Half Moon Bay to Costanoa (Pescadero) – 29 miles
It is a short ride today, with only one tough climb, near San Gregorio. Skies remain overcast, with occasional drizzle—ideal for riding—and a strong tailwind pushing me up gentle slopes.
There is plenty of forest on this stretch, and plenty of long, broad fields on both sides of the highway. There is also a remarkable variety of commonplace but somehow significant things I wish my memory could permanently photograph: the endless road border of wildflowers (mustard, thistles and a dozen others I can’t identify but would probably call “weeds” if they were in my yard), the occasional military installation marked by U.S. flags and huge antennas, the ad-hoc roadside memorials to the faithful departed, the deltas where coastal creeks both wide and narrow merge with the ocean, the beach scenes and rugged cliffs.
I stop at the side of the road for a mid-morning meal when along rides a couple my age, catching up to me from behind. Cyclist camaraderie prompts them to pause their ride, and we chew the fat for a while.
Mind you, I’m riding out of some kind of misguided allegiance to an item on a bucket list; but unlike me, this couple rides because they revel in it.
“We live in Alaska,” they tell me, “and we’ve ridden the ALCAN Highway, through the Yukon and British Columbia to Vancouver. This time we’re riding from Seattle to San Diego.”
They also breathlessly describe their cycling trips to Minnesota and Wisconsin, where mosquitoes are more of a problem than hills are. After a few minutes of their enthusiastic tales, they rise, remount their bikes and resume the road. I feel inspired but in sudden need of a nap.
Along this stretch near Pescadero there are few towns and even fewer campgrounds. Just inland from Año Nuevo State Reserve is Costanoa, a glamping (glamour-camping) resort surrounded by tall forests of pine and eucalyptus, with a dedicated area for pitching tents.
By early afternoon, the north wind that was so welcome while I was riding has become a cold, gusty nuisance in the campground, and I just can’t get warm. By early evening, the tent area around me is filled with young families huddled in blankets, the children making smores over the fire.
It’s reassuring to think that AI will never replace any of that. Probably.