Even though there were supposedly bears everywhere in the Redwood National Forest Campground, we saw none. This may have been the coldest morning, although we think every morning is the coldest morning. The tree canopy blocked the sun for a prolonged amount of time, extending the night hours. Cesar tried taking a shower (like any normal human should know how to do) but ended up walking out with a soapy face after his allotted time ran out.
We left the campsite at 7:00 AM on a swift journey to Cook Valley, but were sort of a mess. Milan had one clip-in biking shoe on, and one running shoe because his left pedal was shot, and his clip-in shoe wouldn’t stay in. Cesar took the most complicated route to wearing two full shirts: One jersey, two shooting sleeves (not even Kobe), and a vest. Also, Milan heard from Luis that “Tour de France riders are skillful enough to piss while riding their bikes, because they don’t have time to stop.” Milan, intrigued: “Bro no way.” So for the next few miles, Milan tried his luck at peeing while cycling. It didn’t work. He even tried getting off his bike to start the stream, and then hopping back on to try and keep it going while on the saddle. Athlete alert.
When the bikers arrived to Cook Valley, driver David shared the good news: “Well boys, we have some sh*$ elevation to take care of today. But I’m not going to tell you how much.” After that snack break, we were greeted by hills of unknown length and height. As the boys made the ascent, Luis took joy in cussing at Cesar every time the polka-dot jersey (best hill climber) would pass him. Only Luis’s threatening itch to take a crap kept his pedals turning.
We arrived in Leggett, CA to more bad news – the road ahead was a nice cocktail of everything terrible. To elaborate, the one-lane road had absolutely no shoulder and wicked curves ( ;D ) that left us hidden and in danger to upcoming drivers. David’s Mother senses were tingling and he demanded us to throw our bikes in the car as he shuttled us past the five-mile road. There was much banter to be had during the shuttle. After the shuttle, we cruised to the coast over another sizeable hill. Seeing the coast for the first time all day was remarkable, as we watched large waves crash over the rocks and onto giant bluffs.
Since the van had to be full of bikes and bikers, Gabe volunteered to sit with Rex’s guts on the side of the road – guarding our valuables like a good boy. Once David returned, they decided to test the stereo out. For most the remainder of the drive, they paid homage to their favorite Seattle rock bands (mainly on a Chris Cornell kick). Starting with Audio Slave, followed by Temple of the Dog, Sound Garden, Mother Love Bone, and ending with Pearl Jam. The two bounced back and forth with songs until running into the biker boys in a small coastal town, 13 miles away from the campsite for the day.
To their surprise, the boys were hanging with two other bicyclers the team had met back in Oregon, all drinking gas station coffee together. To create the setting, the cashier nonchalantly swept a crawling mouse out the door as we sipped on the deck. Good thing we know this is high quality stuff we’re drinking out here. Together we reveled in the coincidence that we’d seen each other 400 miles ago, and somehow ended up at the same gas station four days later. Moreover, they were heading to the exact location to camp that we were. We let them borrow our awesome bike pump, even though it was “cheating to have a support van.” Get over yourself budday.
At around 5:00 PM, we made it to the campsite and Dave n’ Gabe had gone to the store for groceries. Upon return, we promptly opened the van hatch, only to allow the single $5 gallon of milk to fall and explode onto the ground. We gathered the goodies on the table, took out the frozen hamburgers and lit a blazing fire. We threw those hamburgers on there like we knew what the hell we were doing – we didn’t. The fire pit grill was so wide that our burgers had about a 50% mortality rate. We got pissed, and ended up cooking with pliers, sticks, and the top to an aluminum can. This strategy was not successful as six or so patties were sunken into the ashy abyss. It was pretty discouraging and almost warranted a McDonalds run.
To conclude this blog, lets talk about what really matters. As six college men that consume cliff bars, fruit snacks, meat, and in Cesar’s case, an absurd amount of mayonnaise and sriracha, our farts smell like absolute shit. Wish us luck when we have to drive back in all our sweaty gear, expired food, and a molding Rex. Yum.
#Rex #nosidedoors #getthesecowsmooin’ #gettheesedawgsbarkin’ #gettheseturkeysgoblin’