As I showered, I laid out some possible ideas for the day's agenda. I didn't know where I was gonna go, I just thought of a general direction: West. I hadn't really even planned on coming back any time soon. I needed to mail my PCIII to a fellow forum member, and go to the bank. The post office didn't open until 9:30 so I waited, impatiently, checking tire pressures, charging devices, packing a backpack, finding things to do. Everything except mapping out a trip. I wasn't preparing and I really didn't care. I knew the area and the climate well enough to know that if worse came to worse I'd be fine. I grabbed a hoodie, a change of clothes, my toothbrush, and deodorant and threw it in a backpack along with the cargo net in the event that my back got too tired.
By 9:45 I was ready to rock. I knew that daylight would be limited given my delay in departure but I didn't have any real destination and I figured if worse came to worse I could always grab a spot at a campground and sleep in my hoodie and my jacket.
I hit the road. I slabbed it south for a few miles after deciding I would do Highway 33 out to Santa Barbara and go from there. There are several different routes you can take to get to 33, and I was torn between doing Lockwood Valley Road, or Cerro Noroeste. I've only ridden those roads once, on a loop and I wasn't entirely sure that I would remember the course but I didn't care. I made my way to Frazier Park after what felt like an eternity on the freeway with my thoughts running in every direction as music blared in the background through my earbuds.
Once in Frazier Park I gassed up in Lake of the Woods, a tiny subdivision, if you will of an already small Mountain community. I bought some jerky and a bottle of water and added it to the backpack. Once back on the main drag it wasn't long before I had made my decision to take Lockwood Valley Road.
LVR isn't one of those roads that's in the best of condition, after all: it's a mountain road. But it's not as bad as most roads. There are some bumps, breaks in the pavement and I found quite a bit of dirt this time around. As most of us know, you really never know what you're going to encounter when you ride a mountain road as some sections are prone to being washed out from flooding, damaged from rock/landslides, or torn apart for reconstruction. It really came as no surprise to me when I approached this section of a 20 mph corner.
I coasted over the moat of gravel and kept on. It was quiet, peaceful, and the weather was just about perfect; sunny and in the 70s. The bike was running beautifully, although as I hit a few bumps I remembered that I had put it on the agenda to service the forks.
Lockwood Valley Road is only about a 30 mile stretch of road that runs straight through a valley and then up through the mountains in tighter ribbons that shift in elevation and radius. It's a narrower road with some pretty steep drop-offs once you get to the higher portions. Once at the higher elevations, the mountains on one side fall away, exposing a majestic view that seems limitless. It really is a remarkable place, one of the millions of remarkable places that comprise the California landscape.
Somewhere out there is HWY 33
The descent begins almost as quickly as the whole ride began. A couple of steep downhill hairpins (if you're riding in a westerly direction) and another 6 miles or so of tight corners before it opens up into a straight shot that ends at Highway 33. The last time I had ridden this road, we were going in the opposite direction and I was riding the DRZ. The R6 felt quite a bit heavier in comparison (especially going downhill) but it held up well. Which isn't saying much since I pretty much pansied it down the hill. It was during this portion of the ride that I realized how disgustingly out of shape I am. The R6 was a good sport about it, even tolerating my multiple stops for pictures by starting right up for me every time. I counted each successful start as a blessing given how isolated I was from civilization and I was pretty sure my phone would have no signal should I need to use it.
Depending on your attitude, this can be a lonely ride for one person to embark upon. Most of the mountain rides around here are like that though and I used to do them a lot more often when all of the bikes were running tip-top. Over the last couple of years my solo adventuring had taken quite the hiatus and it was good for me to be alone again with the bike and my thoughts.
There is something incredible about being in a relationship with someone who shares your interests; especially if those interests are huge passions of your own; such as riding. But even then your interests in riding can be different and, depending on your personalities or philosophies on life, can add unnecessary pressure or stress to a ride. I missed him, I wished he was there. Even in my clarity there was a lot of hurt, a lot of frustration, a lot of constantly going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not it was even worth being this hurt. Not that it mattered, nothing would change the fact that I was... that I am literally sick with sadness but also looking forward to what's next. The last time we had ridden this road it was during arguably better times, but we had still always found a way to bicker and it inevitably always made me feel like I was holding him back. In fact, towards the end of things, I felt like I just wasn't running the pace he was looking for... in anything. And yet in other ways I felt like I was miles ahead of him.
I anticipated that I would have these feelings. It was why I chose the route, as some confrontation to get it out of my system and lay some new memories onto that sacred ground that I was sure to ride again. It was my goal to create a new chapter in a book we never got to write; to reconcile the hurt and the meaning and to lay it to rest like I feel that it should have been. It was my goal to detox my mind and soul from all of the impurities of anger, frustration, hurt, shame, guilt, and everything else that comes along with processing a major loss. All of these things were eating at me, weighing me down and getting the best of me.
I've had a lot of opportunities to experience and process loss over the last few years and it had only just now, in this moment, occurred to me that I never truly learned how to let go... of anything; of my friends who died, of myself - what I could have done to prevent the losses, my failed accomplishments, the disappointments, my hopes, my frustration and stifled anger - my fears, and now of him and what we had or didn't have. It is true that he may have always had one foot in the door. It is true that he probably always wanted to leave, and I should have let him go the first time he vanished for a week without a word. But there is nothing to be done aside from what can be done right now. I need to let go. I need to let go of the brake I muttered abruptly in my helmet, as quickly as the realization manifested in my mind like some answer retrieved from the depths. What? The brake? My attention returned to the ride, I was looking through the corner of a hairpin and in the corner of my eye I could see and feel the bike running wide as I thoughtlessly lingered with just the slightest bit of pressure still on the front brake.
Let it go...
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