Two Hongs Sometimes Make it Right - A Bike Adventure in Central California

Long time readers of Spot’s blog will know that cycling was actually my first sport, though it's definitely not my primary activity now. In fact, I was 18 years old on my last long ride over 50 miles, but a pinched nerve in my neck and shoulders made cycling impossible for 25 years. By then, I'd been full Monty into surfing and later running, so when I resumed cycling, we kept it a fairly casual relationship. Who knows, if it weren't for that pain-in-the-neck, I could have racked up 5 or 6 bike-car accidents by now instead of just 3!

A couple months ago, I followed a rathole down into a YouTube video showing a 2 day bike packing trip just north of home in the Los Padres mountains. After some discussions with my (always will be) older Hong brother, this morphed into a 2 day winter road bike adventure. That I haven't ridden more than 20 miles in months, nor 50 in 38 years was immaterial. I'm brining ultra-idiot mentality to this show - no brain, no train, no pain. Bad idea or ingenious? It's a fine line between them and easy to straddle both sides. Sonny said I will pay the price when I get to his age. He's been saying that since we were in our 20s.

We started in the bromantic wine country town of Los Alamos, where wineries and antique shops would otherwise beckon a pair of spandex clad old gentleman. I love riding in this country, and have been doing so annually since we moved to Ventura. We started our ride enthusiascally and altogether too fast through aromatic farmlands and verdant grassy hills, taking a pastry break at mile 18 in another wine country town of Orcutt. This would be our last civilized stop of any sort for the final 65 miles. No towns, shops, wineries or even water sources. We were headed really really out there, not just metaphorically.

After a quick loop around the farms of Santa Maria, intermingling with a local bike race, we landed on route 166. A couple things I predictably underestimated. While there was a decent shoulder to ride on, I didn't expect as much traffic as we saw; not PCH levels by any means but there were cars and semis. Also, the net 2000 ft elevation gain was constant, as was the headwind. Pushing the small gears, we only managed 12 mph. Sonny did most of the wind breaking, aerodynamically and gastroenterologically, but hills are hills, and I had to push through. Ultra-idiot training, don't fail me now. With our late start, we didn't reach our destination, the Cuyama Buckhorn, until 6pm. I could barely see the road the last 10 minutes but was comforted in that my big blinky red taillight made me an obvious target for oncoming drivers. 85 miles today, by far the longest ride of my adult life.

The Buckhorn is a real oasis in the Cuyama valley, with a distinctive bar, pool, and good eats. We only managed to get some food down before settling into a restless and snoreful night.

Powering up with a gas station burrito in our gourmet settings

Breakfast isn't served until 9am. Since we wanted to get an early start, we instead got a gas station breakfast. It was gonna have to power us for another 50 miles through this empty country before we saw a town. With our riding clothes still damp, cold wind, and butts sore from yesterday's 7 hour grind, we set off for our return trip. Just 68 miles on day 2, net downhill but with two steeper climbs ahead.

Leaving the Buckhorn, the downhill and tailwind help us average an efficient 24 mph for the first 32 miles. At that point, we turn off the 166 and onto the remote Tepusquet pass. No cars in sight, a tough uphill and a spirited downhill, we were looking forward to a break in the town of Sisquoc at mile 50. Unfortunately, planning by Google maps sometimes does not pan out. What a shocker, I know. The general store was abandoned. No ginger ale or ice cream today. We'd have to push on the final 18 miles to the finish. I turned to Sonny and said, “not counting yesterday, today has been the longest ride of my adult life so far”. Nothing like back-to-back idioting.

More like blazing saddle sores

One last hill and it was a doozy. Only 750 feet total but it got pretty steep for being 150 miles in for the weekend. I'm not a “real” cyclist. I have no shame. I walked the final quarter mile uphill. The last downhill was enjoyable as shit. The smells one gets riding through these farmlands makes you feel like a radish n the middle of a salad. We reached Los Alamos and had our recovery lunch to partially replace the 9000 calories we just burned, complete with the freshest produce you can get in a sandwich and coleslaw.

Bro-trip complete. We've run together as we got into ultras about the same time, but this was the first time we've ridden together since our teenage years back in the 80s. Remember those times? Mom had no clue what we were doing, where we were going, or how to reach us, letting her 13 and 15 year old boys off on bikes for 6-12 hours at a time. The good old days.