A Bonk on Highway 101

I got up pretty early and thought I’d get a jump on the day, but then I remembered I was supposed to meet Mrs. Lawrence at breakfast. As I was getting packed up, I heard footsteps walking through the church. I was just finishing Mr. Lawerence poked his head through the door. 

If you’d asked me to describe Mrs. Lawrence the night before based on who I thought would pair up with Mr. Lawrence, I’d have been pretty close. A generally happy lady, always smiling and eager to fill in the laugh track that Mr. Lawrence had come to expect. We ordered breakfast and she told me all the same stories that Mr. Lawrence had the night before with the occasional pause for confirmation that she was getting the details right.

I was feeling antsy to get on the road. I had ninety or so miles to ride and I assumed it was going to be hilly, thus slowing the pace. But since I’d left my bike at the church and Mr. Lawrence was still accepting a coffee top off every time the server came by, I tried to come to terms with the fact that I’d likely be finishing today later than I’d like. Things finally wrapped up when I think they both simply ran out of stories. 

“Well…” Mr. Lawrence said with a little drum of the hands on the table. “We better let you get on the road.” Mrs. Lawrence smiled and nodded. 

I looked at my watch as I started riding south out of town. It was already 10:30 a.m. and I felt way behind schedule. I wasn’t sure how to insist on an earlier start time when my hosts were being so generous by buying me breakfast. I didn’t want to be rude, but I felt like I wasn’t looking out for myself by letting it get so late. 

Looking at the map, the 101 turned inland south of Eureka and it didn’t look like I’d see the coast the entire day, but there appeared to be plenty of small towns dotting the highway so I assumed bottle refills and lunch would be easy to find. For whatever reason, the 101 turned into a freeway for most of the day. It was the only road going south between Eureka and Legget, so maybe that was the justification. As with all freeways, there is the sign prohibiting anything except motorized traffic from going any farther, but without any other visible option, I simply ignored the sign, planning on pleading ignorance if I did get pulled over by a cop. Luckily, no cops were on patrol through this stretch of California and I made it the entire day without having to explain my situation to a boy (or girl) in blue. 

Because I got a late start and had quite the breakfast, when noon rolled around I wasn’t hungry so I decided to keep pressing until later in the afternoon. Before entering North Dakota and Montana, everybody I’d spoken to warned me about the distance between towns and how I’d need to plan ahead and make sure I had plenty of supplies for the day. “Just because there’s a town on the map doesn’t mean there’s actually a town there,” they’d all warn me. Nobody gave me that warning about this northern stretch of California and I could’ve really used it. The map was littered with towns going south down the 101, but when I eventually got hungry and realized my bottles were almost empty, I found myself standing on the side of the road, staring at the atlas, sure I was in the middle of a town on the map but there was no town to be found. 

I should’ve understood what was happening because I’d already survived this situation, but because nobody had warned me about it and, in my head, California was a densely populated state, I wasn’t doing a great job of processing how to respond. I dug around in the BOB to find my food bag, knowing there’d be something in there to eat. I found an MRE and fished out the chocolate bar that was meant to be dessert. I wasn’t so convinced that I wouldn’t be able to find food up the road that I wanted to go to the effort of pulling out my Jetboil and heating up a full meal. I only ate the chocolate as some sort of gesture toward optimism that one of these towns on my map would materialize. Even the hippies driving around in VW buses that I kept getting passed by needed gas eventually, right?

Turns out, no. If they did need gas, they weren’t going to find it here. I watched my computer trip seventy-five miles for the day and I felt my legs go flat at the same time with the familiar feeling of a bonk. I’d slow down even more and every little hill was now going to feel like an absolute monster of a climb. I knew that even if I ate right then that I was probably going to be suffering the effects for the rest of the day. But I also knew that the sooner I could start getting food in, the better I’d feel tomorrow.

I slogged through those last fifteen miles, my legs getting heavier and achy as I pedaled. When I saw the Leggett sign, I felt some relief, knowing I was close to the campground I was staying at and at the very least I’d eat every MRE I had in my bag. My relief turned to sheer joy as I looked another 100 yards down the road and saw a gas station. I haphazardly parked my bike against the wall, zombie shuffled inside, heading straight for the cooler where I pulled out a Coke and a Gatorade. In the candy aisle, I grabbed two Snickers and I asked for two slices of pizza from the spinning display thing. The attendant looked worried for me, but I wasn’t interested in any explanations until I’d consumed everything I had in my possession. I sat on the curb and ate all of it in a fit of bites and chews; I’m fairly certain nobody walked by while I was inhaling this food but I can’t be certain. I also wouldn’t have cared. Nothing had ever tasted better. 

When I finished everything, I stood up and went back in, immediately feeling the difference. I apologetically smiled at the attendant, who gave me a look back that indicated they were glad I didn’t die in their parking lot, probably more for saving them the hassle more than for my actual well-being. I followed a similar path on my second loop through the store, only this time I paused to survey my options rather than just pawing at things. I grabbed another bottle of Gatorade, a bag of chips, and this time, to mix things up, a Payday candy bar. 

The campground was easy to find and riding through Leggett didn’t take very long, but there were a few other food options and even a small roadside motel in town. I hadn’t even considered any sleeping option other than camping, since I already had a site reserved at the state park, but riding by that motel with aching, still bonking legs, sitting in a hot bath and laying on a mattress immediately called to me. I decided I’d go check out the campsite and, if they didn’t have a shower, I was coming back to the motel. 

When I pulled into the campground, a ranger stepped out of the entrance booth with a big smile on his face.

“I just talked to your mom. She’s worried about you!” he exclaimed, smiling. 

I gave him a blank look back that showed my confusion about him talking to my mom.

“She called about an hour ago asking if you’d made it yet,” he clarified.

“Ah,” I said. “I got off to a late start and it was a slower than usual day. I’ll call her in a bit. Do you guys have showers?” If I was being honest, I was hoping he was going to say no. 

“You bet. They’re coin-operated. You get five minutes of water per $1. I can give you quarters if you don’t have them.” 

“Is the water hot?” I asked, desperate for any justifiable reason to go back to the motel. 

“I’d feel bad if we charged for cold water,” he said through laughter.

This guy loved life, and while I was feeling marginally better than an hour ago, I wasn’t feeling good enough to spend much time with someone so high on life. 

“How much is it for a site?”

“Three big ones!” he said, emphasizing what a steal this was for a night’s stay. 

I handed him a five. 

“You need quarters back as your change?” he asked knowingly. 

“Yes please.” Then I realized ten minutes wasn’t going to be long enough in the shower. I dug another single out of my wallet handing it over. “Make that three bucks in quarters.” 

The campground was deserted and I wasn’t sure if it was because it was just an unpopular place to go camping or if I’d arrived during an off-season. As I found my site, I noticed I was next door to a group of hippies traveling in an old VW bus. I was starting to get the impression that the redwood forests of Northern California served as a mecca for hippies on some kind of pilgrimage. I wasn’t sure why in a completely empty campground he put the only two people directly next to each other, but I was too tired to ride back to the gatehouse and ask to be moved. I set up camp, politely waving to the hippies hanging up tie-dye peace sign flags in the trees, and beelined it to the shower. 

When I made my way back to camp, the sun was getting low on the horizon and I knew I had a limited amount of daylight left. I didn’t want to cook in the dark, so despite not being very hungry after my panic binge-eating, I cooked an MRE and forced the calories down more because I knew I needed them than I wanted them. I didn’t even pay attention to which flavor I grabbed out of my bag, so it was news to me when I spooned lasagna into my mouth. I finished eating and cleaned up the Jetboil with the last of the daylight. With nothing left to do, I climbed into my tent, staring up at the stars peaking through the breaks in the redwood canopy high above me, until I fell asleep. I don’t think it took very long.