Part 13: Ocean, Sky, Freedom: West Coast Bicycle Adventure—Canada to Mexico—Bodega Bay

By Frosty Wooldridge

Part 13: Robin Williams, Bodega Bay and The Birds, Alfred Hitchcock’s horror movies, ironies of life.

“Your life on a bicycle begins with you in the saddle, pressing your thighs into the pedals, moving into the morning sunshine, sweating in the heat of the day, climbing the next hill and guzzling your water bottle.  “Chase and catch” the things you love in life.  When you follow that path, your best friends appear.  Your high “spoke” vibrations attract the noblest and brightest along life’s highway.  Share your dream with another cyclist. Ask about theirs.  Get lost in the heat of the day while you pedal into that sweet spot in the afternoon when the air cools to match that flawless moment of perfection—your spiritual Zen.  Life beckons you to live your dreams and wear your passions on your face.”  FHW, West Coast Tour

(Stopping for lunch along Route 101 with Sandi and Daniel.)

We covered 65 miles with endless dramatic ocean views and million-dollar summer homes of rich San Franciscans. The road sailed along 300 feet above the surf until it dove dozens of times around steep curves to carry us down to the coves along beaches.  Quickly, it spiraled back into the sky.

Each descent took less than 60 seconds while each climb took 10 minutes. We chilled, and then sweated with each event of the coves, surf and sand.  Near dusk, we felt exhausted from all the climbing and descending throughout the day. We reached Sea Ranch for a stop in a wooded grove and a nice hot dinner.

From Sea Ranch to Bodega Bay, the road serpentined for endless miles across coves.  In each cove, trailers and campers flooded the areas to create a small community. 

The closer we traveled to San Francisco, the more dramatic the homes.  Whoever makes that kind of money, they know how to build their castles on the Pacific Ocean.  No doubt they witness stunning sunsets on a regular basis.

We stopped at one tiny town with a population of 50 and elevation of 119 feet.  Three guys in trash clothes sat against the wall by the grocery store while the fourth stood out in the parking lot with a sign, “No food for two days. Please help.”

“I gotta’ walk over and see what they’re doing,” I said.

Sandi said,  “They’re traveling on the cheap.”

“Hey, guys,” I said.  “I’m just an old guy, but give me a lesson on why you took to the road without enough money so that you have to beg for money and food along the route.  No condemning here, just asking questions.”

“We represent true freedom, which most Americans don’t have,” one said, pulling out a cigarette.

“But why didn’t you earn a stack of money and then hit the road?” I asked.

“Well, we’re trying to discover what we want out of life,” one said.  “There’s plenty of folks that give us money for food.  So, we don’t have to work.”

“Yeah, but they worked so they could give you money for food,” I said.  “Nothing in this world is free.”

“You’re probably right dude,” the fourth one said. “But, we’re young and we’ve got time to burn.”

“Okay,” I said, noticing they lacked any brush and floss activity by the looks of their teeth.  “One suggestion from a senior citizen who’s been down the highway.”

“What’s that?” one asked.

“Whatever you do on the road,” I said. “Remember to spend enough money for a toothbrush and floss so you will enjoy your real teeth when you get to my age.  From what I can tell of your oral hygiene, you’ll be wearing dentures.”

“Oh, yes sir, thank you. Never thought about that,” one said.

We continued with breathtaking vistas and huge islands out in the surf.    We stopped in Bodega Bay in the late afternoon where potato salad ran $8.99 a pound.  Tourist town and very expensive.

(Marilyn Monroe still fires the imaginations of men and women 50 years after her death.  Her famous shot with air blowing up from the vent may last into the centuries ahead.)

Bodega Bay remains famous for horror movie director Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” with Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor.  She visits the Bay once a year to sign autographs for her book.

Sandi walked into the visitor’s office to get directions. A few minutes later, she hurried out yelling, “You won’t believe to died.”

“Who?” asked Daniel.

“Yeah, who?” I asked.

Crying, she said, “Robin Williams.”

“Oh my God,” I said.  “How?”

“Suicide,” Sandi said.

“Oh, that makes me sick,” I said.

“Yes, we know Robin Williams in Germany,” said Daniel.  “He’s world famous.  He’s rich. Why would he kill himself?”

“He struggled with alcohol, drugs and depression,” I said.

“So sad,” said Sandi.

During this lifetime, the craziest events occur without reason. Tragedy befell Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Ray Charles, Lou Gehrig and James Dean—all rich and famous.  Some of the dullest and boring people live into their 90s.  The rich come and go. The poor exist in oblivion.  No reason. No rhyme. No understanding.

(Frosty standing by a tree house along Route 101, West Coast, California.)

We found out that Robins’ hung himself because he suffered from extreme depression. His daily life became more painful than death.

Williams’ death hit me like a boulder falling on my emotional head because four of my friends died in April of this year.  They died of cancer and heart attacks.  One day I talked with them and the next, I attended their memorials.  I spread the ashes of one of my friends at the top of a 14,000 foot peak in Colorado.  I cried my eyes out as I spread his ashes to the four winds of the universe.

Like millions of people, I loved Robin Williams from his time of being “Mork and Mindy” to his comedy shows, his movies, his charity work and his “being” in the world.  Who can forget “Mrs. Doubtfire” or “Dead Poet’s Society” or “Good morning Vietnam”?

After securing our foodstuffs, we pedaled over to the state park with showers and campground for “Hiker-bikers”.

Sitting on that picnic table that night, we ate our food.  A bunch of seagulls walked up looking for handouts.  The sun sank into the ocean with the subtleness of a thief slipping into the night.  Out in the water on the rocks, dozens of seals barked at the coming of the night.

For me, I slipped into the tent with great appreciation for still being alive.  I get to see another sunrise. I get to hug Sandi. I get to greet Daniel in the morning.  Like I said, “Life is short.  Live your dreams and wear your passions on your face.”

(Condor taking a break along the Pacific Ocean, Route 101, West Coast, California.)

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Frosty Wooldridge
Golden, CO

Population-Immigration-Environmental specialist: speaker at colleges, civic clubs, high schools and conferences

Www.HowToLiveALifeOfAdventure.com

Www.frostywooldridge.com

Six continent world bicycle traveler

Speaker/writer/adventurer

Adventure book: How to Live a Life of Adventure: The Art of Exploring the World

Latest book:  How to Deal with 21st Century American Women: Co-creating a successful relationship

Frosty Wooldridge, six continent world bicycle traveler, Canada to Mexico summer 2014, 2,200 miles, 100,000 vertical feet of climbing: