Jimmy and Leslie’s Mini-Adventure

Today’s Date: September 28, 2025

Today’s Start Point: Jenner, California

Today’s End Point: Sausalito, California

Today’s Miles: 88.20 Miles

Cumulative Miles: 1,067.30 Miles

Another day of self inflicted problems, but what could have been awful turned out to be a pretty good day.

We awoke to grey skies but no rain. The wind was weak, but it was expected to pick up steam later in the afternoon. My first task was to reclaim the territory I gave up yesterday when I passed our hotel and went twelve miles to Jenner. At least I knew what to expect.

The road to Jenner from our hotel is spicy, it curves in and out of coves, and takes me right to the cliff’s edge. Fortunately in many cases there is guard railing, but an empty gap sometimes appears so it is best to stay awake.

Poor Les has been riding the cliffside roads in a Ford Explorer, not exactly the perfect car to careen around the zigzagging roads along the California coast. With fraying nerves, she is going to go inland and drive ahead to Sausalito.

Unlike yesterday, I hit these serpentine climbs and descents with fresh legs, so it was a whole different experience than last night. The clouds obscured some of the view, but that just meant the adjective went from “magnificent” to “awesome”.

I rode past Jenner and continued on to Bodega Bay, the town where Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds” was shot. It’s a lovely little town and I swear I heard some of the loudest crows cawing as I passed through. The town has tried to capitalize on this Hollywood connection, with The Birds Cafe and the just completed Alfred Hitchcock Movie Festival at the local Grange Hall.

After Bodega Bay, the road turned inland where the landscape was again filled with cows. I was in the Sonoma Hills, brown grasses covering the ground. At the moment that I passed two cows, one of the cows decided to make more cows. I pedaled on out of modesty-ah nature.

I eventually passed through the hills and came to Stinson Beach, filled on this Sunday morning with surfers. The wind was picking up and the road weaved in and out of the shore.

I passed from Sonoma County to Marin County, where the number of cyclists out on training rides increased. Among the pack heavy cyclo-tourists I was really good. Against hard core cyclists I recalled why I turned to touring when I became of a certain age.

When I was approaching the San Francisco suburb of Fairfax, my route directed me to a bike path. I was trying to figure out which way to go on the path when three Fairfax riders advised me of the correct route and asked if I would like to join them. Since getting lost comes second nature to me, I happily agreed. As I was regaling them with my flat tire woes, I hit a terrible gravel pit in the middle of the path. Yup, another flat. This bike path would be great on my gravel bike from last year, but not for my delicate flower of a race bike. I told my newly acquainted riding buddies I was dropping off since I had a flat. They continued onward.

I replaced the tube and refilled the tire and was on my way. About a mile further on I hit another rock and the tire blew again. I was now out of tubes and CO2 cartridges and I was still on this ridiculous path.

I walked the bike about a half mile to get to the street and looked for the nearest bike shop. Good news, there was a bike shop in Fairfax. The bad news was that Fairfax was five miles away. Not wanting to bother Leslie, I started to walk the bike since I had probably done enough damage to the wheels at the beginning of the trip.

And so, I started walking. I had not made it 100 yards when a man and his daughter with surfboards in the back of their pickup truck pulled up alongside me and told me to throw my bike in the back. He knew the bike shop I was going to and told me to climb in and he would take me there.

We talked about surfing, living in the Bay Area (he had moved here from New York 30 years ago) and my travels. I would still be walking along the road if he wouldn’t have stopped to pick me up. As he said to me, it’s a long way to walk in biking shoes.

He drove me to Fairfax, a town with three bike stores (now this is my kind of town). He took me to Splitrock Tap & Wheel, a bar/restaurant with a bike shop in the front of the restaurant (I am doubling down on this being my kind of town). The place was packed with cyclists and patrons watching the 49er game.

When we pulled up the three cyclists I was riding with were on the shop’s deck eating lunch. Not only that, my hero surfer dude was one of the rider’s next-door neighbor. Cue the eerie music.

I thanked surfer-dude profusely. What a kind gesture to a guy just hobbling along with his bike. As I have said, I am a cynical person, but there is a lot of good in these strange times.

I went into the shop and the mechanic was first rate. He replaced my tube in my tire, and I restocked some cycling supplies. As I waited for the repair, I spoke with my earlier riding companions. They heard me say I was dropping off but not that I had a flat. They felt terrible, and I said it was just one of those things (which seems to happen to me more than I would like).

With bike repaired, I started off to get to the final destination, Sausalito, which sits across the Bay from San Francisco. As with yesterday, my phone was going dead (which I think is attributed to allowing Les to use location tracking with my phone). This also meant I was going to have trouble finding our hotel.

I rode in the general direction of Sausalito, hoping that I would somehow find my way. At this point three cyclists, all in their 20s, pulled up alongside me at a light. I asked them if they knew the way to Sausalito, and they said that they were going that way and I could come along.

Now I was part of a small pack and we were moving rapidly. I didn’t realize how much I missed being able to sit on a wheel and move. We talked as we rode, all of them now living in San Francisco and this was their 70 mile Sunday route. Very nice kids, and it was great to have their company (not to mention their draft). Only knowing I was looking for Princess Street, when we got to Sausalito they looked on their phone for the address of my hotel and said goodbye. Again, don’t underestimate the kindness in the world.

I got to our Inn and found Leslie there. This Inn was amazing, a balcony overlooking the Bay (we can see Alcatraz-how does that play in the omen department) with a full kitchen. As I have said too many times, the hotel accommodations this year far surpass last year’s, but in all fairness I am awake in them for only a few hours. Don’t get me wrong, I am not pining for Joe’s Motel and Bait Shop.

For those of you who read last year’s blog, you may recall a friend of mine who flew on a red eye flight to meet me in Louisville and haul my stuff in a SUV for four days (and most importantly act as my cheerleader). Paul Kirsch is his name and he and his wife Paula live in Berkeley, which is across the Bay from Sausalito. They came over to Sausalito for dinner and we had a great time. I had not seen Paula in a few years (I guess she didn’t want to tag along with Paul and I in the Midwest last year-strange) and it was great to see them both. There are not many people in this world who can lift my spirits like Paul.

As usual, Paul told me not to go, it was too dangerous and that I was foolish to ride this next stage to Santa Cruz due to the hazardous conditions. I am adding this just so Paul can say I told you so if something happens. After another tasty dinner, it was time for us to say our goodbyes.

It was a day of kindness from old friends and strangers. Yes there were hardships, but this was an absolute perfect day.