Short day prepping for the Lost Coast tomorrow. We have our biggest climbs of the trip (2500 foot climbs) to get over the mountains and to the largest wilderness coast in the lower 48 states. Very remote, no towns, and miles of mountain climbs, redwoods, and untouched land.
Now a thought on car culture. I feel like people in cars are frequently angry (myself included). It’s as if we hate parking further than we want, we want to get someplace as soon as we can, and we can only drive to some places and not others because you can’t leave a giant metal beast running in just any parked spot. I have seen so many people just get flaming pissed by having to wait on other cars or bikes. Biking this distance has really shown me the opportunities biking realistically can afford as a common alternative for getting by: you can park pretty much wherever, you don’t get pissed at other people in your way, and motion is desired for the body not a consequence to be avoided.
Finally, our campground for that evening. While in Arcata, I managed to feast myself silly on cake and pastries from a local co-op. I packed out a ton and took some with me for today's riding. As we pulled into our campground, which was a country fair grounds in the off-season, I managed to eat my last pieces. The place made us apprehensive. First, the "host" on duty refused to exit their RV when we checked in. Next, there were several minivans filled with trash (literally brimming to the windows with it) along with smells and appearances of drug usage. We found a spot way away from them to setup our tarp. Needing to urinate, I went over to the restroom/shower house. Inside, it was the quintessential replica of the main-scene bathroom from the movie Saw. Broken, dingy yellow tile greased and smeared with different colored (red, black, brown!) dried fluids adorned the walls. The lights were those sulfured yellow varieties only. The shower had no curtain. But the dark corner where it sprung did have a broken white plastic lawn chair underneath. All toilets where covered with garbage bags save one which itself was copiously filled with human excrement. I quickly used the bathroom making sure to touch barely anything, then decided to just plunge back in and take a shower regardless.
By this point, an RV had pulled up to us and an older couple parked by our tarp's side. They came out to introduce themselves, and we ended up having a great conversation with them as they fried up some freshly-caught lake fish. After that, Janna and I climbed into the tarp to go to bed. Tomorrow was going to be the Lost Coast alternate, which meant we needed some good sleep for the large climbs.
Around 1:30 am I woke up feeling a little off. My stomach began flipping over and over again. I rolled back and forth trying to settle what was increasingly a boiling mess in my gastrointestinal system. I started sweating profusely and knew I was going to vomit. I climbed out of the tarp and made my way in the dark to the Saw-restroom. I went in and dry-heaved for 20 minutes into a trash bag I dug out of the bottom of an overfilled refuse bin. I was crazy nauseous and couldn't believe I was sick in a hell-hole of a room like this. With a wave of nausea done, I went back to the tarp, laid down, and moaned with illness. Janna woke up and I relayed the awful sickness I was feeling. I got hit by another round of the urge-to-vomit. I sprinted to the Saw-restroom with Janna trailing. Janna confirmed that the men's restroom was far more horrid than the women's. I heaved into the trashcan several times before telling Janna to head back to the tarp. After she left, I thoroughly vomited all that cake up. I tied up the trash bag, placed in the overflowing bin, and headed back to the tarp at 4:00 am. Janna asked me if I still wanted to take on the Lost Coast after not sleeping all night. I said, "YES, absolutely."