My trip into San Diego from Palm Springs was just terrific. It was in fact stinking hot when I left Palm Springs. To be precise, it was 102 deg at 10 am as my trusty GPS took me out of town via Gene Autrey Boulevarde, and Frank Sinatra Drive, among other streets whose names are not so readily recalled. As soon as I left the valley floor, I climbed pretty much straight up. Past a sign which read "Carry Snow Chains", and another which read "Turn Off Air Conditioning to Prevent Overheating, Next 11 Miles". Confusing, yes, but I knew it was going to be steep, and it was. But I got a terrific view of the city as I got near the top, and it was a fairly gnarly ride. And strangely, it got noticeably cooler as I climbed. I could not help wondering where all the water comes from to water all the golf courses, and thousands of lush green lawns in front of the thousands of affluent homes in this veritable and very opulent oasis in a very harsh desert. I have concluded that the weird weather here has a lot to do with the very high mountain ranges, the like of which we simply don't have in Australia.
Times like this, I wish I bought a decent camera. I was actually amazed at the lack of traffic as I headed towards San Diego. Apart from some minor delay due to a truck full of hay which had caught fire, which lead to a roadblock while the flames were extinguished, I just flew along some exceptionally nice bike roads.
Straight to my chosen lodging. When I said it was under the flight path, I wasn't kidding. San Diego airport is right in the middle of town, very close to the CBD. This close, in fact. These were taken from just outside my room.
Just behind the motel, there is a train track, and the trains sound their horn at every level crossing, 24/7. Right now the motel is being refurbished, and of course they are working on the room right next to mine, and there is a big dumpster right outside. I am also right next to the staircase, and also the swimming pool, which is full of Mexicans. This is actually the least desirable motel room on the planet, but very reasonably priced. And I have world class earplugs, and a beer fridge. Fortunately.
The good news is that I sold the bike. After a full day of going over it with a fine tooth comb at Mike Valenti's place, it looked better than new. I had a couple of inquiries from my web ad on CycleTrader.com, and I sold it to a very good home. So everybody is happy. For the record, here is what the right hand pannier looked like. So the bike was sold with instant street cred.
And To Mike and Tina Valenti and family, who didn't know me from a bar of soap three months ago, yet welcomed me as one of the family, I can only convey my humble and sincere thanks for all your hospitality. I hope I can reciprocate in Australia one day. There are no people like bike people, but I don't have to tell you guys that, do I?
Last night, while I was repacking for the flight home, my trusty gear bag, a veteran of three overseas biking adventures, decided to give up the ghost. The main zipper just detached from the rest of the bag, just as I was squashing it like a woolpress so I could close it. Damn! I was actually going to dump it after this trip, thinking that my bike adventures have probably come to an end. So I went out and bought a new one. And you know what that means!
Times like this, I wish I bought a decent camera. I was actually amazed at the lack of traffic as I headed towards San Diego. Apart from some minor delay due to a truck full of hay which had caught fire, which lead to a roadblock while the flames were extinguished, I just flew along some exceptionally nice bike roads.
In fact, I was beginning to think I was way off track because I could
see no signs of San Diego whatsoever. Then it just appeared, and next
thing, I was on the freeways dicing with death yet again. I went through
one major junction which looked like something from The Jetsons. Multi level spaghetti. I resolved never to speak ill of my GPS again, ever.
Straight to my chosen lodging. When I said it was under the flight path, I wasn't kidding. San Diego airport is right in the middle of town, very close to the CBD. This close, in fact. These were taken from just outside my room.
Just behind the motel, there is a train track, and the trains sound their horn at every level crossing, 24/7. Right now the motel is being refurbished, and of course they are working on the room right next to mine, and there is a big dumpster right outside. I am also right next to the staircase, and also the swimming pool, which is full of Mexicans. This is actually the least desirable motel room on the planet, but very reasonably priced. And I have world class earplugs, and a beer fridge. Fortunately.
The good news is that I sold the bike. After a full day of going over it with a fine tooth comb at Mike Valenti's place, it looked better than new. I had a couple of inquiries from my web ad on CycleTrader.com, and I sold it to a very good home. So everybody is happy. For the record, here is what the right hand pannier looked like. So the bike was sold with instant street cred.
And To Mike and Tina Valenti and family, who didn't know me from a bar of soap three months ago, yet welcomed me as one of the family, I can only convey my humble and sincere thanks for all your hospitality. I hope I can reciprocate in Australia one day. There are no people like bike people, but I don't have to tell you guys that, do I?
Last night, while I was repacking for the flight home, my trusty gear bag, a veteran of three overseas biking adventures, decided to give up the ghost. The main zipper just detached from the rest of the bag, just as I was squashing it like a woolpress so I could close it. Damn! I was actually going to dump it after this trip, thinking that my bike adventures have probably come to an end. So I went out and bought a new one. And you know what that means!
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