The section of the California coast south of Ferndale and north of Fort Bragg is appropriately known as the Lost Coast. This rural and mostly private region boasts spectacular forests and undulating mountainous terrain spilling down to the ocean. Cliffsides are steep allowing a density of plants and ferns to cling to the slopes. The rain began to fall as I climbed up higher on Mattole Rd, coating the pavement in rain slick leaves and pine needles. I rode on down this bumpy and patched road until the salt spray of the ocean coated my visor. I stopped to camp at a Humboldt County CG just as the light faded to night. Rain poured from the heavens driven by a major storm blowing in from the Pacific. A small wooden building very similar to a bus shelter was tucked away in the far corner of site #1 and I pulled in behind. The dry interior looked like a promising way to avoid using my hammock tonight so I spread out my sleeping pad and bag inside. The winds and rain picked up around 10 pm snapping branches of the large Doug Fir towering overhead. Just as I was about to fall back asleep, a rhythmic drip began on my head and then feet. The moldy old roof shingles had began to leak and my gear was soon soaked. I grabbed the bivy sack in the darkness and put my bag inside. By morning at 6am, my sleeping bag and bivy were soaked through and my boots wet inside from blowing rain. Not good. I settled on Fort Bragg for the night and rode south in search of the cheapest Motel to air out my gear and have a shower after more than a week or two. I stopped to camp at a Humboldt County CG just as the light faded to night. Rain poured from the heavens driven by a major storm blowing in from the Pacific. A small wooden building very similar to a bus shelter was tucked away in the far corner of site #1 and I pulled in behind. The dry interior looked like a promising way to avoid using my hammock tonight so I spread out my sleeping pad and bag inside. The winds and rain picked up around 10 pm snapping branches of the large Doug Fir towering overhead. Just as I was about to fall back asleep, a rhythmic drip began on my head and then feet. The moldy old roof shingles had began to leak and my gear was soon soaked. I grabbed the bivy sack in the darkness and put my bag inside. By morning at 6am, my sleeping bag and bivy were soaked through and my boots wet inside from blowing rain. Not good. I settled on Fort Bragg for the night and rode south in search of the cheapest Motel to air out my gear and have a shower after more than a week or two.
1 Comment
dave
6/7/2015 10:03:34 pm
good blog I ve enjoyed reading it but on this page the text is repeated 2x . someone posted a link on advriders.com battlescooter part about you
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Mike SaundersIn May 2014 I quit my job to ride a Honda Ruckus over 69'000 mi and counting. Wild camping most nights and cooking most of my own meals, I keep the costs low and the landscape changing. Archives
April 2018
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