Day 31: Half Moon Bay - New Brighton State Beach, 92km

It's 8am and I had been disturbed by a selection of Tim's choice words, from other side of our tent walls. The night before we had endured great 'discussions' into the placement of our tent. One of us won and the tent was pitched under the tree. Tim had forgotten the low slung branch crowning our site at least 10 times the night before and I was out of sympathy. Desperately trying to ignore him, I began to realise he was still making a lot of noise. Tentatively I poked my head out to check if he was OK - I didn't need to ask- there was blood pouring down his face!

As lightening quick as one can leap out of an MEC Seedhouse 2, not even 3ft in height, I grabbed a towel to cover the wound whilst trying to dig myself out of the neglectful hole I had dug myself. Having finally stopped the bleeding and cleaned it up there was at least an inch long gash. Of course, being a trained first aider means I can remember vague things like you shouldn't wash an eye with chemical in it, in the direction of the other (one to remember if the old soak drinks too much wine), and to call for help and check for danger before approaching a patient. Basically I had no idea if it needed stitches or not, and Tim was in a position to comment.

In my infinite wisdom, I went to get a park warden. He suggested 911 to which I said 'no way - I just want a first aider to check it'. He ummed and urred then rang the ranger who suggested I take him 6 miles to the hospital. The ranger told me he would be there in 15 minutes so I agreed to go back to Tim and check he was OK.

Now, anyone who knows California will realise it's more like litigation state than the sunshine state! As I drew near to Tim after a 5 minute walk, he started to point in blind panic behind me. As I nonchalantly walked along the path I hadn't realised I was flanked by a cavalcade of emergency services. In shear horror I turned to see an ambulance, the sheriff and a fire engine. Hilarious - especially as Tim was wondering around making breakfast.

I hope they didn't have their windows down, for as I turned back to Tim, I said: '@#$% I told them not to call 911'. With great embarrassment I met the paramedics explaining we hadn't wanted an ambulance and that we were really sorry. All I could think of was Caroline or Andy getting dragged out of bed by an insane fool who had burst a blister or grazed an elbow. What on earth the firemen must have thought.

Thankfully the Sheriff left pretty much straight away, and so we were left with 7 firemen and 2 paramedics (some might say a dream come true). Maybe it was crossing their minds to sue the state parks.

Apparently the cut was long but in no way needed stitches - 'in no way'! The paramedics were really lovely to us and even joked about us suing them, as Tim signed away any rights with a disclaimer. The fire engine drove off and gave us a little toot of their horn (just to make sure every last camper knew we were the idiots who had woken them with sirens). 5 minutes later the park ranger appeared - doddery as can be and obviously a lover of rules and protocol - apparently they have to call 911 in case they get sued. I was wondering about suing them because they did call 911. I figured if it was that simple then surely we would have a clear cut case. They probably even ring 911 if you mention you have a paper cut from their price list - a different slant on invitation to purchase I guess. The ranger then proceeded to take Tim's name, height, weight and eye colour - his details were probably going out on Californian State Park Interpol as we spoke.

Finally on the road at midday, we decided to see if Tim developed any (additional) abnormal behaviour on route and plan an end destination to suit. As ever on hwy 1, we passed many state beaches along the Pescadero coastline and after 20 miles we stopped at Pigeon Point Lighthouse to inquire about beds in the hostel. There was only one female space although Tim was offered a mattress on the floor (they aren't allowed to refuse cyclists) but either way the options didn't really appeal. As we were leaving up pulled 40 kids - if Tim didn't have any head injury symptoms then he would have done after a night on the floor in a dorm with 10 kids. We took a big sigh of relief and pedalled on.

Our journey dodged between the shoreline and inland roads, flanked with beautiful heath. The tail wind was strong and any spikes in the elevation went unnoticed. At Davenport, and after a very quick 40 miles we stopped for refreshments. A guy called Kirkland turned up shortly afterwards, and along with another lady sat nearby he gave us some good campsites for the stretch ahead.

Having navigated through Santa Cruz we eventually found our way to New Brighton State Beach (no road signs again), where we pitched our tent next to a guy called Jean from Everett, also on his way down the coast. He had left his bike helmet in the last place he had eaten and so at the same time as retrieving it brought us back a muffin - commonly known as a happy pill to Tim.

Sadly, to top Tim's problems, he appeared to have pulled a muscle in his groin - apparently due to me shouting at him to pedal (faster) up a hill. As he stepped off the bike and limped to the showers, I felt mildly guilty that I had just made him cycle 60 miles on top of the whole head grazing incident. In an attempt to improve matters, I scampered around dutifully pitching the tent and cooking, until his spirits were began to rise again. Luckily Jean joined us for coffee before bed and with the delight of someone new to share our stories with, the old boy was soon happy again.