Reach Up For The Sunrise, Put Your Hands In To The Big Sky!
You Can Touch The Sunrise, Feel The New Day Into Your Life!
-Duran Duran

My cell phone was blowing up. I don’t have ring tones. Not for family or friends. I find them annoying. That said, one person has their own Duran Duran ring tone, my favorite metrosexual hairdresser, Juicy J Slover. I knew right away what this phone call was about; the LOST boyz were riding again.

The original Hater

The arrangements were made. We’d meet in Santa Monica and ride out to Latigo Canyon in Malibu. Latigo Canyon is not for the faint of heart. It is nine miles of steady climbing with pitches up to 13%. Local pros often avoid this climb like a bad case of crotch rot. A LOST boyz ride requires at least 12 hours of prep before the ride itself. The bike must be clean and free of obtrusive rattles or squeaks, the kit fashionable and pleasing to the senses. Twice worn chamois are not tolerated. My choice for the ride: white Assos bibs, ROAD jersey layered beneath a Rapha jacket, gold accented Scott shoes, gold Decibel helmet and gold Oakleys. I only hoped my European inspired attire would meet with approval.

I rolled up to our prearranged meeting spot to find that only Slover is present. In true LOST boyz fashion several members flaked out at the last moment. Excuses ranged from: it’s too cold, I might be sick, and I’m still waiting for my gold bib shorts to arrive from mail order. One member had the excuse of he had recently joined Justin Timberlake’s entourage on his “Bringing Back the Sexy” tour. To any other group of riders these excuses are pitiful and the offenders would be ridiculed to the point of giving up the sport. Not with the LOST boyz ride. We are not pros or do we pretend to be. We don’t need to be hard and rugged. We just need to be able to ride and then post-up at a local coffee shop and talk loud enough to be over heard about our epic ride or how our most recent stock investment profited one billion dollars. If we don’t want to ride for any of the various reasons, we don’t. It’s that simple.

I took down my BMC off the roof rack of the official ROAD Magazine Scion and mounted up. Slover cast an eye over my ensemble and said nothing. That is a good sign. Fashion perfection is required with Slover and if he has to mention anything you have made an unforgivable faux pas that will not easily be forgiven. We rolled north on PCH, up over Latigo Canyon, down the other side and back for a total of 50 miles, and 3,700 feet of climbing in a little over three hours. Job done. Now to finish off the ride; posting-up at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on San Vicente Blvd. Those in show biz call this particular coffee shop “the office.” Reason is that celebs spend almost as much time posting-up as LOST boyz and talking ever so loudly about their latest three picture deal with MGM. It’s pathetic. As expected a Desperate Housewife plops down at the table next to us with a friend in tow to discuss the meaningless nuances of their lives in the ‘Bu. We turn around in unison and give them a disapproving glare that would melt the diamonds from her earrings. We go back to talking about our more meaningful lives as 12k dreamers on the SoCal racing circuit and how we are one good result away from riding the Tour. All good things must come to an end and I return to the ROAD Scion, rack my BMC and drive south on the 405 freeway to home. I’m clocking out, my day in the office is done.