Escape from LA with Ryan Mckee

Back in November, long time Fort Collins cyclist Ryan McKee took on the Escape from LA bikepacking adventure for the second time. His recap showcases the highs and lows of bikepacking in one of the most densely populated urban centers in the U.S. The 300-mile bikepacking route, featuring over 40,000 feet of elevation gain, weaves through vast expanses of public land and backcountry trails. The self-supported adventure took him on a path through Los Angeles’ urban sprawl, blending untamed wilderness with iconic cultural landmarks.

Ryan has been active in the Fort Collins cycling scene since the mid ’90s. He worked at several of the shops in town, did some time at New Belgium and now runs his own marketing agency, Cycling for Longevity.

• Escape from LA route
• Ryan’s Instagram
• Ryan’s YGR 10 Tracks

On the morning of November 6th, I escaped a late fall storm that was accumulating on the hood of my truck in the Pikes Peak parking lot at D.I.A. My flight to Los Angeles allowed escape from the earth below, where political transition was underway, installing a new leader that has me shaking my head. Riding my bike for days, covering 311 miles and climbing over 44k’, was a welcome distraction. I’m going to Escape L.A.

I’d bought my plane ticket only a few days before, procrastinating as fear and excitement wrestled for commitment. I’d escaped L.A. last year, participating in the inaugural Grand Depart. I was aware of the challenging route and this year’s route made more so with the addition of mileage and vertical. Afraid there wasn’t enough training or preparation, I didn’t want to afford a scratch or a Lyft from Santa Clarita to Santa Monica. But for all the space given to the wheels falling off, so much more goes to the promise of spectacular views of the ocean beyond Malibu, the joy of rolling the Backbone Trail through the Santa Monica Mountains, and the seemingly infinite number of peak layers on display during the golden hour in the Angeles National Forest. It’s November in Southern California so livin is easy, 70s during the day and low 40s at night. The kit doesn’t need to be too heavy, leaving the tent and heavy bag at home.

“It never rains in Southern California” so no bulky rain jacket or fly needed. Resupply is easy with food and water fairly consistent throughout the route. The biggest value proposition for me with Escape L.A. is the tension between the city and the wilderness, it’s palpable throughout and gives an extra ordinary aesthetic. To spite the grueling elevation of the course, the conditions are pretty ideal for a bike party.

My Escape L.A. started at the curb at LAX where I unboxed and assembled my bike. Riding out of the airport is kind of a hassle but once I got to the path next to the beach, the cruise along the ocean to my accommodations in Santa Monica grounded me in sunshine and the pleasant thought of riding in shorts for the following week. Snake, the sadistic and anonymous organizer of Escape L.A., sent his minions, Jason and Gregg to conduct a pre-ride meeting that evening at Pedal Electric in Venice. After nervous questions, fist bumps with fellow bikepackers and NA beers, I split for Gilbert’s in Santa Monica for traditional pre ride margs and most delicious food. I ate at Gilbert’s last year so it’s now a tradition, and I wasn’t about to jinx tradition. And as I did last year, I stayed in a rooming house in Santa Monica, run by an older Japanese woman, Akiko. She is very nice and her house comfortable. I live for the experience but you have to be comfortable walking through her bedroom to get to the bathroom, and at $60 a night the price is right. Maybe I shouldn’t have had 2 margs and then spent my night texting with a cute girl but I did, packing was put off to the next morning. The 2024 Escape LA Grand Depart was scheduled for 7:11am at the Santa Monica Pier (11/7 @7:11).

While the weather is pretty much a ringer in L.A., there was a last minute route change due to high wind. There was a park
closure in Topanga Canyon. The Santa Ana winds were blowing hard and the park is currently a dry tinder box, the potential for fire was high. A section of the Backbone Trail through Topanga was cut out and in it’s place a climb up and over the top of the canyon, through Calabasas. To add to the fire caution, a fire broke out in Ventura on the 6th, fortunately the smoke was blowing in the right direction and the fire was not on route. Our ride would not be directly effected but smoke from Ventura’s Mountain Fire was visable at certain points on route.
On Thursday morning a group gathered on the pier. Some, but not all of us, would return to the pier to finish the ride days
later. After a group photo, we were off. As is the way with a grand depart, the group quickly strung out, each rider left to ride their own ride. The spectrum of rider motivations for taking on such a ride spans those who have little sleep in their future, going hard off the front, to those who were in it to simply finish with a little dignity intact, I am the later. After spying a Gelson’s Grocery in Calabasas on the alt route map, I decided to leave the pier empty but for a handful of gels and water.

The 1st miles of a grand depart typically has me chatting with new found friends and summing up those who might be nice to
ride with. There were a few alums from last year’s escape, including the ladies from San Diego, Sammi and Shelly. These 2 are seasoned with quite a few Stagecoach finishes between them. They bring a ton of PMA. It was always a pleasure to lose sight of these 2 on route and then hear them before seeing them miles later, as they were continually chatting with one another, plugging along. I met Ari, a physicist from Santa Monica, who was doing his first Escape, always with a smile on his face and good for a convo. Around the golden hour that day, I hit an especially fast and fun section of the Backbone Trail, just beyond Encinal Canyon with Jason from Seattle. Jason and I put on the afterburners, powered by the beauty of the sun setting over Malibu and the Pacific. I quickly realized I was not on pace with Jason and he cut me loose before the bomb down Decker Road to the Pacific Coast Highway.

Bikepacking is much about dangling carrots. Maybe it’s a chocolate bar that you have in your bag that you’re gonna gift
yourself in 20 miles, or a coke at a 7/11 that you see coming up on the map, or a spliff you’re gonna smoke once you get to the top of a climb (Johnny, my dude!). It’s tricky though, it’s too easy to perseverate on these carrots as you grind away in the saddle. My fixation on day 1 was Neptune’s Net, a restaurant on the PCH in Malibu, 60 miles into the ride. After riding into the sunset and arriving at the coast, I was crestfallen to find out that the Net was closed. Apparently the electric utility cut power to the area due to the fire in Ventura and you can’t fry seafood without electricity. Big bummer, I was really looking forward to everything Neptune’s Net has to offer. Luckily I’d spent a ridiculous amount of money on charcuterie at Gelson’s. I was going to make it to my next resupply.
As the sun goes down on bike tour, especially if I’m alone, the game gets mental. As I climbed on to the Overlook Trail, I felt despair creep. Fool me a hundred times but after the questions of why are you doing this?, what are my kids doing right now?, am I even going to finish this fucking thing? rattled through my mind, I stopped and shoved a handful of jelly beans in my mouth. Voilà, attitude adjusted, my blood sugar was fixed and it was time to get over this mountain.

I came to the realization quickly on this edition of Escape L.A. that the route was the same but different. Last year’s climb from the PCH was a chill road climb up Sycamore Canyon. My head was set on the ease of the road ascent and I underestimated this new way of getting over the Santa Monicas. Checking off the Overlook Trail, and a bit spanked, I was spit back onto the Sycamore Canyon road. I saw a light off in the distance. Smooth rolling pavement allowed me to catch up to Nancy. I’d talked with her earlier on the climb up Bulldog and she was riding her own ride, going from the pier to her home in Thousand Oaks. She opted to take last year’s climb up the Canyon and was about 4 miles from her doorstep when I caught her. I was a bit cross eyed and she probably didn’t realize it but Nancy reached her hand down to pull me out of the hole I’d dug for myself. Sometimes all it takes is a little light in the dark. My hope of going further that night was dashed when I figured out that my battery back up had drained when I left a cord in the socket. I needed a spot that I could sleep and recharge. At the top of the climb is Satwiwa Native American Cultural Center, a familiar site from last year’s ride. I plugged into their outlet, threw my bag on the ground and passed out. Mind you’re not supposed to camp here but care me not, I do what I want. I get bratty and entitled on bike tour.

I woke up before dawn, went to grab my charged Wahoo and saw that there was a phone charging on the outlet. Looking
around, I didn’t see a soul. I learned later that Ari had pitched a tent on the other side of the building. The sun came up over Thousand Oaks as I pedaled along, thinking about breakfast. I blew a turn. As I recalculated, a fellow escapee rolled by on the trail I’d failed to see a minute before. In rolls Reed, the dude from Ventura that would be my riding partner until we finished on the pier, days later. Reed was on my page, in pursuit of sustenance, after “the tight squeeze” we settled on a Belgian waffle restaurant (like this is common) in Newbury Park. When you’re in calorie debt, food tastes so good and this place served manna. If you’re on route, visit Honey & Herb, get fed, thank me later. As we forged ahead and dropped into the Santa Rosa Valley, Ari rolled up on us after we filled up water at the horse park. I’m a more the merrier kind of guy so I offered to wait while Ari filled up but he was hesitant and told us to keep going.
NBD, ride your own ride. A few miles later we hit a Chevron to pile on some junk calories. Again, Ari rolled up and successfully attached, making our band of 2, a Gang of 3. We 3 would continue together all the way to camp, at the top of Condor days later.

We climbed and climbed all day. While this idea of climbing on the Escape L.A. route is in the numbers, it’s black and white but it’s difficult, and maybe a little traumatic to explain how much climbing happens on this route. It’s mainly fire road climbing with some pretty wicked grades but don’t worry, when you think you can’t climb anymore, you’re going to keep climbing. At the top of a climb, outside of Simi Valley, I rolled up on a dude stopped on a gravel bike. He was kind of shredded, with bandages on his knee and elbow and his shorts ripped. He asked me if I knew Ari. Yeah, he’s just behind me. Crosby had ridden up from Porter Ranch to connect with his bud, Ari on course. Crosby had just crashed due to an errant pine cone and just left a CVS in the valley, after patching himself. He was an L.A. local and had a good bead on the map so he offered up food options as we descended into Simi Valley around dusk. We said goodbye to Crosby, he had to make it back to his car before dark, and we settled on Chi Chi’s Pizza to nosh. Fat, fed and no where near bed, we set to climb out of Simi Valley. Chicken parm powered, I went hard up and over Rocky Peak and we entered the vortex that is Porter Ranch. The Santa Susanna trail in Devil’s Canyon is what I would call ambiguous. Ari commented on how nice the signs for the trail were while the trail itself was an enigma. We tromped in an out of a creek as Ari and Reed followed me. After all, I rode this last year so I should know. But the truth was, I was riding it again for the 1st time. We slogged out of the canyon to push our bikes straight out and into suburbia. As we were descending under a bridge, with Highway 118 above us, I could hear voices. This underpass was on route last year and I gotta say it’s kind of a creepy spot. As I prepared for a knife fight (not really), Shelly and Sammi came into view. Their mood was kind of sour, cursing Snake’s name as they pushed up the concrete bridge embankment, in search of their hotel accommodations for the night in Porter Ranch. One gets raw with these kinds of efforts, especially at the end of a long day. Ari, Reed and I continued on for resupply at Ralph’s. After weaving in and out of Porter Ranch traffic, we posted up on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store, recharged via an outside outlet I remembered from last year, and dipped in and out of the store, trying to shake fatigue off enough to figure out respective meal plans. Re entry to civilization is always a little strange when bikepacking. I can’t help but feel alien to the rest of humanity under the halogen light of a retail setting. They don’t get me, they don’t understand what I’m doing, and they’re definitely sleeping in their cozy beds that night. Not me, I’m riding until exhaustion and eating summer sausage with my pocket knife. Vacation means different things to different people. We pulled up stakes in front of our grocery store squat, assuring the rent a cop that we meant no harm and were moving along. Bikepackers and loitering vagrants, there’s a fine line. Each of us were pretty blasted, we each peeled off within a mile of each other to crash out for the night.. I found a spot, pert near the spot I camped last year. I fell asleep with the bright lights of the L.A. suburbs below me.

The next morning I woke up to my phone bing-bonging, notifying me of a message from my sister, and the sound of
morning hikers passing me, not but 10 feet away. I could give 2 if some rando is near me while I sleep, just don’t wake me up. Reed would later show me a picture he took of me that morning, me asleep as he passed me on the trail. I got moving and rode right past Ari, unbeknownst, camping up the trail. I checked into Trackleaders to see where my colleagues were, Ari was just behind me and Reed already parked at a diner in Newhall. I dragged my feet a bit and waited for Ari. We rolled into Newhall and joined Reed at the diner’s bar. Newhall is a cute little township at the south end of Santa Clarita. There’s a weird little museum at the site of a silent film star’s former home. The Hart museum has live emus, ducks, swans and other non sequitur, exotics on display behind a fence. And the museum has a nice, clean public bathroom and water, I pretty much took a bath in the sink there last year. Note, Santa Clarita, or Newhall, is the last opportunity for food resupply for a long time. Civilization is quite far from that point, in Altadeena. And there’s a ton of climbing between the 2 points. I threw burritos in my bag and had some other food left over but I should’ve hit that Chevron on the way out of town, I can see this now with my 20/20 hindsight. Bye bye, city! The bulk of the climbing on the Escape L.A. route begins outside of Santa Clarita and doesn’t stop until you drop back into the city. As you pass Carl’s Jr on your way out of Santa Clarita know that for the next 34 miles you’re going to climb almost 5,000 feet. Good luck. It’s not actually all that bad, as I retrospectively write from the comfort of my sofa here in Colorado, at least it’s consistent. There are however, quite a few opportunities for water. One being L.A.F.D. Camp #9, high atop Signal Peak. This station, equipped with a fire suppressing helicopter and full time crew of fire fighters, is quite a site. The choppers literally drop down off the mountain to put out fires. It’s kinda bad ass. Another water spot along this big ol climb is the North Fork Saddle Picnic Site. There’s a ranger that lives there and keeps a water cache, mostly for those on the Pacific Crest Trail but we absolutely took advantage. It was there at the water cache that Ari, Reed and I caught up with Shelly and Sammi around dusk. There was good size group of older men who had ridden their bikes up there for a weekend camp out. We all chatted and I was inspired by their energy as it seemed like they’d been making a habit of getting together and having adventures for quite some time. We left and climbed Mount Gleason Road. I only carried 2 liters of water throughout my ride so I was quick to fill at every opportunity. I went off the front so I could leave route in order to get to a spring on the PCT. There’s something about going to the source for water, it feels primal. After scurrying up a canyon and getting some poison oak to take back with me to Colorado, I filled up my bottles. As I was coming back up the road, I heard Ari yelling down to me that I’d gone the wrong way. Thanks for looking out Ari, but I knew where I was. Our Gang of 3 reconvened on route and we pushed up to our highest peak at 6k’, Lightening Peak. Woo fucking hoo, we dropped like rocks down, down, down, but not all the way. We stopped at the top of Condor. Before Ari could catch up I’d already inflated my mattress and jumped in my sleeping bag. A few minutes later Shelly and Sammi showed up and we all tucked in for the night.

Last year, jacked on a 5 Hour Energy, I dropped Condor in the dark, against the recommendation of others. This trail is
exposed with gnarly drops to one side but ignorance was blissful and what I couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt me. I ended up having the best time on that descent but this year I decided to attempt solidarity with the others and experience the full sensory of Condor. We woke up at dawn. Ari had a flat. I gave him the rest of a CO2 and when I left camp, his tire seemed to be holding. I went 1st, leaving everyone behind. Condor is bonkers fun, made more so by the light of early morning. I sent the whole thing to arrive at Big Tujunga Canyon Road at the bottom. I hung out at the Stonyvale Day Use Area, waiting for my Gang to show. Shelly and Sammi came through and said Ari was having tire issues. It’s cool, I’ll hang out for awhile for them to show up as the 2 ladies carried on, up the trail. I stretched out on a picnic table, washed my legs in the river, and ate some food. Still no Ari and Reed. Well, onward and upward, they’ll catch me eventually. I began with the 1st hike a bike for the day, a push up Grizzly Flats (not flat) that goes up for almost 2k’ for 5 miles. Almost to the top, I left a message on the trail for my Gang. A bit of a road climb later brought me to a familiar intersection. I pretended to know where I was going and my Wahoo barked at me that I was off route, I wanted to descend but no such luck. Up Josephine Peak and around Strawberry Peak I went to spill out onto another familiar road intersection. A sign read 5 miles to the top of Mount Wilson.

Hells yes, it’s all down hill from the top of Wilson, right?! However, the paved ascent to Wilson was not on my route, instead I was directed on to another gravel road that had me dropping a whole lot of elevation fast in the opposite direction of Wilson. What the fuck, Snake, where are you sending me? The sun was going down as I rolled into the West Fork Campground. I should be clear, I’m kind of a one foot in front of the other bikepacker. I don’t really pour over maps too much, preferring to not know what’s ahead of me, again, blissful ignorance. I then started the 2nd hike a bike for the day. A straight hump up the Gabrieleno Trail climbing 2.5k’ for 4 miles. Fak. The night time spectacle of gnarled old growth trees and exposed rock faces created a special vibe, even if I was knocking on exhaustion’s door. Pushing my 50+ lb bike, the climb culminated when the towers on top of Wilson came into view, illuminated by moonlight, it was amazing. At the tip top of Wilson the entirety of Los Angeles glowed before me. It’s no wonder you can see this city from space, it’s gigantic pulsing glow for as far as I could see, with the high contrast of a black ocean to the west. With renewed energy, I let out an audible “fuck yeah” and sent it down the Mount Wilson Toll Road with the city lit up below me. So back to the resupply I should’ve done more of in Santa Clarita, I was down to a burrito nub, a gel, and some hard candy. My intention at the point was to push to Altadeena, I needed food. I found myself in a dark, granite canyon with water flowing through it. I tried to follow the trail but couldn’t find it. The combination of calorie debt and exhaustion left me confounded. I made the choice to shut down right then and there. The morning would lend direction.

Waking up hungry sucks, says the privileged guy who rides his bike up and down mountains for fun. But I found the trail.
My day began with a hike a bike. It might’ve been ridable but I resigned myself to taking my bike for a walk that morning while I sucked on the last few Werther’s I had in my snack pack. Without looking, I accidently bought sugar free Werther’s. I could’ve really used that sugar but it was a good enough distraction from my growling stomach. When I reached the Millard Trail Camp, I knew I was gonna make it. A familiar trail that I was confident went down hill into Altadeena and back to people that will trade money for food. I dropped all the way into town, assuming the route would be the same as last year. Ignoring my Wahoo until I descended all the way to the trailhead, I realized I should’ve stayed higher and taken a right turn back up the trail. For a minute, I started to climb back up and then decided to let it go, I needed to get to some food pronto and the road was the fastest way. Full transparency, I did not do 4 miles of the route, sorry but not. Hello, Jack in the Box! I’ll signal my virtuosity by saying that I don’t typically eat fast food.

On this day however, I was not afraid and proceeded to settle into everything that sounded remotely good. Did you know Jack in the Box has donuts, burgers, AND tacos? I visited the counter twice. Plugged in and wolfing food, I began to feel more alive. I checked in with Trackleaders and IG and could see that Reed was making his way toward me. I was bummed, as I know he was, to see Ari had scratched. His tire was giving him fits and he ran out of gas. You always want to finish but it’s not always in the cards, I’ve scratched before. I jumped back on my bike and flew through Pasadena, high on calories, I proceeded toward the Arroyo Seco, a pathway that goes along one of the concrete tributaries in Los Angeles. My next destination was Frogtown. This is a neighborhood right along the river and home to a super groovy bike shop/cafe, The Spoke. This was a comfortable spot to hang, have some snacks, drink beer, and wait for Reed. After a while, Reed showed up and of course we had to have another beer. OK, I was a little buzzed with 45 miles still to go. We both set out to finish our escape. Here the route gets way fun, going through the Hollywood Hills, past the Griffith Observatory and the Hollywood sign. Reed and I did a TT though Burbank, flat out, we traded turns. We then climbed up to dirt Mulholland to get the top of the route’s finale. New to the route this year, we descended the Will Rogers’ section of the Backbone Trail, this is the final rip and the route comes full circle to complete the loop we started days ago. The feeling of landing back at the ocean, cruising the beach path, and rolling back to the pier is hard to describe. Gleeful exhaustion. We escaped! Reed and I tied for D.F.L. Capping off this amazing experience, we rolled onto the pier to be greeted by Ari with a 6 pack. The Gang was back together. After our dots started to bounce on Trackleaders, Reed and I pedaled up into Santa Monica to meet Ari at Prime Pizza. After some celebration, Prime closed and asked us to leave. We all said goodbye. Life is not just about doing gnarly shit, though it’s certainly the spice. It’s about relationships and the folks you meet along the way. There is no replicating the feeling of turning yourself inside out while others are next to you, doing the same. Once again, I escaped LA.

Thanks to Snake for being both generous and mean. Gregg and Jason, you have my gratitude for once again proving that L.A.
bikepacking does not suck. And big hugs to the Gang, Ari and Reed, for providing the stoke and positive energy throughout my escape.
Please feel free to reach out to me on IG @cyclingforlongevity if you have any questions about this route. I highly recommend putting Escape LA on your calendar.
Until the next big dumb ride.