How an anonymous interaction in the field led to a whole new way of playing in the world
STORY BY STEPHEN CASIMIRO
Photo by Stephen Casimiro
It was a Saturday, the Saturday after Thanksgiving in 2016, and a storm was moving in from the ocean as promised, winds sweeping ahead of a cold front, the light a burnished and darkening metal, the sea and clouds two slabs of slate layered upon each other. Five thousand feet above the coast, on the crest of the Santa Ana Mountains, it was empty and blowing and kinda spooky, just me and my mountain bike and delicious aloneness. Though still trying to claw my way back into shape after months of inactivity, I was feeling good out there where mountain lions roam and phones don’t work.
It had been a long stretch of funk. Too much work, too little saddle time. When I did carve out an hour here or there to ride, I was bored, having ridden my home trails hundreds of times. To snap out of it, I’d challenged myself to get to all the significant high points in
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