Sweet Virginia...Day 12: Carmel to San Miguel

I knew that today might be a tad tricky, so I headed-out at 0702hrs...Carmel, is there any need for 10% ramps *that* early? Anyway, off we go towards Carmel Valley and it isn't a quiet road: loads of folk heading into Carmel/Monterey by the looks of things.

Breakfast pit-stop in Carmel Valley: about 15 miles in.

But before that, a hushed 'bye-bye' to Carmel...

I also knew that there would be a bit of a climb (you don't say) before too long. At least this one pretty much kept on going up- it's the rollers that kill you. Alright then, me.

"Mow before it's a jungle", surely?

Stared-out by Bambi. Nails!

Almost pleasant. Almost...

First time I ever saw a couple of rocks break-off. That put an extra mph on, hah-hah!

This was a terrific road: quiet mainly, some indifferent surfaces admittedly but some killer views too.

Er, low water for Charley Patton.

A real treat to be out here. Inclines included.

Thank you for your wine California...

A welcome flat section. Get in!

This pretty much brought me to lunch in King City at about 60 miles or so: the temps were climbing and would graze 30c. No problem today with plenty to eat and drink- is this the only time of year that I eat bananas? In civilian life, I hardly ever, but here they are gold...more yellow, I suppose.

Couldn't drag me away from this service road, thanks all the same.

Harvesting onions. A first for me...penned a bit, hah-hah!

Sputnik!

And the first sighting of Derricks on this trip.

 I had a slight nav-faff as per, when I tried to cycle through a Chevron refinery. It's that sodding Garmin having a laugh, honest...

When I was allowed on Hwy 101 it had a desperate surface for a mile or two. No need!

Some zero-horse town had an impromptu car display. No burn-outs allowed!

2018 Fords are early this season.

Not entirely displeased to see this sign...

My motel is basic alright and the wi-fi is shot but beggars can't be etc., and it was a short stroll to the main street and a chance to replenish lost fluids.

Some localish IPA. Didn't touch the sides!

 Now here's a thing that I have seen time and again: as soon as the natives hear an accent that they weren't expecting, more likely than not they will ask in a polite and friendly manner what you're doing, where you're from and all ancillary questions.

Jerry (my right) and his pals. Camera-work by Jerry's missus, Lisa!

I had only settled into my bar seat in the Elkhorn Bar when a voice from the other end said that he'd buy my beer...blimey! After saying thanks and all that, it turns out Jerry owns two Harleys and he and Mrs. Jerry (Lisa) do exactly what I've seen loadsa other motorcyclists do: get out and see the great outdoors. If I hadn't said that I had cycled 115 miles that day, I reckon that I'd still be in there, hah-hah!

That's the thing about Americanos that I love: they're almost always friendly, wanting to know what you're doing, and where you're from. Don't change, please.

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Still a joy.