I wake up to a lovely “GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAAAND!!!” outcry served by the grumpy grumpy grumpy. Yes, it is 8 am already but it’s not like I’m planning on staying where I’m not welcomed. I’m going… I’m going!
I pack up and hit the road. The road crooks and twists and turns and the headwind has no mercy. It’s difficult, yes, but at least I’m suffering in beauty. And it’s totally worth it.
I arrive at Gualala and decide it’s time to find a place to stay. I hang out in front of the local supermarket and ask whomever looks friendly enough whether they could help. Again, the town being a holiday destination, there are not many locals. I do come across a nice couple though who call the nearby campground up for me. Except… the camping costs money and I have none… After an extra hour of chatting up strangers, I meet a bubbly cyclist-loving lady. She wants to help but she’s just passing by too. She resolves to give me $20 for the camping as she does not want me to sleep in a Trump-supporter’s garden again!
Money! Wow! I was NOT expecting that! What do I do? Do I take it or do I leave it? I say “no.” She insists. Quick deliberation in my head: Lilly & Sarah, who inspired me to go moneyless, did have some people buy them food, shelter or whatever else they needed. They did not, technically, spend the money themselves: it’s the other people who decided to do it *for* them.
I therefore accept and get back into the saddle for there are still several kilometres ahead of me and it’s getting late. I arrive at the campground, pitch my tent and meet with the camp manager. It’s $10 for the night. Extra 25 cents for a minute of hot shower. Well, Elena wanted to provide me with a place to stay but there was no talk of shower. I guess I’ll be going showerless for the third day in a row as I am not willing to bathe in the Pacific or take a cold shower. It’s either too cold for that or I don’t smell bad enough (yet). And the extra 10 dollars are in for my fundraiser.