matt maceda bday ride 9/19/26

Camping info;
9/18/26, I’m arriving after work around 17:00, hopefully earlier
Sycamore Canyon Campground, sites 14, 15
9000 Pacific Coast Hwy, Malibu, CA 90265
Two sites fit four vehicles total- two vehicles spaces are currently accounted for. There is little to no signal at the campsites, head towards the beach to hit a cell tower. Trancas market on PCH is the last service before camp. Please plan your own meals.

Ride info;
9/19/26, 08:30, leave by 09:00
Sycamore Cove Beach
9000-10700 Pacific Coast Hwy, Malibu, CA 90265
Campers move their cars to the beach lot across PCH in the morning, day use is free using your receipt from entry the night before.
From what I remember, this is a really tough day in the Santa Monicas. If it sucks we can bail early and take Mullholland back to the beach mon. Hot dogs, etc.

Event link-
https://ridewithgps.com/events/490774-9-19-26-maceda-bday-ride?privacy_code=7uhvDbx9D4OnOymwEnlJpTEJvaKYdw36
Route link-
https://ridewithgps.com/routes/56060238?privacy_code=aDobIWkLEXqbjNSPOVPoodqnWV7J719k

2026 missions 600k

There's a wealth of information and personal accounts when it comes to people documenting their experiences with brevet/randonneur and I'm thankful to read highly intimate moments of the Agony and Ecstacy. Here's mine, a possibly non-linear and rambling account of the 2026 Missions 600k ACP brevet hosted by the San Diego Randonneurs.

As the pièce de résistance, the pinnacle of our Super Randonneur Series, this point-to-point 600km brevet reimagine how to appreciate not just these missions, but all points of interest along the course, on our bicycles in the company of friends. Starting from Santa Maria, the route will take you to 9 missions starting from La Purissima in Lompoc in southern portions of San Luis Obispo County to the original site of Mission San Diego in San Diego County. You’ll ride through 6 coastal counties in all. You’ll see the rolling green hills and vineyards of the Central Coast, the vast fruit orchards along the Santa Clara River valley, the urban hustle and bustle at the foot of the Angeles Mountains and finally the laid-back beach communities of Southern California.

I have experience abandoning the PCH Randonneurs Joshua Tree to Vegas 300k twice and finishing twice. Other than Joshua Tree to Vegas I had no interest in participating other events. I like to say, "I want PBP eventually", but eventually I'd have to ante up and do something other than riding to work and occasional casual centuries. Robin rallied The Mens. Victor, Greg, and I signed up.

In the months leading up to the brevet my training plan consisted of riding to work 3-4 times a week and maybe riding on the weekend (mostly not). In the final three weeks of scrambling to get ready I chose to preview the route from Mission San Fernando to Old Town San Diego then Ventura to San Fernando.

Historically, 100 miles had been the arbitrary mental block for me. 100 miles means the ride is over, eat burrito, take train, go home. In this desperate attempt to get ready that all goes out the window and now I have to be on my bike for five more hours.

Day 0- travel day, train to Santa Maria

I took the 09:44 train from Van Nuys to Guadalupe. Leaving the station I began to remember Santa Maria more clearly, from past rides northbound to San Luis Obispo, still windy and dusty from the surrounding farmland. I met Victor and Greg at the hotel who were asleep with the TV on. Robin arrived later and we ate clamshells of Hawaiian BBQ then shopped for the last of our provisions.

Day 1- Santa Maria to San Fernando

Saturday morning, 05:30ish;  riders sliding into the Best Western Santa Maria parking lot to sign in and drop bags. Brevet organizer Wei Sun wished us well and sent us off into the foggy Santa Maria Valley, 06:00. Much of this morning was uneventful. I was feeling good and nervous, mostly riding alone but trading positions here and there before reaching Solvang where I saw Greg and Victor at the mission. Spirits were high (and so was Greg) and I wasn't totally smoked yet. My main focus was getting to Ventura in one piece, still having the route back to San Fernando still fresh in my mind from last week's preview.

From Ventura I had an idea of how far (at least six hours) and how much I had to give to get back home (the Newhall Pass is steep and windy). I chose to sleep at my house for the overnight segment instead of the control at Rosemead. It was a little early in the ride and off-route but concluded I could get actual sleep and rest in a familiar location instead of the alienation of a crummy hotel. I arrived around 21:45. I had time to get my bike on the stand for a quick clean and lube, slam portions of prepared pasta, shower, and sleep for four hours.

Day 2- San Fernando to San Diego

I woke up a little before my 02:30 alarm and layed in bed pondering my next moves. The plan was to call Wei and tell him I was abandoning in San Fernando, sleep a few more hours and drive over to Rosemead before the overnight control packed up. 

Getting out of bed and back on the road was rough. I'm not sure if this was due to taking the overnight too early in the route but I'm sure it was contributing to my misery. Being in the dark at this time feeling like I did put intense despair in me. There's something really lonely about being physically and mentally drained then getting on your bike again in the cold, dark, morning. This was the lowest I felt on the ride. I stopped in La Crescenta under the low glow of the Verdugo City post office lobby. Underdressed and shivering I sat there eating a jelly sandwich, truly miserable and wishing I was still in bed. I gave myself five minutes of micro sleep and pressed on, not even close to the control yet.

As the sun rose on day two I started to feel better. Approaching Mission San Gabriel, Wei texted me asking if I checked in at the Rosemead control; no, still on the road 15 minutes out. I was convinced I was running late, as a whole, in general, in relation to everyone else. I was prepared to continue on as Thee Last person on the brevet. To my surprise the control was still running in full force, breakfast still being served, coffee still hot and I was not Thee Last person riding the Missions 600k.

The combination of new daylight, a pile of congealed oatmeal, and my preview of San Fer to SD weeks ago lifted my spirits and I knew exactly what it took to get to the final control. My mood was generally positive, body ready to take on the remaining 200ish k (FUCK). Nothing much to say for the bike paths southbound into the coast, just headwindy and mind numbing. My first hot meal on the road was Jack in the Box. Coffee, sandwich, stack of hashbrowns, Huntington Beach. It was a funny sensation eating this objectively salty meal and it not tasting salty enough. My road food situation was mostly guava paste candy, coconut candy, Belgian waffles, stroopwaffels. It was also interesting to eat wildly calorie-dense food and it still not being enough to sustain an effort for this long. I smushed a Belgian waffle into my palm to make it smaller and easier to eat faster.

The last contact with The Mens was during my so-called breakfast at Jack in the Box. I was approaching Huntington Beach, Robin up ahead in Newport, Greg and Victor passing through. It felt great to check in and see we were all relatively close together on the route. I was convinced I wasn't going to see Greg again until the end or back in LA. 

Exiting Laguna, I had a little interaction that brought me to life. "Disculpe compa- me da una salpica de la agua?" al jardinero chambeando. "Yo veni por Santa Maria al San Diego, en menos de cuarenta horas", "Ah, por el norte! Muy lejos, para carera o..", "Para 'diverterme' (air quotes)," Me dijo, "Les dicen en ingles, 'no pain, no gain'". Les llenaro mis botellas y me fui para la Mision San Juan Capistrano.

The next stretch from San Clemente to the mission changed the mood for the rest of the ride. After spending too much time at the 7-11 I casually chased someone just ahead of me; through the Old Coast bikeway, onto the 5 Freeway, and into the Aliso Creek rest stop right before Oceanside. I was feelin' fine, chatty, and said what's up to the man. His demeanor was slightly dire, mentioning he was going to be "cutting it close" with an arrival in the 21:00 hour. I was in disbelief. After all, we had almost eight hours to get to the final control. As I pondered this, I grew more serious, stomach sinking. He was right and I wasn't interpreting my Garmin correctly let alone looking at it enough. 

"Michael, you've lit a fire under my ass," 

"Well don't get it too hot, we still have to get there". 

~100k to final control.

Tailwinds to San Luis Rey. Hot-hot pace, the wind pushed us inbound and I caught a glimpse of Greg and Victor leaving the mission. I gave a boisterous "AYY!" and was met with dead eyes and silence. I checked in, tired of inland mission detours that drained my already low morale, filled bottles and for the first time looked at myself in a mirror. I was surprised to see myself; a sun-blasted face with insane sunglass tan lines that made me look like a crazed animal. I was unrecognizable. Robin pulled in shortly thereafter where I panicked my concerns on the current pace and when it was going to land us at the finish. Within the last hour and too close for comfort.

My concern for timing and arrival were brushed off. We had time to complete but I wasn't satisfied thanks to my preview ride. I had certain understandings of distance, time, and we were very far and long away. Onward to North County stretches, a straight shot onto the Torrey Pines climb. Not intense by any means, but grueling in that after 35 hours on a bike you have to sit there for 30 minutes spinning your noodle legs around while the sky turns grey and you can feel time running out.

Robin and I remained together for the rest of the ride, cutting through the sprawl approaching the city on hidden bike paths and over bay bridges until we eventually arrived at the final control. Earlier a car had run into a fire hydrant near the hotel spraying water high into the air and flooding the street. We were further celebrated at the hotel with cold Costco pizzas and a selection of beers that recalled of someone reaching into their garage refrigerator and collecting whatever beers nobody drank at their last party. Final time 38 hours, 42 minutes.

I write this posthumously and I can only remember certain moments at a time. It either blurs all together as one faded recollection or an occasional sharp, stinging, stroopwaffel flashback and I can remember how pink the sky was in Piru and how red this guy was in Piru. On the train home I ate the weed cookie Greg gave me, the one I was too scared to eat during the ride. It kicked in as we clacked and weaved through familiar canyons approaching North County San Diego. Looking out the window was like watching an old movie, a replay of the last two days on the road in reverse. I was uncomfortably high and I could feel my screaming legs.

musch camp overnighter

This trip was an experiment in minimalism. Maybe not minimalism, but rather an experiment in being a total cheapskate and not buying any new equipment to make my life easier. This meant a very mickey mouse attempt at attaching an old rope bag to my saddle and finding a way to affix my tarp and pad to my handlebars with an extra long bungee cord.

Musch Camp in Topanga State Park lies just beyond Eagle Rock along the Backbone Trail. I've been out that way on my rigid and mildly antiquated Curtlo but I wanted to see if I could get there on a proper mountain bike. That way, I could actually enjoy the ride instead of getting so rattled my teeth fall out. The site has water, toilets, and has car access. I can't say what it might be like on the weekends, but my Thursday night there had little foot traffic and no other campers.

In summary, this trip was pretty uneventful. I rode, ate a little, drank a little, and slept in the dirt as planned. I went to the Big Boy in Northridge the next morning to eat OD amounts of their breakfast buffet but they removed it. Man, fuck this trip.

SLO -> SFV

Every so often, while riding, I'll come across a disheveled-looking, wild-haired, pungent-smelling, touring cyclist. They're obviously traveling; their bags are loaded but depending on where they are during their trip, their grins are beaming or they wear silent stares with maws agape and gasping. Earlier this week, for my first time, I was that scorched bike traveller with wild hair, looking like a bomb went off in my head but also grinning my ass off in the middle of a long and winding descent.

This is an account of my time riding my bike from San Luis Obispo to the San Fernando Valley. Although relatively short, this trip accounts for much of the diversity of terrain in Southern California and in turn reflects the difficulty in navigating through it all. From the temperate coast, the scorching desert, to the pine-thick forests; the terrain on this route is as diverse as it is physically daunting.

Day One - San Luis Obispo to Somewhere on HWY 166 (I slept in a ditch)
I've read that starting a bike trip with a huge hangover is great way to get the ball rolling. For this, I decided to drink a lot of cheap beer and whiskey with Lauren the night before and go to sleep quite late. I sweat beer through beautiful orchard views of Arroyo Grande and had the driest brain riding into Nipomo. I refueled by eating a comically large hamburger at Jocko's, bought water and a box of wine. I made it to Highway 166 which is basically a way to move big rigs and OHVs really fast east and westbound. Surprisingly, the rigs passed wide and families on their way to shred dunes were easy-going.
It turns out that the internet wasn't that good at getting me to the Miranda Pines campground and made me traverse what turned out to be private property. It all occurred to me when four dogs appeared from a hill and ran down to bark their asses off at me. Soon after, a white-bearded man named Mike offered me a cold soda and showed me just how far off I was from Miranda Pines. The original route had me going through miles of private land and it was better to backtrack down to the highway and eastbound towards New Cuyama. I made my way back down Pine Canyon Road to the highway in search of somewhere suitable to sleep. The place I ended up was probably around four to five miles from my detour. It was hidden from the highway and, as evidenced by bits of trash and empty 40oz bottles, was definitely used as a campsite. I laid down my tarp, cooked a batch of pepperoni ramen and drank most of my wine.

 

Day Two - Ditch to Rancho Nuevo Campground
According to my preliminary planning, the ride into New Cuyama was to be the longest and possibly most grueling day. At least 65 miles in full exposure of the sun with no places to refuel except for New Cuyama. What was even more daunting for me was the mind-numbing boredom. The early green curves and scenic exposed red rock of the highway faded into endless flat fields and pastures surrounded by Los Padres to the south and Carizo to the north. The only redeeming feature of this stretch was stopping to eat an orange in the shade of a stray almond tree, trying to ignore the looming pressure of having to release a huge BM before getting into town.
Even when rolling into New Cuyama there was little relief for the bike-weathered psyche. The scenery was much like Thermal, CA or Mecca; I passed familiar-looking fields and houses surrounded by junked cars and farm equipment. Knowing I couldn't stay long in order to beat the sun to Rancho Nuevo, I resupplied my water, ate a mediocre hashbrown breakfast and drank three cups of orange soda. I intended to send a postcard from town thinking it would be quirky and great to get a postcard from such a small-ass town, but with a population of around 1,000 there was no representational city postcard and I was forced to scratch something out on a notepad I had and I continued on.
The highway stretched on with more of the same dry fields with dust devils dancing around culverts and my metal slug of a bike. Finally I came to the southbound turn for Highway 33 and it was only then did I feel the true peacefulness of a country road that I was looking forward to. The contrast between the heavily and hurriedly-traveled 166 was striking once I arrived on the 33. On I went eventually passing county lines and into Los Padres National Forest. I remember the slight curve revealing the terrain ahead of me and having my stomach sink. It was to be the only way into Ojai and the view became even more daunting as I approached my campsite for the night.
The Rancho Nuevo site is listed as a "primitive" campsite and as I arrived it was a sharp realization. The end of the fire road gave way to a canyon where the campsite lay. It was a clearing, some rocks and a fire pit. Already I could hear the animals that were deeper into the canyon and let out a nervous laugh, knowing the night was going to be pretty goddamned spooky.
I didn't nearly have enough booze to sleep soundly and I woke frequently from the cold or an especially loud yelp of some sort of animal. The moon was so bright that I thought it was the dawn but I lay there in the dirt attempting to will myself unconscious.

Day Three - Rancho Nuevo to Santa Paula
I woke and started late due to my stop-start rhythm of sleeping, genuinely surprised that I was still alive. The canyon ahead of me blocked the incoming light and I remained chilled until I was packed and ready to face the pass into Ojai. Looking back it is clear to me that Wednesday had the best riding of the trip. Although packed with gear to the gills on an already boat anchor of a bike, the climb south through the forest was surprisingly enjoyable. The chilled wind passed through pines and through my bike making weird whistles and hums.
The pines eventually faded into an extraterrestrial valley, revealing boulders and creeks as I made the first descent into Rose Valley. What came next was the long, swooping descent into the Ojai Valley. I stopped at the Friend's Packing House just above Meiner's Oaks for a single orange and continued into town where @gothbrooks bought me a caucasoid shrimp burrito.
After a quick swim and a stroll through the Lesbian Witchcraft District we said our goodbyes and I made my way to Santa Paula where I drank two tallcans and ate an entire pizza.

Day Four - Santa Paula to the San Fernando Valley
Santa Paula is a quaint town established by past oil strikes and looking back I should have bought a cowboy hat. Instead I got on the road and ate a bunch of aspirin in order to numb my now swelling left ankle. Highway 126 into Filmore was to be my conveyance and was familiarly filled with high-speed big rigs and people traveling to Moorpark. I stopped in Filmore to eat hashbrowns and make my way down Highway 23.
The land between Filmore and Moorpark harvests rocks and sand as a business and I was followed through the pass by endless dump trucks and impatient commuters. Either way, I was to drop into Moorpark and eventually Simi Valley where I was to eat lunch Mitch Robb aka muscle_master aka coolbuffdude420 aka evil red mitch.
After eating way too many tacos I made my way east to leave Simi and made the softest effort climbing over Santa Susana into Chatsworth. By this time I knew I was home. I passed all the familiar landmarks of the ride back home as if I hadn't been gone for more than a weekday morning ride. There were no congratulatory crowds or fanfare, no elation or cathartic release. I let out a sigh of relief as I unpacked and hanged my bike, consoled by the fact that I wasn't going to touch it for the next week.