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An ode to Gridley.
Gridley is one of those trails that you must respect, its loose, dry, rocky, steep and dangerous. The trail begins at the end of Gridley Street on Ojai, a beautiful two mile long road edged with big old colorful houses, the ones that are shown on Home Living magazine and such, wild flowers growing on the side ditch and mainly fields of avocado trees. The hardness of the trail begins on the pavement where a 25 percent ascent serpentines to the trail head, it is on that climb where one can briefly evaluate the freshness of the legs (if you drive up that road and park at the trailhead you are fucking up). Once the trail is reached is time to hike the bike, the first 500 feet of trail is composed by big rocks, log steps, loose off camber gravel, loose rocks, dead foilage and bigger rocks, while most of it is rideable, if you have the skills, its better to save some calories and throw the bike on your back, it gives you a chance to properly warm up the legs. Once back on the saddle one climbs a wide fireroad at the edge of more avocado fields for about a mile until the singletrack is reached. The rest of the climb goes from shaded singletrack with a diversity of foilage, to loose off camber gravel, to a mile long rock garden where there is no line, to more off camber gravel ascents. There are four major switchbacks, the first one being a wide and loose gravel section thats easily carved, the second one has more loose gravel combined with sand, the third one is basically three big rock steps that turns tightly to the right where more steps await, this is the most technical section of the trail, line choice is vital, otherwise getting off the bike is inevitable. The fourth one is nearly impossible to climb, it rest at the end of anoff camber gravel section, the turn is basically a 180 degrees and the grade has to be in the mid twenties, making traction non existant if you are running cross country tires. The last mile is a flowy, fast and somewhat tacky singletrack, shaded by the mountain itself. Over the last year this trail went from sketchy fun to dangerous fun, the drought has erosioned the soil and now the sharp edgedrocks that where once buried under soft dirt are maliciously waiting to hit your rims and throw you off the line. Is the difficulty of the climb what makes this ride so memorable. The descent requires you to be on your shit, to have the suspension dialed and to be willing to go over the bars at least once. So what's so beautiful about this mountain, now that I made it sound like the worst day ever? The challenge itself, this is one of those rides that will have you asking yourself "what the fuck am I doing?" It will make your legs burn and your hands hurt, but isn't this why we ride for? To conquer the mountain and be humbled by it at the same time, to feel small and powerful, to crash and keep going, to get in deep touch with nature, to be all alone knowing that you are the only human for miles around, to reach the summit and see the entire county and think how unimportant we are as individuals. To be amazed by how powerful the planet is and to learn to respect the mountain. This trail will ask for a small part of your cycling soul, and you will gladly let it go.
A bit of shop life.
Because I can
One of the main reasons why I camp by myself, shelterless and with the minimal gear is because I can, literally. I have gained the knowledge and developed the skills to do such trips safely and confidently. I have learned how to properly build a fireplace, how and where to dig a hole at least half a foot deep depending on the wind and weather conditions, how to utilize rocks to stabilize the burning wood, how to build a stove with whatever resources I can find around to successfully brew some morning coffee in a Bialetti moka pot. I’ve learned how to pack and how to distribute the weight inside in a backpack. Riding a lot taught me how many calories I need to replace after every day, thus I know the amount of food necessary for each day. I have even learned how to walk depending on the weight of the pack I carry, when to rest, when to hydrate, how to keep cool when temperate rises, how to always maintaining my head cool and as protected from the sun as possible. I eat a high calorie or a high fat meal like a chocolate bar or a bagel with butter before sleeping during a cold night to get my digestion going, fall into a deeper sleep and remain warm. I will probaly go to India during the last weeks of next year’s winter, arrive in New Delhi and pedal southeast along the Himalyan foothills, that has got me thinking about how prepared I really am. Its just a small plan now, but the concept of going to a different continent with just my gear and a metal bike and thrive has me spending the nights sleepless.
October 1. Wednesday. New bag.
Got a new sleeping bag, 770 grams and packs down to the size of a shoe basically, I can shove it into my hydration pack and not even feel its there. Will come in handy in the following months. Around five I said fuck it lets sleep at the top of Sulphur mountain, packed the essentials and bounced. By the time I reached the bottom of the trail the sun was gone, my front Cygolite on, illuminating the dirt road ahead. Temperature was mildly nice, the road was loose, the switchbacks were loose, smalls owls mocking me, squirrels running across the path, the small city of Ojai below, horse shit all over the place, two riders mobbing down, we exchanged a quick “yeaaah bro” as I heard them skidding and having a blast behind me. The pain on my legs was back, not that tiring powerless empty feeling, but that burn that motivates to push harder, the pain that we stupid cyclists live for, a weird concept, but an overwhelming beautiful feeling nonetheless. Once the summit was reached (not the real summit but the end of the unpaved path), I carefully leaned the bike agains a steel gate, normally I don’t care too much how I place the thing during the night, but with the gained experience I’ve learned that the bike serves another important task during darkness, one can hang the sweaty and wet apparel to dry on the top tube, the helmet hangs from the stem resting on the bars, the cap goes on the one bottle I leave caged, that way the cap dries and the mouth of the bottle remains bug and dirt free, socks hang from the drops, makes it easier to defirienciate left from right. As I took off my clothes, I became butt naked and stayed that way for a while, it felt just right to be very naked at the top of a road during a half moon night. Just right. Moved one of the two benches from below a tree and placed it directly under the stars, layed the new mummy bag down and hung my pack on a branch, got into my shorts, zipped my jacket half way and jumped into the fresh bag, which felt like a pajama compared to the old, heavy, stinky one. Saw two shooting stars and fell asleep only to be waken up two hours later by some cold shitty gusts, zipped the bag all the way and knocked out again. I’ve barely slept in the past few days.

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September 25. Thursday.
After leaving the coffee shop around 9:20 I stopped at a liquor store to buy a pack of oreos and a trail mix Clif bar (my second favorite after the all bomb white chocolate macadamia) and pedaled softly back to the beach. A bank’s sign suggested a temperature of 68 degrees American, a very enjoyable number when one is sleeping a few meters away from the Pacific Ocean. Once I got back I unpacked the necessary and hung my pack to keep away my gear and food from beach squirrels and jumped right into the hammock for a good hour. Eyes wide open, listening to the smalls waves crash, the foam forming, the salty breeze on the air, small rats running around, a moonless sky, pitch black, fuck load of stars, have not seen that many in several months, my own whistling interrumping the ocean’s tune, being heard by no one, even with the 101 freeway just over my head it still felt like I was somewhat isolated, lovely, I missed this so much. Before going to sleep my curiosty trigged me to keep scrolling around leading me to find an old peotry book, several flil flops, fuel, more empty beer cans, a piano which of course I “played” for another good half an hour, sixty dollars worth of fresh, dank sativa, a military hat that fitted me perfectly, folding chairs and more random shit. I would say score.
Woke up around 6:15, early surfers at the distance, a brown dog being a dog splashing around the waves, a parade of colors transitioning from dark to light in a sunless sky, a small group of dolphins jumping in and out of the water, playing, their relative proximity to the shore made jump out of my mummy bag and ran after them. As I ran towards them, hoping to get a close phone picture I noticed a fish on the higher sand trying to not die, I approached it only to realize that it was a small white shark, about four feet long. Took two quick snaps of him and I proceeded to help the famous predator, he noticed me and started to bite the air, being defensive, lines of sharp replaceable teeth showing, I got behind to grab his tail, he felt my hand touching and started to shake more. At this point the adrenaline kicked in and in one move I took his tail, dragged him a few feet and threw him into the ocean, he swam away with his fin showing for a couple seconds and diped as I stood there in complete amazement and incredulity. It all happened in a matter of thirty seconds. Back in Carp, I had a cap at Llama Cafe with a blueberry bagel, memorized the route for the day, stuffed my sleeping bag in a park and headed over to Ladera rd only to discover how steep the fucking road is and how weak my lungs became after my forced break from riding. Got to Romero canyon trail head, sparked a bowl, took a break and kept climbing. The trail had became looser and dryer, technical sections became sketchier and some of the gravel climbs were unridable for a 32 tire, the bike was literally sinking into the trail chatter. Reached the top of the trail to connect to East Camino Cielo, a paved road on top of the mountain range. All the feelings felt during the climb, all the pain, the hate, the euforia, the heat, the frustation, the “why am I doing this” sentence being repeated over and over, it all vanishes the moment one reaches the top and sees the Channel Islands surrounded by the immense Pacific to left and the National Forest to the right, at that point nothing matters, at that point everything becomes into perspective of how small and unimportant we really are. The quietness of a mountain summit simply overwhelms the body and mind. I kept riding silently and smoothly under the bright sun, riding north, riding with no hurry at all, simply enjoying the amazing fact that I'm riding my bicycle at the top of a mountain on a paved road, surreal. This is why I bikepack. Descened down Gibraltar, did the obligatory coffee stop at Handlebar, got frozen yoghurt and headed south.
September 24. Wednesday.
Woke up at 11:58, was finally able to remove half of my dead nail, looks gnarly. When I went to the storage unit I saw Hector(? [Sorry dude, I remeber you and who you are, I just have no idea what your name is]) he works for Direct TV now. Shitty. Went to my old high school to see Maygren and leave her my email so we can keep in touch. Rolled out around 4:50 from Oxnard with a pretty annoying headwind, this being my first “real ride” in almost two months I decided to go easy and try not to battle the wind too much. Finally rode on the new bike path between La Conchita and Bates, although at one point the desire and curiosity or riding on the sand overwhelmed me and after jumping down a dozen rocks I was having a blast rolling over the wet and compact sand, the salty breeze sticking small particules of sand in my hair while hearing at the distance hordes of cars desperately going nowhere fast. A few miles after leaving the paved path I found a wonderful little hut built by the local surfers over the years. I scrolled around and decided to the night there, the place has a hammock, a grill, several benches, food, drinkable water, bongs, dog food, shoes even a fucking race car seat. Marvelous view. I needed to refill my hydration pack which prompted me to ride a few miles into downtown Carpinteria, where I currently am writing on my notepad, drinking a larhe hot chocolate and munching on a blueberry oat bagel with butter (calories!) Hopefully the temperature doesn’t drop too much tonight, not that I cant handle it, I simply dont want to be cold this night. I’ll bring a couple of pastries to share tomorrow with the early surfers.
Resting
Gridley
Down highway 33

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Gridley fireroad
Favorite morning
Castles

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