I don't need smoke to make myself disappear

Fueled by mostly instagram hashtags, the Trophy Club, and endless repeats of Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack", I've taken it upon myself to get out of town and ride my bike to sleep in the dirt. It turns out I don't need much for this trip in particular; I've got the bike, the time, and I bought a bunch of ramen last week.
I wish I could say this trip will be an "epic week-long journey along California's coastline, through ancient redwoods and scenic headlands", but in reality the copy might read something along the lines of "I hope you bring enough water and don't get mauled by anything with sharper teeth than you (METH HEADS)". The route leaves San Luis Obispo into the Los Padres National Forest, crossing Highway 166 into New Cuyama eventually leading southbound into Ojai. After coffee with Goth Brooks I'll head into Santa Paula, Simi Valley and ultimately home to the San Fernando Valley.

I definitely gave thought to riding the coast from SF to LA as many have done before me but I could see myself being over it in a very short amount of time. I mean, I like riding bikes and sleeping in the dirt but not that much. SLO to SFV is shorter and far less committal with all the same quirky bike touring shit like coffee on a mountain and saddle sores.

dolo.

Ride 100 miles alone and take your sweet-ass time. Eat a lot of food and drink a bunch of sample-sized cups of sample coffee at the supermarket. Sometimes it's all you can do when your friends are too sick, hungover or busy to ride with you.

Take lots of photos and turn around if you don't get the shot you really wanted. Get a little lost and worry about not making it back before sundown because like an idiot, you didn't bring lights or anticipate getting home late. You're on your own time, waiting for no one and following nobody. There's no one to help you through the canyons and you'll be caught whistling or singing to yourself.

I used to date this girl that was really into health food and coconut water and fucking chia seeds or whatever. I feel dumb to say it, but I learned a lot from her. She showed me the Santa Monica Mountains and the value of eating well after grueling rides, which does not mean eating seven dollars worth of food from Taco Bell. Goddamn, I miss Taco Bell.

peel.

This is the only reason I bothered to wake up New Year's Day.

The only time I felt truly low on a long bike ride is when I saw a banana on the ground while climbing back into the Valley from Malibu.
I turned around to pick it up and possibly eat it, only to find that it was just a peel. Worse than the sinking feeling in your stomach when you think you complete the last climb on a ride you've never been on, or the feeling of your sun-dried brain at the end of a hot day during summer. It's your expectations meeting reality and quickly turning into a pile of ashes on the floor.
I let out a heavy-hearted sigh, completed the ride and made my way to the nearest liquor store where I bought cheap Mexican beer and two bananas.

This blog aims to document rides, trips, friendly feelings and laffs in general for the year of our Lord 2012. Earth, USA, California, Los Angeles, 818.