Redwood experience

By Dave Kannas

How should I approach this without coming off like an "I was there before you" jerk?

What brings this to mind is an old photo I found recently. It was taken in April, 1972 when I was on a short bike tour of the coast of Northern California. Although I lived in Los Angeles, the trip began just north of San Francisco. It was my intent to ride on U.S. 101 until I found a road that would take me to Highway 1 then north until I felt like turning around.

By the end of the first day I reached the Navarro River. This is where redwoods take over the landscape. Twilight prevails even on the sunniest days because of the high and thick redwood canopy. Temperatures respond accordingly. I rode on a logging road north from the highway along the river until I found a spot where I would be out of sight and where the river was deep enough to swim. I know, it was April and the water was cold, but it was the only water around.

My camp was a flat area on the riverbank enclosed by undergrowth. A poncho over my ground cloth and sleeping bag provided a snug place for the night. You probably note in the photo that I didn't carry much, just the bare essentials to sustain life. After a quick and cold bath in the river and dinner, I hit the sleeping bag.

This area of the coast is almost always foggy in the morning, and the next morning was no exception. Both cold and hungry, I left my camp, biking to the coast in hopes of finding a restaurant or store. The miles to the coast were a little dicey because the road was narrow and the logging trucks were numerous (Trucks have always been a part of my biking life.). Then the road was washed in sun and the Pacific came into view.

I turned north on Highway 1 renewed by the sun and with hopes that I would eat soon. Anyone who has driven or ridden this highway knows just how beautiful it is. The highway hugs the coast, twisting and rolling as though its purpose is to be true to the landscape. It succeeds, although making it a challenging ride. Then, the "I was there before you" moment.

Mendocino is a small village that hangs onto the rocky north coast, exposed to the fury of the Pacific. When approached from the south, Mendocino is an expressionist painting. A church's spire is at the center of the painting. It's an image that when first seen is burned into one's memory. When I return to Mendocino, I still marvel at the unchanged scene.

The Mendocino Hotel was a simple place that served meals. I had lentil soup and rolls there that will never be equaled. On Delores's and my last visit there we found that the Mendocino Hotel had been upgraded to the unrecognizable. But the rest of the village remained much as I recalled it from my first visit. With my fuel tank full and after a stop at a grocery store, I continued on.

The next stop was at a state park near Fort Bragg. I rode through the park to a craggy beach that was well hidden. In violation of park rules, I set up camp behind a drift wood log. The log made a good anchor for the poncho and the sand made a good bed, until about 3 a.m.

I had ignored the tide that splashed against the log and woke me. In the rain and with limited time to move off the beach, I pushed my bike into a wood line where I spent the rest of the night. Wet and cold, I found a good restaurant where I changed into dry clothes and had breakfast. The clothes I'm wearing in the photo are the dry ones. I may have been paying my Karmic debt for defying park rules. Whatever the case, I decided to head for the start point.

Fortunately, there is an alternative to riding over the coastal range. The Skunk Train runs from Fort Bragg, through the mountains and ends in Willits on Highway 101. During winter months the steam train is replaced by a single diesel car. The train makes whistle stops along the way picking up mountain residents who placed their dirty laundry and other items alongside my bicycle.

I spent the next night in a motel in Willits. You might well call me a wimp, but my sleeping bag was still wet as were my spirits. The next morning was sunny and warm, so I hardnosed it to my start point about 100 miles away.

Dave Kannas may be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com