So, I slept in while John was off to work. I lazed around, ate breakfast, enjoying the fabulous food selection John had in his referigerator, and listened to music. After taking a leisurely shower, I checked out John huge collection of paper back books and selected Graham Greene's The Comedians and started to read.
After an hour, or so, I walked the two blocks up to local market and bought food for dinner, which I intended to make. Not surprisingly, it was my usual dish of wok-fried vegetables over rice. I have to say, I did a good job on it and it was good.
After gathering the dinner ingredients, I wandered around the area. However, it was getting hot and I walked back to John's place to cool off.
To my surprise, John returned home in the early afternoon and we again took to the couch, talking, laughing, watching TV and generally hanging out. As always, I enjoyed the time immensely.
In the evening, I fixed and we ate dinner and shortly after that, John went to bed. I stayed up a while longer reading The Comedians and then went to bed.
I greatly welcomed the rest and enjoyed the time I spent with John. It was a bit weird to hang out at John's place while he was off at work. I had no trouble filling the time. It was just odd to be by myself in some one's else pad.
I ate a large breakfast of fruit, juice, and toast and then started to pack up. I had taken most of what I had pack out in the course of the two days I spend at John's place and it took a bit of time to get them all put away. When I was getting ready to leave, I noticed that the front tire was flat. This was my only flat of the trip.
It took me about 30 mintues to take stuff off the bike, locate my spare tire, replace and pump up the spare. When this was done, John walked me out and I was up on the bike.
John lives right off Highway 1 and the ride was so full of childhood memories that it was hard to realize that I was now 52, no longer lived here, and was again riding my bike along these streets. As a teenager, I would ride my bike to the beach using these very same roads. I also drove up and down these streets once I got my license.
Highway 1 quickly left Long Beach and entered Seal Beach. Seal Beach gave way to Sunset Beach and then to Huntington Beach. I was not only riding through these cities, I was travelling though my own memories. The main distinction was that all this area was now completely build up and much of the construction was recent. It didn't have any of the run-down beach town that I clearly remember.
At Huntington Beach there are large parking lots and a bike path that runs next to them. It took me a while to find a way onto the path. Once on it, I passed empty parking lots on one side with an expanse of white sand on the other. Occasionally, I passed a small village of RVs.
The Huntington Beach pier had some activity but most of the area was deserted. The path continued past a huge hotel complex that had replaced the mobile home parks I remembered. The hotel looked much nicer than the beat-up mobile home parks, sand, and tumble weeds that preceeded it. However, I didn't like that my past had been paved over so completely.
After crossing the Santa Ana river, the path dumped me back onto Highway 1. I ended up riding on a street that seemed more a back alley than a thoroughfare. When this petered out, I was let out on a street that was neither Highway 1 or headed south. I rode past a large shopping area and while I was consulting my map, someone rode up and began telling me that he had just complete a Trans-American crossing on his bike. We talked for about 10 minutes exchanging questions and answers about bikes, gear, mileage, weather, and food. He seemed quite pleased with the discovery that he could meet most of his nutritional needs at 7-11 stores, where he could get a sandwich, drink and an ice cream dessert with only one stop.
I followed this guy's directions back to Highway 1 and reflected on the fact that just when I was getting all pumped up about riding from San Francisco to LA, I meet a guy who just rode across the US. I have to admit that spending 40 days riding a bike 3000 or more miles was incomprehensive to me at that point.
Once I got on Highway 1, I was again in familiar territory. I called Rick Whitney, who works there and got directions to his office. Once there, we went to eat lunch at a Mexican restaurant. I ate another hearty meal of cheese enchiladas. After visiting at Rick's office and getting directions to his house, I pushed on.
Newport Beach is followed by Corona Del Mar. Finally, after Corona Del Mar, there is some open land! It appears that a trade was made. A state park would be created at Crystal Cove if all the rest of the land could be developed. Where there were rolling hills in the 1970s there are now housing developments of huge spanish style homes surrounded by large walls. An effort was made to make it look somewhat attractive.
The state park consists of unimproved land sitting between Highway 1 and the ocean. There was a bike path through the park that you can just make out on the extreme right side middle of this picture.
The path provided a much needed break from high-speed traffic and sub-divisions. I even got a glimpse of a tiny hidden beach.
The raw land continued on the other side of Highway 1.
This is the view that I remembered. However, in my memory, it stretched for several miles between Corona Del Mar and Laguna Beach. I don't know what the future of this area is but I'd be surprised if those hills aren't covered by homes in the next few years.
Crystal Cove itself is pretty beach that sits right next to Highway 1. The homes on the beach are owned by the State of California. I was told that as their leases come up, the state is reclaiming and refurbishing them so they can be made available for vacation rentals. It would a nice place to spend a night or two, If that comes to pass.
Up and down a few more hills and I entered Laguna Beach.
Again, I was in a city environment. However, Laguna Beach has street parking everywhere and the space between parked cars and those moving at speed is quite narrow. More than once, I felt cars pass so close to me that I was scared that I would be hit. The closest call I had was on this stretch of Highway 1.
I rode up and down the hills of Laguna Beach and then South Laguna Beach to Crown Valley Parkway, which was my departure point. I rode uphill in a nice wide bike lane for a few miles before taking a wrong turn and climbing sharply up to a hill crest. A quick phone call got me reoriented and I zoomed down the hill and back up the one on the other side.
By the time I reached Rick Whitney's house, I was ready to get off the bike for the last time, bask in the satisfaction of accomplishment, and take a nice hot shower.