Mill Valley to Half Moon Bay – 42 miles
I wake wondering whether the road crud has kept its side of the bargain. In fact it has, and I celebrate with a copious hotel breakfast—the last good one I know I’ll have for some time—while I study maps for the day’s ride ahead.
Why start in Mill Valley? Pure superstition. A couple of years ago, in my piecemeal quest to ride from the Oregon border to the Mexican border, I tried to ride from Santa Rosa to Monterey, but an autumn heat wave made me throw in the towel on the climb out of Muir Beach. For good luck on this trip, I’m picking up close to where I left off last time.
The day is overcast, which bodes well. Cycling gets old when it’s hot out, and clouds prevent that. I retrace part of last night’s trip, including what is now a beastly climb through Sausalito.
My return trip across the bridge is less adventurous than it was last night, but it’s still a watershed event that ushers me onto a well-worn bike route across the western side of The City.
I see places and things I never got around to seeing in eight years of living there, like the richly verdant Presidio, the JFK Promenade in Golden Gate Park and the two-mile-long Sunset Dunes promenade along the coast. The route also reminds me of one of The City’s most endearing characteristics: art that pops up in the darnedest places.
photo credit: Illuminate.org
photo credit: Illuminate.org
photo credit: Fiona Lee
Still, city riding is not my thrill on this trip, and that feeling of being an inconvenient cyclist persists down the urban obstacle course of impatient drivers on Arguello Street, then through southwestern San Francisco and Daly City. The prescribed route doesn’t let me back onto Highway 1 until traffic thins out below Pacifica, having subjected me to a finger-chilling, 600-foot climb through inbound fog on Skyline Drive.
Then, once the cityscape is far behind me, I feel the genuine Cabrillo Highway vibe: wide fields on both sides of the route; beach parking lots and rest rooms dotting the straightaways at sea level; and long, gradual downhills with a north wind propelling me almost effortlessly at 20 miles an hour. South of the Devil’s Slide climb, the fog dissipates and patches of blue sky reveal themselves over the soulful burgs of Montara, Moss Beach and El Granada. At Miramar I take the quiet bike-and-pedestrian path along the ocean to Half Moon Bay State Beach.
Sites at most coastal campgrounds book up months in advance, but I have an ace in the hole: the hike-and-bike areas in many state parks and beaches. For a few dollars a night, backpackers and cyclists can pitch a tent without a reservation, first-come-first-served, with full use of campground facilities.
Sure, it’s a hard way to take an easy trip, but it’s a generous concession from the state. And, at the end of a 42-mile day, I find that the ground under my tent works the same as it would in a full-price campsite.