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The feared Leggett Hill…

The Leggett Hill is the most feared climb on the entire Pacific Coast route, but why remains a mystery to me. Let me explain.

Although the total elevation is just under 2000ft, today’s route actually begins at about 850ft, meaning there is a further 1000ft to climb. Unlike many ascents in these parts, especially on highways, the near entirety of the climb does not appear as a straight road disappearing into the distance, making it fearsome in the extreme. No, Leggett Hill is on a narrow alpine type road that weaves its way up and around the mountain, with bends and curves, each one promising a conclusion, but seldom delivering, but at least tendering hope to the beleaguered climber. That’s the kind of climbing I like, always ascending with a spirit of hope.

The ascent was 4 miles long, but the descent (including a couple of plateaus) was a staggering 14 miles, and after a further taxing climb, eventually delivered me to the coast, where I asked a gentleman if there was a food store nearby. He didn’t know, but insisted on giving me a few energy bars and a bottle of iced water. I told him he was my good Samaritan….he thanked me for the compliment.

The remainder of the ride hugged the coast, eventually delivering me to the campground. But before signing off, let me introduce you to Rick, a real estate agent from Florida, who is doing the same route as me, but will stop by to visit his daughter for a few days in San Francisco.

But I perceive now that our consistent little mobile community is breaking up bit by bit, with people filtering off for a variety of reasons…..but they will be replaced soon by new faces.

Burlington to Leggett 78km

I was pulled over by a traffic cop today, as I descended a narrow stretch of road with only a 12 inch shoulder and a vertical drop to the side.

“You need to ride the shoulder”, he said. “You were holding up a line of 35 cars, and one of them was nearly rear-ended”. I asked him a series of questions about my personal safety and my rights as a vehicle on the road, but decided not to question how he knew about the 35 cars and the near collision behind him….maybe traffic cops benefit from an omniscience denied to the rest of us. He was obviously unsettled for a moment by my questions, but being a cop and a man of the law, he wasn’t about to admit to any weakness in his argument: ‘You still gotta ride the shoulder”. So I thanked him and cycled off.

Describing this little scene to two of my American cycling companions, they reassured me I was absolutely in the right, and the young guy was out of order. Probably shooting for some monthly target, they suggested. Forget it, it happens all the time.

Other excitement during the day’s ride included this arresting glimpse of early sun rays through the redwoods

and this huge specimen which was characteristic of hundreds in the forest

And adding to the portrait gallery, Erin and Nate, both Americans, met on this ride, and have taken ‘a shine’ to each other….a bespoke partnership, you might say…

Arcata to Burlington 85km

After a wet night, the new day dawned bright and warm. It was good to feel warmth back in the bones. But sadly, access to a heated pool and jacuzzi at the campground didn’t quite fit the schedule, so headed down the road in search of coffee, which I found in Archimedes’s birthplace…

Just down the road there was yet another warning I might get swept away by a tidal flood…

but my nerves were calmed when I saw a Democrat registration stall at Fortuna’s apple harvest festival, to know there are some normal decent people in the hereabouts…

And I was about to be engulfed by a 40km long Avenue of the Giants, a stunning immersion into the giant redwoods, towering over 300ft above me, some of them over 1500 years old

…….but not only that, tonight’s campground is tucked away amongst the same majestic redwoods, with trees towering above our minute tents….which also means we are in for another cold night. Let’s see, who’s building a fire tonight?

Temperate rainforests…

After 100km in the saddle and three major climbs, it was a relief to get to Elk Prairie campground, named because of the roaming elk in the surrounds. The day had been sunny and cold, and as dusk settled in, it was obvious we were in for a cold night….the result, I was told, of being in the heart of temperate rainforest.

Some of our road buddies had brought food to cook in the fire pit, so it was a welcome relief to gather around it to chat away the hours, and then to make a dash to sleeping bags to trap some of the body warmth. It was so cold in the night that I wore layers of clothing inside my light down bag, but I could still feel the chill.

In the morning, we all descended on the first cafe 6 miles down the road, stoked up with breakfast and lashings of hot coffee, before heading on to our various destinations. But let me introduce you to a few new road buddies outside the café…..

Jarney and Ali are both from Canada, and had landed themselves with their first house-sitting commitment for a lady with two cats in San Francisco. And guess what? They decided to ride the 1200 miles from Canada to get there….what greater motivation could there be?

Ocean (his chosen spirit name) has an annual commitment to attend a writers’ weekend in Esalen in Big Sur every October, so he generally rides the 800 miles to get there. Again, what better reason do you need? Check out his website:

Another guy, Nate, from Minnesota, began his journey in Akaska, and wants to end up scuba diving in Belize. Erin, a nurse from Texas is in between contracts so thought she would fit in the Pacific Coast route in the meantime….and so it goes on. A motley bunch linked by a common passion….riding bikes with a spirit of adventure.

On my own personal journey I will be passing the 1000km mark tomorrow.

Out of the firs and into the redwoods…

I climbed out of the sack a hour before dawn, decamped, and was heading out as the first yawning faces appeared. The temperature always plummets as the sun is coming up, and the first hour of riding is always very cold. The first 40km to Crescent City were level, so fast going, but I knew there was a major sting in the tail coming up.

But first, I met Mark on the shoulder of the highway, riding his trike for three miles to shop at Walmart…and I congratulated him for not doing it the American way….ie. climbing into his car. He was pleased about the compliment…

But the biggest climb of the first two weeks bore down on me imminently as I left Crescent City, a 5 mile climb into a redwood forest, up to 1100 ft from sea level, my first real experience of being completely surrounded by these venerable trees.

I reckon this one is the equivalent in age of a cocky teenager….about 1000 years old. The sequoias of the species can live for 3000 years, and as I meander down the Californian coast, I’m going to be feasted for several days.

Oh, before I forget, as I approached the Californian state border, I was met by two surprises. The first was a ‘weed’ shop on the state line (yep, it’s legal in California),

and a state border control, checking vehicles out for agricultural products that may bring disease into the state. I was waved through, even though I was eager to tell him I had a banana and pear in my pockets…😊

Anyway I laboured my way over two major climbs, but at ‘vista’ points there were stunning views of the coast. I have to say, Oregon pleased to overflowing in the last two days, and California has put its best foot forward on this, the first day.

Beware of the ‘scenic corridor’….


If you are a cyclist, beware of any stretch of road called a ‘scenic corridor’. It can only mean one thing….hills! Big hills, usually.

Now that this little mobile community of some 10 cyclists is solidifying, we pass each other on the road, we meet fortuitously in the same cafés, and we head for the same campgrounds. Nico and Katy (Americans in their 20s) storm ahead to music from a ghetto-blaster on his handlebars, which undoubtedly helped Nico conquer the 4000 mile TRANSAM recently. Sarah, from the Wirral, keeps a measured pace up the climbs, on her way to the Mexican border….she runs an online business helping to motivate women to get out of their comfort zones and change some of their life habits:

Tattooed Ray has a fully loaded Bob trailer in tow, but out-paces everyone. He is amazingly strong on the hills.

Ah, those hills….the second half of the ride had massive climbs up to the said scenic corridors. Very long and gradual, they required a lot of grit and determination, one climb topping 1000ft, but people were abuzz at the end for having conquered them. And, of course, the great reward was the views…..the Pacific coast in all its glory.

And tomorrow……it’s goodbye Oregon and hello California…

A mountain named Humbug

The ride out of Sunset Bay was very aptly named Seven Devils Road….lumpy in the extreme. Apparently it had seven hills….and all of them ‘significant’. But it was the only route back to US101, so no avoiding it. A Canadian couple I’d already met were standing by the roadside, but definitely not out of choice. His tyre had blown, but when I looked at his bike closely, it was no surprise. His hybrid bike was intended as a city bike and was shod with city tyres. He admitted he’d just grabbed his bike out of the garage for this mega-journey without giving any thought to preparing it. Out of the shed and onto the road….now he was paying the price.

Anyway he got a lift in a pick-up to a bike shop, leaving his girlfriend to make her own way. (Tell me, what’s happened to chivalry these days?) When I got to the same bike shop, I stopped by and another couple had called in for some fettling. So while I was there I asked the manager to check the tightness of my headset, the result of me re-assembling my bike after a flight and not getting the adjustment quite right.

At Port Offord, just 10km short of my destination, I stocked up with food, used the local library’s WiFi, and heading off on the last leg of the day I was startled by this first view of the sea….and this after 1000km on the road.

….and what a sight it was. Will this be the beginning of 1000 miles (1600km) of seaviews?

And as a postscript: I asked a young lady how far to the next town, and she said: “You’ll find that most towns along this coast are about 26 miles apart because that was a day’s journey on horseback”. Interesting….

Hey, come and join the party!

I laboured the last very hilly 20km to get to a campground called Sunset Bay, convinced by its name it was going to be paradise on earth, but that last hour of riding was interrupted by my first rains of the trip. I limped into the campground and I heard “Hey, come and join the party!”.

I looked up and there was a group of 30-somethings, all cyclists doing the coastal route, and by 6pm, they were already well oiled from several drinks. The table was littered with bottles of wine, fizz and whiskey.

I pitched my tent, grabbed my food, and joined them until my befuddled brain ( from jetlag, I hasten to add) told me enough was enough. I crashed out at 8.30 and found myself awake at 4am and ready to go….but of course I didn’t, not until 9am anyway.

This morning I discovered what all the fuss was about in naming it Sunset Bay…..a sheltered bay with a little-used beach. Now that I am on the coastal trail through Oregon, I’m meeting up with other cyclists all heading south, and we are spontaneously forming our own travelling community, meeting up at campgrounds and watering holes.

But I have to confess some disappointment with the route through Oregon. We have seen next to nothing of the coast, largely because of the huge managed fir tree forests that cover the entire landscape. Natural forests would have been more interesting, but hundreds of miles of firs (all of them an investment for some bank or pension fund) makes for boring cycling.

I’m now only a day or so from northern California, with its promise of the redwoods……roll on!

Across Washington into Oregon

I walked into a bank to change a few Canadian dollars and in a whispered church-like tone, as if to guard an embarrassing little secret, the lady said: “I’m so sorry, we only offer that service to customers of the bank”. I looked at her disbelievingly in the eye, but I knew I would still walk out clutching my Canadian dollars. Hey ho…..

The campground at Bruceport, overlooking the estuary of the river Wilapa, was unique. I had my own camping bay with picnic table, so I prepared my little garden before settling into some serious relaxing….

As I left the next morning I was dismayed to discover I was going to have to ride for 42km before my first coffee of the day….how bad is that? I arrived, tongue hanging out, and ordered the biggest 25oz coffee I ever had….it felt like drinking a gallon!

Down at the estuary of the famous Columbia River, as I perused the history boards about the Lewis and Clark expedition to open a passage to the west, I hear: “Hi, what time did you leave the campground?”.

It was Kurt, who had picked up a coffee 15 miles up the road, had sipped it while he was riding, and was still clutching the cup…..I make a mental note of this in favour of getting a recumbent.

This video doesn’t exist

We ride over the famous 4 mile Astoria bridge, struggle up the monstrous 7% climb to get off it, and check in together with the same Warmshowers host, a guy who has an open house to every passing cyclist.

….”yuh’re goin’ where?

Every time I get off the bike someone asks: “So where you headin’, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Holy mackerel” said one woman, “that’ll take you at least 4 days. But great trip”. Even though I was standing in the shop ablaze with red lycra, she hadn’t connected my attire with my mode of transport. Like most Americans, who travel everywhere by car, she was thinking of driving time.

Animation of route:

Ask anyone directions and how far the next town is, the standard answer will always be in time (ie. driving time). And in miles? Er, oh, that’s a difficult one…..

I’m now in Elma, just 2 days riding from the famous Astoria Bridge that will carry me into Oregon, where the 101 truly meets the coast……and stays with the coast.

I checked into a recommended RV site, and was met with:

“You look as if your heading to Mexico. You’re most welcome. Here’s a couple bags of homemade cookies….and see that nice grassed area over there, that’s where you’ll be”. When I asked how much for one night, he said “Oh, just $10”. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Then Kurt bowled in after me, a librarian from New Orleans, on a two wheeled German recumbent, doing the leg from Seattle to LA, and he came away with the same prescribed cookies.

All good stuff.


These journeys always throw up some remarkable encounters. Last night I stayed with a couple who lived on 40 acres, all thickly wooded with log cabins. But not just them….several other members of the extended family have houses on this inherited plot, forming a veritable family community.

A very relaxed informal couple, I just slotted into their lives for 12 hours and they left me to find my own space. It was a great overnight, then Dave took me in his truck and dropped me at a convenient pull-off to get me on the right road the next day. I was just one of dozens of passing cyclists they’ve hosted over 10 years.

Vancouver-Port Townsend

My connection to mobile data services is so poor that postings may be very sporadic…..and short (you will be pleased to know😊). It’s even a 50/50 chance that these words will appear…

So far I have enjoyed being hosted twice by members of the Warmshowers community, once in Vancouver and this evening in Port Townsend. What a great international group it is. The other night I pitched my tent in a state park campground, and my jaw dropped when they charged me the same as an RV without hook-up….$25. The Ranger seemed genuinely apologetic….

The first few days have been characterised by sweeping vistas of both countryside and coast, dense forests and hills that demand the best from you in the ascent, and a steely commitment at the break-neck speeds on the descent.

I’ve been treated to a donation of breakfast food on the campground, to inquisitive conversations with people in eateries, to whole family histories from people who have ancestors from the British Isles. They hear the accent and unhesitatingly ask where in the UK I live…to which I answer “near Cambridge”. This is guaranteed to elicit knowing nods and the odd “Wow!” or a more conservative “yuh’re not kidding, uh?”. Undeservingly, I quietly bask in the unearned glow…

Highlights have included crossing Deception Pass bridge (look up the history), buying food supplies in quaint little shops in Edison and zipping along leafy forest trails.

Apologies for the lack of even one photo, but my data connection will never handle it….

…and over the bridge

With an 8 hour time differential, I assembled the bike outside the airport concourse

climbed on to ride the 45km to my overnight stop at 3pm local time (11pm body time), laboured over the impressive Fraser Bridge

got lost on muddy tracks in a nature reserve, curiously called Burns’ Bog, and arrived at my hosts’ house (just a few kms from the US border) when my body clock chimed 3am.

I climbed into bed 3 hours later, after a superb meal, and I don’t remember my head hitting the pillow……zzzzzz

Getting to the starting line…

Getting to Gatwick Airport turned out to be a major adventure, and I was glad I had opted to go a day early and overnight in a ‘pod’ hotel just one floor beneath check-in. The adventure and delay had been caused by a fatality on the railway line so, lugging a heavy boxed bike, I was diverted, then held up at St Pancras, then had to join a rush hour train where the presence of my bike caused not a little friction with one or two commuters. I struggled to keep my cool….

Now the real adventure is about to start. And Vancouver is my starting point, where I will be hosted by a very kind couple, both cyclists, before I head south to the border, where I’m hoping to find that my visa, my ESTA, is all in order, and I won’t be dismissed as an undesirable alien.

Six weeks later, I hope to be hearing the sweet sounds of Mexican Spanish, drinking a Corona, and tucking into tortillas, nachos, burritos and enchiladas……to mention only a few. 😁

Almost taking off….

“So where are you gadding off to now?”. As you can tell, some friends grow a little weary of my restlessness….sigh 😁

This time, a 6 week trek, some 10 hours flying time away….I have my little tent. Watch this space….

Decision time..

Bristling with dental anticipation, it has now come to the crunch. Which toothbrush to take…? Blue=7g. Red=15g. Blue & white=21g. I might need some guidance with this one…..

The Flash-Dash

Flash-Dash Cycle Mag JPegCould this be the start of a new trend in cycling? If you were social media savvy and enormously hungry to make a name for yourself, you could plug a new idea and flog it to death until…….until, that is, you get to a point where people recognise the message and begin to think it is not such a bad idea after all……and from there it rolls on.

The Flash-Dash will be no media ‘rage’……especially since it climbs on the back of the much more media savvy Alastair Humphreys, long distance cyclist, adventurer and author, who launched the idea of the ‘micro-adventure’ a few years back. He very neatly sowed the seeds of the idea of leaving your place of work on a mid-week evening and riding your bike to the top of the nearest mountain, to the shores of the nearest lake, to the depths of the nearest wood, or simply to a place that is far from anywhere, and camping down for the night, whether with a bivvy, hammock or tent. Dine under the stars (if they are shining), listen to the wild life throughout the night, wake up with the dawn and (perhaps) the rising sun, have breakfast on whatever you are carrying, then cycle back to your place of work, having experienced something very different and invigorating. For sure, you won’t be discussing the latest shenanigans on Coronation Street or East Enders.

My concept of the Flash-Dash is very similar, but more extended and (perhaps) more spontaneous……and some would say a complete ‘cheat’. What? You sleep in a bed for the night, and you always go with a tailwind behind you, and…… and……you can almost guarantee good weather for the duration? You’ve got to be kidding….

It all sounds impossible, but read on. Cycle Magazine, the national publication of Cycling UK (with a membership of over 60,000) squeezed my little offering in amongst the Traveller’s Tales at the end.



The temperature rises….

A breeze of a ride down to Willington to eat cake with the boys ‘n girls……..😊 And don’t be taken in by the 0.04km headline box of the Relive animation… was actually 62km..

91km, 718m climbing….scorching day!

On the hottest April day since 1949, I hit the ‘hills’ of Northamptonshire with a group that meets up every Thursday in different locations. The idea is to gather at a coffee stop, the organiser gives out the route sheets and takes bookings for lunch, then everyone takes to the road in self-selected groups to meet at the pub for lunch, and from there everyone makes their own way home.rape_flower_field_2_by_sophiaiws-d540rv9

I always ride out to the café, do the ride in between, then ride home again, usually logging up between 80-100km, so it can occupy most of the day. This particular group has been meeting for 40-50 years, and some of the originals are still there, not riding the miles as they used to, but still active. And each one is a ‘cycling encyclopaedia’ of bicycle wisdom, anecdotal stories of their achievements and near-misses, and often masters of the art of bicycle-fettling. I always enjoy their company.

Without words….74km, 611m of climbing

Without words……74km, 611m of climbing