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The 2002 Park to Park Ride

Todd Brown

(Todd didn't take any pictures, so I added some that had nothing to do with his ride. I hope you enjoy them)

      As planned, the group (Todd Brown, Paul Miller, Gerrit Slingerland, Calvin Mulder, Ned Reynolds, Mark Christopherson, Brad Perry, Brian L) managed to leave on time – around 6:15.  By 7:15, we covered Whiting Ranch, scooted up Glen Ranch, and found ourselves at the top of O'Neil Park, by the cell towers.  From there, we zipped down a single track I recently discovered, which was previously un-ridden.  From the bottom of that trail, near the old Hoffman Estate, we went through O'Neil to the wash out.  Here, entering the Cleveland National Forest (we call it a park) we picked up Dave Preszler and his friend Pete.

      Just past the Holy Jim cut off we had our first mechanical challenge, or should I say my first.  I broke a spoke, something I haven't done for years.  Thankfully, Paul was able to masterfully true my rear wheel and we continued.  The group broke up quite a bit on Trabuco; everyone just picked a rhythm and moved up the mountain through the cool morning light.  Regrouping at the top, we discussed who we'd go down through Blue Jay with and which route we'd take on San Juan.  After speeding down the fire road to Blue Jay, we realized we'd lost Calvin.  A few of us waited, while the rest road into the campground to get water.  It's funny how you can lose track of people so easily… while we were waiting for Calvin, he'd stopped to help Brad fix a flat… sorry Brad we didn't even know you were missing.

      San Juan was it's usually blast.  A surprising amount of people was out on the trail.  Just past the Viejo Tie cut off, Brad's rear wheel lost 3 spokes.  This little intermission, gave us plenty of time to shoot the breeze and chat with all kinds of people at The Rock.  After about five minutes into this delay, I noticed the left side of Pete's left calf was covered in blood.  It didn't seem to bother him, but it looked to me like it'd been in a fight with a Makita grinder.  And lost.  Not to be out down, Pete's thumb decided it could produce even more blood by having the outer layer (I'd say 1/16^th of an inch) ripped off from the thumbnail towards the palm.  Fortunately, Brian was carrying an emergency room in his pack and was able to bandage him up pretty well.

      Finally, we all regrouped at the bottom.  At this point, we're only about 35-miles into the ride and time is definitely not on our side.  It's already noon and our average speed was down to about 8 miles an hour – and that was riding time.  We've busted 4 spokes total, and nearly everybody has drawn blood (from scratches to complete rippage).  As we ate and discussed how we're going to get in 100 miles, Mark said, "I can't believe how much you guys are eating, I've never ridden more than 35 miles".  And I'm thinking we'll be lucky to get back to Rancho Santa Margarita by sunset.  But things picked up…

      By burning down Ortega, on the road, to Casper's we upped our average speed to 10 mph.  We made quick work of the climb to the ridge above Coto and quickly found ourselves at the General Store.  After some pretzels/chips/Popsicles we decided we'd be better served in Rancho Santa Margarita.  We split up, going to El Pollo Loco, Burger King and Pavillion's.  Fueled up, Dave and Pete decided to go to the Emergency Room and Ned called it a day.

      It was now after 3 and we still had 50-miles and 4 parks to cover.  I made a half-hearted speech about how we were going to have to speed things up if we were to make it back by dark.  Every one agreed to speed up as much as possible, while grumbling at the same time.  We jumped into Tijeras Creek and then hooked into the O'Neil wash out.  This was a fun fire road, marked with foot-cooling water crossings.  Somewhere along the way, Brad bailed out … wisely calling it lucky to have had his wheels hold up for so long. 

      We soon jumped up on the pavement and traversed via Oso over to Aliso and Woods Canyons.  Here, on this road, Brian assured us that he was okay, but that he was going to back it down and go his own pace.  We encouraged him to head back to the car, but he wanted to continue on.

      Five of us entered Aliso Woods at around 5pm.  The air was much cooler.  We were traveling quickly, and we'd logged about 65-70 miles.  We rolled up Coyote to Cholla and past Stair Steps.  Gerrit, our leader, was distracted, so we returned to Stair Steps and made our way down to the canyon floor. 

      Once in Laguna Coast Wilderness Park we plugged and slugged up John's trail and hooked into El Moro's Missing Link trail and returned via Lizzard and then back down John's Trail.  The trip down John's Trail was the highlight for me – fast, smooth and steep.  Re-hydrated and refueled, we debated the best return route.  Daylight was running out, and we were on mile 78ish.

      Although we've done Canyon Acres every year, we decided against it.  Purely for time reasons (because every one was feeling super fresh) we hiked back up Stair Steps.  From the top, we chose to do Rocket (because every one was feeling limber and flexible).  Before long, we were on the final leg up the bike trail, back to Foothill Ranch and my trusty wheel had another spoke defect.  I think my legs were making the same pinging sound.  At this point, Gerrit, who'd complained at everyone of my mile adding detours, decided to put the hammer down and basically attacked the straggling four of us.

      After nearly 100-miles, we came around the final corner to the cars.  Paul said, "I hope Brian's van is gone."  It was still there.  Where could he be?  Nobody had the slightest idea.  He could be anywhere.  We thought the worst and nobody wanted to call his home to see if he was there.  Famished, and not thinking clearly, we split up to change clothes and get cars with a plan to meet at the Food Court across the way.  Except for Mark, who had now ridden nearly 3 times farther than he ever had before in his long, long life.  He'd had enough and decided to go home.

      Calvin and I were waiting and Gerrit came with the bad news, "Brian's wife called, he's not home."  I guess about the time everyone on that phone call started crying, a happy and content man rolled up to his van.  Thank heavens!  Brian, knowing how we always ride up Canyon Acres, rode straight up there and waited for us for over an hour.  Finally, he gave up and rode back; we must have missed him by just minutes.

      So, the five of us ate, and ate, and ate… then we went to Dairy Queen.

Break A Leg Kid

          By Grant "Standing Bear" Curtis          

      It's been 317 hours since I fractured my tibia plateau, a fancy term for breaking my leg.  I'll spare you the details but it involved the attack of a Bob trailer, a bunch of bikes with one gear and a cowbell.  Use your imagination and the possibilities are endless.

      "Break a leg, kid" has always meant try hard and good things will happen.  Ok, so I tried and succeeded outstandingly.  What is the prize for achieving such a feat?   

      You actually have time to count the hours and smell the flowers and I now, truly, have an understanding for what that means.

      298 hours ago I was out of my mind on morphine.  That wasn't so bad.  That is until I decided I needed to see my insides on the outside in the potting material of a fake plant at Rite Aid.  However, this is a great way to speed up your prescription order and I highly recommend it if you are in a hurry.

      Being able to say, "Get out of my way, granny.  That is my parking spot!" while waving your temporary handicap parking placard is somehow sickly rewarding.  This gets you right in front of the store you will now be stumbling through while practicing your newfound crutch skills; this can be fun in and of itself.  When was the last time you were ever excused for knocking items off of the shelves and displays to the floor in a store?

      Watching Jenny Jones and Judge Judy three days in a row gives you quite a sampling of perspective that you may not be familiar with and is truly fascinating.  Has anyone ever thought to study people airing their dirty laundry on national TV?  Is there a formal name for this phenomenon?

      Finishing that stack of books that you have been meaning to get to but life/work/riding/advocacy/club stuff/picking your nose seemed to get in the way of this fairly rewarding and almost educational task.  It depends on what you read, I guess.

      Catching all of the Tour de France hasn't been all-bad.  Who is this Lance Armstrong guy anyways?  Quite the bike rider, he is.

      Finding out that Albertson's has online shopping and delivery for a mere $9.95 has been quite the bonus.  If I had known this before the injury, I would have been a regular.  What bachelor really likes to go to the grocery store?  Plus, you can shop for the strangest things all from the comfort of your office chair and without the embarrassment of a checkout line with an earwax removal kit in your hand.

      Front row seating and crowds parting like the Red Sea at events like Midget Rodeo and Smash up Derby (yes, real events that I have attended recently) isn't half bad either.  Heck, people even give you cuts in line when you go to pick up a taco or BBQ corn if you are on crutches.  They may be difficult to eat and make a mess of your crutch handgrips but it is all worth it in the end, isn't it?

      Finding out that you have the greatest group of friends in the world that will tote you around on a moments notice isn't half bad.  Some bring you walking aids, Depends, good beer, homemade ribs, books, magazines and movies.  Others call you to make sure you really don't need anything, a ride, some company or to just generally cheer you up from watching Judge Judy and Jenny Jones all day, possibly telling you about the world outside of your four walls.  The e-mails of encouragement and general kindness go a long way as well.

      I guess the only downside, besides the hospital bill equal to a Caribbean island's Gross National Product, is my doctor's inability to see the humor in a smiley face scar on my knee.  There is no accounting for peoples' taste.

      Sometimes you forget how many blessings you truly have.  I guess there is only one way to find out…

      Break a leg, kid.

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