Travel Biography - Week 103.

Preparing for the Onward Journey to San Luis Obispo.

The dayhike at Los Padres National Forest enriched my stay at Santa Barbara. However, that still left me to decide where to go next. San Francisco was too far north, and the flight to London was scheduled to take off from Los Angeles. Therefore, during the third stage of the Round-the-World, I had to remain near Los Angeles. However, my desire was to visit places I had yet to see. Indeed, I was already familiar with San Francisco, having visited the city three times already. 

By checking a map of California, I saw one city that might be worth a visit, San Luis Obispo (not to be confused with St Louis in Missouri) which is about ten miles inland from the coast. This town was low on the tourist list, allowing me to witness American life unhinged by tourism. San Luis was of California as Coffs Harbour was of New South Wales, except that the American version wasn't blessed with Mangroves flourishing on the banks of a nearby river. In 1997, I thought that a stop at San Luis Obispo was a good idea, something new.

On the main highway (Route 101) the two towns are 95 miles (153 km) apart, about two hours northward on the Greyhound Americruiser, a daytime journey. As for accommodation, in Santa Barbara, I was staying at a Banana Bungalow hostel affiliated with Rucksackers North America, a rival to Hostelling International. Therefore, there was no Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme for San Luis, as there was only one hostel at the time, a converted private home affiliated with AYH, on the other side of town from the Greyhound Bus station. AYH San Luis Obispo was the smallest hostel I stayed at throughout the entire Round-the-World trip. It was one in a residential estate in a quiet part of town, and difficult to get to from the bus station.

Arriving at San Luis Obispo.

I vacated the Banana Bungalow hostel in Santa Barbara and made my way to the Greyhound Bus station, where I checked for departures for San Luis, and bought a ticket. At the assigned time, I was cruising northward along the Pacific Highway in the middle of the afternoon of the fourth day after arriving in Santa Barbara from San Diego.

Shopping precinct, San Luis Obispo.

Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa.

Another view of the Mission.

A Street in San Luis announces a festival.

After about two hours, the bus pulled into San Luis for a service stop where I alighted. At the foyer, an advert for the AYH hostel was advertised with an instruction to phone the owners from the station, and they would arrive to collect me. Their phone number was clearly displayed. Nearby was a public payphone, and since I was fortunate enough to have some loose change, I proceeded to make the call.

A short while after making the phone call, a tall, strapping American approached me and asked if I phoned for a hostel bed.  I did, and I was escorted to his car waiting outside whilst my rucksack was loaded in its rear trunk. It was a short ride across town to the hostel. After I arrived, I checked in for three nights, that is four days, the same as in Santa Barbara.

The hostel was a private house in a residential estate with a few extra beds in two of the three bedrooms, hence taking in up to just six members. Apparently, the kitchen and the bathroom were shared with the resident owners. A bicycle was also available for hire. A few other backpackers were already there when I arrived, and as I was still to find out, they had their own car.

The only venue of interest in San Luis was the Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, a Catholic church and monastery founded by San Junipero Sierra. Otherwise, it was a typical American town free from any tourist tat. Spending four days here was not a boring experience as one might expect, but more of an enlightenment on how an average American lives. This includes a superstore not far from the hostel, where I restocked as I always do when hostelling, mainly for breakfast and evening meals.

However, the location of the town to the coast, along that a bicycle was available for hire, meant that I was able to find adventure here in San Luis, even if there were no mountains or forest trails nearby for day hiking, although the surrounding country was hilly. Also, there was no major river, but a small creek ran through the town.

Avila Beach.

The next day after arrival, I asked the receptionist to hire the bicycle. At first, he seemed reluctant but decided that I could be trusted with the mount. So he went to the carport that was attached to the house and wheeled out the bicycle. However, my excitement at the sight of the machine had blinded me from the fact that no cycle lock came with it. Had I noticed that it was missing there and then, I would have insisted on it. However, by the time I got underway, it was too late. As I kept on riding, I still didn't realise that no security was provided until I arrived at the coast and wanted to lock it up.

The ride was flat, without hills, but I had to ride into the gentle breeze. The surrounding countryside was hilly, thus offering pleasant views as I rode along a traffic-free highway. The distance from the hostel to the coast was approximately ten miles (16 km) but after reaching the coast, I then proceeded further for another mile and a half further west along the coast to Harford Pier. This was a fishing pier with no traditional leisure amenities, but it was worth visiting, even if I was alone with nobody else around. From it, a splendid view of the beachless slope of the high ground of Point Luis plunged straight into the sea, a natural wild section of the coast which reminded me of the Whitsunday Islands off the Queensland resort of Arlie Beach, but this time without the fringe reef corals.

Just before setting off to the coast.

A view from Harford Fishing Pier.

The slopes of Luis Point drop into the Sea.

The hills are seen from Avila Pleasure Pier.

While watching the unsecured bike, I spent a considerable while on the pier, admiring the view. Afterwards, I cycled east to Avila Beach with its more traditional pleasure pier. Avila Beach is a short strip of sand with sunbathers populating the strip, thus creating a holiday atmosphere. To the east of the beach, a limestone headland, Fossil Point, juts into the sea, and its profile as seen from the beach, resembles the head of a domestic cat permanently gazing out to sea.

However, I didn't get around to swim in the sea. Due to the sweat I created by pedalling the distance, I was in the mood to swim, but I couldn't. The reason for that was the unsecured bike. The machine wasn't mine, therefore I felt responsible for the safekeeping of somebody else's property. While admiring the giant cat ahead, I kept watch on the bike. But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy myself. And that included strolling along the esplanade, wheeling the bike.

Presently, the sound of a live band could be heard from a distance as the band struck up at a local park. This was the third time I heard a live band play in a public open space, the first of the other two was at Port Douglas, Queensland, and the second occasion was at San Diego Zoo. Now here in Avila Beach. It was during these occasions that made me wonder why such bands are uncommon in the UK, although the Salvation Army have its bands playing in various populated areas during the summer, and perhaps on the approach to Christmas too, these uniformed players have a more formal and military feel in their performance. By contrast, these live bands could be taken for any pop group willing to play to freely entertain the public.

I joined the small crowd who were watching the band play. It livened up the atmosphere, enhancing the holiday feel of the beach. Although while I'm writing this, I cannot remember what day of the week all this happened, I wouldn't be at all surprised that this particular day was a Sunday. Or even a Saturday, as the shops were open for trading. In one of these shops, I paused to buy a new roll of film for the camera.

I wish to make a point that the beach has always been one of my favourite natural attractions. I was at the beach but as a backpacker rather than a young alcohol-drenched Sunseeker. And the population here seem to agree. At Avila Beach, the whole population of all ages were orderly, all of them enjoying the sunshine at the beach without the need for excess alcohol or drugs. Avila Beach, under the administration of San Luis Obispo, couldn't be any more different from Magaluf on the Mallorcan coast, as appeared in national newspapers and described here recently. And I could ask, how many from Britain are familiar with Avila Beach up to this day as they are with Magaluf? Yet both had their origins in Spain, as California was settled by the Spanish conquistadors and was part of Mexico until the Mexican-American war during the mid-19th Century.

A group of surfers get themselves ready.

Fossil Point looks out to sea.

At the mouth of Luis Creek.

A live band plays at a nearby park.

As the evening drew near, I knew that it was time to return to the hostel, and I had a ten-mile ride ahead. By then, the band had finished their performance and each member was packing away their equipment. I mounted the same bicycle I kept close watch during the day and began to pedal northeast towards San Luis Obispo.

The gentle breeze that was blowing in from the coast was still active, and now with a tailwind, I began to pick up speed as the road widened into a major highway as it headed inland. I decided to give the bike my all. I accelerated until I was pedalling at full speed, tearing along the highway as if there was no tomorrow. During that ride, I hearkened back six years to 1991 - at the height of my fitness as a competitive triathlete. I recall overtaking a truck during a fast coastal ride between Hastings and Folkstone on the southern English coastal road. Back then too, I was also aided by a tailwind.

I arrived at the hostel at around half the time it took on the outward ride. The owners of the bicycle were relieved to see their property returned safely and in good condition.

A Contrast.

The next day was a contrast to the previous day (which I believe might have been a Sunday after all) as I spent that day strolling around the town. When I arrived at the town library, I entered and began to browse the shelves. One book stood out, A History of the World in 10.5 Chapters by the English author Julian Barnes. With a title like that standing out among the rest with a picture of Noah's Ark on the cover, I took the book off the shelf, found an unoccupied table, and began to read.

The quietness of the library was a contrast to the hectic cycle ride and the holiday spirit of Avila Beach. Here, in the stillness, a story of two stowaways in Noah's ark describes the activities of all the other animals in the ark while the flood pummelled the boat from outside. These stowaways were forbidden by Noah to enter the Ark in the first place, but they managed to enter discreetly, unseen by the others. As it was day-to-day business as usual in the Ark, the two stowaways watched continually at all the activity, and commenting on them, as the first chapter of the book drew to a close, the two forbidden stowaways were revealed to be woodworms.

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Next Week: I prepare for West Hollywood.