I am tiiired. I slept like a log and my body is craving for more. But the wind will be picking up at around noon, so I must make a move.
The route takes me along the coastline. It’s magnificent, it’s beautiful and it’s freaking cooold!!! On the one hand the sun is burning off my skin and on the other, the glacial wind makes me wish I had brought my winter clothes with me.
When I pause for lunch by the rocky seaside, I basically try to hug as much of those huge stones as possible, for they have absorbed all the sunshine but none of the wind. Spreading over the rocks like a run-over pancake, I decide I’m too tired to cycle any further for today and 20km will have to do.
I want a bed. I stop at the only town on my route today – Jenner – to find a hospitable sofa to take me in for the night. Most houses are empty. The few whose doors open give me an unapologetic “no.” Hmmm… I wouldn’t have thought it would be so much more difficult than in Europe…
I get back on the bike and after some 20km find the only households there seems to be on this route since Bodega Bay. Anxious whether I’ll find any other inhabitations in the vicinity I get off the road and knock on the first door I find.
A guy comes out and instantly I know that there goes my request for shelter. It’s just not a good-vibes type of person so I limit myself to just ask for some camping space. Reluctantly, the guy agrees to let me stay in the adjacent garden of the neighbour who’s out for several months. He tells me however that “we don’t like bikes on these roads here” and that “he wouldn’t have gone onto someone’s property asking for a place to pitch a tent.” Grumpy grumpy grumpy, he vanishes into his house.
I have to admit to a slight feeling of disappointment at today’s shelter hunt. It has always been so easy in all the other countries I visited. But this is, after all, a Trump’s America and it would seem like I’m squatting the garden of one of his supporters.