On a bicycle trip for two, novices brave a 131-mile odyssey from L.A. to San Diego

We set out before 7 a.m. that Saturday and, for no good reason, I felt vaguely stealthy as we moved almost silently southeast on San Vicente toward Venice Boulevard. The morning sounds of birds and the occasional car accompanied the whir of our bicycle chains.

We went east to Hoover, south to the USC campus, east on Jefferson, 41st and Bandini, past the smells of what must have been delicious breakfasts cooking in the homes along the way, and we felt forced to make our first off-our-bicycles stop for an Egg McMuffin. Across the street was the Farmer John’s plant with its small herd of large imitation pigs.

We turned south on Atlantic a short block to the head of the Los Angeles River Trail. We had traveled 19 miles to that point, according to Carol’s bike odometer, and it was 9:45 a.m., three hours into our trip.

As we looked down the asphalt bike trail stretching south along the west rim of the concrete riverbed, we reminded each other that we really were doing this, actually setting out to bicycle to San Diego for a three-day weekend. We were inexperienced bikers, and this would be our first attempt at a long bike ride.

The first surprise of our trip was the Los Angeles River itself. Although there were derelict shopping carts here and there, we saw construction sites, watched a school for bus drivers in progress, looked at green, marsh-like areas where the river spread across the channel. In other places, it was a narrow, fast-moving stream in the middle of a concrete expanse. On both sides of the channel, parks, vegetable gardens, watermelon patches, horse stables, riding trails and a variety of industries were backed up to the riverbed.

We had an easy ride on the 8-foot-wide asphalt ribbon straight south to Shoreline Village in Long Beach. It was alive with people in restaurants, shopping for souvenirs, playing on the grass and enjoying a sports car show. We went east on the beautiful Shoreline Trail, which runs along the beach east to Belmont Shore, palm trees on our left, the broad, long strand of sand on the right.

Just past the pier we cut over to East 2nd Street, the bustling, upscale main thoroughfare of Belmont Shore, and we wolfed down Ortega jack hamburgers at Bonadonna’s Cafe. It was 12:30 p.m., nearly six hours since we left.

We continued east on East 2nd Street to Pacific Coast Highway, then south past the old downtown area of Seal Beach to Bolsa Chica State Beach, where we picked up the next beach-front bike trail.

This one, also spectacular, took us through a park that runs along the top of the sand cliffs of Huntington Beach, then past the pier and the downtown area. The trail dropped down to the sand, and we continued south toward Newport Beach, threading our way among the people leaving the beach in the late afternoon sun.

Then we were on residential streets for a few blocks over to Pacific Coast Highway at Newport Boulevard, and continued south a few blocks to our first overnight stop, the Newport Classic Motel. In 10 hours elapsed time, we had covered 53 miles, and it seemed like a long way to us.

After a shower and a few minutes just stretching out, we walked back to Newport Boulevard and The Arches, a restaurant I had been driving past for years. The decor was New York steakhouse, and our steaks were expensive, delicious and ample; they came via waiters who wore tuxedos, the only people there who weren’t dressed “California casual.”

The sky was barely beginning to lighten as we set out Sunday morning on an almost deserted Pacific Coast Highway. We went less than two miles before encountering the first of many hills we would climb that day.

The fragrance of what might be a sage and eucalyptus mixture was heady as we passed Crystal Cove State Beach on our way to Laguna.

It was 8:15 a.m. and we had been more than three hours on Pacific Coast Highway when we saw the ideal place for breakfast in Dana Point. Daddy O’s Bicycle Diner has bike racks outside, and posters of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe and 1957 Chevys inside. “We are roughly halfway between L.A. and San Diego,” our server said, “and a lot of bikers stop here.” We enjoyed their “great big monster breakfasts.”

A short ride farther on we discovered another trail-side bicycle haven at the northernmost 7-Eleven in San Clemente; it is on the bike route a few short blocks from the beach. Nine bikers were refueling with snacks and sports drinks, and we chatted about the trail south.

As they warned, the bicycle trail through San Clemente is a maze of turns and hills (some of them steep but none of them long). The trail turns south and out of town at Interstate 5 near the San Clemente Inn. The frontage road west of I-5 took us past the San Onofre nuclear power generating plant into another surprise.

The parking lot of San Onofre State Beach may be the l-o-n-g-e-s-t lot in the world. The bike maps direct bikers through the parking lot--following it several miles past an INS checkpoint on I-5--before making the turn inland beneath the freeway into Camp Pendleton.

The Marine guard waved us through with a pleasant “Have a nice day,” and we were biking through what always had seemed like forbidden territory, at least to civilians.

The road leads inland and south in gently rolling country. It got hotter and drier away from the ocean, but the chaparral was fragrant. We noticed a building there, an occasional intersection, a military tent complex, a tank and a personnel carrier on display. The going was easy and happily quiet away from traffic sounds.

The voice came out of nowhere, and I was startled. “Would you have an Allen wrench?” The question, sounding very similar to a televised mustard commercial, seemed 6 inches behind my head.

“My seat is slipping down, and my knees are almost hitting my chin as I pedal,” said the biker who had quietly overtaken me. I had the wrench, and in a minute he was on his way.

Later, we were biking on a city street, passing over I-5, then swinging south into Oceanside harbor.

It was only half a mile around the harbor, and another mile to Oceanside pier. We picked up the bike route south on Coast Highway, went through a business district and on into Carlsbad, a total of three miles to our motel, the Best Western Beach View Lodge. It is across the highway from Carlsbad State Beach, where we headed for a swim as soon as we checked in. Later, Carol was able to confirm that the motel spa was as good as it looked.

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We didn’t get on the road until 8 a.m. Monday. The overcast sky, the first of our trip, was gone before 9. The Monday morning rush-hour traffic was light on California Highway 1. Carol telephoned ahead, and we were able to catch a last-minute cancellation at the Crystal Pier Hotel in Pacific Beach; it usually is booked up months in advance.

Looming ahead was the longest, steepest hill of the trip. Torrey Pines Road begins in Carmel Valley at the beach, and it proved as humongous as it looked.

We pedaled toward the heavens on the hill from hell. It seemed endless; actually it was 1.7 miles long. I stopped three times on that hill to drink water and grab some brief relief in the shade of overhanging trees. It was the only time on the trip that I was forced to get off the bike.

We needed a 20-minute rest when we got to the top at Torrey Pines Science Park. From there, the ride into downtown La Jolla was downhill, literally as well as figuratively. Like in San Clemente, the bike route through La Jolla is a maze, up short hills and down, with many turns on many different streets. The route flattens out after La Jolla, and it was almost a glide into San Diego’s Pacific Beach area.

We checked into the Crystal Pier Hotel at 2:30 p.m. We had covered 33 miles that day, 131 miles from our home in the Beverly-Fairfax neighborhood. We had stored our car with friends in San Diego, and we were looking forward to sharing our victory dinner with them at the Rusty Pelican. We also were looking forward to the trip back with the bicycles on our bike rack.

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Budget for Two

Lunch, Bonadonna’s Cafe: 20.60

Dinner, The Arches: 55.50

Newport Classic Inn: $76.90

Breakfast, Daddy-O’s Diner: 14.01

Armenian Cafe: 30.24

Beach View Lodge, Carlsbad: 105.05

Self-service laundry: 2.50

Dinner, Rusty Pelican: 38.84

Crystal Pier, Pacific Beach: 160.23

Takeout snacks en route: 20.54

Gas, return trip: 8.86

FINAL TAB $533.27

Newport Classic Inn, telephone (800) 633-3199. Best Western Beach View Lodge, tel. (800) 232-2488. Crystal Pier Hotel, tel. (800) 748-5894.