20260831-0901 A Long Ride for Thought

[Taco]

On august 10, I took the train to Redlands, rode up 38 to Big Bear, then moved west to Cajon Pass and up to the 2 to La Cañada and so on. I recently experienced some things that motivated me to get some thinking time on the bike on a challenging route, and I decided repeating that route would be the ticket. I am still training for the Pacific Coast Race which was cancelled, an experience which shall remain unfulfilled, but I was already deep into prep so I might as well go whole hog. My primary focus on this ride was to work through the issues within that I’ve been experiencing, which long distance cycling is a very good and healthy/positive avenue for, and also to cut down on time spent off the bike to make my overall time shorter.

The ride starts at 0900 in Redlands. Same time for both rides. I wrote my times down at my ‘checkpoints’ to get an idea of how much faster I was or whatever. It was much cooler this time heading up the 38. I was drenched last time and climbing slowly to Angelus Oaks around 5800ft, where the road steepness slackens and becomes more enjoyable to ride. Since it was cooler, I spent less time drinking sport beverages and hanging around. I left Angelus Oaks at 1150 and arrived at Onyx Summit at 1345, having beaten my previous time of 1530. Already a bit ahead of schedule partially due to increased familiarity with the route and the cooler temps.

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You ever been writing a trip report where you just feel like it’s empty grey soulless garbage? Like it’s some sort of boring textbook, and you don’t have the spirit within to write as you thought during the trip itself? That’s how I feel about this. I can’t just put down numbers and facts and all that. There’s no soul. The figures become irrelevant statistics fit for robots and not humans. I am struggling to finish this report which bears no resemblance to the experience. I used to write as a form of therapy, but doing so on a phone is trying.

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My motivation for this ride was to deal with heartbreak, sadness, depression. I am struggling to get up and deal with the realities of life alone with nobody to truly open up to (a woman obviously), no real future to look forward to, usually in constant low level pain from many medical issues and injuries, a difficult home life where I feel trapped and cannot escape due to lack of money, a general hopelessness and meaninglessness that is difficult to shake and most prominent when I am not in the mountains. It all feels truly hopeless and empty, and years of trying and having to start over again and again, most of that time alone, working very hard and having little to show for it. Pain is a great motivator but it is truly tiring and I am very deeply exhausted deep within myself. I am not such a fool that I can convince myself of some wonders and magic to become excited for nothingness like an empty headed Hollywood personality who has never worked a real job in their life. I have relied on challenging journeys in the mountains and deserts over my life to deal with these things, as they give me enough of a boost to get out of bed and go to work and smile and say hi to people, and when they ask how I am, I hope I have the strength to confidently lie to their face, an insult, and say I’m alright, when in reality the heart is in pieces, the soul bleeding rapidly and badly bruised, and the mind a den of flailing electric snakes shooting off in every direction. The only peace is often found sitting beneath an old Pine or Fir somewhere in the mountains away from the right angles and endless rules of civilization, their colorful displays and loud emotional expressions like an unwelcome wet graffiti for the mind.

I am reticent to share my real thoughts as despite my general attitude of not caring what most others think, I still care and need some acceptance from people, for I have not yet reached the point where my own valuation of myself can be divorced from all people who are not close to me. Our modern society experiences depression in its various forms and instead of acknowledging the absurdity of it all, the absolute separation of man from nature (a divorce from reality), the society accepts mind altering unnatural drug addiction sold with the lie that the individual is chemically unbalanced, not that the society they live in is completely different from what they were evolved to live in at all. Even mentioning this will likely bring anger from those on said drugs who feel they’re broken and their body doesn’t produce enough of some chemicals, and they need this new chemical support that, if halted, may lead the individual to commit suicide or a school shooting or other terrible things. Humans are not meant to do repetitive tasks that do not bring them food, shelter, safety, care of their people, and so on, yet here we are, sitting on our asses behind glowing screens trading our dwindling time on earth for a devaluing currency so we may trade it for someone else to hunt and farm and produce for us. It also makes us useless. A man who cannot hunt, process game, create and repair his tool, provide shelter and security for his family, is, essentially, dead and useless. This statement would come across as an insult to the masses in current times, as we have drifted so far from the true reality of being a human into the modern essentially enslaved common person, often completely dependent on an unstable system while at times proudly stating how independant they are (often seen in women’s dating profiles). How independant can you truly be if you have to continue working endlessly to keep paying rent on the tiny apartment you’ll never own on land you can’t support yourself on where you’re reliant on every system around you and you need to pay to buy a plastic bag filled with food? You can’t even pick fruit from trees outside. The homeless are far more independant than you are. Stop fooling yourself.

The modern over-socialized human, often living in an urban landscape which may have previously supported a smaller population in a healthier, more natural way, is now also tethered to devices which certainly are not doing wonders for their mental well being. Many people feel lonelier and more isolated than before. Many are constantly busy and have little free time to spend with their loved ones, again exchanging their limited time alive for credits to pay others for overpriced basic needs they themselves would previously provide through effort. They are bombarded with advertisements for objects that may take the sting out of the aimless emptiness of modern life for a minute or two, footage of influencers making outrageous statements and using overly colorful language to describe products and places. Distracted by a system which lies to them and robs them from each direction, many still proudly wear the jersey of their favorite team, often picking one which appeals to their emotions while selling the same lie as the opposition. Pay more, get less, post the profile picture with your chosen minority group, as long as you hate big bad whitey, that’s all that matters. Not that the ones running the show aren’t white or anything, or that the haters of whitey seem to prefer him, but we will gloss over this more specific cultural observation of wealthy angelenos for the time being. If one lacks painful real problems, one must conjure up a great beast to be slain, free from the rationality of judgement being applied to all and a deep assessment of where the judgement is coming from. Endless distraction, social causes that change all the time and people forget (Kony 2012). An outlet for the unsatisfied emotions left locked up in a corner of the soul, screaming to be let out, scratching at the cage door. Such emotions could be released into a positive place, but many cannot see how or who, and the emotions go to the loudest cause which exerts emotional pressure and a loud following, a place of temporary and shallow belonging. Oddly enough, said groups are often quick to violently eject members for not being loud enough for their cult.

And where do they find a mate if not through regular contact? The morass of online dating, which resembles more a sort of job application process than meeting with another human with a heart and a soul. Do you meet the requirements to work for my company? Do you have a Masters degree to work at Office Depot selling work chairs? The running joke is that a man must have the three sixes to succeed: six feet tall, six pack of abs, and a six figure salary. In my own experience having browsed countless dating profiles of women, this is often adhered to. The summarized feeling I get from the experience is that one must be very wealthy, very handsome, have an unrealistic amount of free time to travel to instagram locations on vacation, perfect teeth, excellent hair, must be quite liberal politically (modern urban liberalism, not classical liberalism), and that the man may not ask about her past. I commend the women who don’t do this, and there are many, but there is such an overwhelming amount that do match this that it feels almost as if it is an army of them working from the same place, coordinating their assault of unrealistic expectations of men made of meat and having lived normal lives. I have had several women friends show me what men’s profiles look like and how they often communicate with women, and I do not envy the women at all. My final assessment is, that in my magical fantasy world, I press a big red button and the entire concept of online dating has been purged from the universe. Communication through text is an absolutely terrible way to handle such things. Love, and the growth to love, should be face to face. The endless intricacies of personal communication between those looking to love, and those in love, are too great and varied to be brought down to scribbles on a paper screen delivered in monotone fashion with no view of their eyes or smile. I fear for what future generations must put up with and am relieved that I will likely be dead before things become so profoundly retarded that I’d likely take my own life at the mere sight of such things.

Upon leaving big bear, my earbuds died. Aint that a bitch. So much for all the music I just downloaded. The sound of cars whooshing by drives me crazy, as I commute on streets 46 miles per day. Music takes the edge off. I resupplied at Deerlick gas station, leaving at 1620. The section from there to Crestline is quite fun, mostly downhill, and despite traffic had few stressful sections. A climb up Old Mill Road, rated at 25% steepness on my computer, is followed by the fast descent down the 138. The flatter section from the lake to Cajon Pass is one of my least favorite, and traffic from the high desert picks up partway down with very little shoulder on sometimes rough pavement. Stressful. I reach cajon pass at 1835, a full three hours earlier than the previous trip.

The two fish sandwiches I ate at McDonald’s seem to make me nauseous as I climb Lone Pine Canyon Road, which I’ve grown to loathe. It is long, straight, exposed, monotonous. Its character exceeds the distance and elevation figures. It is a fun fast straight descent, but as a climb it never ends soon enough. I got to Wrightwood to hang out with my homie Big Mikey at 2110. A welcome change bullshitting with a homie and laying down to stretch, which helped the nausea a bit. The climb out from there to Inspiration point is also rather long, and the winds pick up as you approach the high point. I reach Blue Ridge at 2315, put on all my layers, pee, and install my helmet light. The descent to Vincent Gap is fast and easy, and climbing up west from it keeps you largely protected from the strong winds. A stiff headwind pushes you back when you face the right direction, dirt and debris flying into your eyes and mouth. I had a small moth get stuck in my right eye, which I couldn’t remove as I was doing all I could to keep the bike upright in the stiff gusts. What a helluva way to die.

I eventually reach the maintenance shack at Dawson Saddle at 0045 on the 1st, the roll up door still remains mercifully in the open position so I can take shelter within. I replace my layers after the warm climb. It is 52 degrees outside, which may not be cold to you, but as a guy on a bike in our current hot weather all the time, who then must descend at 40mph in short shorts, it is a bit chilly. The nausea takes most of the fun out of the riding at this point, with the wind making it more challenging to see rocks, debris, and potholes on the road, so I descend carefully. I was relieved when I reached the gate for the 39, knowing I only had a few more rough sections of road to deal with in these conditions before I could relax. I head down from the gate at 0110, carefully weave through rockfall and mud, pass the gate to the open section of 39, and relax a lot now that I’m on a maintained road. I reach west fork at 0200, having descended at a relaxed pace, and finish the rest of 39, taking Azusa avenue home, showing up at 0330 or so. I immediately went to bed to relieve the nausea, which may or may not have been a gift of the two filet o fish sandwiches I ate in Cajon Pass.

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Total mileage for the day 172 miles with 16,700ft of climbing. Total time was 18 and a half hours, moving time was 15.

[Matthew]

I love you so much big dog

[Taco]

Thanks big boy. Love you too. Keep on truckin.

Things don’t get easier, you just get better at it.