Vallejo

We cooked some oatmeal and pushed off from Sacramento. We took a brief visit at the Capitol building before riding on to Davis. Met two cyclists out for a day trip and let them break the wind for us. Excellent. We paralleled the freeway and rode over an estuary and made it to Davis early in the morning. Sitting behind the riders had really been a pleasure cruise. Started with a tour of the bike shops but it was too early so we had to be satisfied peering through the windows, smudging up the glass. We pedaled over to the school and moseyed down the different paths, taking in the buildings. It was time to eat so we found a bagel place in the middle of downtown. That place was a vortex, a black hole of line waiting and bagel selection. Jordan, however, got an egg sandwich bagel meal and was very pleased. We put down the dough and continued on.

We took another path out of the city and into the farmland and the orchards. There were all kinds of cyclists out day, it was recreation season, undoubtedly. We pushed hard from Davis and were soon rewarded for the energy expenditure with a town called Winters. You take a right off the main road, cross over a bridge, and enter into a beautiful downtown with a historic charm. Etched, masonry buildings house shops and restaurants, but best of all is the park right in the heart of it all. Better still is arriving on a Sunday morning when the farmer's market is in full swing. There were grapes and peaches and Arnold Palmer and an old-timey band with a stand up bass, banjo, guitar, and mandolin. The music was good and the atmosphere was better. Kids rambled off to be chased by their parents and people sat underneath the shade of trees to enjoy whatever purchase they had just made at the booths nearby. Everyone was attractive, and smiling, and the sun beat down a warm hello. It was spectacular. We indulged in some cookies at the bakery and bread stand and the girl working there was one of the most beautiful in existence. Not in falsehood, totally genuine.

The band started to lay into some mean solos and the musicians were trading back and forth, reaching a fever pitch. Pushing the tempo, up to crescendo, fingers flying furiously and then a final note. People applauded and the song marked the unofficial end of the market as vendors began to take down their canopies and put away their wares. We didn't want to leave. I wish I was there now. It was more than you could have asked for. But relocation seemed implausible so we got back on the bikes with heavy hearts. More rural riding, more stiff winds, and some ups and downs to a bedroom community called Fairfield. We arrived in a suburban area and clamored for a shopping center. “Financial services? Boo! Where is the food?” We rode down a hill and saw a Safeway. “Hooray!” We took the turn and our momentum dropped us right at the front door of a Round Table Pizza. Good coincidence. Jeremy and I had both scored free stuff from a scratchers game at the previous Round Table. I collected my pan pizza and Jeremy his cheese sticks. We arrived right around two o'clock for the close of the buffet but in another instance of creating our own reality we inquired about the remaining buffet items and proceeded to eat them all. Here's to embracing bold desire.

Originally we had planned to reach the ferry in two days but we discussed riding all the way to the terminal and taking an early boat over to San Francisco the next morning. We pressed on through more atrocious wind and stopped at a bike shop in a place called Rockville. The owner gave us the word on a shortcut that could slice as many as ten miles off the remainder of the ride. He drew us a map, we said let's do it, and continued on. The wind was awful. It was blowing so hard it pushed suspended street signs nearly parallel to the ground. It was stupid windy. Absurd windy. We managed to keep a smile on though. We got to a gate and the key to the shortcut. A frontage road runs right alongside the 80 but is closed and in disrepair. We shoved our bikes underneath the gate and it became clear that my bike is the heaviest by far. The road is heavily cracked and rough, bushes grow in wide gashes in the blacktop, and Jordan and Jeremy were all over the place with their bikes. Crazies. The road connected to a bike path and we climbed a hill and we could see Vallejo below and the Pacific Ocean beyond. We were here. Take that America. Jubilation. Triumph. Victory. The end was in sight.

We rode to the ferry terminal and saw the very boat that would carry us across the bay and to the Golden Gate bridge. Awesome. Then it became less awesome. Jordan left his cell phone in the bathroom and went back to get it, it was gone. The list of possible suspects was one: a tall guy with a hat, carrying a dog. Jordan hopped on the bike and tried to look for him but with no luck. We sat back down on some grass near a bench and a few minutes later the guy showed up and sat down right in front of us. He was a crackhead with gold teeth and we overheard him making a drug deal on his cell phone. Jordan pressed him a bit about his missing phone but the guy wouldn't budge and we didn't really want to get into it with a junkie. Jordan had his parents cancel his service plan and we rode off looking for somewhere to sleep. It was getting late at this point and unfortunately the park we had picked on the map was a lot smaller in person and didn't offer much cover. Lots of visibility. It was one thing to sleep in a park in small town Nevada but it felt a hell of a lot of different in a bigger city.

We went to City Hall which was right next door and found an entrance to one of the buildings that was out of view of the street and most prying eyes. Confidence was already low when the exact same scumbag walked by a few hundred yards off. Not a cop, not a city worker, not a custodian, not a jogger. Of all the people to stroll through it was the human stain that stole Jordan's phone. We did not want to go sleep around that dude. Cities may have symphonies but they also have residents worthy of a clean sweep down the gutter. We went back to the terminal, I got on the internet, and we found a motel to stay at instead.

Vallejo is a foul place, at least in my brief experience. Rode over to the Traveler's Inn, got inside the room, watched some TV, felt infinitely more comfortable, and went to sleep.

Jeremy and a career in civil service.

All in.

To Davis.

Windy as all get out.

The ferry terminal below.