After a 53 mile ride south with a brutally incessant headwind we arrived in Monterey. On first impressions I would say it is the coolest little beach town so far. We were hooked up with a free meal when we arrived at a British Pub called the London Bridge on Fisherman's Wharf. Unable to beg a free nights stay in the landlord's back yard we set about town trying to find some houses with a nice lawn to knock on. We were offered a place to stay from a very extrovert hippy called Bob, a man clearly stuck in the 60's and totally messed up from a lifetime of experimental drug use. Upon arriving at his house we were swiftly told to clear off by his son. So 9pm out on our asses with no campsite in sight we threw on some jeans, locked our bicycles outside another pub called the Britannia and stepped inside to weigh up our options. 30 minutes and 4 pints of coke later I was stone cold sober and up on stage singing solo! Awful singing, great night out, yet again we take the party to these pathetically small and quiet tourist towns!
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