When Albert finally woke, it was around 10:00 a.m. This was the latest that Albert had slept, and peeking out from his yurt (unlocked the night before by J-Bird he assumed), was confronted by the hard reality of an absolute down-pour. On this morning, Albert also found that he was totally out of yarn. Still beat tired from the previous day’s ride, Albert thought that if there was ever a day to slip back into his sleeping bag for an extra hours rest, with the silly notion that the strength of rain might subside, then this was that day. In the blink of an eye, an hour had past and with a second gander outside, nothing had changed. Or had it? For sure the intensity of the rain hadn’t altered, but what was hanging from the door handle?... you guest it, a ball of yarn! Why that sweet J-Bird, thought Albert. Oh well, no point in hanging around, it’s just a little rain, right.
From Harris State Beach, with new yarn (thanks to J-Bird) attached, Albert headed towards the California border. At border crossing, Albert humorously expected a large door to swing open and a great big blue sky, and a high yellow moon to be waiting on the other side. No such luck, just more rain. About a mile past the border crossing, slogging away in the rain, Albert heard the sounds of honking coming from behind him. The honking grew louder and louder and as the vehicle passed him by, he heard two voices yell out, “Aaaaallllllllbeeert!” From the passenger window of a ratty old trailer, were the beaming faces of the two young English lads from Milton Keynes. Albert, with a smile and a wave, had a good laugh – looks like they found an easier (and dryer) way of reaching Crescent City. Not looking for an easy way out, from Smith River, Albert took Lake Earl Drive into Crescent City, a country road that passed open fields, cattle ranches, and the Pelican Bay Correctional Institute along the way. Pulling up in Crescent City, Albert changed into a new set of clothes that had dried out over night in the yurt, and mentally prepared himself for his assault on the triple-summit hill that awaited. This could possibly be his highest climb and biggest challenge so far.
Albert, in the only gear his bike had, gripped his handlebars, and gritted his teeth. The next seventeen miles where to be some of California’s most hair-raising. The first summit (three miles straight up) at 1,200 feet, was the highest and was reached with sheer grit and determination. From on top, Albert almost thought he could see the California sun trying to brake through the clouds. This was followed by a short descent before an attack on the second summit. With pouring rain, booming traffic, and a shoulder-less road, only one more summit to go. After the third, it was all down hill for the next three and a half miles and before he began, what turned out to be one heck of a crazy descent, Albert noticed a truck Brake Check area off to the side of the road. This made Albert take a quick look down at his only brake, a Paul Racer center pull on the front, and hoped he wouldn’t need it. With a deep breath, Albert felt like he was dropping in to the deep end of an eleven foot swimming pool on his skateboard. Instantly, with seven and eight percent grades, Albert was flying. Flying!?...that’s what Blue Bird had said, and now here he was, about as close to flying as he was going to get. Down and down he went, unable to see due to the rain and thickness of the clouds. His glasses were completely fogged up as he zipped past signs announcing, ‘loose gravel!’ “Wait, what did that say?” – too late!!! Albert, his backside bouncing out of his Brooks Swallow seat, due to the rough unfinished road works, hung on for dear life. Albert knew that pro-cyclists got up into the fifty-plus mile-per-hour range, but that was with multi-gearing, dual-brakes, and the ability to coast. When you’re strapped into a bike with a fixed gear hub, reaching speeds of thirty-five miles per hour is pure crazy – Albert’s hips and knees felt like they were coming apart. Only one more mile to go!!!
At the bottom of the hill, Albert took a little time out for the feeling to return to the many parts of his body that were numb, and reflecting on what just went down, blurted out, “Wow! that was absolutely wicked! Pure craziness.” Albert rode at coaster speed for the next ten miles, passing the trees of mystery, before his yarn concluded. Albert was able to roll into the Camper Coral and tent up for the night, still buzzing from his dizzying downhill thrill. It had been a short fifty mile day, but one heck of a ride.
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