Jimmy and Leslie’s Mini-Adventure

Today’s Date: September 29, 2025

Today’s Start Point: Sausalito, California

Today’s End Point: Santa Cruz, California

Today’s Miles: 72.53 Miles

Cumulative Miles: 1,139.83 Miles

At dinner last night Paul mentioned that he might meet me on the road for old times sake. He had a conference call at 9:00 am but would hit the road after that and meet me in Half Moon Bay. When I woke up, Paul had texted me and said he would do his conference call in his car in the parking lot of Half Moon Bay-oh the sacrifices he makes.

It had rained during the night and the streets were wet. It was warmer with the temperature in the low 60’s. I set off at my usual 7:00 am start time and hit the city streets.

I was only a few miles from the Golden Gate Bridge and I was excited to ride across it to San Francisco. It’s hilly in Sausalito so my legs definitely had a wake-up call as I pedaled to the bridge.

The bridge had a separate walkway for bikes and pedestrians eliminating any fear of cars. Setting the tone for the next few hours, I could not find the bike entrance for the bridge. The Garmin’s directions are not always up to date so sometimes it routes me to what were at the time bike friendly paths. This especially happens in urban areas and even more so in a city with fast developing bike infrastructure like San Francisco. Or then again, maybe I am just a blockhead when it’s come to directions (I am kind of leaning that way).

I asked a cyclist on the road for directions and he helped the confused old man to the right path. It was wonderful riding across with the sun coming up (even with the clouds). There were cyclists going both ways across the bridge which was great to see. All in all, jaw dropping stuff.

Once over the bridge, I had to travel west through Golden Gate Park to get to Highway 1 on the coast. Through the Park there is a road closed to cars and it was teeming with people. What a great city to have such a resource.

I was blissfully riding through the Park when my Garmin indicated that I should leave this comfortable avenue and take a small path to my left. Like Michael Scott in the TV show “The Office”, if modern technology tells me to turn, I will turn even if I end up riding into a lake.

The path became gnarly quickly and even I realized this was a bad move. I got off my bike and walked through some mud to get to a busy overpass and noticed my nice closed road that I had been on was below me. Unfortunately, the only way to get back to the road was to walk down a rough path down the side of the overpass. As I got close to the road, of course I noticed a small stream between me and the road. It was too wide for me to jump across but there was a slimy rock in the middle of the stream that I could step on to get to the road. I made it, but I can tell you that cycling shoes were not made for river crossings. I got back on my bike and pedaled west.

When I finally got to Highway 1, the southern route was closed to traffic and was covered in beach sand for about 100 yards. I realized that if I could walk my bike across it that the riding would be smooth sailing south. I trudged across the sand and remounted my bike. The sand, however, was thick in my cycling shoe cleats and pedals, which would make it very difficult for the rest of the day to release my shoe from the pedal.

Heading south, I rode on a car free street for a few miles that merged into a wide dedicated bike path. Again, tons of people were riding, walking, with or without dogs, and scootering.

As I rode along, all of the hills surrounding me were crowded with houses. No square inch of the landscape was not covered.

I continued on and finally came back to Highway 1. The devil known as the Garmin 1040 Solar cycling computer (a close relative to the HAL 9000) told me I was off course. I kept looking to my right and left to see if I was missing a bike path but could not find one. This caused me to stop numerous times to check the pesky thing to make sure I wasn’t going the wrong way.

I eventually came to Pacifica. Again the Garmin appeared to indicate that I needed to take a bike path, which I dutifully did. By now you must be wondering how gullible I am (I am now the senior citizen who falls for the old Nigerian Prince scam). The bike path took me to a neighborhood, nowhere near where I wanted to go. I dutifully went back to get back to the correct route.

Eventually, I had to pass through a long tunnel to get through a hillside. I texted Paul since I was by now very late for our rendezvous informing him that I was about to go through the tunnel so that he might know where I was.

The climb to the tunnel was tough but the screaming downhill on the other side was fun, the road curving around the cliffs.

Once through Pacifica I approached Montara Beach, to find a waiting Paul in a parking lot. Just like old times, he opened the back of the SUV to reveal bagels with peanut butter and chocolate milk. Paul is the best. I sat to eat and described to Paul my navigational woes of the morning. Poor Paul, I am sure he really wanted to hear me kvetch after driving up and down the coast to find me.

I figure that was it for Paul but he said he would go another 20 miles and wait for me there. He asked if I needed anything and I said cold water and some Tylenol (don’t worry, Leslie and I are not planning on having any more kids). At that, I continued south and Paul went to find a store.

I stayed on Highway 1 (no matter what my Garmin said, I was not going to budge off of the Highway) where there was a wide shoulder but lots of traffic. The road never ventured far from the coast, which made for a relaxing ride. There were climbs, but they were not long.

As I was riding Paul passed me in the car and asked if I wanted to stop for water, which sounded great (the Tylenol, too). We pulled over at a beach and took a break. Paul had also purchased some Advil PM but I declined, fearing that a nice nap on the side of the road was imminent.

After the break, Paul said he would go down the road to the town of Pescadero for my next break. Paul is a glutton for punishment. It was time to continue on.

I made it to Pescadero with no mishaps, obsessively making sure I never wandered off of the Highway. I was getting into surfer country now and the highway was lined with cars with people getting their boards out for the afternoon waves. Looking into the Pacific, I could see multiple heads bobbing in the water as they mounted their boards.

I met up with Paul again for another round of chocolate milk and bagels. He was supposed to have left by now but he had rearranged his schedule so he could perform more Sherpa duties. We agreed on another spot 15 miles down the road.

Back on the bike and continuing on into Santa Cruz County. The surfers became even more numerous and the landscape more “beachy”. The roads here were straighter, but continued to be rolling.

I rolled into my final pit stop with Paul. At this point I was too full to eat any more bagels so we just talked for a few minutes. This was his fourth pit stop. He was going to head south to Santa Cruz and then drive north back to Berkeley. I know I have said this before, but Paul is the best. Not many people would take a full day to help a friend with culinary, drug and cheerleading skills. It was very sad to see him go.

But the road rolls on and I had about fifteen miles to go to get to Santa Cruz. We were staying on the beach (in a hotel, not actually on the beach) and for once my Garmin did not fail me. I arrived to find Les outside waiting.

My best friend from high school and roommate during my freshman year at Michigan State University, Dave Lindsay (aka Fritter) lives in Livermore, which is about a one and a half hour drive from Santa Cruz. He and his wife Jackie were going to meet Les and I for dinner, which was great since we don’t see each other much due to the distance.

It was tremendous catching up, with Dave having retired just a couple of months ago. We talked of the past, dreams of our future, our kids and the prerequisite showing of photos of our progeny. I have known Dave for over 50 years, which is staggering just to write that. Dave was the cool guy in High School and he got this nerdy adolescent through those years. Love the guy.

Tomorrow is the last day, with only a 45 mile ride to Jenna, Brandon and the incomparable Sam’s house. My sit-bones are telling me it is time for a break.