Escape to CA with Bob

I needed to go somewhere warm, flat and at sea level.

For my final bicycle ride of 2010, I wasn't going to suffer on any damn mountain passes in freezing sleet.

This trip was to be the culmination of my yearlong effort to qualify for the little-known but highly coveted R-12 award from Randonneuring USA. The ride began in Tracy, CA on December 5.

For those who have followed my R-12 endeavor, sorry. This blog is about the fun Bob and I had after I got the damn ride over. And yes, I did win the R-12 and as far as I know, I'm the first female in Utah to accomplish this. (To qualify, you have to ride 12 consecutive months of at least one 125-mile daylong ride each month. I will soon have a tiny piece of paper that says I did such a weird thing.)

On Sunday, we drove to Yosemite under bright, sunny skies. I'd never been to Yosemite, and appreciated the drive since all I had to do was sit there. No pedaling.

Our first stop is Bridalveil Falls. This is Bob, just before he took a swan dive into the snow, planting his camera skillfully between his ribs and a rock. The camera is fine and the onlookers enjoyed his cat-like grace.


A nice tourist took the only picture ever captured of the two of us.



A cloudy day in the Park means dull photos. If Bob had captured a photo of the Bobcat he spied, it would have made this blog pretty exciting.

After breezing through Yosemite ("No time to see that view," says Bob, "We need to head back to Torrey." We took Hwy 88 east, over some mountain passes, toward Lake Tahoe. A little snowstorm had gone through the night before, dumping between 8 and 12 inches of snow.



The road was perfectly fine. Bob hoped for a reason to use 4WD, but this wasn't nearly terrifying enough.



Soon, the sun came out and the wind began to blow at gale force.


Suddenly, we came upon this sight. We arrived at the wreck seconds after it happened and the guys were still climbing out of the truck. As Bob slowed to help out, we skidded on the glare ice and I feared we'd end up in the opposite ditch.



No one was hurt, so we turned around to flag down the Sheriff we'd passed a couple miles back and get a tow truck on the way. But the Sheriff was already on his way to the wreck so our help wasn't needed. On the second pass, I took this photo. About 30 minutes later we saw the tow truck headed up the mountain.


I got creative and hung my camera out the window, taking this beautiful shot I call "roof reflection". Who needs a still pond?



Not much happened again until we arrive in Delta. The city park is decked out with a million lights.



I think Bob's front yard would look nice with some Christmas lights. I'm sure the deer would appreciate the festive atmosphere while they finish off what's left of the garden, Bob's small pine trees and the snowball bush. But despite the deer problem, it's nice to be home in red rock country, near the Fremont River.

John C. Fremont, of course, had already been here, and there. We found this sign along the road into Yosemite. Fremont sure got around.

To the coast. Aldeburgh and beyond

Today we drove to the East coast to a small village called Aldeburgh. Pronounced "all-burr". I sure can't pronounce any of the names here. Wymondham is simply, "win -dumm". We had lunch in Diss (diss!) which I can pronounce correctly. But you ought to hear me butcher "Norwich" and "Norfolk".



My mom asked me to post a photo of myself in this blog. Bob took this a few days ago... note the cool sign over my left shoulder. Every town seems to have a pretty sign like this and if I'd taken a photo of each we'd still be only 10 miles from Heathrow. This sign is in Castle Acre, about 4 miles north of Swaffham and the home of a castle ruin built in 1066 for Bill the Conqueror.



In Diss we stopped for lunch at a CAMRA recommended pub called the Cock Inn. (CAMRA is the British group CAMpain for Real Ale, formed to save small pubs and advocate for small local breweries). Bob drove right to the pub even though he’d never been there. He says he has a nose for a pub.
He got the Ploughman’s lunch (with pickled onion pictured above) and I had a goat cheese and onion tart. It was okay, but for 10 pounds a bit steep. That's 10 British pounds, not units of weight I'm gaining.



This harbor photo in Aldeburgh (above) reminds me of the harbor at Hampton Beach, NH where my mother's parents (Clyde and Mary Chapman) had a house. I have some happy memories of summer days on the beach in Hampton. This photo makes me want to visit Ma Junkins candy shop for salt water taffy and rock candy.

Along this seacoast are 150 square miles of protected marshes, rivers and dunes, called "The Broads". The reed beds and wetlands formed after peat was harvested from the area, then the sea level rose over a couple hundred years and formed the current canals and riverways. This area enjoys the same protection as a national park in England. Not a strip mall, McD's or neon sign within miles.

Footpaths wind for miles and miles. Below are a few favorites I explored:




The footpath above passes a ruin on one side and the cliffs of the North Sea on the other.



The above footpath winds around behind the Wentworth hotel and restaurant, then climbs a hillside to the church.




Can you read the saying on the three windows above? Hint: the first window reads, "I saw". Once you figure out the sayings I bet you'll have a song stuck in your head as I did!



At 7:45 a.m. I watched this fishing boat approach the beach. This is not a sandy beach, rather it's made of tiny, slippery non-compacting rocks called "shingle". One step forward and a half step back.

When this boat was about 100 yards off the shore I heard a loud engine suddenly roar to life. The boat reached the water's edge and two fishermen jumped out and hooked a cable onto the front. Without ever stopping, the boat rolled smoothly up the beach over the blue rollers lying on the shingle. When to boat reached the fishing shack the winch engine stopped and they unloaded the morning's catch right at the retail shack. The sign on the shack read, "Anything fresher is still swimming."



Words of wisdom, beware the loose shingle.



Many driveways and blind intersections have mirrors like this. (I don't want any comments about the poor helpless blind intersections from you, Will). The drivers here simply haul ass on narrow and terrifyingly windy roads. Mirrors are yet another tool allowing drivers to not slow down.




I like the nautical themes throughout Aldeburgh. This simple barricade is artwork. The spiders seem to like it too (see upper left).

We had dinner at Aldeburgh's Cross Keys pub. It had average food but a great interior with low, dark beamed ceilings. The eating area is a few feet below the street level, making me wonder what happens when the sea floods the town. Here's one answer in the photo below:



The board slides into the grooves you can see on each side of the door. Doorways all along the street have these grooves and boards handy. The residents sandbag around the boards and keep the sea out of their living room. Scary!

The town is dead quiet this time of year, which suits me fine. Tonight the pub we’re staying in, Mill End, is the gathering place for the local RNLI crew (Royal National Lifeboat Institution). I would love to know what they're laughing about but can't understand a word of it. "Are they speaking English?", I ask Bob. He gives me a pained look and laughs at another comment from the bar. I need English lessons.



The lifeboat association (RNLI) has at least 200 locations around the coast of England. Each is supported 100 percent by donations. I was stunned to learn the Coast Guard will dispatch the lifeboat for a rescue, but the governement does not fund any operations, maintenance or equipment. Evidently they do a fine job, from reading a notebook containing more than 40 years of successful rescues.



My dad would love to see an old steam engine show here. Evidently old traction engines are everywhere and local enthusiasts have shows all summer and fall. Evidently I've barely missed the show in the sign above because I can smell lingering coal smoke in the air.

Tomorrow, up the coast to Southwold.