Low Pressure #1

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First and foremost, this is a zine about randonneuring,<br />

which is self-supported long distance cycling. It’s one<br />

of the few niches of cycling that is not competitive.<br />

There are no winners, it’s not a race and you don’t get<br />

anything if you finish. And guess what? If you think<br />

riding 1000 kilometers makes you cool, I have news<br />

for you. 99 percent of the world just thinks you are a<br />

weirdo who likes to exercise too much.<br />

But the people who do this are the most diehard<br />

weirdos ever. While the rest of the cycling world’s<br />

idea of taking cycling ‘seriously’ means adhering to<br />

an unspoken dress code and obsessing over marginal<br />

speed gains, I think the person riding some old Miyata<br />

in Crocs and a worn out neon vest for 24 hours straight<br />

by themselves could be considered more ‘serious’ by<br />

almost any metric.<br />

The most important thing, above all else, is have fun,<br />

ride the bike you like at the places you like, and don’t be<br />

a fuckin narc.<br />

Thanks so much to the solid people who contributed<br />

to this issue. Special thanks to Modelo, without their<br />

help this zine might have been something people<br />

actually want to read.<br />



This issue is dedicated to Roy Ross, who<br />

passed on this year. He was a rock n’ roll<br />

encyclopedia, had probably ridden every single<br />

trail in Henry Coe at least 5 times, and was<br />

one of the most diehard randonneurs I’ve ever<br />

met or heard of. I remember being just behind<br />

him in the early morning at the bottom of Orr<br />

Springs Road when his fork crown separated<br />

from the blades. Crazy shit. Had that happened<br />

just moments before it would have been<br />

disastrous. Too diehard to stop, he straight up<br />

rode someone else’s bike from Ukiah back to<br />

SF. I remember being at the finish and the look<br />

on everyone’s face as they watched Roy roll in<br />

was so fucking awe-inspired, it still makes me<br />

kind of emotional thinking about it. He was<br />

about as real as they come, rest in peace.....<br />

RANDO TIPS AND TRICKS....................4<br />

RUFF STUFF.............................................................6<br />

RANDO DIO...........................................................16<br />

HEAD SPACE.......................................................20<br />

BOMB SQUAD...................................................22<br />

ROAD SPOTLIGHT.......................................38<br />

TOP 5...........................................................................40<br />

QUEEF RIDGE....................................................42<br />

DOLMA-TINI.......................................................46<br />

OCVA...........................................................................50<br />

DAD’S CORNER................................................58<br />

ROADINI REVIEW.........................................59<br />

POTIS’ CAMPFIRE TALES...................60<br />




TRICKS<br />

Every randonneur knows that the secret to finishing a<br />

challenging brevet isn’t just endurance. You need to ride<br />

smart and employ the tactics of the road. Here are some<br />

helpful tips:<br />

–Always start the ride hungover. While it’s tempting to<br />

start the ride full throttle, you’ll find yourself with waning<br />

energy when the miles really start to add up. Starting<br />

hungover forces you to remember that you have a long<br />

ride ahead of you. By the time you sweat the poisons out,<br />

you will feel born again while the riders around you are<br />

starting to burn out.<br />

–If you are at an information control, don’t write down<br />

the answer. Just take a picture with your phone and write<br />

it down at the end. It’s easier than fidgeting with your<br />

brevet card, and it will save your time.<br />

–Try not to take a shit before the ride. If you can, hold it<br />

in until about halfway into the ride. You’ll feel like a brand<br />

new person after the burden is lifted.<br />

–Consider using tea tree oil on your anal region to help prevent<br />

saddle sores. It works pretty good and weirdos in the small<br />

towns that you pass through will recognize the smell and treat<br />

you as one of their own. They may offer you a beer, or maybe<br />

even a hit of their spliff.<br />

–Don’t jack off before the ride. Some consider it bad luck, and<br />

rumor has it the ghost of Velocio will haunt you on a brevet if<br />

you start with ‘sticky fingers’.<br />

4<br />

“I’m watching you”



Photos by Juliayn Coleman<br />











WAS DIO A<br />


I remember listening to ‘Dream Evil’ on King Ridge<br />

400k, by myself in the late afternoon, and thinking only<br />

a randonneur could have come up with this. He’s always<br />

talking about the night, neon stuff, internal struggle......<br />

part of the beauty of course is the enigma. What is he really<br />

talking about? The best words come from those who know<br />

to leave enough space for the listener to fill in the blanks<br />

with their own imagination, their own reality. But still, there<br />

have been a few times while out riding and listening to Dio<br />

where I have noticed an uncanny tone of perserverance to<br />

his lyrics. It’s almost like at just the right time he inspires<br />

me to push through a difficult climb or headwind. I’d like to<br />

think he’s watching over me at the final control, high in the<br />

sky, waiting to sign my brevet card and slam a few beers<br />

with me.....<br />

Look at the very first song on HOLY DIVER for<br />

instance. ‘Stand Up And Shout’ has this part of<br />

the song where I’ll be damned if he’s not talking<br />

about struggling through a headwind, trying to<br />

move down the road to the next control.<br />

You’ve got wings of steel<br />

But they never really move you<br />

You only seem to crawl<br />

You’ve been nailed to the wheel<br />

But never really turning<br />

You know you’ve got to want it all<br />

Or how about the chorus on ‘Rainbow In The<br />

Dark’? It really captures the juxtaposition of wearing<br />

fully reflective cycling gear while spiritually<br />

you are eclipsed with doubt and weariness as you<br />

Was this photo possibly taken at a<br />

PBP gymnasium sleep stop?<br />

ride into the wee hours of the night.<br />

No sign of the morning coming<br />

You’ve been left on your own<br />

Like a rainbow in the dark<br />

On SACRED HEART we have another great<br />

rando song, ‘Like The Beat Of A Heart’, which<br />

describes the sheer urgency of the need to get out<br />

and just fucking ride sometimes.<br />

Tonight we run<br />

We can hide in the dark<br />

When the moon steals the light from the dying sun<br />

Oh run<br />

It’s a better thing than we have ever done<br />


There’s a beast that lives inside you<br />

And it’s screaming to get out<br />

Like the beat of a heart<br />

Don’t look behind<br />

Cause a tear that never dies<br />

Can only make you blind<br />

You’ve got to try<br />

Cause the future’s never never gonna die<br />

There’s a beast that lives inside you<br />

And it’s screaming to get out<br />

It’s a storm that’s never ending<br />

It’s a truth without a doubt<br />

Tonight we run<br />

We can hide in the dark<br />

Till the moon steals the light from the sun<br />

Moving on to DREAM EVIL, the very first track,<br />

‘Night People’, is a veritable rallying cry to those<br />

who love riding bikes through the night. Perhaps<br />

the electric eyes he is referring to are dynamo hub<br />

powered lights....<br />

Hey dream child<br />

Promises are spoken<br />

And promises are broken<br />

Electric eyes that never let you<br />

See them in the day<br />

Night people<br />

Night people<br />

Do you like the dark<br />

Do you like the way it moves<br />

Do you come alive when neon<br />

Kills the sunshine<br />

On ‘Faces In The Window’, Dio sounds as if<br />

he is describing arriving at a Safeway early in the<br />

morning, utterly exhausted and ready to take a<br />

nap behing the Starbucks counter.<br />

Give me - shelter - shelter<br />

I can face the day<br />

Then I’ll just fade away<br />

Give me shelter<br />

Give me shelter<br />

Sleep comes - slowly<br />

The fire starts to die<br />

You open up your eyes<br />

Faces in the window<br />

Noises in the night<br />

Faces in the window<br />

Hiding from the light<br />

Faces in the window<br />

There are many more secrets to Dio’s lyrics,<br />

but some stories are best left to unfold before<br />

one’s own eyes.<br />





Riding bikes is great and all, but sometimes it’s the stops<br />

along the way that are really the best part of the ride.<br />

Maybe you find a beautiful place to watch the sunset, or<br />

a really good Mexican food spot you never noticed before.<br />

Maybe you find a great little spot to get naked with a<br />

buddy. This is the section of the publication where we offer<br />

great places for you and a partner to stop on your ride<br />

and get/give a little bit of head. Of course these spots are<br />

selected not only for their scenery, but also for their relative<br />

privacy.<br />

In this edition, we head over to Black Diamond<br />

Mines. It’s a huge park with plenty of gorgeous<br />

scenery, and we all know gorgeous equals<br />

engorged! Despite the great views, there are not a<br />

lot of visitors that come to the park, so there are<br />

a lot of little nooks and crannies to explore. Here<br />

are a couple cool spots that are pretty accessible<br />

by bike.<br />

Firstly, there’s the Prospect Tunnel.<br />

This is the outside, and here is the inside:<br />

I think it’s actually an abandoned mine shaft,<br />

but it’s not that creepy inside. Your prospects of<br />

a sexy experience will definitely be good here, and<br />

hopefully no abandoning of shafts!<br />

It’s really hard to see when you get to the end<br />

of the tunnel so you should probably bring a<br />

headlight or something.<br />


Secondly, we have Jim’s Place. It’s a little shack<br />

some dude built into the the side of a hill, like a<br />

hobbit, except he wasn’t a hobbit. He was just<br />

some dirty miner dude.<br />

There is plenty of room inside, and since it’s off<br />

a little trail that people don’t use much, you are<br />

pretty much guaranteed privacy.<br />

There are plenty of chill shady spots where<br />

you can cum all over someone’s eternal<br />

resting space. There are more people here than<br />

the other two spots though, so find a good<br />

tombstone to conceal yourself!<br />

Happy head hunting!<br />

If enclosed spaces isn’t your thing, you can also<br />

head over to the graveyard.<br />



SQUAD<br />

Written by Ramon Briones<br />


As I crested to the top of Black Diamond Trail, I<br />

caught my breath and surveyed the golden hills of the<br />

park on a hot day. I took out my monocular to get a<br />

better look at the old cemetery further down the trail.<br />

Behind a tombstone marked “Potis”, I could see a man,<br />

crouching down and looking back at me through<br />

a set of binoculars. He had a clipboard and would<br />

intermittently jot down notes.<br />

Eric came up over the hill, out of breath.<br />

“Hey Eric, there’s some weird dude hiding in the<br />

cemetery looking at us through a set of binoculars. He’s<br />

dressed really strange. He’s got on a white suit and a<br />

Tejano hat and has a thick ass mustache. He kind of<br />

looks like the dude from the Don Miguel logo. I can’t<br />

figure out what his deal is”<br />

Eric said laughing “Haha...He’s probably just looking<br />

for head. They don’t call that place “The Boneyard” for<br />

nothing.”<br />

“You know all the spots to get head in the parks,<br />

dude. You should write a guidebook.”<br />

“That’s not a bad idea...Hey, do you want to get a<br />

Slurpee?”<br />

“Yeah, I could go for a Bomb too. There’s a 7-11 just<br />

down the way in Brentwood.”<br />

Walking into the 7-11 crusted in dirt and salt, halfbonked<br />

and ready to feast on junk food, I made my way<br />

over to the frozen burrito section and grabbed a Spicy<br />

Red Hot Beef and Bean Bomb. I looked at the wrapper<br />

and was greeted by the image of the man I’d seen in the<br />

graveyard. I tossed it in the microwave and snacked on<br />

some gummy bears while I waited. Was Don Miguel<br />

really cruising for head in a public park? What was he<br />

writing on that clipboard?<br />

Finally, my burrito was done and I went out to the<br />

parking lot to eat with Eric. On my way out, I glanced at<br />

the magazine rack and saw the Don Miguel cosplayer<br />

peering at me over the top of the new issue of <strong>Low</strong><br />

<strong>Pressure</strong>. I tried not to notice him staring and went<br />

outside.<br />

“Dude, the guy from the cemetery is in there. He was<br />

staring at me again.”<br />

Eric’s jaw dropped as he looked past me and gasped<br />

“Don Miguel!”<br />

I turned and the stranger approached.<br />

“Yes, mijo. I am Don Miguel, inventor of The Bomb. I<br />

come to you with a proposal... I’d like to blow you.”<br />

“What...the fuck man?” Was all I could muster. Was<br />

a frozen burrito pitchman trying to blow me in a 7-11<br />

parking lot? I didn’t even think that Don Miguel was<br />

real until about 30 seconds ago and now he’s trying to<br />

give me head? I turned to Eric for support but he looked<br />

as shocked as I was as the Cotton Candy Slurpee<br />

dribbled down his chin from his gaping mouth.<br />

Suddenly, Don Miguel burst out into laughter and<br />

didn’t stop for what felt like 2-3 minutes.<br />


“The looks...ha ha ha... on your faces...ha ha ha...<br />

Seriously guys, I don’t want to blow you but I would<br />

like to send you to Tahoe to test out my new Sports<br />

Bomb. It’s a frozen Chimichanga designed specifically<br />

for the needs of endurance athletes like you. While most<br />

sports food is based on sugars and electrolytes, my<br />

testing has discovered that this is not enough for the<br />

gnarbone extremist who above all else, needs laboratory<br />

engineered grease to sustain themselves over a taintcrushing<br />

multiday event. I’d like the two of you to spend<br />

3 days in the Tahoe wilderness, underbiking on heavy,<br />

loaded fully rigid dirt touring rigs while surviving solely<br />

off my Sports Bombs and passing out in ditches across<br />

from gas stations like debased vagrants. I’ve designed<br />

a course, The Tahoe Twirl, that will put you through<br />

the most punishing rough stuff known to humankind.<br />

You’ll spend two days climbing above 9000 feet over<br />

boulders, ice and sand testing your bikes and my Sports<br />

Bomb to the fullest. The third and final day will be pretty<br />

chill with flumes, fun mountain biking trails and some<br />

rivers to dip your blown out taints in so that I can test<br />

out my new recovery CBD Micheladas on you. I’ll even<br />

pay for a shitty motel room in Reno and send you home<br />

on a disease ridden train full of tweakers.”<br />

Without hesitation or conference, we both agreed.<br />

Who would pass up an all-expenses paid trip to Tahoe<br />

in the pursuit of sports science?<br />

On the following Thursday afternoon, Don Miguel<br />

and his team brought us to the outskirts of Reno to<br />

begin the ride.<br />

“Ok cabróns, This is the start. I’ve put 69 Sports<br />

Bombs in your randobags to sustain you for the next<br />

three days. Now, I just need you to sign this waiver and<br />

go.”<br />

One of Don Miguel’s assistants approached us with<br />

a clipboard and made us sign our names a dozen times<br />

to forms we didn’t bother to read.<br />

We set off and were almost immediately off our bikes,<br />

pushing them over boulders bigger than us for about half<br />

a mile up a steep grade behind a housing development.<br />

Don Miguel’s laughter filled the air as we struggled up<br />

the mountain. The ride report I read on the trip out here<br />

said the route was 97% rideable but I started to have<br />

doubts about what I’d agreed to.<br />

Finally, we cleared the field of boulders and were on a<br />

trail that was somewhat rideable. We continued the<br />

4000 foot climb to our first campsite near the summit<br />

of Mount Rose. It was getting dark by the time we<br />

arrived so we quickly set up our camp and broke out<br />

the Bombs we carried from Reno while we gazed out<br />

over the lights from the casinos.<br />

“Fuck, this Sports Bomb is tight” Eric remarked.<br />

“Yeah, I think this is my new rando food of choice. I<br />

wish I had a double IPA to wash it down.”<br />

A figure emerged from the darkness, “Buenos Noches<br />

mijos. Care for a cerveza?”<br />

“Oh hey, Don Miguel” I said. “Of course”<br />

We all popped open a can of the new Hazy IPA that<br />

Don Miguel said he’s going to start selling at select gas<br />

stations.<br />


“Ever since I was a boy growing up in Fresno, I dreamt<br />

of gas stations on the outskirts of shithole towns<br />

that were filled exclusively with Don Miguel products.<br />

Thanks to your hard work this weekend, my boyhood<br />

dream is coming to fruition.”<br />

Don Miguel started to tear up and Eric and I both<br />

raised a toast to the man and his dream. You could see<br />

the pride swell up in his eyes.<br />

“So what’s your story Don Miguel? How’d you get your<br />

start selling dank frozen burritos and chimichangas”<br />

Eric asked.<br />

“Well pendejos, TBH, back in the early 80s I was<br />

a student at Fresno State, doing a double major in<br />

Chicano Studies and Performance Art. I wanted to<br />

examine the caricatures that gringos had created to<br />

capitalize on my culture so I created a character named<br />

“Don Miguel”. This character was a burrito chef that I<br />

based on racist tropes about Mexican-Americans, sort<br />

of like a Mexican Colonel Sanders. I began performing<br />

at galleries and performance spaces around Southern<br />

California. After a few months I was offered an 8 figure<br />

contract by a multinational frozen food conglomerate.<br />

They pay me to dress up like this, do commercials and<br />

come up with diabetes-inducing gas station food. Ever<br />

since, I’ve kind been trapped as this dumb mascot due<br />

to a lifetime contract. Really should have read the fine<br />

print...”<br />

“Oh wow”, I replied. “That’s not what I expected”.<br />

“Meh, It’s lame but I’m rich as fuck, man. Anyways,<br />

I’m going to head back down to my hotel. You guys<br />

should get some sleep. You’ve got a full day of rough<br />

stuff ahead of you. Also, make sure to squeeze out some<br />

grease from your Bomb and slather it on your taint. It’s<br />

loaded with lard and CBDs that will help soothe the<br />

constant chafing. I’ll check in with you guys tomorrow.”<br />

Eric and I woke with the sun the next day, broke<br />

camp and deep throated a couple sports bombs before<br />

leaving. Within an hour, we were shredding some of<br />

the most technical downhill trails I’d ever encountered.<br />

Eventually, we reached the Flume trail above Incline<br />

Village where we followed bear tracks on a narrow<br />

trail hugging the mountains above Tahoe. We stopped<br />

often to soak in the views and take photos.<br />

“Didn’t Don Miguel say this shit was gonna blow out<br />

our taints? This is chill AF,” Eric laughed.<br />

“I know man, this is so much fun. Looks like there’s<br />

some climbing up ahead but whatever. I’m sure it’s fine”.<br />

Eventually we came upon a memorial to some dude<br />

who died on the Flume Trail. Sadly, this guy’s family<br />

decided to use his death as an excuse to chastise<br />

people for riding fast and not wearing helmets. We<br />

assumed they wanted us to take a moment to reflect<br />

on our poor decisions but all we could think about were<br />

what dicks these people were for immortalizing their<br />

disappointment in this guy.<br />

After passing through Marlette and Spooner lakes,<br />

we made a right turn and finally came to the Tahoe<br />

Rim Trail. Immediately, things changed from fun and<br />

photo ops to relentless gnarbone. Shit got steep and<br />

rocky with boulder after boulder to power over. Within<br />

an hour, we found ourselves walking and carrying our<br />

bikes a few yards at a time, riding a few yards and then<br />

getting off again. We still had about 60 miles to go if<br />

we were sticking to our planned schedule, and I was<br />


getting skeptical.<br />

We hit our lunch spot considerably behind schedule<br />

and ate like beasts. I shandied my beer with some<br />

fountain lemonade while Eric plowed through some<br />

happy hour wings.<br />

We got back on the rim trail and were immediately in<br />

a world of suffering. I think we walked about 90% of<br />

the first 3 miles after lunch. A dude in a mullet and full<br />

sweatsuit scoffed at us as he passed.<br />

“Yeah, uh, this gets even harder so you two fancy lads<br />

might want to go back down to the resort and drink<br />

some rosé with your grandmas”. Fucking prick.<br />

I’d like to say that this gave me the motivation to<br />

keep going but it really just gave me the freedom to<br />

start whining. I whined a lot. Eric just pushed his bike<br />

up the mountain, grunting out of frustration. We spent<br />

a lot of time cursing Don Miguel and his bullshit route.<br />

I think we blew through half our Sports Bombs on the<br />

climb before we came to an incredible view of South<br />

Lake Tahoe.<br />

“Damn dude, we should be riding down there.” Eric<br />

said.<br />

This was the toughest part of the ride both physically<br />

and mentally. First we encountered a field of boulders<br />

near Star Lake that we had to schlep our bikes over.<br />

Once over the boulders, we had to drag our bikes<br />

across fields of ice before trying to ride through ankle<br />

deep sand.<br />

“Fuuuuucccckkkkk!” Eric screamed. “My chain is<br />

jammed from all this sand. You’re going to have to leave<br />

me up here man. I’ll try to survive off twigs and bear shit<br />

until you get back.”<br />

“Nah, Don Miguel said the grease in these Bombs<br />

could rejuvenate our taints. Let’s see if it can resurrect<br />

your chain.”<br />

I pulled out a Sports Bomb and squeezed it over Eric’s<br />

chain. The grease washed out the grime and provided<br />

a sorely needed lubrication that allowed him to keep<br />

pushing.<br />

We finally summited, exhausted and on the verge of<br />

defeat. We stopped to soak in the scenery and then<br />

began a 2 hour, super technical descent to South<br />

Lake Tahoe. I crashed twice, mainly due to the grease<br />

leaking out of my randobag onto my brake rotors. We<br />

eventually ran out of daylight on the longest day of the<br />

year and were still hours from where we had planned<br />

to sleep. We decided to skip the final 6 miles of single<br />

track that evening and detoured onto a paved forest<br />

road which afforded us a fun descent into town.<br />

We found a Rotten Robbie that had a shockingly<br />

impressive beer selection. I popped my Sports Bomb<br />

Unfortunately, we had to climb another thousand<br />

or so feet to reach the high point of the ride at nearly<br />

10,000 feet.<br />



in the microwave and loaded up on Dopplebocks and<br />

Imperial Stouts. We talked about riding back the mile<br />

or two to that pristine forest we had just left with our<br />

Rotten Robbie haul but in the end decided to just eat<br />

and pass out in the vacant lot between the Rotten<br />

Robbie and the prison work camp.<br />

The next morning, I awoke to what I assumed was a<br />

waterboarding. Someone was holding my head down<br />

and I felt like I was drowning. “Wake up mamón! Time<br />

to get back on the road.” I jumped up and realized that<br />

Don Miguel was pouring a recovery michelada down<br />

my throat while I slept. Eric was leaning against a tree<br />

and shotgunning one. Don Miguel laughed and handed<br />

me the can.<br />

“Kill it. I’ve got some Breakfast Bombs for you too.<br />

Today’s going to be a lot easier. Just pound some<br />

recovery micheladas and dip your swollen taints in the<br />

river and you’ll be fine. I’ll even ride with you today.”<br />

Don Miguel presented us with full Don Miguel’s<br />

Bomb Squad kit for the triumphant ride back into Reno.<br />

The three of us chilled pretty hard that day. Don Miguel<br />

showed us a cool spot along the Truckee River where<br />

we drank beers and laughed at people tubing who<br />

kept getting stuck on this one rock. Don Miguel would<br />

nearly piss himself laughing every time. Despite being<br />

a sadistic route designer with no regard for people’s<br />

gastrointestinal health, Don Miguel was a pretty<br />

lighthearted guy. He even bought us ice cream at an old<br />

brothel in Truckee.<br />

“Hey, let’s skip the long gravel climb and take this chill<br />

ass new single track into Reno,” Don Miguel offered.<br />

The Tahoe-Pyramid trail is probably the cuttiest way<br />

to get from Truckee to Reno. It’s a mix of single track<br />

and gravel that follows the river, highway, old flumes<br />

and railroad tracks into Reno. I’m sure going back up<br />

into the mountains would have been rad but this was a<br />

great way to end the ride.<br />

Back in Reno, Don Miguel got us wasted on Malört<br />

at a Chicago-themed bar and put us up for the night.<br />

“Hey guys, so Monday, you’ll be starting your new<br />

jobs as Don Miguel Sports Bomb reps. I’d like to thank<br />

you for taking this on and continuing the tradition that<br />

I’ve started.”<br />

“Wait, what are you talking about Don Miguel,” I<br />

asked.<br />

“You signed a contract to become a Don Miguel sales<br />

rep. In exchange for train fare and free food, you have<br />

to spend the next 420 days peddling my Bombs at gas<br />

stations across the Western United States. Always<br />

read the fine print!”<br />

So as stipulated in our agreement with Don Miguel,<br />

Eric and I quit our jobs and began touring the Western<br />

U.S. by bike, delivering frozen burritos to gas stations.<br />

Outside the Honeycut store, I counted out the<br />

money that the store clerk paid out for their monthly<br />

delivery and fully realized my new life as a frozen burrito<br />

salesman. “Fuck, we probably should have read that<br />

waiver a little more closely.”<br />

“Yeah, Don Miguel and his lawyers really have us by<br />

the nuts here. Looks like Ferndale is next?”<br />

“Fuck, let’s go…”<br />



WITH SHIT!<br />

Don’t eat this fruit<br />

though<br />

The BOMB comes in all sorts of different flavors for all<br />

sorts of different athletes:<br />

Check out this glowing testimonial from some guy’s<br />

Tour De Los Padres ride report:





PAHA YÖ<br />








ROAD<br />


It’s no secret California has some pretty sick<br />

roads lurking in the shadows of the big highways<br />

and interstates. While spending time looking over<br />

an atlas or old cycling blogs or Google street view<br />

are always great ways to find good roads to ride,<br />

it never hurts to get a tip from somebody. Here<br />

are some roads that have been almost forgotten,<br />

reminiscent of a time before people were only<br />

going from A to B in the name of efficiency.... Make sure to pay respect to Baby Dick Buddha!<br />

Out in Brentwood is Empire Mine Rd, completely<br />

closed to cars and completely covered with<br />

spraypainted shit talking.<br />

It’s worth a trip just to read all the stupid stuff<br />

people have written all over the road. There’s also<br />

some pretty scenic views to boot, plus you can<br />

connect it to Black Diamond Mines via Star Mine<br />

Trail.<br />


It should come as no surprise that down in<br />

Santa Barbara there is some insanely sick roads<br />

to check out. The proximity of the coast, which<br />

is still relatively undeveloped, with the mountains<br />

makes for some really stunning wide open views.<br />

On the other side of those mountains is a huge<br />

area of little human interference that extends all<br />

the way to Carrizo Plains and beyond. Spanning<br />

most of the ridgeline of those mountains along<br />

the coast is Camino Cielo, one of those roads<br />

you swear was made to ride bikes on.<br />

The whole road has spectacular views almost<br />

the entire time. You are only a few miles from the<br />

coast as the crow flies, but you get up pretty high<br />

in elevation.<br />

One way to get up to the road is to climb<br />

Romero Canyon Trail. It’s a pretty rad single track<br />

that is well groomed and chill.<br />

When you are out there, there’s pretty much<br />

nothing in the way of supplies except for the<br />

Cold Spring Tavern. Luckily, the Cold Spring Tavern<br />

fucking rules and has some of the best pulled<br />

pork a person could hope for.<br />











350K<br />

While chilling at Albany Bulb one evening, sipping<br />

beers and tea while overlooking the bay, we all<br />

realized it’s been far too long since we’ve done a long<br />

night ride. The winding narrow roads of Sonoma<br />

County and the uninterrupted night skies are a<br />

delicacy to the randonneurs, and so we decided to<br />

once again savor the sweetness of such delights.<br />

We departed on July 10th from Point Richmond,<br />

going over the RSF bridge with a glorious sunset. Nate<br />

mentioned that it was Dio’s birthday.....my blood almost<br />

froze for a moment. I knew this ride would be amazing,<br />

especially knowing He was watching. I made a silent<br />

prayer to him, asking him to watch over his Dream<br />

Children, and then pushed forth into the night.<br />

Juliayn decided to take a<br />

swig of Malört before we<br />

left, just for good luck. We<br />

stashed the bottle on the side<br />

of the road for a celebratory<br />

return. The bitterness pairs<br />

well with sweet victory.<br />


Before long we were on Lucas Valley. It was the first<br />

real quality road on the ride and I must say I preferred<br />

riding it at night, when there are less cars competing<br />

with you for the small space on the road.<br />

with the intention of disturbing the area around the<br />

road as little as possible. In the early morning light<br />

everything looked mystical and magical as fuck.<br />

Soon we were riding on Chileno Valley, which was<br />

pleasant as usual, although the bucolic agricultural<br />

relics that normally add to the charm of this road<br />

were obscured by the night. Before we knew it 2am<br />

had already arrived. Rather than try to power all the<br />

way through the ride on no sleep, we decided it was<br />

wiser to take a quick nap for a couple hours in the<br />

Forestville post office.<br />

Around 4:30 we rolled on, before the postal narcs<br />

came in there to get their mail and ask questions. I<br />

took a bunch of CBD, ibuprofen and weed tincture,<br />

trying to force my body to numb the taint aches.<br />

Soon we were on Sweetwater Springs Road, which<br />

was probably the highlight of the ride for me. It’s a<br />

true gem of a road, seemingly carved into the earth<br />

We quickly descended down into Guerneville<br />

to summon a feast at Coffee Bazaar. Hot coffee,<br />

breakfast burritos, quiche and other delicious shit was<br />

quickly consumed and savored. Despite the coffee I<br />

still felt half asleep. My eyes felt like donut holes, all<br />

puffy and greasy. I told my riding companions about<br />

a Shueef (pronounced shweef), which is like a shart,<br />


ut a queef. Like if you are mad at someone you can<br />

say ‘Wow it smells like shit in here, did your mom<br />

shueef?’ My companions seemed to tiredly approve.<br />

Still, we had to move on and so we began climbing up<br />

the legendary Old Cazadero Road, a road revered all<br />

around northern California by those who love riding<br />

forgotten roads.<br />

Russian River and just swim and drink beers? In the end<br />

it was decided we came this far and it would be a shame<br />

to cut out the best parts of the ride. We did decide to<br />

take Hauser Bridge Road instead of going all the way<br />

to Stewarts Point, and then from there go to Jenner and<br />

take the chill way back through Petaluma to Richmond,<br />

eschewing Willow Creek Road. It was much hotter than<br />

we expected so none of us were really bummed to cut<br />

the ride a little short.<br />

The descent down to the creek was fast and<br />

gorgeous. The dirt was looser than it was the last time<br />

I was there, but it was still pretty chill.<br />

It had been a long ass time since I’d ridden King Ridge.<br />

It ruled harder than I remembered: constant sweeping<br />

views, nobody in sight, ripe blackberries littering the<br />

sides of the road everywhere.<br />

After crossing the creek we rolled into Cazadero<br />

and grabbed some snacks before the long King Ridge<br />

section. This is where we realized we weren’t going<br />

to get home until late that night, so there was talk of<br />

making alternate plans. Should we go down to the<br />


After what seemed like several hours, we reached<br />

Hauser Bridge. I’d never ridden it before, and although<br />

it was beautiful I also found myself climbing a very<br />

steep grade during the hottest part of the day. Luckily<br />

I found a water spigot that was made for cyclists<br />

by some Tibetan Buddhist temple. It felt amazing to<br />

squirt my dome and my clothes with cold water.<br />

Recharged and cooled off, we then pushed on to<br />

Seaview Road, and then the mighty Meyers Grade,<br />

which never ceases to take one’s breath away.<br />

In Jenner we had some snacks while watching some<br />

shitty band play to a flock of yuppy scum. Even though<br />

the music made me sick to my stomach you’d have to<br />

put a gun to my head to get me to not devour the shit<br />

out of a Choco Taco. We looked around for Nate but<br />

it appeared as if he had already made a mad dash for<br />

home, which was pretty understandable.<br />

We left in a hurry, pacelining to Occidental, Valley<br />

Ford, Petaluma, Novato, San Rafael....and before we<br />

knew it we were riding back over the RSF bridge. Luckily<br />

the Malört was still there waiting to greet my lips. All<br />

said and done it was a rad ride, and I would definitely do<br />

it again!<br />





You need some vodka (or gin), some<br />

vermouth, and your favorite brand of canned<br />

dolmas. Pictured are not my favorite brand<br />

but I didn’t feel like going to Trader Joe’s on<br />

this particular occasion. If you are feeling<br />

extra in need of vitamins you can also add<br />

some olives and olive juice.<br />

Just as strategy and tact is important in<br />

randonneuring, the nutrition the day after the<br />

ride is critical to one’s longevity in this kind<br />

of riding. Here is a recipe that will help you<br />

solve the puzzle of how to remedy the pain of<br />

aching legs and bleeding saddle sores.<br />


You should probably put the dolma juice in<br />

first, so it has time to decant, like a fine wine.<br />

Then put equal parts vermouth and vodka,<br />

and finish with your garnishes. Enjoy!<br />

It is a take on the classic dirty martini,<br />

except the addition of the juice from a can of<br />

dolmas adds much needed sustenance and a<br />

huge boost of flavor!<br />






VOLCANIC ARC 400<br />

Nate and I got super stoked every time<br />

we saw a view that was in the Bicycle<br />

Quarterly article about this ride.<br />


Getting off Amtrak in Klamath Falls. It was<br />

the first time either of us had gotten a sleeper<br />

car, since we didn’t want to start a rid 400 mile<br />

tour on only a couple hours of sleep. Room<br />

was nice, food was shit.<br />

Carcass of something<br />

Some pushing was required<br />

but we were both amazed<br />

at how rideable 200 miles of<br />

dirt was.<br />

BALLS<br />


Sand spires are pretty sick.<br />


The descent from Crater down<br />

into the valley is lonnngggg.<br />


Mandatory Volcanic View Listening:<br />

Vulcano - Bloody Vengeance<br />

This is what most of the ride looks like. I have<br />

no idea why there is such a good network of dirt<br />

roads in Oregon but it rules.<br />


Oakridge has some really cool<br />

murals.<br />

We ran into 2 people<br />

from Seattle doing<br />

the route at the<br />

same time. It was<br />

nice to compare<br />

experiences.<br />

Bull trout info<br />


At least there’s no cars.....<br />


Some of the stuff on the route was<br />

not rideable at all and it sucked hard.<br />


From here on out we just followed the Clackamas River all<br />

the way to Portland. It was super hot and not very scenic<br />

compared to the mountains but we were looking forward<br />

to a Motel 6 and engorging our bodies with burritos.<br />



Slow Ride, Take it Sleazy<br />

by Echo Rowe<br />

Welcome to Dad’s Corner, where I unleash my inner<br />

60 year old so that he can tell you about the the time<br />

he saw Ozzy in ’87 but he had to watch the second<br />

half of the show from the medic’s tent because some<br />

uptight bitch ratted him out to security for barfing on<br />

her shoes. Today I’ll be giving you my tips and tricks<br />

for a rock’n’roll bicycle commute that is sure to get your<br />

day started right so you have the inner strength to deal<br />

with those turkeys from accounting and the clown<br />

Steve from HR (fucking ball-buster Steve, who seems to<br />

fucking live for rejecting comp reports).<br />

Dealing with cars and pedestrians when you’re riding in<br />

the city can be a real bummer, so it’s important that you<br />

get your ambiance correct. Do not wear headphones<br />

or earpods or whatever the hell kids are calling them<br />

these days. Headphones cause hearing loss, and as a<br />

rocker, you have little hearing left to spare. In addition,<br />

you need to be able to hear ambulances, horns, and<br />

nice onlookers yelling encouragements such as “I wish<br />

my face was that bike seat”. The best sound system<br />

will include some sort of wireless speaker in your front<br />

basket, or if your phone is loud enough, just crank that<br />

sucker and let her rip. Plus if you blast your tunes, you’ll<br />

be able receive nods of approval from fellow rockers,<br />

you’ll piss off yuppies, AND pedestrians will be more<br />

likely to hear you coming down the street and be less<br />

likely to step in front of you – it’s a win for everyone.<br />

Here are the top 5 albums that help me get my jush on<br />

the way to work.<br />

5. Budgie by Budgie – Fuck, this whole album is full<br />

of bangers, but especially “Rape of the Locks”, an anticonformity<br />

anthem, gets me pumped as I head to work<br />

to conform for 8 hours.<br />

4. Blue Oyster Cult by Blue Oyster Cult – This oldie<br />

is a real goodie. When it climaxes to “Cities on Flame<br />

With Rock and Roll”, I’m rocking out so hard on my<br />

bike that cars actually give me a safe passing distance<br />

because they think I’m suffering from a seizure and<br />

about to buck off.<br />

3. Bad Reputation by Think Lizzy – Jailbreak may<br />

have more hits, but Bad Reputation is my go to. “Turn<br />

Yourself Around” gives me the kick in the ass that coffee<br />

wishes it could.<br />

2. Demolition by Girlschool – Really this track is my<br />

after work <strong>#1</strong> go to. These ladies are the best, every<br />

song is a jam, and after a long day of dealing with male<br />

egos, it’s nice to re-center, lady to lady.<br />

1. W.A.S.P. by W.A.S.P. – Are you kidding me? Every<br />

song on this album is a gem. Songs like “I Wanna be<br />

Someone” will give you the fuel to tell Steve from HR<br />

put his comp report where the sun don’t shine.<br />



I bought this frame this year to replace my beloved<br />

black road bike frame that was built by some random<br />

dude’s friend in Berkeley who took a framebuilding<br />

class. It was the fastest and best handling bike I had<br />

ever owned probably, but alas I flew too close to the<br />

proverbial sun of thin steel tubing and cracked the<br />

downtube after riding a ton of super rough cow hoofmarked<br />

fire roads.<br />

So when I decided to replace it with something else,<br />

the replacement had a big boot to fill. I decided it was<br />

probably best to go with something that would be less<br />

likely to break, could fit biggish tires, and still be a road<br />

bike. Rivendell seems to be on a trend of overbuilding<br />

their bikes now so I figured they would be the best<br />

option as far as a road bike that could take a beating.<br />

The Roadini also has a super upright geometry which is<br />

totally cool with me, as I absolutely despise being on a<br />

bike with handlebars lower than the saddle.<br />

I called Riv and asked how big of a tire the frame could<br />

fit and they told me 36, but with Ultegra sidepulls, which<br />

maximize clearance, I found after receiving and building<br />

up the frame that it could easily fit 38 Challenge ‘Gravel<br />

Grinder’ tires. You could probably even fit a 42 slick in<br />

there, so even though Riv says not to ride it on dirt I<br />

think it’s a pretty sick dirt bike.<br />

That being said, it’s definitely not the black no name<br />

bike I broke before. It handles beautifully and certainly<br />

has that Rivendell quality of just feeling pleasant to<br />

ride, but when it comes to climbing it lacks the all out<br />

sporty feeling that makes you want to go as hard as<br />

you can. Bottom line I guess is that it’s fast, but it’s<br />

not super fast. But that’s ok because it’s pretty fun to<br />

ride and it probably won’t break. I’ve made up my mind<br />

that this bike is one hundred percent a keeper.<br />

My only real complaint is that they put braze-ons for<br />

a rear rack, but no mid-fork eyelets for a little rack to<br />

support a bag or a basket. Who the fuck is using a rear<br />

rack nowadays anyway, especially on a road bike? I can<br />

almost guarantee NOBODY is gonna put a rear rack<br />

on this shit. This bike would be a great candidate for<br />

use as a randonneur bike, except Rivendell just totally<br />

fucked that up for no apparent reason. I’ll probably<br />

end up putting a generator hub on it anyways at some<br />

point though....<br />



TALES<br />

‘Thank you, Officer for responding so<br />

quickly! These bicycle poachers have been<br />

crossing my land and leaving harmful<br />

tire tracks on my dust and embarrassing<br />

me during my confabs’ exclaimed what<br />

seemed to be a small labradoodle leaning<br />

out from the driver’s window of the lifted<br />

pearl white Cadillac Escalade pickup. The<br />

dog’s claws were scratching a well-worn<br />

NPR – national propaganda radio sticker<br />

on the door.<br />

‘Sure thing Ma’am! I live to serve the<br />

landed.’ Drawled the ranger, looking past<br />

the doodle to the pasty person behind<br />

60<br />

the wheel. Tipping his Stetson, slapping his<br />

taser and grabbing the nearest of us by the<br />

Pendleton, he lectured ‘Come along to the<br />

paddy wagon trespassers! Bring them funny<br />

bicycles with you now.’<br />

We sheepishly propped our bikes on the side<br />

of the wagon and prepared to climb up when<br />

the ranger stopped us. ‘You know being an<br />

EBMUD ranger is awful boring and if one of<br />

you had a good tale to tell, well, I might just let<br />

you bunch off with a warning.’ A bit shocked,<br />

we looked from one another and seeing my<br />

opportunity, I started off before anyone could<br />

stop me:<br />

There I was…<br />

It was the 4th of July some years back. My<br />

partner Clancy was living in the Mission at<br />

that time, in an apartment a few floors above<br />

Bearingbellie’s Foot Fetish and Cheese shop<br />

on Minna. She lived on the top floor and<br />

we always watch the fireworks up there and<br />

invite our cronies to enjoy it with us.<br />

We worked our way up through the roof<br />

hatch to pick a good spot for our lounge<br />

chairs and the neighborhood fireworks were<br />

out in full display, Bernal competing with<br />

Corona Heights, Noe Valley trying to burn<br />

their neighborhood down before Potrero got<br />

the jump on them. Clancy was over by the<br />

parapet texting Toe-Jamb, the night manager<br />

at Bearingbellie’s to remind him to bring the<br />

beer when he joined us during his evening<br />

break when I saw the ball of flame come over

the horizon.<br />

It came from over Corona Heights and my<br />

first thought was it was a burning balloon<br />

when I realized that it was not rising up<br />

into the sky, nor was it descending - It was<br />

traveling horizontally.<br />

UFO!<br />

‘Clancy! Lookit the UFO joining us for<br />

fireworks! I shouted and pointed. She looked<br />

up from her phone ‘Weird, that drone has a<br />

purple halo around it. Wonder what that is<br />

from!’<br />

‘Dammit! It is not a drone it is a UFO! Drones<br />

don’t look like a ball of flame!’ I retorted ‘In<br />

fact it looks exactly like the UFO Bob Eagle<br />

saw at 3am while riding the Queef Ridge 400.<br />

You know, the one he claimed abducted and<br />

probed him.’<br />

Toe-Jamb emerged from the roof ‘Who wants<br />

a brew?!’ catching his high heeled pumps in a<br />

roof seam he stumbled for balance, caught<br />

himself and gazed off yonder ‘Wow, lookit<br />

that crazy flaming drone over there!’<br />

‘It’s a UFO! You goofball!’ I yelled with<br />

indignance, ‘Gimme my beer, and pass me<br />

those Roquefort flavored squeaky cheese<br />

morsels, they smell gooood.’ Toe-Jamb<br />

shrugged ‘What cheese morsels, all I have is<br />

beer and chips.’<br />

Snacking on chips and swigging our beer we<br />

oohhed and aahhhed at the fireworks giving<br />

Toe-Jamb a little air space. Too soon the<br />

grand finale crescendo was over and before<br />

the ash reached the ground the ball of flame<br />

UFO drifted off in the general direction of the<br />

Mayacamas Mountains and in the wink of<br />

an eye it was a dot in the sky and was gone.<br />

‘‘That was one hellava drone!’ Toe-Jamb<br />

saluted. ‘UFO!’ I retorted, wishing Bob had<br />

shown up to confirm my intuition. Drone!<br />

UFO! Drone! UFO! Drone! UFO! The sound<br />

was deafening in the wagon, and the others<br />

were moving to get between me and Toe-<br />

Jamb.<br />

By that time, the ranger moved in himself.<br />

‘Now boys! Boys! Stop it now. Regardless<br />

of what that thing was that was one of<br />

the greatest stories I have ever heard! Why<br />

I could hear it a hundred times over and<br />

not get tired of it. Here, each of you get a<br />

lifetime free pass to all EBMUD lands, and if<br />

you can get me Bob Eagle’s number I could<br />

include camping privileges. I am interested<br />

in his account of his probing experiences<br />

and hope he is willing to share. Now head<br />

on out of here before that SUV person<br />

comes back.’<br />





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