Day 7: San Pasqual Valley to South Ponto Beach, Carlsbad (35 miles)

Sticky Buns in Escondido

Earwigs or pincher bugs. Pick your term, it doesn't matter. If you've lived in Southern California, you know what I'm referring to. Our campsite was chalk full of them. In our Camel Backs, gloves, helmets, bags, etc. But what is accomplishing a goal without some adversity. The morning came fast after a good meal of pizza, beer (of course) and bonding with other riders while fixing flats, adjusting brakes and picking thorns out of our tires (The score for team Reed: 4 tires, three flats). As we rolled out to the driveway of the San Pasqual Archeological site, I could sense the excitement of the riders--the last leg of our journey. Smiles were mixed with brief glimpses of sadness. It would all be over in a few hours. The miles, the camping, the sweat, the hills, the road. All over for this adventure. For me, the enormity of this trip--what these kids did--was evident, but I wasn't really sure if Jules really could digest--at this moment--what she had accomplished. These thoughts filled my head as we made our way onto Highway 78 for the last miles of the ride. Ebullient is how I would describe most of the riders on this day. The aching muscles, the saddle soreness, and weary minds all faded as thoughts of the Pacific Ocean danced across the synapses in of our brains. Escondido, San Marcos, Eastern Carlsbad, the Pacific. The road ends a few hundred yards from the waves. A left turn onto Highway 101 and South Ponto is in sight. The cadence of the riders slows and we're grouped into different categories of riders: first, the 5th graders, then ride support and older siblings, and finally parents or other adults who rode with their kids. At the time I thought it was a shame Jules and I couldn't ride in together, but this was her moment. I ride all the time. I've accomplished most of the goals I've set for myself. This was her moment, not mine. The last 500 yards and my heart began to beat faster and the lump in my throat grew a bigger. Would the tears start streaming when I reached the beach? As we rode into the South Ponto parking lot, hundreds of friends and family of the riders cheered, but all I wanted to do was find Jules.

Jules at the Beach

At the sand, I dismounted my bike and walked down to the water's edge to dip my back wheel into the Pacific as I did on the first day of the ride in Yuma when I dipped my wheel into the Colorado River. I scanned the chaos to find Jules. Where was she? Hugs and handshakes. Smiles and stories. As I chatted with friends and family, I looked around see where Jules had gone. I wanted to scoop her up and hug her and never let go. Tell her how much I loved her and how proud she made me feel. Throughout the 7 days I kept thinking of this ride in metaphorical terms: Jules would start the ride as an eleven-year old girl and then through some kind of instant developmental metamorphosis she would come out the other end at day seven as a budding young women. Ahh, there she was. With her friends. Playing in the waves, getting wet and getting dirty, just like a little girl.

Me and Jules--Ride accomplished

21st Century Cliche: Age is relative (or riding with Steve)

Steve surveying the turn we missed (Coral Canyon)

You hear them all the time: age is relative; forty is the new 30; and 70 is the new 60. If this is true, then is 20 the new 10? I hope not. Cliche's aside, one of my good friends and riding compatriot just turned 50 and if 50 is the new 40, then Steve is 25 and I'm going on 63. Hands down Steve is the best climber in our group of middle-aged mountain bikers. Dedication. Focus. Passion. Commitment. Success. If 50 is the new 40, then I'm gunning for 50.

Looking south--Hills of Mexico to the south (Coral Canyon)

Yucca in bloom (Coral Canyon)

Day 6: Julian to San Pasqual Valley (43 miles)

Apple Tree Inn, Wynola, CA (34 degrees)

Finally, a bed to sleep in. Not luxury accommodations, but a bed. Not a sleeping bag in a tent, but a real bed. The Apple Tree Inn in Wynola, CA., just a few miles west of Julian. With the charm of 1970s Mountain Motif and a shower that flowed brown for a few moments, it was an excellent respite from tent camping and the sub-freezing temperatures mid-spring in the mountains of southern California. After a meal of pizza, lasagna, and several cold beers, we said goodnight to our 5th day of riding and dreamt about what the 6th day would bring.

6:30 AM: 34 degrees and sunny. The 3 mile descent into the Santa Ysabel valley would be cold, but the scenery of the valley would be spectacular.
6:50 AM: Big breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, fruit. Did I mention I gained two pounds on this ride?
7:30 AM: Pack up the Highlander, fill hydration packs, put on layers, stock up on nutritionals.
8:00 AM: Cold start on highway 78, winding through Live Oaks and Pine. The cold tore into my bare finger tips and stiffened my finger joints. 3 miles of pain, 3 miles of beauty. I sucked it up.
8:20 AM: Stop for bear claws at Dudley's Bakery. Really? We just ate. I'm lucky I only gained 2 pounds in 7 days.

Dudley's Bakery for Bear Claws

Stream in Black Canyon valley

Me and Jules after the Black Canyon Climb

We then headed north on CA79 through Santa Ysabel Valley for several miles and then turned south on Mesa Grande road. I had never been on this road, but to my surprise this was my favorite stretch of riding on the entire trip. Downy hills covered in light brown grass and sprinkled with mature Live Oaks. One of the most beautiful places I've seen in San Diego County. Our journey continued on a dirt road that opened up to miles of descent into the steep Black Canyon valley. All smiles on the way down until we noticed the long climb back out of the valley. We had at least a mile climb out. A couple of clicks and pedal mashing and we were grinding our way up. And then the competition began. "I want to pass those Deer Canyon girls," Jules exclaimed 1/4 mile into the climb. And that was it. She was determined to catch them. Friendly competition, but competition nonetheless. Click up a gear. Mash the pedals. Set a cadence. And breath. As we passed the Deer Canyon crew near the top, Jules didn't relent and I realized this climb (and more generally this entire experience) wasn't about cycling, or eating, or even competition; this was about determination and digging deep. With every crank rotation and patterned breath, Jules was learning a life lesson I really wasn't able to teach her. 

Day 5: Vallecitos to Julian: 35 Miles

For the most part, the morning started much like the other three I experienced earlier in the week: 1) 6:00 A.M. wake up, 2) break down camp and load gear into car, 3) service bikes, 4) re-fill camelbacks, and 5) grab some breakfast. Although this list suggests a linear order to each morning activities, the morning generally consisted of doing all five things simultaneously. And, given my inclination to start doing 3 or 4 things at once, I frequently forgot what I had started several minutes earlier, resulting in chaos. Despite being an absurdly bad idea, each morning our ride began en masse which typically resulted in several crashes, near misses with cars, and ridiculously slow riders darting out in the lead later to be overtaken by everyone else. Yes, it was annoying, and frustrating, and irritating, but the feeling I got being in that pack of 150 riders made it worthwhile. Because you see, a line of cyclists several hundred yards long isn't 150 riders, it is a living, breathing organism sharing an incredible moment in time. To serious cyclists, the peleton provides a respite from the wind; for us, it was a few minutes of unity, a few minutes spent exulting our connection to each other, our neighbors, our brothers, our sisters. But after 5 minutes the peleton typically broke apart into small packs of riders--the speedy, the grinders, the gutty, and the the same handful who were always the last to roll in each night, but who inspired us with their determination. Conversations ebbed and flowed with each turn of the crank, but ironically, most of the riding day was spent in solitude. We typically rode in a group of 6-9 adults and kids, but silence commanded our attention. What do I really want from my life? Am I a good father? Partner? Son? Brother? Have I really given all of myself to this life? Will my ass ever stop hurting? Why does everyone at each stop give us the wrong mileage to camp? These heady cognitions kept me occupied during day, but most were forgotten by the time I reached the sleeping bag each night and were replaced with thoughts of what the morning would bring.

Something started and never finished

San Diego county is big and ripe for exploring. After a year of riding within 15 miles of my house, I grown tired of the same trails, the same climbs, the same technical features. Don't get me wrong, if I'm riding, I'm happy, but riding the same trails time after time is akin to opting for the missionary position every time you have sex with your partner---sorry MP affectionados. I don't really do "resolutions" as: 1) I typically fail, 2) I set vague and unrealistic resolutions (I'll be nicer!), and 3) change takes time; thus, can one really "change" heavily ingrained behaviors when 2011 changes to 2012? As a psychologist who has spent over a decade studying human behavior, the cynic in me would say "behavior never changes, we just rationalize, blame and justify better."

Day 4 Ocotillo to Vallecitos: 28 Miles

Jules before leaving the Ocotillo Community Center

Looking Northeast over Anza Borrego

Easy and hot. Short mileage but a warm desert day. I've never been a fan of the desert; however, after spending several days pedaling through quiet stretches of lonely roads,  I began to appreciate the beauty and the silence the desert offers. The colors of dawn to the east as the sun rises over the warming desert floor and the craggy silhouettes to the west as the sun sets behind the peaks of the Anza Borrego Desert. After several hours of riding on the desolate stretches of California S2, we arrived at our lunch respite--Agua Caliente Hot Springs. Needless to say hot springs on a hot day just seemed like a cruel joke. What typically was a quick 45 minute break to hydrate and fuel up ended up being close to a a 4 hour break which is an eternity when you're not really sure how many miles are left to ride. Jules managed to relax at the pool and I complained the whole time about having to "rest" for so many hours in the heat when we could have been pitching our tents at camp while drinking the beers we brought to keep us sane. When we finally received word we could leave our desert prison we pedaled for 3 miles, and like a mirage, our camp appeared around the last corner. We broke camp at Vallecitos Station; an old outpost along the stage coach route between the Imperial Valley desert and the coastal mesas of San Diego. We later learned we couldn't check into the campground until 3; thus, the interminable wait at Agua Caliente. So much for all the complaining. That night the beer was cold. The next would bring unexpected surprises, a trip back to San Diego, and 7 miles of climbing out of the desert.

Keeping an eye on the ants

Regrouping before several miles of curving downhill

Day 3 Holtville to Ocotillo: 53 miles (April 3rd)

Day 3: On the third day of our ride, I had professorial duties and needed to head back to San Diego. Julianna rode solo under the watchful eyes of Doug and Anthony. Despite a much needed respite for my bum, I was sad that I wasn't there and felt like I let Jules down. I could sense it In her voice and her embrace before I left for the drive over the mountains. Of course she did fine but I really wanted to ride all 280 miles with her. At least she can say she rode the whole way but her old man didn't. So as a way to raise my spirits--and let's be honest--a way to show off my awesome progeny, I showed a picture of Jules and myself to my classes. Given the course is a human development class, I could discuss middle childhood and the importance of building self-confidence through goal setting and goal achievement. After switching on the projector and watching the picture slowly develop on the screen, I thought about what this trip means to me as a father, mentor and man. I gave some context to the picture and described what the trip was about and then. And then, as I told them about her determination to do this ride, my voice cracked, and I choked on those three words, "I'm so proud." And at that moment, it all made sense.