How Three Tech Dudes Biked 500 Miles from SF to LA (Finale)

If you missed it, here’s part I and part II.

200 miles to go

As I cycled up “The Climb”, The bright blue skies welcomed me to the peak of the hill. I pulled out my Gatorade, chugged it and closed out the hardest climb of this ride.

We ended the day in the small town of Cambria: 71 miles, 5514 feet of climbing, 5000 calories burned.

Six days down. Four days left. Two hundred miles to go. After Big Sur, the three of us leveled up in cycling. Pismo Beach, 45 miles, 2000 feet of elevation? Easy money.

We left at 11am the next day and crushed the first 18 miles at a 14.5 mile per hour pace. (Note: The average pace was around 10 to 12 mph depending on incline). I ran into problems with my gear shifters where I couldn’t shift from my larger gear to my smaller gear. We stopped at Morro Bay to get my gears fixed and munch on Taco Bell.

As we continued along the route, we stopped by a gas station to fuel up and use the bathroom. At each stop, we’d take turns watching each others bike while the other went inside to grab water and snacks. We laid our bikes down and rested on the curb. As I pulled out more topical ointment to rub on my knee, a soft-spoke, old lady, probably in her 60’s approached us.

San Francisco had trained me to ignore strangers. But as she came up to us, she seemed befuddled. An emergency tire light went off in her car. I explained to her that she just needed to fill up her tires. I intended to end the interaction there, but we could see it in her eyes that she needed our help. Raymond, being the great samaritan, stepped in and helped her fill up her tires.

She told us that normally, her husband knew what to do. But he had just passed away, so she was freaking out. I had been battling my knee pain & Raymond had battled his back, but it was important to put things in perspective. It’s easy to forget that we aren’t the center of the world. Everybody is going through their own challenges.

We left the gas station. I was expected to lead the whole trip but this time, I asked Raymond to lead.

Something was wrong.

Like a baby in the middle of the night, the pain in my knee started screaming its way into puberty. The volume on my music was turned on full blast, yet I couldn’t hear it. There was absolutely no way I could bear this much pain for another 200 miles.

I popped a painkiller which would dull the pain for 40 minutes. But like a lion trapped in a den, it returned with hunger and vengeance. I endured four days on this knee, by pressing the ignore button but I could no longer do that. If pain was an education in enlightenment, I guess it was time to start class.

Brian and Raymond cycled off into the distance. They got so far ahead, they were no longer visible. I had about 20 miles left. My mind began thinking of the next four days. 200 miles on this would literally be impossible, but I couldn’t focus on the 200 miles. I had to focus on the next step.

The pain would ignite every time my left leg was at the top of its stroke, bent at a 90 degree angle. At 70 pedals per minute, this meant I’d be bending my leg about 8,400 times until I got to Pismo Beach. I could compensate the pedaling with my right leg, cruise for 10 to 15 seconds then repeat. This could cut down the amount of times I’d bend my leg by about 20-30%. I just needed to make it to Pismo Beach and then I could figure it out from there.

It’s funny. When something is painful or uncomfortable, the mind will start to self-rationalize its way out of the pain. I became fearful that I was causing permanent damage. And this fear, caused me to be more timid and slurped away at my self-confidence.

As I continued cycling, I see black dots turn into actual human beings. Brian and Raymond. They waited for me and we were close. 5 miles out. We made it to Pismo Beach.

The Search

When we got to Pismo beach, I spent hours ferociously Googling the shit out of the words: “bike”,”knee”,”pain.” I stumbled upon various solutions: getting a full custom bike fit, using CBD oil, ice, topical Castor Oil, a stronger knee brace, more pain killers and cryotherapy. I decided I would try all of them.

I spent the night with an ice pack glued to my knee. I spent $20 on an uber to CVS just to get a stronger knee brace. I called every bike shop in Pismo Beach for a bike fit. I called everywhere for CBD oil & cryotherapy. I had to do everything in my control to solve this problem. If I lost, so be it.

The devil in my mind convinced me that I could be permanently damaging my knee. That shot my confidence. The next day, we had a 60 mile ride to Solvang. 45 miles on this knee was fuckin hard. There no way I could do 60 miles on this knee.

With a few strokes on the pedal, I couldn’t do it. I was done.

Ubering was the last resort and I had no other choice. I had to call the $120 Uber to Solvang. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I felt like I was compromising on the challenge. I felt like taking an Uber once gave me an easy out. It would make it easy for me to take an uber the rest of the way till LA. But physically, there was no way I could relive those painful 45 miles again. I had to accept the circumstance. I did everything.

I arrived in Solvang and found a bike shop that re-adjusted my seat. When cycling, pressing the heel of your foot on the pedal, your leg should lock straight. With the ball of your foot on the pedal, the leg should bend at about 30 degrees. We raised my seat up about an inch.

This made a HUGE difference. The pressure was no longer on my tendon, but on my thigh.

Next, I purchased CBD oil from the nearest health market to help treat the inflammation. The closest cryotherapy shop was The Lab in Santa Barbara.

The next day, I left Solvang at around 8am with the hope of making it to the cryotherapy shop by 2pm. I felt the cold breeze of the morning as I cycled past the Solvang vineyards, gingerly pedaling to keep the pain dormant. I pedaled up the ramp of the highway, with cars frequently vrooming by at 60 mph. The shoulder was wide and with each stroke, I pumped more confidence through my legs.

I pedaled for about 7 miles. A giant hill loomed. And then it awoke.

The pain started kicking, screaming, begging me to give up. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I’d often start meditating when my knee began hurting but the pain was unbearable. I clutched the brake, pulled over to the side and rubbed some Bengay on my leg. Nope, not happening. I called an Uber for the last 35 miles to Santa Barbara.

When I arrived in Santa Barbara, I immediately went to the cryotherapy shop. I had tried every single item on my list and this was my last hope. I had already Uber’ed two legs of this trip. If this didn’t work, it was game over.

When I got to The Lab, the shop reminded me of a high-tech garage from the future:

The place had a VO2 max monitor, a locker room, astroturf grass with thick ropes. Maximizing human performance. Now this was my type of place!

There were two blonde-haired men standing at the counter, with a slick-back comb over dressed in track suits. I explained to them that I was on a bike trip from SF to LA and that I had patellar tendonitis. He responds by saying Oh, cryotherapy for inflammation injuries. Let’s get you in.

I strip off my clothes, with only my boxers remaining. I put on a robe and slip on a pair of socks & slippers. This is what the chamber looks like:

The trainer explained that I’ll be inside for three minutes. I step into the chamber and the trainer yells out “if it gets too cold, just let me know and I can let you out early.” Fuck that, I’m going the full three minutes.

The chamber starts and liquid nitrogen starts permeating every inch of space within the chamber. The temperature is -275 degrees. I stand and start focusing on my breathe. I could feel my hands and feet start shivering and pretty soon my entire body was numb. It felt as if I was getting stabbed by thousands of needles. I start breathing heavily since shallow breaths would make me feel colder. The temperature dropped to -300 degrees and then I stepped out.

When your body is brought to extremely low temperatures, the body pushes the blood to its vital organs. But when you step out of the chamber, vasodilation occurs. This means the blood vessels expand wider than normal. This resupplies the body with much richer, nutrient-dense, oxygenated blood, which is especially good for injuries.

The trainer wrapped an ice pack around my knee. As I walked out I asked the trainer if I could cause permanent damage to my knee if I kept biking. He nonchalantly replied that many people come in with patellar tendonitis and assured me I wouldn’t tear anything. In fact, he encouraged me to finish the ride.

Boom. Part of what had been stopping me from biking wasn’t the pain. It was the fear of permanent damage. But because the trainer had said I couldn’t make it any worse, I took the pain I had to endure as a personal challenge. I promised myself that I was going to make up the 35 miles I had missed.

I returned to our hotel, changed back into my biking clothes and clipped onto my bike. I began pedaling. No pain. I took a few more strokes to the stop light. No pain. I pedaled another block. No pain. I pedaled another mile. No pain. 4 hours later, the pain gradually started creeping back, but I had made up the 35 miles I missed.

Call it placebo, but I was back in business. Cryotherapy had worked.

The Home Stretch

By this point both Brian & Raymond were tired, but they were in much better condition than I was. After pushing through Big Sur, each route was relatively flat. Armed with my newfound confidence, I was ready to complete the ride. We had two days left: 45 miles, 1700 feet elevation to Port Hueneme, then 50 miles, 900 feet elevation into Santa Monica.

After cryotherapy, I was able to bike but my left knee felt ginger. I couldn’t exert a ton of force on it, but I could ride at a relatively consistent pace. I stayed on lower gears and kept my own pace while Raymond, Brian flew ahead of me.

We completed the 45 miles to Port Hueneme and the vicious pain I experienced at Pismo Beach continue to stay asleep. One more day, 50 miles into Santa Monica.

As we pedaled into Santa Monica, the SoCal blasted heat on our yellow jerseys as we pedaled into Santa Monica. I’d turn right, and see ocean blue waves, breaking along the coast, as surfers caught the next break. Beautiful, bikini-clad women, hairy old men, bubbling young kids frolicked across the sandy beaches as we coasted by. Southern California. Malibu.

Malibu was the most dangerous portion of the ride. 50 mph, small bike shoulder with cars double-parked meant we shared the lane with the angry LA drivers. As I glanced at my Apple Watch, I’d saw the mileage tick up. 23, 24. Each tick inching us closer and closer to Santa Monica.

My knee has slight bits of pain but it was manageable. With LA in sight, adrenaline started to kick in, dulling the pain, allowing me to use my left leg to pedal.

Brian felt his tire and felt it falling flat. Probably a hole. But at this point, we didn’t give a f*ck. We tasted victory. So he pumped it up a bit and continued cycling.

The road transformed into a beach and the famous Santa Monica pier got larger and larger. I kept telling myself to pedal faster.

As I pedaled, in the corner of my eye, I see a cute girl.

Nope. I pedal harder and harder as if I didn’t even have patellar tendonitis. At this point, my mind was in this not give a f*ck attitude. I was willing to give up my ability to walk for a few weeks.

Coastal shrubs turned into beautiful mansions. Bright blue skies became tinted with white smog population. Los Angeles. We made it.

Epilogue

Raymond, Brian and I gathered at the Pier and took a final picture:

By the end, here were our statistics:

506 miles
10 flat tires
21,000 feet of elevation
21,960 calories burned per person
11.8 average miles per hour

It might be easy to think that the three of us were extremely fit. Or that we’re crazy. Or that we’re “outdoorsy.” Brian didn’t have a bike before agreeing to go on this trip. Yet, he cycled the highest number of miles out of all of us.

Your misogi might not be physical. It can be intense, like coding everyday for 365 days, going from zero experience to world championships in public speaking or losing 100 lbs.

But it can also be on a small scale, talking to that guy/girl that’s out of your league, emailing the celebrity, singing your lungs out at the karaoke bar.

Because looking back on our lives, the moments we’re proudest of, are the moments we pushed ourselves to be greater than we ever thought possible. They’re the moments when we said f*ck you to fear and did it anyway. They’re the moments when we crushed our self-imposed limitations.

So step out the door, take a whiff of the beautiful world we call life. Because once you realize the power of the human mind, I promise you, that you’ll never be the same again.

Thanks for reading!