This last month down the coast has served me well. Unfortunately, my laziness as a writer has not served me or my readers, which puts me in a terrible position: what do I tell you about? Another snowy mountain pass as I wrestled with my ego; the beauty around the Olympic Peninsula; or an evening spent with an Inupiat medicine man and his music by the fire?
Really, I should have told you all of these, and maybe one day I still will. I would like to do something different, though, something I said I would never do on here: a true travel blog entry. I would like to take you into The Avenue of the Giants, a fifteen mile ghost of Highway 101 that winds through coastal redwoods and dances along the Eel River. So, knock the dust off that old Raleigh, fix those flat tires, grease that rusted chain, and go unpack that goofy looking camelback that probably tastes like plastic and whatever sport powder you thought was a good idea to put in there the last time you used it. And don’t forget your jacket!
As we approach the turnout for the Avenue of the Giants, we pass by Stafford. When we left Eureka I promised you we would stop here for the night, but the sun’s warmth and tailwinds are urging us on. Don’t worry about the extra miles and rolling hills, I will lend you some leg power to get you to camp. But don’t expect me to share my Scotch, too.
After a short climb, we descend into the giants’ protection, and while it is a spiritual moment to be in the presence of so much wisdom and age, the chill you feel is because the sun doesn’t often make it to the forest floor here, so you can put your sunglasses away.
The coastal redwoods, towering trees that can exceed three hundred feet in height and almost thirty feet in diameter, surround us now. Let’s not just talk about it though. Pull over at this first turnout to experience the feeling of smallness that comes with standing next to one, let alone a whole grove, of these peaceful giants.
Place your hand on the bark here, like mine. This rust colored shell can be as thick as one foot on larger trees and can protect them from wildfires. Close your eyes and feel the stillness. We are lucky to be riding here, but even more so lucky to be doing it at a time when there isn’t any traffic on the road—a silver lining to the black out that consumes the northern California coast right now. When you’re ready, we will get back in the saddle and slowly make our way through the forest to our campsite. There will be a few rolling hills and minimal shoulder to bike on, but our night by the campfire will be worth it. Speaking of which, it’s getting dark, and judging by the sun we only have an hour before it sets. We’ll need half of that to get to our campsite, so let’s admire while we roll through, knowing tomorrow will be our big day with a tree that was a sapling when the Roman Empire was still young.
With our tents set up and the fire dying down, look up one last time tonight, but this time, beyond the trees. Tonight is a new moon so the Milky Way pours its light directly over us. If you look over there between those two trees you can make out a distorted “w” with those bright stars. That’s Queen Cassiopiea. As punishment for her vanity and arrogance, Artemis and Apollo, armed with bow and arrow, struck down Cassiopiea’s seven sons and seven daughters. Beneath her, and not nearly as clear, is Perseus, a Greek hero who, with the aid of Athena, slayed the gorgon Medusa. But I can tell you about that later. Let’s climb in our tents and get some rest.
After a full night’s sleep, we wake up to a half inch of ice on our tent, which makes repacking the bags a nuisance. Let me show you how to rig your tent to the outside of your gear so it will dry as we ride. If we’re lucky, the sun will be out at lunch and we can dry the rest then.
Let’s hit the road!
The mornings can be rough in the forest on a bike. The windchill really cuts to the core, but if you put too many layers on, your body will be blanketed in sweat underneath your clothing that leaves you wet and cold anyway. Either way you’re going to be slightly uncomfortable until it warms up, so it’s better to pick one and embrace it.
I want to take you to one spot in particular today before we go our separate ways. We will head south for a few miles and turn off the main drag to the Bull Creek Flat area, which has the tallest forest canopy on the planet, but that’s not why we’re here. We are here to visit the giant that hides in this forest, but even among her peers, she still stands out. The Bull Creek Giant isn’t the tallest nor the oldest tree, but at 1,930 years old it has my respect.
I can’t really tell you why I brought you here other than I like this spot. We are far enough away from the road that we have disconnected from traffic and all of the other excess noise from the modern world.
Stop. Put your phone away. Come and sit beside me for a second breakfast. It may seem silly, but before we sit down, we should ask the tree for permission to join her in the grove. We tend to assume we are welcome everywhere we go, but a little humility in the heart serves us well, and I can’t think of a better place to practice humility than here with the giants.
Like yesterday, place your hand on the bark, close your eyes, and let her feel you, and she will undoubtedly let us lay beside her for a while.
I don’t like to talk and eat in moments like this so I am going to sign off from here, but before I submit to the forest’s calmness, here is one last piece of advice: realize that we are somewhere extraordinary. Allow your inner kid to come out and embrace this special place on Earth. Take your shoes off, roll around on the pine needles and feel them crunch under you, or, quite simply, take a nap in the fresh morning air and let the forest recharge you for our slow ride to a campsite along the Pacific Ocean. But, whatever you do, leave your phone out of it. Just be.
