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Part 4: Down 101

After the store, the ride returned south down the coast where tides and a slight tail wind followed them back to Santa Cruz and a meeting with Paul at Rock Lobster.

I’ve come to the conclusion that they simply and willingly got lost, really lost. Not lost as in without a map or unable to find their way. But lost in their thoughts. They forgot what they were doing and where they were going, they forgot about life and problems and competition and want and need. They just rode for hours and watched as northern California went buy. In a blur, through the mist, among the trees and the hills, north for a bit, south for a bit, up a hill and down a hill, over a hill, down the coast.

We spend so much time and energy on these rides not getting lost that we sometimes forget that for the last five, ten, fifteen years that’s one of the very reasons we all ride. To get lost. Sometimes we ride to check-out, from anxiety, stress, responsibility, from all of it.

Whether it’s exactly true or not, what strikes me about - The Missing Three Hours Followed By The General Store And A Ride Down HWY-101 – is that maybe Aaron, Hahn, Greg, Ryan, and Cole collectively checked-out. In the middle of the near mythologized (for it’s hippies, surfing, marijuana, redwoods and fog) Santa Cruz mountains, among all it’s amazing topography and geography, the Continental Riders simply went for a ride.

Or they were abducted by an Alien in a Julie Furtado suit? Suppose we’ll never really know.