I packed my bike, helmet, panniers, camping gear, tent, sleeping bag, headlight, extra tire tubes, tools for bike maintenance, food, etc. into my friend's trunk and drove from Santa Barbara to Santa Cruz. I planned my camping sites to be flexible so the trip would take four or five days and I could adjust how far I wanted to ride each day. The manager at the apartment I was renting in Santa Barbara told me I "wasn't allowed to go on a four or five day bike trip by myself." Huh? I was confused... I can do whatever I want. So I left. I stayed with some friends in Santa Cruz for a few days before taking off, all of them said they wouldn't judge me if I changed my mind and decided not to go. I wasn't worried about judgement, I was excited for an adventure and some much needed alone time.
Found a great rock to eat lunch on. Looks like peanut butter on pita bread. I hope I remembered to put on sunscreen (I didn't, I got sunburnt).
On day three I ate and packed once again to kick off the third day of my Big Sur bike trip. The night before the campground host had informed that there was a huge landslide just south of the campground, roads were closed, it was illegal to continue, and I was going to have to turn around. Turn around?! I wasn't about to let a landslide scare me off, so the next day I got up at first light, ate, packed, and snuck out of the campground—headed south. I ended up carrying my bike (with all my gear strapped to it) a quarter mile or more over and through a massive landslide; boulders taller than me were scattered along the road everywhere. I packed my bike over piles of rocks and fallen trees which completely obscured large sections of Highway One, forged paths with sketchy footing, and squeezed through tight gaps in the boulders. I should have gotten photos of the landslide but I was focused on just making it through unharmed. Eventually I made it to the other side, got on my bike, and kept riding. No landslide or campground host was going to stop me from continuing my journey.
