Ft. Bragg

Nov. 26. Today we are in Ft. Bragg, CA. We stopped at the towns’ cycle shop to get a broken spoke repaired, buy a spare tire and tube to replace our spares that we used a few days ago. As we were getting ready to leave the cycle shop, Candy commented that the stores employees seemed kind of “snotty” to her. I also picked up on the vibe. I attribute the superior attitude to a lack of knowledge and a lack of imagination. Lifelong diamond frame “ass hatchet” riders lack the imagination to see themselves riding a recumbent. They also lack the knowledge of what sitting on that narrow seat for many hours each year can do to the blood vessels and nerves in that area between the anus and the scrotum. It is know known beyond doubt that long term compression of this area, which was never meant to support a mans weight while sitting, damages the blood vessels and nerves that supply the penis, and will eventually cause impotence in a certain number of riders. That single fact is enough to make me wonder why men continue to ride uprights. I quote from the article "In men, a sheath in the perineum, called Alcock's canal, contains an artery and a nerve that supply the penis with blood and sensation. The canal runs along the side of a bone, Dr. Goldstein said, and when a cyclist sits hard on a narrow saddle, the artery and the nerve are compressed. Over time, a reduction of blood flow can mean that there is not enough pressure to achieve full erection."

Yesterday morning we left Laytonville at 11:30 and headed west for the coast on Branscombe road. The first part of the ride was really great. After one long hill at a 10% grade we had a gentle 8 mile glide down into the sawmill town of Branscombe, population about 100. It was great, to be able ride downhill for a long period of time. We were feeling good. When we left Laytonville our elevation was about 1750, and when we reached Branscombe the elevation was about 1550. I naively assumed that we would continue to go downhill the last 14 miles to the coast. One of the ladies at the store in Branscombe told us that it was uphill the rest of the way to the coast. I kind of brushed it off, thinking that since we were already at 1500 feet, how could it be uphill to the coast? Immediately after we left the town, we started a series short climbs and downhills, more or less staying at the same elevation. Then, with about 8 or 9 miles left, we started up a hill that seemed like the rest. Except that it was steeper than normal. Much steeper. A 10% grade for sure. I’m glad I didn’t know what we were in for. It was getting late in the day and we had unknowingly committed to climb this hill. We had passed several likely looking spots where we could have camped a little earlier, but now there was no place. On the left side of the road it was straight down, on the right side, straight up. It was just one sharp, steep curve after another with the top never coming into view. We got so tired that we had to stop and rest for a minute or two about every 50 yards. When I finally spotted the top we both felt so relieved. If we hadn’t been so tired, we might have stopped and done a little jig in the middle of the road. Then we came to sign warning drivers of a 2.5 mile descent at a 10% grade. For those of you who don’t know, this means a ten foot drop or rise per hundred feet traveled. A 6% grade is considered pretty steep. We had to use all three of our disc brakes, pumping them so as not to overheat them, to keep our speed low enough to safely negotiate the sharp turns. It was a wild ride down, with one stop to let the brakes cool. We were descending from 2000 feet to sea level with many sharp turns, trying to maintain our speed at 20 mph. Finally, as we neared the bottom, we could smell the ocean. We were finally on that highway known to cyclists the world over, California state highway 1. About a mile after we intersected with 1, we arrived at a private campground and gladly paid the exorbitant 22 dollar fee to pitch our tent. We had covered 26 miles and one nasty hill that day, getting a late start and ending with a enough time to pitch the tent before it got dark. That’s a pretty good day for us. Ron.