I went bikepacking along California’s north coast to trade cell bars for tree rings. The plan was simple: roll south through the Avenue of the Giants, cross to the ocean, then trace the edge of the redwoods back on quiet roads and dirt. It felt less like a route and more like a permission slip to go slow.
Day 1 — Avenue of the Giants → Prairie Creek (≈ 36 mi / 2,800 ft)
I start with bakery crumbs in my frame bag and cold air pooling in the river bottoms. The Avenue of the Giants is a tunnel of red trunks and filtered light; every turn feels hushed, like I’m pedaling through a library. Chipseal gives way to short, steep ramps beneath cedar shade, and the bike hums like it knows where we’re headed.
By mid-afternoon, I’m off the main drag and into smaller lanes that smell like wet bark and fern. I camp on a soft bench above a creek, pitch the tent under a lace of branches, and cook ramen doctored with olive oil and crushed chips. The night is all creek song and the soft creak of trees.
Day 2 — Prairie Creek → Gold Bluffs Beach & Fern Canyon (≈ 34 mi / 2,300 ft)
Dawn is damp and quiet. A set of rollers leads me toward the coast and the rumble of surf. The first sight of the ocean hits like a reset button: gray water, low cloud, wind tugging at the guy lines I haven’t packed yet. I stash the bike and walk the sand until it turns to pebbles and sea foam.
Inland, a gravel spur threads into a narrow canyon where the walls are furred with ferns and water stitches down the rock. It’s cooler here, a different kind of silence that sticks to your jacket. Back at camp, I tuck the tent behind a drift log, eat tortillas with peanut butter and an apple, and watch the tide pull color out of the sky.
Day 3 — Newton B. Drury Parkway → Back Inland (≈ 41 mi / 3,100 ft)
Morning breaks with fog lifting and elk tracks stitched across the shoulder. I climb into the redwoods again on a road that bends like ribbon. The grade is steady; I drop a gear and let the cadence sort out the thoughts I carried in with me. Sun shafts slice through the canopy and turn the dust to glitter.
I stop at a pullout, sit on the guardrail, and eat the last of the gummy bears while trucks whisper past somewhere far away. Then it’s a gentle tilt back toward the inland valley: a few hairpins, the hiss of tires on damp pavement, and that soft return of radio stations and coffee smells. I don’t hurry the last miles. You shouldn’t hurry a place that grows trees this slowly.
Route Sketch
Avenue of the Giants → small connectors toward the coast → Gold Bluffs Beach & fern-walled canyon sidetrip → Newton B. Drury Parkway → quiet backroads inland. Build days around climbs, not miles. The forest will set your speed.
