Georgette

   Albert over-slept and awoke to the creaking sounds of an old heavy door being pushed open. In the charming little town of Mendocino, Albert had spent the night in a converted old water tower, and now faced the tenant of what (looking around him) appeared to be an artist’s studio. The tenant, Georgette, turned out to be a sweet-spirited, elderly lady, from San Francisco. Georgette, originally from Paris, France, was a slightly eccentric, abstract painter, who, for a slower-paced lifestyle and the sheer natural beauty of the area, had relocated to Mendocino a number of years back. Slightly surprised, but not overly concerned by Albert’s presence, Georgette, returning from a short gallery trip to the Bay Area, whilst sharing a hearty breakfast of fresh bread, butter, raspberry jam, and sweet coffee, listened intently as Albert explained his story and the reason for his overnight stay.

   Georgette, captivated by the picture painted of Albert’s colorful tail, offered up samples from her own collection of yarn, enabling him to continue his blossoming adventure. With sincere thanks and farewells, Albert, panniers restocked with food and drinks, a generous gesture by Georgette, was on his way. Heading down Highway 1, through thick, damp, fog, Albert made the arduous ride south, passed the small towns of Albion, Elk, and Manchester. Highway 1, here along the Mendocino County coast, turned out to be, whilst beautiful and awe inspiring, a struggle to cycle. Narrow, with limited shoulders, the wind swept area, winds its way through rolling grassy hills, and steep broken coastline.

   By early afternoon, Albert reached the town of Point Arena, and visiting its famous lighthouse, perched himself above the cliffs and ate his lunch. After eating his meal, continuing his ride down Highway 1, the road wound steeply over headlands and dropped sharply into deep coves, taking its toll on Albert’s strength. Just before the town of Gualala, Albert got a front tire flat, the first since leaving Vancouver – his white, Vittoria Randonneurs, had travelled well. Now on the verge of reaching town, fifty miles south of Mendocino, Albert called it an early day and pulled up at the Gualala Point Regional Park.