December 10, 2007 by Naomi.

Our week in Cabo San Lucas was spent doing precious little; lots of lying by the pool, walking on the beach, watching the sunset (and lots of telly!), cooking and of course eating nothing but much-missed home-made food. We also enjoyed a home-cooked and very chatty dinner with Cliff and Julie from Oregon, who we’d met in La Paz. On the way home that night, we had a look in some of the bars that Cabo has to offer. These revealed that Cabo is indeed the United States’ answer to Ibiza, Tenerife and Aiya Napa (where young people go to get wasted, and indulge in all sorts of uninhibited behaviour, usually much to locals’ bemusement). In one bar, we were thoroughly amused to watch a couple having to simulate a number of sexual positions in an allotted time before being drowned in more tequila. At another music-blaring bar we stopped for a nightcap. Naomi, having been fascinated by the American obsession with margaritas, finally decided to try one but was disgusted not only by its tongue-numbing bitterness but also the absolutely rank taste of cheap tequila. Curiously, many Americans who come to Mexico seem to drink nothing but margaritas while Mexicans seem to drink mostly beer, the same goes for sangria in Spain. Where do these stereotype tourist drinks come from? Luckily, we decided it was time for us to go home before more antics revealed themselves.

Another exciting day included a boat trip to Santa Maria (a beach up the eastern side of the cape) for a spot of snorkelling, and although being advertised as just this, turned out to be more of a booze-up than anything else. Free alcohol was offered from the off, though those snorkelling were advised not to over-indulge too early. A group of middle-aged ladies had obviously decided that they wouldn’t be doing much snorkelling and by half way through the trip were posing for photos with deck hand Cristian, quite the looker with his dark eyes and long lashes, as he poured shots of tequila down their throats. We stopped to watch a pod of whales near Cabo’s famous rock arch as we cruised slowly home but it failed to distract people from the drinks for long. We were, of course, as abstemious as usual.

The days passed by far too quickly and of course on Friday it was time to jump on a bus back to La Paz (our day of cycling into Cabo was enough to put us off cycling anywhere near that town again). Much to our delight, we were told that this time we did not have to take wheels off bikes which made the whole palarva of getting on and off the bus an awful lot easier.

Finally, (after 5 months!) a good opportunity to go kayaking presented itself as our hotel in La Paz also ran tours, so we arranged to go on a trip snorkelling and kayaking around Isla Espiritu Santo on the Saturday. Unfortunately, however, P came down with a bit of indigestion so N, after much humming and hawing, decided that the kayaking opportunity could not be missed and went off to leave Paul to nurse himself for the day. We were very lucky with the weather as the sun was shining, and although it was a bit cloudy the sea was very calm and silvery. We were whipped off around the island and stopped at the north end, where we snorkelled near an interesting rock formation covered in bird poo and a bunch of barking sea lions. Things got very exciting indeed when one of the sea lions swam right around us in a circle. Next on the itinerary was kayaking from one beach to another, following the coastline around. This was a truly wonderful experience as we got to see some of the amazing rock formations and caves close up. Stupidly I did not take the camera at this point for fear of dropping it in the water and so missed an excellent opportunity to photograph some brightly coloured crabs and starfish we spotted on the rocks. After some lunch on yet another beach, we set off for a coral reef where we indulged in more snorkelling, even more exciting this time as the water was a crystal clear turquoise blue which meant we were able to see all sorts of different tropical fishes, the names of which N can’t remember now (but one of them looked like Nemo!).

The idea was to get to the Mexican mainland on the Sunday, but that was not to be as P’s indigestion got nastier and N developed her own stomach problems after absent-mindedly gulping some tap water while brushing her teeth. As a result, the next couple of days were spent laying and feeling very low in La Paz, eating bland food, watching the unexpected downpour of rain outside and trying to build up the energy and courage to jump back on the bikes to the ferry terminal 22kms up the road.

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December 6, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Our rest actually turned out to be four days as the whopping 5km hill south of Loreto and what would have been cycling 5 days through largely nothing meant we decided to take easier option of getting the bus from Loreto to La Paz (also on the east side of the peninsula). We now had some experience taking bikes apart and putting them back together (luckily they only wanted the wheels off anyway) and we thoroughly enjoyed the big climb from the windows of the bus, unfortunately the disadvantage being that opportunities to take good photos were sacrificed. We were somewhat shocked, though, by the speed which the driver chose to go, which was far too high for the windy terrain. We thanked our lucky stars that we don’t suffer from travel sickness and were obviously very happy to be going a lot faster than we would have been on the bicycles.

In La Paz we made ourselves at home at the Baja Bed and Breakfast, which is run by a lovely Mexican couple and once again spent two days resting before our last two days of cycling to the bottom of the peninsula. It was also a refreshing change to have access to some better and bigger shops.

Our first day to Todos Santos meant crossing the peninsula to the Pacific side so we assumed that it would be a hilly ride, but were pleasantly surprised to find the terrain relatively flat, and for the first 35km enjoyed a massive shoulder at the side of the road. Not only this, at the Novillo petrol station N was overjoyed to use some of the cleanest public loos she had seen for a long time. The day continued with ease as picnic tables presented themselves at a closed restaurant just as we started feeling peckish (picnic benches never usually appear at this point). Despite a somewhat slow entrance into Todos Santos due to various roadworks and lots of mud, we arrived in good time due to our fastest speed yet at nearly 20km an hour and found accommodation at one of the cheaper establishments in town.

Todos Santos is a haven for ‘artists’ and the galleries and shops tend to attract various hordes of tourists from down the road in Cabo. There is also a Hotel California there, which is even more of an attraction, and despite The Eagles’ insistence that none of them wrote their famous song there, lots of tourists still come to have their photos taken outside it. So of course we stopped for a drink in the famous tequila bar, although we kept it simple with a couple of beers, and didn’t find it too difficult to leave!

We were aware that the road to Cabo San Lucas was a fair bit hillier, which was fine, but awoke to the sound of rain, something we had not thought of since the two soggy days we’d experienced north of San Francisco. We assumed that the rain would stay relatively light and set off after the most extortionately expensive breakfast yet ($6 for a ham and cheese croissant was a joke). The highlight of the morning was crossing the Tropic of Cancer a few kilometres outside Todos Santos although as there were no helpful signposts to indicate this important milestone, we had to take an educated guess at its approximate location. For the first 50 kilometres the rain was light or non-existent (not very tropical!) and the road was somewhat flatter than expected. Again our average speed was a good 17km/hr so when we started getting hungry we decided to skip the complications of making up sandwiches for lunch and made do with bananas and muesli bars instead, and pedal on towards Cabo. It was around this point that the road started becoming a great deal hillier and we found ourselves confronted with several challenging climbs and various complicated traffic situations due to the lack of shoulder. When we were being overtaken by a large vehicle and approaching a blind curve or summit, it was our standard practice to stop at the side of the road, or in the gutter, where possible to let it pass. However, decisions to stop generally had to be unanimous (otherwise we would crash into each other), and this was very difficult when cycling with noisy traffic overtaking, thus inevitable arguments ensued about when exactly it was appropriate to stop, and how to communicate that decision.

The rain became heavier and as we neared Cabo San Lucas (at the very end of the 1600km-long Baja peninsula), so did the traffic. When we reached the top of one challenging climb, we were mortified to see the road dip dramatically back down into a valley and then a never-ending perfectly straight road climbing back up the other side. The traffic complications intensified as we tried to cycle up this long straight never-ending road. Being the first straight bit of road in a long time, cars were queuing up behind slow-moving vehicles and at the first opportunity and were less than concerned about the presence of a couple of wet, harrassed cyclists also trying to get to Cabo. So with cars overtaking lorries and lorries overtaking bikes, someone had to give way!

We had two options during these sordid moments: to stay on the road knowing that the lorries would not have enough space to overtake us at a safe distance and try and enjoy the adrenaline rush of nearly being sucked in under a massive eighteen wheeler, or get off the road and let the traffic pass until it was safe to proceed. The former decision also had the added danger of frantic lorry drivers honking at us to warn us of their presence, and the idiot cars overtaking them (a nerve-wracking and horrendous habit which is enough to shock any poor cyclist off their bike). Obviously being the life-loving and not so dare-devil people that we are, we chose the second option of getting off the road which more or less ensured our safety but made getting up that ghastly hill in the pouring rain a never-ending chore which must have taken over an hour. Added to this madness were several idiotic drivers overtaking in the opposite direction despite the fact that we were coming in our bright orange and yellow reflective bibs and our panniers covered in bright yellow raincovers: N’s furious gesticulations made it very clear how she felt about this although they did nothing to deter these speed-crazed drivers.

When we finally arrived at the top with our nerves more or less shattered we stopped outside a new hotel development and tried to eat a left over sandwich from the day before, but the avocado had already had its day so we decided to try and keep our hunger at bay. At this point, two security guards from the development came out and shook hands with us. We asked them how many more hills there were before Cabo – two - and how many kilometres there were left - 5. Just because you can speak the same language as someone does not mean the information they give you is accurate (this we learnt from a good few years of living in Seville), and were not completely surprised to see a sign several metres further down the road that Cabo was in fact 10 kilometres away. Luckily the guys’ definition of a hill was not the same as ours as they were two very small slopes that took little time to get up, otherwise the rest of the journey was largely downhill. Despite the rain getting ever more heavier, we were not going to arrive in Cabo before another challenge, and that was the roadworks. Roadworks in Mexico usually mean lots of mud, and if it’s raining as it was that day, this means cyclists and everything on their bikes get totally splattered, bike brakes don’t work nearly as well usual and (difficult to spot) potholes fill with filthy water. Added to this was a good ten minutes behind one of the stinkiest lorries that ever traversed the earth, and in front of a car full of very puzzled-looking Americans.

We were welcomed into the town itself with a shout of ‘Gringo’ from some silly boy, at which point N scolded him in a torrent of Spanish (something she has a fair bit of experience with), pointing out that firstly, one does not speak to people that way, and secondly, we couldn’t possibly be gringos as we weren’t American. After trying to dodge all the massive lake-like puddles and speed bumps (little slippy round balls of metal that stick out of the road – very unbicycle friendly indeed), things started looking up when we found an excellent Swiss pastry shop and stuffed our faces with their delicious brownies and muffins. Even better, next door we managed to get our hands on a nice big bottle of gin and two bottles of wine which would hopefully restore our nerves to their usual state.

With panniers stocked, we arrived at our hotel caked in mud, soaking wet and hoping they would be kind enough to let us check in. But not before we had to drag our now very heavy sodden bikes and luggage up the steepest hill in town. Luckily, the hotel staff were very understanding and inquisitive about our trip, although one pair of rather inebriated American women, on seeing our packed up bikes, thought it apt to proclaim, ‘What kind of idiotic, stupid people would cycle in this kind of weather?’ in very loud voices. Not exactly what we wanted to hear at that moment, although we understand that some of our readers are probably having the same thoughts!

We were very relieved indeed to reach our destination and never has a shower, a fancy meal at the hotel restaurant, a gin and tonic and several glasses of wine been more welcome. The dramas of the day, however, were not at an end. A few drinks later, someone (not N) managed to leave the sinktap running. The sink, which we noticed earlier wasn’t draining properly, started to fill. And as we happily watched television thinking that it had started raining again outside, the trickling noise we heard was actually coming from the bathroom. Just as we were about to go to bed for some very well-deserved sleep, we realised that the bathroom and the entrance to the flat were completely flooded. Paul wanted to leave it as it was, but N was not (prime cockroach attraction!), and phoned the front desk who sent the poor maintenance man over to clean up the whole mess with a towel and a bucket because all of the mops were locked away for the night. Yet another action-packed day on the bikes thankfully came to an end and we looked forward to a week of rest, recovery and relaxation in sunny Cabo San Lucas.

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December 4, 2007 by Naomi.

Our next day of cycling was thankfully very straightforward. A very long and largely straight road was punctuated by a small hill in the morning, not to mention a very formidable prison and a lovely beach at San Bruno which broke up the usual scenery of cacti, desert and mountains.

We flew down into Mulegé after ascending a big hill at the end of the day. The town lies 3km in land from the Sea of Cortez, and is a lovely quaint little place, if a little gringofied but understandably so considering its pretty setting. It was there that we discovered how delicious fish tacos are and enjoyed a very comfortable night at Las Casitas hotel, which had a picturesque patio bursting with foliage and bougainvillea. The following day we set off at a very late hour down the coast, where the roads became increasingly hilly and steep. After passing several amazing beaches tucked away in between the dramatic hills of Bahía Concepción (unfortunately dominated by humungous RVs) we stopped for a night of camping at the beautiful Playa Requesón, supposedly one of the top 10 beaches in Mexico, according to Condenast magazine. It consisted of a short sand spit connecting Isla Requeson to the mainland, (but only when the tide’s not too high!).

We made ourselves, the tent and the bikes very cosy under a palapa (basically a little hut with two walls and a roof made of palm leaves to protect against the wind). While N went in for a refreshing dip in the water, Paul quite rightly got a 40 peso ($4) discount on the palapa rental (vehicles are charged 60 pesos). Our lovely American neighbours, Kenny and Peggy and kids, kindly introduced themselves with an offer of ice-cold beer (which tasted a lot better than the two warm cans of Tecate at the bottom of Paul’s panniers) while our Dutch neighbours offered N a very unexpected shower from the side of their hardcore German military truck (converted to an all-terrain RV). As we ate our boil in the bag Trader Joe’s rice, we watched the full moon rise over the bay lighting up the beach. The effect, however, was somewhat lost on N who couldn’t work out why everything (including the moon and the light from her headtorch) was so dark, until Paul perceptively pointed out to her that she was still wearing her prescription sunglasses. In the meantime, our dear neighbours made sure we didn’t go thirsty and poured some much-missed Rioja into our camping mugs, and later, as we finished off a most sociable evening around the fire with our various fellow campers, we enjoyed a few cheeky shots of tequila and brandy.

Naomi was surprised the next morning to find that Paul was actually capable of rising out of bed before 9, and was very pleased to have the rare opportunity to enjoy the 6am sunrise with him over a nice hot cup of tea. Much as we would have liked to stick around and enjoy the beach with our lovely neighbours, as always we had to pack up and leave in good time to cover the next 93km to Loreto before sundown at quarter to six. This was to be a more challenging day with a huge hill at the start of the day, followed by an sweeping descent to kilometres and kilometres of plains and straight, flat road running alongside La Sierra Gigante (one would never think that the mountains in Baja are so huge, but they are). Cycling in desert conditions is pretty demanding; the heat of the sun bore down quite intensely and towards the end of the day we were very pleased to find an unexpected Tecate (beer) sign indicating a scruffy little bar in the middle of nowhere, where we managed to get our hands on some very refreshing cold drinks. The guys there were pimping up their car (installing a beatbox) and we enjoyed a good discussion about European football (a luxury after being in the States for so long). Unfortunately, we were not going to reach our destination without having to climb in altitude once again, and as we were nearing the town the traffic became a little heavier too.

We arrived at our destination with a good half hour before sundown, luckily without the dogs to welcome us, and set ourselves up in the lovely Iguana Inn where we spent a very welcome two days’ rest. The town of Loreto also lies on the Sea of Cortez and has a reasonably maintained malecon (promenade) not to mention (the) Mother of all the Missions (see photos) in Baja California. Its tree-lined streets offer some welcome shade from the sun but gringo levels are high here due to the ’sustainable’ resort being built down the road in Nopoló.

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December 2, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We’d heard far too many bad stories about Mexico, and, after procrastinating for too long in San Diego, feeling apprehensive and armed with copious amounts of toilet paper, we cycled down the road and across the border. The immigration officer welcomed us to Mexico with a big smile and after amiably completing the paperwork, blessed us on our travels through his country - a pleasant change from the accusatory questions we got used to from US immigration.

From the border, we threw ourselves into the heavy, smelly traffic bedlam of Tijuana, the streets of which left little room for cyclists. However, most drivers were courteous, often making their presences known with little friendly beeps and usually left a reasonable amount of space for us to get by. A very busy three-lane road coughed us up into the bus terminal, where we were very relieved to have arrived safely, after all the bad impressions we had been given about Tijuana.

Of course, getting on the bus with our bikes was going to be no simple project. After the information we had received previously, we were not sure about our chances but, after a polite chat with the friendly ABC staff, and with everyone ignoring the big ‘No Bicicletas” sign, we were relieved that we would, after all our worrying, be allowed to put our bikes on the bus. However, it did mean taking the wheels and pedals off, finding bags to put them in, turning the handle bars, wrapping up the chains in cardboard, all the while trying to keep track of 8 panniers, two handle bar bags and two sausage bags lying around us. The attendants didn’t look very impressed when they saw our ridiculous quantity of luggage, persuaded us to take some on with us and took the rest in anyway and loaded it all up. It was a nice moment to get on the bus and take our seats, despite sacrificing most of our spacious legroom to about half of our panniers.

We were even more relieved the following morning to find that our bikes and copious amounts of luggage had arrived in San Ignacio (a small town in central Baja) with us, and entertained the local shopkeepers and kids with the whole process of putting bikes and luggage back together again. After being somewhat jaded by the constant desert and cacti in the morning fog, as we cycled the short distance into San Ignacio, we were pleasantly surprised by the palm trees and lagoon that welcomed us; it was indeed an oasis. On entering the main square, we were even more surprised to find a big festival going on, with all the schoolkids dressed in various costumes and marching around, forming a circle in the square while each group of children showed off their dancing talents. With all our futile procrastination and worrying, we had failed to notice that we were entering town on the Día de la Revolución, a national holiday.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing and doing bike maintenance at the lovely Casa Lereé, highly recommended for a first night in Mexico, where we enjoyed our comfortable room, a lovely garden and an excellent library. We also chatted and shared photos with our friendly neighbour Judy, from South Korea, who is travelling around the world.

Our first day of cycling in Mexico was full of surprises, good and bad. We were quite nervous about cycling on the roads, as we had seen from the bus that there was very little shoulder and we had also been warned several times about how awful Mexican drivers were. The traffic on the Transpeninsular Highway was very light on the day we cycled to Santa Rosalia, and the only time there was really cause for worry was when there was traffic going past us in both directions – moments that were nerve-wracking but few and far between. We needn’t have worried as, when these did occur, most of those travelling in the same direction as us slowed down and waited until opposing traffic had passed before overtaking. Of the four cars in total who overtook us in a careless manner with little regard to our safety, three had California plates. All of the lorry drivers were totally respectful and many people (as in Alaska) either waved at us, or gave us thumbs up. The scruffiest cars and their drivers were undoubtedly the friendliest and most enthusiastic about giving us encouragement. But this was only our first day…

Thus we made our way over some challenging landscape: lots and lots of gradual ups on a seemingly endless highway surrounded by desert, cacti and solidified lava, and then the ‘Cuesta del Infierno’ a hardcore 18% downgrade into whopping canyons and weird rock formations (photos a must see). After expecting to see the Sea of Cortez over at least five hills, we finally caught sight of it and were somewhat relieved to see signs of the town of Santa Rosalia. Well, the outskirts of town were marked by beach and wasteland absolutely covered in rubbish, and then we had our first run in with the local dogs, who were very excited indeed about our arrival. The dog dazer was one thing we’d forgotten to put on our list, and how we regretted it while poor Paul tried to fend off the dogs’ snapping jaws at his ankles. Luckily, their territory seemed to be marked by some invisible line and we finally escaped their attentions and happily cycled on into town.

We chose a hotel recommended as ‘adequate’ in the Lonely Planet, and although the room was very basic compared to where we’d stayed the night before, and the bathroom gave off a rather unsavoury smell, we were tired and decided to take it as we were promised hot water – our biggest priority at that moment. The shower, with its actually barely tepid water, soaked the floor, and as we were unable to find anyone or anything to help us mop it up, we used the only towel they provided and all the bits of newspaper Paul was prepared to part with, and headed out for an excellent dinner at El Muelle. After a wee walk around town, we returned to our room, not overly enthusiastic about sleeping in the basic bed and the very worn and not very clean-looking sheets. This turned out to be the least of our worries when we found the bathroom and its door crawling with cockroaches. After killing the first wave, we spoke to the owner’s wife (a very interesting and talkative character with lots of bright blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick) who came and sprayed the bathroom with insecticide…to very little effect. They still came crawling in, from the holes in the plumbing under the sink, between the sink and the wall and god knows where else. After insisting that we have the spray back, we brandished it against the babies, teenagers and whopping adults in our waging war, all scurrying around – and trying to come into the room as well. This was something we could not deal with - the creatures making their way into our panniers and our bed had to be prevented at all costs. The bathroom door was at the end of the bed, and after failing miserably to put up our new mosquito net (it came with no instructions and with very confusing attachments!), there was no way of guaranteeing that the nasty things wouldn’t come crawling all over us as well. The poor sordid towel used to wipe up the shower leakage was called into action again to block the gap between the bathroom door and the floor, and was sprayed liberally to try and deter the beasts. Unfortunately, a couple of the lither ones still managed to get through our first line of defence.

We were very very tired but sleep was not going to come easily with the dread of cockroaches in the room. We managed to fall asleep sometime after midnight for a short time, but N then reawoke with that horrible annoying pee that one has to do in the middle of the night, which is usually not an issue but when camping or having to face a bathroom full of cockroaches becomes a battle of wills. After putting it off for a very long time, knowing that those ghastly creatures were waiting for her in the bathroom, nature of course had to be satisfied: there were more of the buggers waiting (although not quite so abundant now) and one of them had to make its way onto her leg mid-pee, which just about shot her last nerve; sleep was going to be very difficult to come by once again, and tears came instead.

As a result of the night of cockroach hell, the next day we were not in any mood to cycle anywhere. So off we went for brekkie, and it didn’t take too long to decide that we’d stay another day, but move up to the swankiest hotel in town - at a cheap $60 and the state we were in, it was an easy decision. Hotel Francesa is a wonderful colonial style hotel made almost entirely of wood. Our room led onto a lovely verandah with an excellent view of the sea and the adjacent copper mines. Despite (or maybe because of) the brown colour of the wooden bathroom, not a cockroach was to be found and a very restful day was had enjoying the hotel pool and catching up on well-deserved sleep.

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November 26, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

On Sunday morning, we met up with Liliana (a friend we met through Madrid’s Bravobike bicycle touring company) and her boyfriend, Richie, for a very lively and tasty brunch at George’s Greek Cafe, where we also enjoyed the waitress, Bubu’s, entertaining banter.

Leaving LA behind us, our route followed a good bike path through several beach towns south, which made cycling very enjoyable. Even more encouraging was the quantity of amiable and enthusiastic people we met on the way: Californians are very friendly indeed and many took a great interest in our journey. However, a couple of portions of our route took us onto the road, and unfortunately we experienced two incidences of hostility, the first in the form of two girls who were too stupid to work out why we were in front of them waiting at a red traffic light which resulted in lots of swearing and shouting on their part, and the other in the form of a muesli bar thrown with great force out of a car window which managed to hit Paul’s elbow and Naomi’s hip. We shrugged our shoulders and carried on over increasingly rolling hills, eventually finding ourselves at our destination, Laguna Beach, a very wealthy town indeed by the look of some of the neighbourhoods and shops that we saw.

Our hosts, Jane and Dick, had warned us of a big 3 kilometre hill up to their house, something that didn’t deter us. However, after getting up the not too difficult first kilometre of it, a small SUV whizzed passed and parked up in front of us. Out came a man who said, ‘You must be Paul and Naomi!’, and of course Dick had come to give us a lift up the hill. We were tempted to carry on cycling but, after a brief millisecond of weighing up our options, decided to accept the kind offer – it was, after all, rapidly getting dark. After jamming the bikes and luggage in as far as they could go, we chugged our way up the hill and realised why he had come to collect us – the road was very very steep indeed! Jane and Dick’s very kind hospitality included lots of drinks to quench our thirst, and an excellent dinner of steak, potatoes and salad. Jane also very kindly took us to the very top of the hill the following morning so that we could see the views, not only of the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach, but of the towns further inland too.

After negotiating the very steep hill back down to Highway 1, we made our way through more of the beach towns of Orange County and then the massive marine base of Camp Pendleton, where Naomi got stung by some unidentified insect, possibly a new secret military weapon, but more likely a bee, as it left its sting and the attached venom sack in her shoulder. After watching the sun set from the beach at Oceanside we made our way to Carlsbad to find a bed for the night. We only had a short distance to cover the following day, so while Paul enjoyed another well-deserved lie in, Naomi went off for another legwax, this time at the hands of Tammy, and even got a goody bag to take away with her.

Yet more beaches and seaside towns took us towards San Diego and finally led us to a big hill (the first in a while) up to La Jolla mesa, and after having to negotiate the rush hour traffic of the suburbs, and getting rather lost in the labyrinth of university housing, we arrived at Jesus and Alison’s flat. We spent two rather guilty days enjoying their excellent hospitality (their two boys, Mariano and Temoc kindly gave up their bunk bed for us) and getting lots of advice about Mexico.

The following day we made our way into San Diego, via even more beach suburbs. We were particularly impressed with Pacific Beach, which boasted an impressive travel shop (where we stocked up on ‘necessities’ for Mexico) and a cafe serving delicious sandwiches (called 976). Despite the short distance, our dawdling made us late for our arrival at Sandi and Chris’ stunning penthouse apartment. Sandi immediately made us feel at home and we enjoyed two lovely days in their company. This included lots of tasty food (definitely not vegan!), a visit to the world famous San Diego zoo and some wonderful views of the city, its surrounding inlets and peninsulas and the lights of Tijuana in Mexico from their flat, located in one of the taller buildings in downtown San Diego.

Our originally planned two days in San Diego quickly turned into four while we procrastinated about our next move. We were somewhat nervous about entering Mexico, having heard numerous scare stories about bad drivers and worse roads, not to mention news reports about armed robberies, killings and kidnappings. Because we were two weeks behind schedule, and most scare stories tended to be about the northern Baja we decided that heading South of the tourist strip from Tijuana to El Rosario was the best plan. We took a day trip into Tijuana to get a feel for the place, and to enquire about buses to central Baja and their policies in regard to carrying bikes. On entering Tijuana, despite its terrible reputation, we realised that it really wasn’t as dodgy as many liked to make out (well not to walk round anyway), enjoyed a delicious torta (sandwich), refused lots of invitations into people’s shops and pharmacies (it’s a hotspot destination for Americans to buy prescription drugs without a prescription) and were delighted to find that Mexican loos were cleaner than expected (in fact cleaner than Spanish ones!). However, one problem did arise at the bus station where we were informed adamantly that the bikes wouldn’t get on the bus unless they were boxed. So back to San Diego we went, wondering how we were going to get round this new obstacle, and of course needing another whole day and night in San Diego to figure it out.

We’d found accommodation at the Hotel Occidental, and were disappointed to discover that we were paying $80 for ‘European-style’ accommodation (this is a euphemism for shared bathrooms in the States) which was actually more of a hostel than anything else. Shared bathrooms wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that they are usually unisex, and women have to therefore tolerate the residues left by some of the standing sex when they spend their pennies. So from our boxy room, Paul found an internet site (www.hotwire.com) where you can book a room in a hotel in a certain area of town, but without knowing which one it is. They do inform you, however, how many stars the hotel has – in this case it was three and a half for $70. We were delighted to discover we were going to stay at the Sheraton for $110 less than the usual quoted rate, and therefore headed off eagerly to get our money’s worth. Of course we couldn’t check in until 3pm, so we went off to kill time around town. While we were inspecting a mini-model of San Diego through the window of the Visitors’ Centre, we were aware of, but not paying much attention to, a group of rather well-dressed people hanging around a statue. Naomi got into conversation with a photographer nearby, at which point it was discovered that the statue was of Pete Wilson (an ex-California governer) and that the man himself was also present. As this was not an opportunity to be missed, we asked if it would be possible to have a photo taken with Pete Wilson, his statue and our humble selves. After all, how often does one get a chance to take a photo of a man and his statue! And how often does Pete Wilson get a chance to have his photo taken with a couple who have cycled from Alaska to San Diego?

So our last day in the States was quite an exciting one indeed, although not without its ironies - from the not very clean toilet in our bathroom at the Sheraton, it was evident that the previous occupants were of the standing sex.

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November 18, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

As we were not willing to negotiate LA on our bikes and we had a mountain of things we wanted to do and several people to see, we decided our only option was to rent a car, which turned out to be a very wise decision indeed. After a very short and pleasant bikeride to Santa Barbara airport, we loaded up all our gear into the back of our much anticipated Suzuki SUV Chelsea tractor type thing and set off down the motorway, feeling very much like we were living life in the fast lane. The road from Santa Barbara to Santa Monica, although picturesque in parts, proved to be extremely bike unfriendly, especially as Malibu lasted for a total of 27 miles (which would have been half a day’s ride) and had little to offer the passing tourist except a road with speeding traffic and swanky ugly houses on either side of it (any views of the sea were blocked by said houses). We loved the car even more when we turned onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard, as this was a particularly nasty winding uphill road with lots of aggressive fender-bendering traffic, all of which was enough to make any driver nervous, let alone a cyclist who hadn’t sat behind the wheel of a car for nearly six months. An even windier, narrow and steep road at the top finally led us to Antony and Emily’s little mountain hut on the edge of Topanga National Park, where we enjoyed an evening of food, wine and chat and their little baby Will’s amusing antics for entertainment. Due to a lack of space, their new neighbour, Damien, very kindly offered us his warm newly carpeted floor to sleep on which we gratefully accepted.

We spent the entire following day in the car (very L.A.), exploring the various famous and infamous ‘hoods of Venice Beach with its odd people, Bel Air with its over-sized houses and Beverly Hills and Hollywood with their wannabe stars and over-priced shops. Still, our bottoms were very content at spending the day in nice cushty leather seats and in the evening we checked into the Vibe Hotel, a curious motel cum hostel which played non-stop dance music across the courtyard all evening.

After grabbing a quick but tasty bite to eat at the Thai place next door (which had an in-house Thai Elvis Presley look alike singer to get our feet tapping), we hopped into a taxi to Spaceland to see one of Paul’s favourite bands, The Thrills. As it’s not a very well-known band, we were expecting a run of the mill crowd, but on arrival, were quite surprised to find a number of overly (well, actually underly) dressed hotties hanging around outside, with legs going all the way up to their necks. Their presence was curious and atypical for a minor Indie touring band and after a longer than usual wait to get in the first support band – Rock and Roll, allegedly from France – came on stage. At first little appeared out of the ordinary, standard support band fare, until the previously mentioned hotties started pushing their way to the front and a cameraman appeared who seemed more intent on filming the audience rather than the band. It was at this point that Naomi spotted a couple of faces familiar to her from the pages of In Touch magazine (the American version of ‘Heat’) and realised it was Audrina Patridge and Lauren Conrad from MTV’s Hollywood reality show ‘The Hills’. (Don’t worry if you have heard of neither the show nor the stars, they are quite far down the Hollywood food chain). The accompanying gaggle of an entourage proceeded to push and shove their way to the front, leap on stage and in true Hollywood fashion make their presence very known as they tried to get on camera. One leggy lovely, after some particularly flamboyant dancing, was approached by an older producer type who offered her a ream of documents to sign – a contract? A release waiver? whatever! I’m on TV! - which made her dance with even greater enthusiasm. Not surprisingly, as the band finished their set and the cameraman lowered his camera, the glitzy front row crowd evaporated leaving the usual black denim clad, t-shirt wearing music fans to await the next couple of bands. The Thrills unfortunately did not make it onto the stage until three hours after they were supposed to, but we were pleased finally to see the band we had come to see, and without the off-putting line of dancing wannabes obscuring our view. A surprisingly good gig indeed!

The next day we enjoyed a film (American Gangster) at the Mann’s Chinese Theatre, which is a lovely cinema; its Chinese lanterns and oriental décor make an excellent cosy setting to watch a film. The inside is much more more of an experience than the tacky outside, where one can find lots of tourists who come to ogle the hand and foot prints of big Hollywood stars.

After investing rather copious amounts of money in a brand new Brooks saddle for Naomi’s bike at the Hollywood bikeshop (we’re still waiting to find out if this was one of our wiser decisions), and another quick squiz around a silly neighbourhood (which included Mulholland Drive, and all the big name studios which charge stupid amounts of money for tours), we headed off to find Olga’s house in the maze of Mount Washington, something which was much easier than expected. Olga, an ex-student of Naomi’s great aunt Gertrud in Germany, and her husband Roy, were excellent and generous hosts for the next two days. We had some excellent meals in and out of the house, and especially enjoyed a visit to the Griffith Observatory to see some fabulous views of LA, and learn a little bit more about astronomy. It was also lovely to catch up on the news and stories of old family friends.

Sadly, our journey had to continue the next day, although Paul was quite excited about his visit to Hollywood Park where he was dropped off to play poker for the morning. The limit hold ‘em poker tournament was unfortunately not overly successful – the morning start? poor cards? no breakfast? light bankroll? who knows? But as always an experience, and even more so in Hollywood. When Naomi came to join in the gambling at the races next door, she was expecting a glitzy horse-racing stand with lots of people in fancy hats (too much British TV?), but on entry was quite surprised to see many not very rich people at all stuffing their faces with junk food and feasting their eyes on the televisions and their programmes, desperate for that big win that would change their lives. Our little spate of gambling that afternoon did not change our lives, but Naomi had a couple of winning flutters - one a nerve jangling photo-finish – and was quite happy to walk out just that little bit wealthier than when she walked in. Unlike Paul.

After the last race, we set off for Long Beach, where we took our sleepy, neglected bikes out of the back, tearfully said goodbye to our very cosy SUV and prepared our bottoms for a few more days back in the saddle.

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November 14, 2007 by Naomi.

Exciting a place that SLO was, we did not have time to stay there, and after a few chores, left the blistering heat of the town to head towards the coast, where a well-defined, thick, cold fog awaited us once again. Our destination was not decided on our departure, but the fog at Pismo Beach finalised the decision that we would be staying in Santa Maria, a town that supposedly had little going for it and wasn’t in the guidebook, but, being inland, would hopefully have a few more rays of sunshine to offer us. That it did, but not before an unexpected excruciatingly steep hill (only a couple of hundred metres but we still had to stop twice to catch our breath) and thereafter miles and miles of flat agricultural land. The place was a massive sprawl of strip malls and as we had little clue of what lay ahead in terms of food (and we were, as always, very hungry) we made do with a Chinese buffet restaurant which turned out to be excellent value – all you can eat (and the food was very good!) for 10 bucks. The demographics of the population in Santa Maria were a far cry from all the white faces we had seen in SLO and Big Sur; most of the people were Asian or from Central America, and we did not hear very much English spoken at all.

Lots more agricultural land, a very hot sun, various wineries and the return of affluent white Californians accompanied our ride into the Santa Ynes valley the next day. The route we took (http://www.sbbike.org/region/rides/Sideways-2.pdf ) passed a number of locations featured in the film Sideways, a film about two of the aforementioned Californians in their mid-life crises and their wine tasting eccentricities. The scenery was lovely but the heat made riding very sweaty and, and as our day was quite demanding, wine tasting was unfortunately out of the question. Paul’s pannier popped off his bike towards the end of the day (not for the first time either), breaking two bottles of lovely cold beer he had just bought at the shop in Santa Ynes, soaking the contents, and leaving sticky shards of glass all over his dry sack. Clumsy was the order of the day – after setting up camp, hunger made Naomi stuff far too much pasta into the saucepan, it all expanded and half of it stuck to the bottom, burning half of it and giving it a very unpleasant charcoaly taste. Or maybe she has simply forgotten how to cook! We enjoyed an excellent view of the stars from our campsite, and were even more impressed with views of Lake Cachuma the following morning. We thought we had done the biggest hill on the California coast at Leggett, but, no, there’s always a bigger one! Which waited for us that morning on our way to Santa Barbara. Thankfully we got to the top of the San Marcos Pass in an hour after covering the demanding 4 miles in the early morning sun, and, of course, our return to the coast also marked the return of the fog. We descended into Santa Barbara a lot earlier than expected as the hours had gone back the night before. Day light savings did not do us any favours as lie-ins would now become more and more of a luxury with the sun rising at the ridiculous hour of 6am and darkness falling at 5pm.

When we arrived in Santa Barbara, we cycled around town looking for some wi-fi to consider our accommodation options. Naomi had never stepped into Starbucks before (something that had made itself so ubiquitous was probably best ignored), and hadn’t been planning to ever, but on this morning, hunger and impatience helped us decide that it couldn’t be that bad, so hey why not give it a chance. On investing in a much deserved cup of tea/coffee and some lunch, we opened up the laptop to get onto the internet when we discovered that Starbucks and T-mobile had got together to offer us an all-day internet pass for the ridiculous price of $10. Who pays for wi-fi these days unless you’re in the middle of nowhere? All we wanted to do was check e-mail and find a bed for the night. We were also very unimpressed that they insist you drink your tea out of paper cups (an unfortunate habit developing everywhere in the States) and apparently are unable to recycle them, usually a must do anywhere in California. So in Starbucks we were not going to stay to do our business (indeed N is never going back), and there started a search for all the other possible wi-fi places on our list, all of which had either closed down or did not offer wi-fi. A stop at the visitor’s centre was very helpful indeed: they gave us an excellent bikemap, recommended a very good motel and directed us towards the local library. So, after having had a good long cycle around town we finally got our free wi-fi and the information we needed. Despite the trials and tribulations of settling in, we were very impressed with Santa Barbara as it offers discounts to those who don’t arrive in town with motorised transport, a discount which we, of course, exploited. For a list of participating hotels see http://www.santabarbaracarfree.org/ After settling in at the excellent Presidio Motel, we walked down the street and, naturally, saw a multitude of cafes offering free wi-fi that were simply invisible the first time we passed on our bikes.

Santa Barbara certainly warranted an extra day, and the following morning Naomi visited the SB Mission on one of the cruiser bikes that the motel offered (with only one gear and purely designed for posing on the beach, not for cycling up the hill to a mission) while Paul caught up on some well-deserved sleep. A leisurely day took us down for a walk on the wharf, some beer tasting at the local brewery, a spot of shopping and a trip to the cinema to see Dan in Real Life.

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November 9, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

A nasty steep hill out of Monterey gave us just a taste of what the riding would be like for the next two days and, after cycling through yet another swanky neighbourhood of seaview houses, the road opened out onto the area, or perhaps the state of mind, known as Big Sur, probably the most scenic part of the Californian coast. This meant that there were some very big hills to be contended with. However, despite the difficulty, the ascents were made easier by the spectacular views from the road (photos are a must see!). Highlights included the Bixby bridge and a well deserved rest stop at the ‘Spiritual Garden’ - a place where someone had displayed a smorgasbord of artistic bric-a-brac, including a man size ‘nest’ set out with cushions and pillows. It was very tempting indeed to stay for a siesta instead of sweating our way up the second big hill of the day.

The improved weather (and very expensive accommodation) meant the decision to camp was much easier to reach than on previous occasions and after some expert advice from and lovely dinner made by Eric, we settled in under the Redwoods with the sound of the ocean in the distance. The next day was more of the spectacular same, although an intermittent swirling fog annoyingly obscured our view at the more outlying points of the land.

At the vista point perched at the top of one of the biggest climbs of the day, a man approached us, asking, ‘So when I see ya cycling up those hills, should I feel sorry for ya, or should I just think you’re a stupid son of a bitch?’ at which point we entered into an enthusiastic debate about the pros and cons of cycling along the Big Sur. Don and Carol were going to have lunch further north, and on their way back they found us at Ragged Point where they kindly invited us to eat with them that evening.

The big hills finally gave way to some wonderfully flat prairie land, where the miles literally flew by in seconds. Just south of the Piedras Blancas Lighthouse we had the opportunity to observe some elephant seals in action, some of them fighting, but most of them basking themselves in the sun. At San Simeon, we shared stories and anecdotes over a wonderful meal with Don and Carol at their hotel.

On our way south the following morning, we had one more rendezvous with Don and Carol, who stopped their car at the side of the highway to donate their hotel toiletries to us (Neutrogena – good stuff!) , after which a flattish route took us through the picturesque Cayuco, and then onto Morro Bay, where we got a wee glimpse of the big rock before it was completely obscured by a thick fog. Our lunch on the beach in the sunshine immediately downgraded to a lunch at a picnic table in a touristy part of town, also in thick fog. The sandwiches were bought at a health food shop, and unfortunately turned out to be totally vegan (lettuce, avocado and a bit of sauce), which meant that there were precious little calories for us hungry cyclists. In a typically elegant moment for N, the wind also decided to pour her carrot juice into her lap, which then dripped down her leg, and splattered her socks and shoes with a very interesting orange hue.

Thick fog accompanied us all the way out of Morro Bay and its surrounding wetlands, before the sun broke through once again and the road took us into San Luis Obispo, where we immediately stopped at the famous Madonna Inn for tea and cake to make up for our insufficiently filling lunch. The place is decorated in a very elaborate, ornamental, kitsch, ornate, over-the-top style, mostly in colours of pink and red – the toilets downstairs were a real sight, and the cakes matched too!

Adventures in San Luis Obispo did not come to an end there, however. In the evening we made our way down to the Farmer’s Market where we invested in lots of delicious fruit and, after wine tasting in a place where people obviously felt impelled to dress up for the occasion, enjoyed a lovely meal at the Blue Sky Cafe in a more relaxed atmosphere. We were very lucky to be in San Luis Obispo on this day as it was the first Thursday of the month, which is when all of the cyclists get together for their Critical Mass (campaigning for cyclists rights etc), and something curiously called Bike Sumo. After a few rounds of the centre, we followed these people (somewhat reluctantly) down some badly lit streets to the edge of a park somewhere out on the edge of town. We joined the other cyclists in a big circle, most of whom were in fancy dress (the night before had been Halloween), with two participants in the middle engaged in some sort of combat with their bikes. On closer inspection, we realised that Bike Sumo is pretty much exactly that: the aim is to get your opponent off his bike by crashing into him as hard as possible, with no regard whatsoever for the consequences for the bicycles involved. Participants had to identify themselves (usually with some sort of nickname), the winner was decided by the best of three rounds and one did not under any circumstances complain about the resulting damage to his, or her, bike. In fact, the fighting pair shook hands in a gentlemanly fashion, the loser conceding ‘You got me, man.’ Of course, N’s bike unfortunately got caught up in one of the frays, (but, keeping her mouth firmly shut, got Paul to fix the resulting brake problems while most of the participants urinated by the adjacent bins after the whole ritual was over). To recover from all the excitement we went for a couple of drinks in downtown SLO where we found yet another live band performing and more people-watching opportunities to indulge in.

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November 6, 2007 by Naomi.

We chose our route to King Street Station very wisely the following morning, and managed not to have to cycle up any of the frightful hills (Lombard Street was tempting, well, no it wasn’t - but we’d already walked down it anyway). After strapping our bikes into the very impressive special bicycle car of the Caltrain, we very much appreciated seeing the sprawl of southern bay area to San Antonio from the train. After a brief but pleasant reunion with Ruth (N’s step-grandmother), who donated some lovely biscuits and apples to our food panniers, and a somewhat unsuccessful search for a map of Santa Cruz county, we did not really enjoy seeing the sprawl of Silicon Valley from the bikes because it simply took so long to get anywhere.

By the time we located a bike shop to get a recommendation for the best route to Santa Cruz, it was already too late in the day to cycle up the ‘pleasant’ but very long and arduous way they recommended so we had to make do with the most direct route we could see on the map, which meant going for a few miles on the notorious Highway 17. And just as we got through Saratoga, with three hours left of daylight and a mountain range to cross, it was then that a whopping six inch nail decided to make its way into Naomi’s tyre. So we were delayed by at least 20 minutes to change the tube and the tyre, and then another 20 minutes to fix the resulting bump bump bump. Could things get any more rushed and chaotic? Yes, Highway 17 was a murderous road – at first the shoulder was lovely and wide, but it narrowed to two lanes and no shoulder to speak of, and the cars going past were not happy to be sharing any space at all with the likes of us. And all this on a Friday afternoon (with a good percentage of Bay Area residents making their way down to Santa Cruz and Monterey for the weekend). So with the adrenaline rushing and grateful our lives had been spared, we were very very relieved to get off this horrendous road after a couple of miles, where we now faced a big climb, the statistics of which we knew very little. With an hour and a half left of daylight we started sweating our way up, but with little battery life left in the bike lights, we panicked somewhat about having to cycle down the other side in the dark. Pulling up at a confusing junction to consider our options (these were less than a few), a friendly guy in a pick up rolled up and we asked him the way. When he realised we wanted to get to Santa Cruz before sundown, he very kindly offered us a lift to the top of the hill and up the summit road, an offer which of course we could not possibly refuse. After quite a fiddle to get the bikes in the back, Glenn cracked open his Friday afternoon sixpack for us (the beer was possibly the most delicious we’d ever drunk) and this most fortunate rescue meant that we could cycle down the mountain in twilight, and got to the outskirts of Santa Cruz just as the sun went down and the street lights came on.

Unfortunately, we did not get to see the sunset there as we were too late, but we did get to see hundreds of sea lions sleeping, barking and fighting under the wharf the following morning. A stint at the bikeshop took longer than usual so once again we were delayed in leaving, however this time the terrain was relatively flat and mainly agricultural. According to our cycling guide, it was boring, but we beg to differ as the powerful smell of strawberries teased our noses so much along the way, that N could not resist pinching a few, but not without great fear of someone turning up with a gun and and arresting her for grand theft strawberry, or even worse, shooting her for trespassing. They were well worth the threat, and utterly delicious!

In Monterey, Miriam, a long lost friend and work colleague from Seville, welcomed us into her warm flat and, with wine and pasta in our bellies, we made our plans to see Monterey. The next morning we persuaded Miriam to take a couple of hours break from her Masters work to give us a bike tour of the Peninsula – more sea lions at the pier and then on to 17 Mile Drive as it wound its way through golf courses made famous by the PS2, rocky coves, sandy beaches, the famous Monterey cypresses and lots and lots of stupidly large houses. We ended up at the Pebble Beach Lodge and Spa for a sniff around the fancy toilets and a quick look at the 18th hole.

Our original plan had been to leave Monterey on the Monday morning but with rain and possible thunderstorms forecast, and arguably the most scenic ride of the trip so far coming up, we decided another day in Monterey was merited, as was a visit to the famous aquarium. We were very pleased indeed to have this extra day. The $25 entrance fee at first seemed excessive, but the excellent displays revealed many a fish we had never set eyes on before and we learned lots of new things about marine life, among other things what the birds and the bees of jellyfish, how different types of pollution affect animals in the ocean and what kind of fish it is recommended to buy to avoid species going extinct. It took us hours to see everything and we were exhausted by the end of it all but it was worth every minute. Photos for this day are a must see.

We once again persuaded Miriam to neglect her studies, and met her for Happy Hour at the Crown and Anchor, one of at least four very English pubs in Monterey. On our way to the pub, we crossed paths again with Eric, who did not need much persuasion to join us either. However, our last night in Monterey was an early one, as yet another big and challenging day awaited us.

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November 4, 2007 by Naomi.

It was very difficult to leave the comfort of Petita’s house, but of course we had to and immediately immersed ourselves into the sprawl of San Francisco’s suburbs. Cycle friendly as the area is meant to be, getting into this city was not nearly as simple as getting into Seattle on its much missed leafy luxurious trails.

The bicycle path appeared, disappeared and reappeared, and took many different forms; from dirt paths to paved ones blocked by big slabs of concrete, to hilly steep roads with no shoulder and horrendous quantities of traffic, it took us over and across roads and motorways several times, sometimes totally unnecessarily. We are convinced that the people who are responsible for designing these paths are not cyclists themselves!

After at least three to four hours of stopping, looking around, inspecting maps and our cycling guide book, asking directions from bike shops and nice people, and tolerating comments from rude people, we finally found the very decent cycle path from Marin City, which travelled, flat as a pancake, over marshland to Sausalito. After 6 hours without proper nourishment, moods were sour with low blood sugar and sapped energy level. Therefore, the lunch we ate, with the view of San Francisco across the bay, was possibly one of the best we’d had, and we became human again. It was also a great pleasure to see the highest concentration of bikes in one place that we had during our whole journey, so for once we did not feel like out of place freaks on overloaded bikes, and we struck up friendly conversations with fellow diners and cyclists.

A couple of steep hills took us up to the much anticipated Golden Gate Bridge, a very important milestone in terms of the larger aspects of the trip – at this point we’d cycled from Alaska to San Francisco (well, mostly!). Being such an exciting moment, and much to the annoyance of the many other (and very professional-looking) cyclists whizzing over it, we stopped to take a stupid amount of photos (luckily we have only published a select few of these). So excited were we, in fact, that in a moment of distraction could not find the camera and thought we’d dropped it off the side of the bridge. As usual, Paul found it in some obscure pocket of his pannier.

As we meandered through The Presidio and Crissy Fields, we basked in the late afternoon sunshine, and wisely found a motel that was up one of San Francisco’s more reasonable and gentle hills (and of course very near the bottom).

We found ourselves in a very nice neighbourhood, Russian Hill, which contained such a plethora of excellent eateries, drinkeries, health food shops, cycling shops and salons that could have kept us busy for days, but we did manage to tear ourselves away to see other parts of the city. San Francisco was made most enjoyable by a fantastic tour with Sally and Bob and their dog Annie, our family friends from way back in the 40s. This included visits to Alamo Square for excellent views of the city, the Golden Gate Park where we enjoyed an excellent lunch with Bloody Marys and samples of beer, and most importantly Berkeley to check out the street where Naomi’s gran lived sixty years ago. A very merry night out in the Mission with Mark, a family friend from a long time ago (this time the 70s) and Eric, our on-off cycling companion, meant we spent Paul’s birthday feeling somewhat worse for wear, but this did not stop us from going out to see yet more of the city. The food and the view from the San Francisco Institute of Art is highly recommended, (the toilets aren’t), the cinema was massive (Into the Wild is also recommended and brought back our memories of Alaska), and finally we enjoyed a rather posher than usual birthday evening meal back in our own cosy neighbourhood.

NB We apologise for the delay in publishing the blog – no excuses as usual, except that we have had several big hills to cycle up and social engagements to be filled. We are now doing our utmost to bring it back on track with the photos.

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