It's transitional period between black and blue, warming my fingertips as I wait outside the Highland Park Metro station. It's a deadly quiet morning, interrupted only by the arrival of the 6:30AM metro. Through the shadows of the Metro station, I see the silhouettes of my companions David and Gio, the pale green neon of the Highland Theatre flickering in the distance behind them. We gave each other some quiet greetings, our vocal cords still awakening as we fumbled with our layers.

Putting our backs to the palm trees, cortados, and craftsman structures of East LA, the gateway of Angeles Crest highway fell before us, our staircase into the heavens. The canyons gradually closed us off from the concrete maze of LA, the natural escalator of the San Gabriel lifting us above the haze and urban noise. The canyons started the bend my perception as I clung to David’s blurred wheels on the descents, with Gio’s metronomic pedaling leading us to the water spigot at Mill Creek. On a route with limited water stop this is also your last opportunity to take in the mountain’s full, looming presence. 

LA’s San Gabriel Mountain range is massive and quite honestly, kind of scary. The desert floor is the perfect gallery space to view its terrifying grandeur. Colors appear more vivid, the light is unobstructed, and the expanse of land feels like a step back in time, a glimpse at the LA basin before the city’s development. The desert road follows the San Gabriel range from a distance, far enough away to see its peaks, but close enough to feel their massive presence.

As we stomped our way over the desert’s inconsistent gradient, clouds of stormy disfunction slowly spread across the range next to us, its destination the same as ours. Our spines tingled at the thought of having to race a literal storm, but we were past the point of alternatives…

The desert was making things harder for us as the landscape began to slant upward. We had reached the post office at Valyermo, a lonely wood structure with a few water spigots cut into its walls. While the water needed some time to transition colors, putting some weight in my bottles felt reassuring as the clouds darkened towards the base of the next climb.

Pressure from the storm system had influenced the groups collective tempo. Even though we had nudged our way in front of its cloudy mass, we would feel the icy winds at our backs as the route began snaking its way up the eternal climb up Big Pines Highway towards Wrightwood. The climb is best done when you don’t know how long it is, because it’ll break your heart when you find out. I found myself splitting the climb up into three chapters marked by its key features, the desert, the pines, and the snow. Gradually flipping through the climbs long chapters, my legs drowned in the screech of fatigue, but the minds found itself in undisturbed solitude.

The final chapter of the climb concluded at the medieval looking turret of Big Pines. Snow was lining the edges of the road, and as the body began to rest the cold mountain wind started to bite. To complete this climb is accomplishment in of itself, but the storm gave us no time to be sentimental. The first whisps of the storm starting to reach over some of the peaks, a darker grey backdrop following closely as we fumbled with our layers. David carefully guided us into Wrightwood as the wind tore through our bodies, the pressure in our heads was struggling to equalize as the town’s outskirts came into sight.

Outside the Wrightwood Fine Foods, the weather was starting to eat away on our collective warmth. Still chewing the remnants of our roadside feast outside the grocery store we started the descent into Lone Pine Canyon just as the mass of stormy tendrils engulfed the horizon. The asphalt strip through the canyon’s wash acted as our runway into the San Bernardino Mountain range.

It would be the last of our desert views, as the gradient rose away from us once more. We’d tackle a wiggly ascension of Rim of the World highway, eventually popping out in the knockoff alpine village of Crestline. It’s a steep climb, but Rim of the world hurts the legs just enough for the mind to immerse itself in a bath of endorphins. At this point in the ride, you just accept the pain. As much as your legs shout and eyes wince, this climb is your last dance, so why not hover on the limit. Compared to the previous ascents, the climb up Rim of the World seems much shorter and despite the suffering it inflicts, you must allow your mind to enjoy itself and take in its surroundings before you go back to the noise of civilization.

Crestline’s A-frame-heavy architecture came into view, and Snowmelt filled the streets as the gradient gave way to level ground. Towns like Crestline are a reminder of how divergent Southern California’s environment can feel. In the span of an hour, you can exist in an arid desert filled with Joshua tree and Cacti, then find yourself in a high alpine town surrounded by smells of pine and towering far above the suburban sprawl.

The mountain fell away from us on the outskirts of Crestline, just as we were about to get devoured by our stormy opponent. The road off the San Bernardino range reminds you of why its named Rim of the World, the road is literally suspended over the raw slopes of the mountain range. While it’s important to focus on piloting your bike on the way down, it’s also necessary to take the awe-inspiring look off the edge of the highway. Rim of the World evokes every single emotion that keep you addicted to the mental transcendence that cycling offers.

As the city of San Bernadino’s suburban landscape came into view, we looked back up into the mountains. The stormy blob we that chased us all day had the range in a chokehold, looking much darker and more ominous. Our cheeks ached with relief as we smiled to ourselves, we had outrun the storm and, most importantly made our train on time. The warm embrace of the Metrolink train fell over us as we sat down next to our bikes. The whole way home the tracks ran alongside the mountains, serving as a reminder of the days experience as we put our feet up while the rails passed beneath us and the presence of mountain walls dissipated, the echoes of our experience would resonate through our tired muscle fibers and light up neural networks.

The line on a map that Roundtrip symbolizes possibilities that the world’s-built environment can offer, a test of inner power and explorative desire.