We decided to rent bikes for the week. Actually, Roxane suggested the idea. She golfs and crafts and knits and builds stuff. I do not, because I am lazy. I rarely choose physical exertion when I’m on vacation. Or any time, really.
Despite my laziness, I am a good sport and will try most anything. This is why I was easily convinced that while sitting at the pool getting smashed on margaritas while watching workers unload a banana boat docked in front of our hotel would be fun, it would also be fun to rent a couple of bikes to see the city.
We planned where we could bike during the day when our husbands were out doing work stuff. We decided that we could easily bike along the paths overlooking the bay, take our bikes on a ferry to Coronado, maybe even venture to one of the beaches nearby. Then we could bike back to our hotel, meet our husbands, and go out for dinner at night.
It was going to be so much fun.
We set out one morning with Mission Beach as our goal, about nine or ten miles or so from where we were staying on the bay. No problem. We had wheels, and it’s not uphill.
San Diego is beautiful, like everyone says, and the weather is always gorgeous, like everyone says. It just is. Even the homeless people seem pleasant - I’m assuming it’s because of the jackpot they won from getting to live there. The bike ride was pleasant and we saw a lot on that trip to Mission Beach.
We even saw a little bit of the San Diego Freeway, that we somehow started to exit onto.
With our bikes.
As in BICYCLES.
Or was it the Pacific Highway?
No matter. The point is we left the quiet bike path onto a motor vehicle throughway. On a Tuesday morning.
Did I mention that we had no helmets?
And that I was carrying my purse?
Was it here that the road suddenly started to ascend? I mean really start climbing uphill? For what seemed like miles? And was it here that we found the entrance to Sea World – I mean the back entrance, where the employees enter, where there is no friendly sign that welcomes tourists to the amazing world of sea life, but instead reminds you to show ID to the security guard posted at the razor-wire gate?
No matter. Eventually we made it to Mission Beach. Cool boardwalk, pretty beach homes, some sand, some surfers.
I think there were surfers. I was a little wobbly from our
harrowing invigorating ride up the freeway coast.
It was at Mission Beach where we decided that we made it this far, why not go a little bit farther? Like La Jolla? It’s even more beautiful up there, and we are certain to have a spectacular view, see some beautiful homes. It’s only a few more miles up the coast.
Like 8 more miles. Eight.
We stayed on the scenic side of the road to get there. La Jolla is located on cliffs. You have to get to those cliffs by going uphill the whole way. At that point Roxane and I were feeling like badasses from our day of extreme SoCal bicycling. Badasses with purses. We passed all those luxury homes going two miles per hour with sweaty red faces. At one point I was actually grunting.
We made it to the tippy top of La Jolla. Okay, maybe there’s no tippy top of La Jolla, but we were there. We rewarded ourselves with lunch and drinks and guffawed and congratulated ourselves on our accomplishment and said “I can’t believe we biked to La Jolla.” I have no idea where we were, but the fish tacos we ate there were incredible. We sat there for a while until the shaking in my legs stopped.
Then we remembered that we had to make our way back.
On our bikes.
We laughed. There’s no way we’re doing all THAT again. We’re not THAT badass. We’ll call our husbands and ask them to take a ride in the SUV we rented to pick us up. We’ll spend some time here tooling around and see what else we can see until they get here.
I reached into my purse to get my cell phone to make the call.
I pulled out the rental car keys.
Thank you, greater San Diego area, for public transportation.
With bike racks.
Our route. Exit ramps taken are not represented.