify. A mixed bag for sure, but Marisa’s satisfied my craving for sea food.
We spent most of Sunday at the San Diego Maritime Museum. Connie, the First Mate on the Irving Johnson, had scored us a couple of tickets. However Sunday was a special event, the Chocolate Festival, and they weren’t accepting passes. The museum was well worth paying full price, with a US and Soviet submarine to explore, several tall ships including the massive Star of India, and numerous other ships including some America’s Cup contenders. There was a very knowledgeable staff of volunteers on board the tall ships and Zoe added to her knowledge gained on the Irving Johnson, learning to make rope, fire a canon, and when to come on and off ship watch using the ship’s bell. HMS Surprise was another tall ship we got to peruse. Originally named HMS Rose, Surprise was the ship used to film the movie Master and Commander. Both of these ships are considered active because they are still taken out to sea on special occasions. We never saw the Californian, another tall ship there, because it was out for the day with passengers. For the Chocolate Festival they had a scavenger hunt for “chocolate facts” scattered around the Star of India. Did you know M&Ms became popular when troops, accustomed to them in their rations as a form of chocolate that didn’t melt as easily, returned from WWII? I got to sample a flight of locally brewed beer (Karl Strauss) and wine paired with chocolate. Yum.
After the museum we did a provisioning run at REI. I needed to sort out our camp stove situation and Zoe had a wardrobe issue to address. As for the stove, I went in thinking I’d replace my ailing Jetboil with an upgraded model that includes a pressure regulator. But you can’t buy just the stove– I’d wind up with another cup, stabilizer, and pot adaptor that I don’t need. And at about $120, the $40 MSR Pocket Rocket, suggested by my friend Jimmy, seemed like a better bet. The MSR feels higher quality than the Jetboil, has really good simmer control, and seems to boil water at least as fast if you use the Jetboil cup. Using the Jetboil cup with the MSR stove is a little precarious but a lot better than using the Jetboil in flamethrower mode. The Pocket Rocket is so small that by packing two canisters in the Jetboil cup instead of a canister and stove, we get a net reduction in space used in our panniers. Of course this solution doesn’t solve our bigger stove problem—finding the stinking canisters. I decided to invest the $40 into one more try and stocked up on a few canisters. We’ll see how this goes in the middle of Kansas.
It was great to spend a long weekend with Lisa. Being month(s) apart from Zoe and single-handedly keeping things going back home is a huge sacrifice, thanks Lisa for this opportunity. Zoe sez: Mommy’s awesome!
