Homemade pie with wine on a camp table: a lovely repast.

These bay laurel trees made for a dark campground.

I have not written about travel since I left Fort Bragg Thursday morning. I left around ten with a cloudy but breaking sky. I had a homemade leftover chicken pot pie carefully wrapped in my hydration pack. I rode to Highway One, then hitched to the Manchester KOA to pick up my trailer and continue riding. It took me three rides to make up the 35 miles, but all went quickly and I was heading south by 1:15. I rode about 30 additional miles, to Gualala Bay Regional Park, a biker/hiker campground and one of the darkest, dampest and least appealing campgrounds of the trip. Signs warned of aggressive raccoons in the night, which isn’t uncommon along the coast. After preparing and enjoying dinner, I stored my food in the locker at the table’s end and went to bed.

I always sleep well and wake rested, and I did so this morning, but I woke up four or five times to chase away up to three raccoons with a headlamp. The cabinet’s latch didn’t protect me; the raccoons could reach in with a paw and pull out items. At one point in the night I moved all of my food into the locker in another site, and finally got some rest. Yes, they got raisins, dried cranberries, half a banana, some good chocolate and a bit more.

I simply couldn’t tell if this cottage along the highway is inhabited or abandoned.

What drew me to take this photo at the Stewart’s Point Store? I guess the simple honesty of Un-Branded Gasoline.

I appreciate the softness of the colors along the coast, although much of the soft brown is due to the severe drought here.

Today I’m riding about 45 miles, to Bodega Bay Dunes State Park. The riding has taken on a different character, which I most noticed about 10-20 miles north of the Mendocino county line and so far through most of Sonoma County. Gualala marked the coastal southern end of the Emerald Triangle. The traffic is more intense, and has begun to feel more like outlying exurbs than scenic alternate. Not all of it – most drivers are still courteous. But I’m much more vigilant now.

Sometimes there’s not even a whole white line to define my path.

Indeed, sometimes the line itself is overgrown. My guess is that this is due to California’s budget crunch of recent years.

I learned only a few days ago that a new California law requires that drivers not pass a bicyclist unless there can be maintained at least 3′ of clearance between the bicyclist and the car. I’d like to see the actual wording. Like most traffic laws, some drivers are willing to wait to pass me, and others aren’t. I have had many drivers brake behind me and wait for a safe opportunity to pass. But others are only interested in their own story and will pass me regardless of the traffic conditions. Combine this with a nearly continuous lack of a shoulder, and I’m facing some of the more dangerous miles of the trip.

This was driven home this morning when I stopped to talk with a young cycle touring couple from Belgium. They were going to hitchhike the next fifty or so miles due to their fear of the road and traffic. They had had a couple of close calls in the last couple of days, with a logging truck and a school bus (I remember when a school bus passed me too closely as well), and were scared.

So here I have taken to directing the traffic that approaches me from behind. I’ll signal a car to slow down behind me and wait of or my signal to pass, sometimes even pulling out into the lane to discourage a driver from passing when it’s dangerous and narrow. A few drivers are impatient jerks, but most honk or wave in appreciation. I’ll also wave to any driver who shows courtesy.

The riding day has been quite full. The Shoreline highway becomes quite wild through long sections of southern Sonoma County. There are few towns of any size and none over a thousand.

The 19th-century Russian Orthodox Church at Fort Ross

A rack of muzzle-loaders at Fort Ross

Look closely: the ocean has reclaimed where the home once stood, in the few feet between the highway and the ocean. The concrete piers are a jumble at the bottom. The For Sale real estate sign adds a level of complete absurdiyt to the scene.

Another shot, looking straight down from the cliff

Lots to share in photos in this stretch. I’ll post a few that struck my eye. I’m including a whole section on the Sea Ranch Chapel, which I have visited several times over the three decades since it was built. I find this building to be the quintessence of spiritual contemplation and renewal with no religious component; a very peaceful place.

The Sea Ranch Chapel

And a closer view

Approaching the entrance, to the right

The entrance doors and sidelights

Another widow. There’s not a straight line to be found in the structure

The fountain. Near the entrance. Thi chapel was built in 1985, and appears to have never been vandalized, although it’s always open for travelers along the Coast Highway.

Drought! California has been facing a major three-year drought. I camped at Samuel P. Taylor State Park, near Point Reyes. The campground was open (and absurdly crowded with twenty or more bicycle tourers) but the showers had been shut off due to a shortage of water.