Bike Trip

Reeling from my breakup with Martha I decided to bicycle from Seattle to San Francisco. A route was developed to celebrate America’s bicentennial following Hwy 1 from Canada to Mexico. I read about the route from my Sunset magazine perusals and ordered an official bike route guidebook, giving exact directions for the entire trip. On the left side of each page, there was a mapping of the elevation changes, which happen through each of the sections of the route outlined on the right side.

I planned on taking the Amtrak up to Seattle, Washington to follow the Pacific Highway south until I reached San Francisco. I was living at the flophouse, sleeping on the sofa, and jogging daily with Donald. It was a big trip; everyone at dinner was talking about it. One blonde lady, in her early twenties, was intrigued and wanted to come along. I wasn’t in the mood for company.

I told her I needed to be alone on this trip; I had to sort things out about my failed relationships, I would not be a talkative or companionable companion.

She was not deterred, offering to stitch together the breaks on my panniers. While I was finishing up my freshman year at Orange Coast College, I bought a second bike. This was the bike Martha used, and it was set up for bike trips, so I did have a way for two people to go on a journey.

I relented, “Okay, we can go together.”