Sometimes, you get a glimpse of one of the doorways between worlds. Where the light hits just right, and you can see—for just a moment—an entrance. On the other side is, well, that’s still unclear for most people. But for you, in that brief time, it’s all so very obvious.
But then the moment passes and the sounds rush back in, like a volume knob being turned slowly. You move on, forgetting the moment altogether, chalking that feeling up to the strange light of the hour.
A little over a month ago I was riding in the Verdugos when a very stupid thought entered my brain: I wonder if it’d be possible to plan a ride from my house, through the Verdugos, where I hit 10,000 feet of elevation without repeating a climb?
The
We came up to Big Bear this weekend, and while the trip wasn’t about doing a big bike ride, I decided to sneak one in anyway. I based this route off a gravel race that takes place up here, but chopped it down to keep it at around three
I have never enjoyed the autoplay feature[1] that streaming services use—the thing where, after finishing an album or movie or tv episode, the service will just keep blasting content at your face until you tell it to stop. It’s a feature that feels designed specifically to erode
I ride up Mt Lukens often enough that I have a pretty good understanding of what it’s like during various seasons. In summer, it’s often crispy and sharp with fading colors. Early winter is often clear skied and stark before the rains start. But as we near fall,
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