distance = 73.9
- by Karen
Gualala is pronounced <<Wa-la-la>>. We ate waffles in wa-la-la, part of our complimentary breakfast at the Surf Inn. And yogurt, and eggs and muffins and orange juice. Food, as with any physically demanding voyage, particularly those with lots of think time, becomes of utmost importance. And I already find it so important in the regular day-to-day. Fueled up we set out for Bodega.
It was still raining when we left the inn but definitely less than the day before and it had lightened up from earlier in the morning. We rode through Sea Ranch which is a community of summer homes strung along the beach for San Franciscans. The houses are grey, made of Redwood but the colour resins drained by the sun and rain.
We stopped in at Fort Ross, an historic site of a Russian outpost and the only place that we could find to nosh at a table under shelter along the day's route. Dan, a cyclist that we've been leapfrogging since Oregon showed up at the fort in time to share a slice or two of our fig loaf bread.
After lunch the light rain stopped. We climbed and wended our way around, up and down the cliff sides. Riding the edge of the earth. We watched the sunset atop a dune amidst the succulents and other bushy low-growth. Typing this up in the tent, I can hear sea lions barking in Bodega Bay. Raindrops too, but it's supposed to clear up by 10am tomorrow morning.
There are three other cyclists camped here tonight, all new to us, one of them a 71 year old first time cycle tourist riding Seattle to L.A. The first time he set up his tent was the first night of his trip. We've also heard rumours of a woman in her 70's cycle touring solo. I hope to meet her soon.
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