Saturday May 8: So I hated to leave you, the reader, stuck in Monterey Bay with me wondering how my day ended. But I knew it was the fitting point to pause, because Monterey Bay was a turning point of the trip. I didn’t know it at the time, but things were about to change. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the better.

So I suppose we should just get right to it. After lunch I hopped back on CA1 and headed towards my destination: San Francisco. As I rounded the north end of Monterey Bay, the wind began gusting up again. I wasn’t too thrilled about the relentless onslaught of heavy gusts, especially as they were coming broadside. It isn’t the most comforting of feelings as a 30 mph gust pushes a 400lb object towards the edge of the road. But not a problem.

Eventually I got fed up with the cold wind and decided it was time to take a quick breather and slip on a long undershirt to cut the cold. That innocent and practical decision turned out to be one of the most regrettable choices I have ever made as a rider and as a confident human being. I approached a vista point/ turnout near Pescadero State Beach. I slowed down to first gear and waited for oncoming traffic before making the left turn towards the small parking lot.

The only details I remember of my rookie mistake, was hearing the engine rev high as my rear wheel lost traction and slid out trying to race the front wheel. I instinctively reached out with my left hand for the pavement as I detached myself from the Daytona. I’m not sure if I rolled or tumbled. What I do remember is me springing up to my feet and in one swell effort, threw my sunglasses and helmet and rushed to my downed partner, which was now teetering on the edge of a ditch. It was the most pathetic image which has been seared in the back of my mind: a finely tuned speed machine laying on its side, about to slip down a 2ft ditch, its rear turn signal signaling methodically to the left as if nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. Sven crashed… in the middle of nowhere… hundreds of miles from home.

*Not Sven, but still same sense of desolation

I attempted to lift my bike, but the 400lb machine proved to be too much to dead lift, even for my adrenaline charged body. I felt hopeless. I walked towards the roadway to see if there was any sign of help. A car or two passed by, but I wasn’t expecting them to stop. I saw two fellow motorcyclists streak by, and it was at that point that I lost all hope in it all. A lone motorcyclist standing at the mouth of a turnout, with a look of distress on him as his bike lay on the gravel, and two passing riders wouldn’t stop to help. I was going to be stranded in the middle of no where. No food, no water, no hope.

I was just about to turn and walk back to my Triumph as a car drove by, but put on the brakes as it passed and turned around. I immediately had a faint perk in spirit. I wish I could recall their names or how to pronounce them but to me that would be virtually impossible. A middle aged middle eastern gentleman and his senior father had gotten out of their car and immediately addressed the possibility of me needing medical attention. I wanted and needed nothing of that, I just wanted my bike upright.

The three of us all walked over to the bike and somewhat tried to survey the problem. We all grabbed a firm part and heaved and hoed the bike away from the edge of the ditch. I winced at each sound of grinding gravel. Eventually we got my tattered motorcycle upright and on the kickstand. OK, so far so good, but does it run? Yes? Good. The two men then again tended to me, making sure I wasn’t hurt.  I told them I was fine, and they kindly offered me water, which I openly swashed down.

The aftermath of Pescadero

With a gracious handshake to each gentleman and my many thanks, the two middle eastern men continued on their way. I suited back up and with a bruised hand and ego, I crept back on PCH. No use in backing out now. I was more than halfway to Frisco.

The rest of the trip up to San Francisco remained slightly uneventful, I mean what could top that? I didn’t want to top that, but I almost did. In the town of Half Moon Bay, I almost endo-ed (Stoppied) my way into the back of some piss ant of a driver. Word of the wise to all you motorists out there: when the light just turns yellow and you’re 30 ft from the intersection, run it, that is what it’s for. Otherwise, a motorcycle might crash into your back end.

*Not Sven, but I did that... not that I wanted to

I pulled in the clutch and grabbed at the front brake. I also applied some rear brake, but before I knew it I was near starring down at the pavement, so what good is a rear brake? I shut my eyes and prepped for the worst, as my rear end came down in a heavy thud. That day wasn’t going my way. Out of it all, I do have to admit it was a near flawless endo. I wasn’t planning on it but executed it with near perfection… Nailed it. I made sure to let the dumb female behind the wheel my utmost admiration for her, or lack thereof.

I eventually made it to San Francisco without further incident, and I couldn’t have been more relieved. I made haste for the nearest hotel, and ended up at the Wharf Inn, which was conveniently located just next to Pier 39. I immediately stripped down to street clothes and ventured off into the bay city.

Maybe I can find solace here (Broadway/ Columbus)

Aside from San Francisco’s over the top smugness, I love the city. The old style buildings, the narrow streets and alleyways, the artisan styled businesses, San Francisco meets old with new in just the right way. I would normally say something to the effect of, “I love the city, not the people” but that doesn’t quite fit. The city has its classes. The working class, the shop workers, and hustling and bustling crowd. It is these people that I had an admiration for, not the socialites who drink their wine with their cheeseburgers and discuss the atrocities of not owning a hybrid.

I spent my evening at a fusion Italian restaurant, enjoying a swanky pasta dish and nursing a hand of Jameson Irish Whiskey (screw fingers, I just crashed my motorcycle). With a great buzz, I purposely lost myself in the north end of San Francisco. The hooligan bars, Chinese shops, the bistros, and the odd about of topless bars and the bouncers hustling in men for a show. With a dreary disposition and encouraging alcohol, I was almost half tempted to take a gander (again, I just crashed my motorcycle).

The Garden of Eden "Club"

Sitting back in my room, I closed the night in heavy reflection of that fateful moment on PCH, trying to find out the cause of my spill. Could it have been gravel, the freshly cut seaside grass that was left along the turn out, a rouge gust of wind, the two bastards on their choppers unexpectedly racing past me as I stopped before making my turn (not cool), or it could of been due to an exhausted rider who had been on the road for 10 hours and was beaten from unrelenting wind. I may never know what was the deciding factor in sending my Daytona into the dirt, and that is OK. I won’t sit here and place the blame on any one thing but myself. Even though there were plenty of external factors it all boiled down to rider error. I’ve always told myself that it is never a matter of if you crash on a motorcycle, it is always a matter of when. I just didn’t want it to be so soon.

Continue traveling with Sven up the California coast:

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.1

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.2

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.4

Saturday May 8: I emerged from my lil bed and breakfast at first light. The fresh sea air lingered in on the soft breeze. It was a welcomed substitute compared to the dry, smog heavy air of Los Angeles. I strolled to the boardwalk to stretch out the body before I set off for a second day of long day. I knew it was going to be an especially demanding day. Big Sur was on the day’s agenda.

I packed up the Triumph and rode over to the local Shell gas station to top off the tank before departing. I was in no mood to repeat my mad dash to a gas station like I had done the day before. I was appalled at the prices at the pump. “You want $3.50 for 91?!? Fine. Would you like my first born while I’m here?” Who am I to complain, I wanted the performance machine. As I was filling up, a BMW R1200 GS rolled into the station. I had to quietly gawk at it. He wasn’t there to fill up, but specifically asked me for directions. I pointed him in the right direction up PCH and he set off on his way. Little did I know, I was going to be running into him again later on.

Looking ahead to a great day

San Simeon is by far one of the best stretches of road I have ever been on, be it car, bicycle, or motorcycle; just perfect. The bluffs and Pacific to my left and the rolling foothills to my right, it was the perfect substitution for morning coffee. No need for Starbucks. I wish I could convey an accurate description of how I felt as I cruised along Sven’s magical stretch of PCH, with the seals sleeping and lounging along their rocky pools, the tall windswept grass pulsing from side to side with the breeze, and this lone black motorcycle along with its lone rider following the coast line. It was a pure sense of surrealism.

Could you ask for a more perfect sight?

Eventually as I began to near the region of Big Sur, the elevation started to climb and the foothills pressed along the coast. I was no long riding along the beaches and bluff, but cliffs shearing off to the rocky waters below. Perfect scenery, until the heavy construction. Not fun for a sportbike, or any motorcycle for that part. As I wound along the cliffs, I noticed a very specific headlight pattern in my mirrors. This headlight configuration was so distinctive it only said one thing: BMW motorcycle. It was the very same silver BMW R1200 GS and red rider I had met back in Cambria.

With the heavy construction going on, the roadway would at times would turn to one lane. CalTrans had set up traffic lights to control the issue. One way would have to wait as oncoming traffic would cross and then the lights would switch when clear. Well me and the BMW came to a stop and waited for the green. Oddly it took longer than expected, so we killed our engines and took a breather. We both complimented each others’ machinery and discussed our travels. Oddly enough we both got to the subject of the new Ducati Multistrada. Quite the random sight to see two motorcyclists parked in the roadway discussing the latest and greatest of Italian motorcycling. For some reason, our red light never turned green. Maybe a bad sensor or the weight of our bikes weren’t tripping it but Mr. BMW decided to go for it. I had to follow or risk sitting there all day. So both of us revved up and ran the red, keeping a vigilant eye out for oncoming traffic. None. The icing on that cake was when we got through the one lane and back to the normal flow of traffic, a police officer had rounded the corner. Mr. BMW dropped his clutch hand and gave it a few flicks saying, “That was a close one.”

I played shadow to Mr. BMW as we entered Big Sur. It was nice to have a companion even though we couldn’t speak to one another. Having a second motorcyclist in the picture always seems to pick up the spirits. I’m not alone enjoying it all.

Mr. BMW eventually went his own way and I continued onwards up through Big Sur.

Big Sur was just as everyone describes it. Breathtaking. Awe inspiring. The only downside I spotted in Big Sur was that it was extremely pretentious. For some reason every male there has to be wanna be Lance Armstrong, with their 10 speeds and oddly form fitting spandex, irregardless of age or physical fitness. Wrong in so many levels.

I decided to grab a bite to eat at the Big Sur Bakery, but I didn’t eat there. Instead, I grabbed a quick sugar fix (Snickers) from the 2 pump Shell station at the location. It also gave me a perfect opportunity to check and re-secure my gear. And what perfect time that was to do so. The  rear straps to my saddle bags had melted from the heat of my exhaust. I expected this to be an issue, but I was hoping that they would hold. I was in a pickle, leaving it unsecured could be disastrous. But how was I going to tie it down? This is where Mr. Hemp saved the day.

Mr. Hemp was cool, calm, collective, young man (probably due to the many tokes of the Ganja, hence Mr. Hemp). Mr. Hemp was gracious enough to check a bin full of random items, and cut off a length of nylon rope. I was luckily able to use it to tie up the rear of my bags. Mr. Hemp had saved the day, and I felt I had to repay him for it. Offering $10 for the rope, then as a tip, me and Mr. Hemp argued in a friendly matter as I tried to convince to take the money. After some gentle persuasion, and a “God bless you and stay safe.” I was back on the road up PCH.

Probably by far my favorite photo

The remainder of Big Sur did not let up in its beauty and eventually spilled into Carmel by the Sea and Monterey Bay. I was let down by the smug elitists of Pebble Beach when I was denied access to experience 17 Mile Drive on my motorcycle. Perturbed and defeated I made my way to the Monterey Bay Cannery Row to some fish and chips with a nice cold beer.

The first half of the day was a complete success. I began to have a great positive outlook on the trip so far. Expecting some light spirit breakers along the way, I was pleasantly surprised at the outcome. Unfortunately, the day would not be ending the in the boisterous mood it had started…

Continue traveling with Sven p the California coast:

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.1

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.3

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.4

Friday May 7: It was a pristine day in Los Angeles. Blue skies, temperature in the 70s, the perfect weather for a motorcycle ride. But where to? The beach? Big Bear? Ortega Highway? No, I had bigger plans. With a long overdue extended weekend, I set my sights for the one and only PCH (Pacific Coast Highway).

The 1, The only

I was on a mission: Get out and see the sights. With the only main objective to cross the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. How I would accomplish that objective was entirely up to me. No rush, take my time, explore the sights, and bask in it all.

Geared up and ready to go. Where, who knows...

With my black beauty, the Triumph Daytona 675, filled with a fresh tank and outfitted with my recently purchased Cortech saddlebags and tank pack, I set off for the first of only a few scheduled stops: the Santa Monica Pier. As the 10 West slimmed down to the CA1 North, you could feel the drop in temperature and the distinctive scent of the Pacific. I was beginning to realize that this trip was going to be something greater than just an extended ride. Exactly what? I wasn’t sure, but the hair standing on the back of my neck said that it was going to be something memorable.

After a quick pit stop at the Santa Monica Pier, I was back on the throttle winding up PCH. Malibu has always been a car show for me. The land of Bentleys, Porsches, and Maybachs; just another day in Malibu. Not today though. For ten or so miles, my British sportbike was accompanied by a rather hip young gentlemen from Oregon and his vintage drop-top Austin Healey. And to top it all, towards the last stretch a brand new Aston Martin DB9 joined in on the British reunion.

Malibu and Santa Barbara were enjoyable as always. It wasn’t until I left from Santa Barbara that I ran into my first bump in the road. The issue could have been averted, but I decided to overlook the idea of topping off my fuel tank after breaking for lunch….oops. Normally my “low fuel” light comes on around 145 miles, and I’ve stretched it as far as 155 miles. Nothing to worry about, except 155 came in the middle of no where and I had no idea when the next gas station was due. I soon found myself on this beautiful stretch of CA1 that wound through some green foothills towards the town of Lompoc. Imagine a coastal hillside with wide sweepers with a lone black sportbike screaming towards a quiet town…but it isn’t the bike that is making all the noise, it is me yelling at myself and coaxing my Daytona 675 to keep going, praying that I don’t sputter out in the middle of nowhere.

I managed to make it to Lompoc free of incident. I rolled into the first gas station and looked in the tank. Bone dry. I was probably riding on fumes. “Never again.” I told myself. Lompoc itself was a cozy military town nestled along Vandenberg AFB.

The coastal views of PCH vanished temporarily as I had to bypass Vandenberg AFB. I actually enjoyed the break in scenery; no more million dollar seaside mansions that I’m not living in. Soon the land and the roads flattened out as I approached the farms of Santa Maria,  so I took it upon myself to really give the Daytona 675 a try. After waiting at a deserted 4-way stop, I had at least 3/4 of a mile stretch all to myself. I cranked down on the throttle and screamed down the roadway, shifting at 13,000 RPMs, peaking at 134 mph before deciding to let up. I’ve gone plenty of fast in my life, but for me to physically be in control of a 134 mph rocket puts a smile on my face every time I revisit that memory. And to top it all off, I know it goes faster.

Around 120 I started screaming like a lil girl

The remainder of the day went uneventful, except for the unrelenting wind. The dinner hour crept in, and I felt it would be a perfect time to call it a day. Now Bren and Mrs. Bren told me that I am not allowed to talk of the magical place where I stayed at for fear that more people may know of it and ruin its specialness and exclusivity. But what I will say is that this lil slice of Heaven is somewhere between San Simeon and San Luis Obispo, and if you happen upon it you will understand why it is a best kept secret.

Day 1 was a success. I couldn’t ask for a better ride. And as I sat at the cliff side beach watching the sun set, I could only ponder as to what was laying ahead. Would I find what I was looking for in San Francisco? Or would it be elsewhere? I knew I wanted to conquer the Golden Gate Bridge, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to be sufficient. I had this strange taste for more. I put the idea on the back burner. I could get to it later, since that was the idea: no commitments, go with the flow.

Continue traveling with Sven up the California coast:

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.2

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.3

The Lonely Travels of the Lone Rider pt.4

Beer is good! Science is good! Beer and science is double good!!

So this is my mission: to apply a sense of order and structure to the often highly subjective forms of beer rating. Now I know taste is subjective, and this is precisely why I am laying out my measures for the world to see. So when you notice I gave Bud Light a 5 and Newcastle Brown Ale a 20 you will be able to identify exactly why I gave such a rating. The rating scale is broken into 5 different categories which have a scale of 1-5, 1 being the lowest. The scores from these 5 categories will then be combined to create a total score, with the highest possible score being 25.

The categories:

1. Taste- Ok if you’re drinking it, it better damn well taste good! Now there are a ton of variables we can evaluate ranging from the beer’s hoppy-ness to it’s fruity or caramel undertones, but for the sake of not sounding like someone so smug they enjoy the smell of their own farts, and since there are so many flavors of beer that it is impossible to fairly compare them based on their individual flavors. This scale will focus on how well the different flavors mix and how pleasant the taste left on your tongue is after the initial swig. For example, Bud Light has a rather bland overall taste that is not complex and leaves that generic “beer” hops flavor on your tongue after drinking it. Given that this taste is not inspiring or interesting, but isn’t necessarily bad or off-putting, Bud Light would receive a 2 out of 5 for this category.

2. Texture- Got to love that body! Yes, this is where we look at how well that beer feels sloshing around in you’re mouth. Here we consider the weight of the beer, its carbonation, and its texture. What we are specifically looking for is a beer that has a balanced body and doesn’t come across so light that it feels like you’re drinking tap water, and not too heavy where it feels like liquid lead in your gut. Now we realize this relies highly on the type of beer (i.e. lager, ale, stout, etc), so when considering this aspect of beer analysis we will focus on comparing the beer to others within its category, but we will not discern between whether the beer is a light beer or not (if you’re determining which beer to drink based off of how it makes your ass look, get off this site). To continue with my Bud light example, Bud Light will be compared with other lagers such as Heineken, Coors/ Light, Miller/ Light, Corona, etc. Since most all lagers have a relatively light body, we will look at how it carries that light frame and, once again Bud light comes up lacking. This poor excuse for a beer has the same weight as a soda and even though that means you can hammer them down in beer pong it leaves you wanting and unsatisfied. In comparison, Heineken is able to balance its light body so that the drinker doesn’t feel too full but still feels like they actually consumed something. So unfortunately Bud Light gets a 2 again for this category.

This is a bad beer body. If you think this is nasty, try to imagine all the nasty I had to go through to find this pic.

3. Appearance- Does it look good naked (try not to apply this to the picture above)? Any creative marketing dude can come up with a fancy label and a cute design, but to tell how a beer really looks you have to strip it down and throw it in a glass. Under this test, we at the Bren and Sven laboratory look at the beer’s head, color, and  clarity. Once again we will compare the beer to others in its own class because we all know those big dark stouts are going to have a much thicker head than the light lagers, and that kind of comparison just isn’t fair. Continuing with the Bud Light example. When this piddly little lager gets thrown into a glass it looks clear with a slight tint of amber and a light fizzy head, therefore in terms of appearance it gets a 3. For a higher ranking, we would like to see a little deeper amber color and a slightly thicker head (That’s what she said!).

4. Aroma- Like wine, different beers will have different smells, and the quality and complexity of a beer’s aroma can make all the difference in how it tastes. What we are looking for as we get a nose full of suds is a rich scent that compliments the beer’s appearance and enhances its taste and texture. If a beer is designed to be light and crisp, the aroma should convey that with a light hoppy smell with fruity or herbal undertones, but if the beer is designed to be  dark and filling it should have strong malty scents with undertones of caramel, tobacco, toffee, or other bolder flavors (sorry, came across as a bit of a smug fart sniffer there, but how else to you describe scents?) . Bud Light for example is designed to be light and “drinkable” so nearly any aroma of beer has been removed from the neutered brew, and all you’re left with is a stale urine smell which you will have to experience again when passing the poor drink about an hour later. So needless to say Bud Light gets a 1 for aroma.

This beer smells like change. Deceitful, unwanted change.

5. User Friendly- Look we all recognize that Guinness is a great beer, but if you’re going to a buddy’s house for the game its not really a beer you want to bring over, thus it is not a very user friendly beer. User friendliness measures the idea of how often and easily a beer can be consumed. If a beer is too strong, heavy, expensive, or limited, it can be awkward and can ruin the bromantic feel of a game night. Settings make all the difference in what kind of beer you want to drink and a beer that scores high in this category is going to be one that works best in most all settings. Though it pains me to say it, this is one category Bud Light does decently in. Bud Light is a beer you will feel OK bringing over to a buddy’s house. It’s relatively cheap, easy to drink (please note that I did not say pleasant to drink), and works well at parties, sufficient to say its got a solid bromance factor to it. As a result of its general mass appeal it deserves a 3.5 in this category. To get a higher score the beer would have to say something about the guy that brings it. If you bring a pack of Heineken to a party everyone knows that that beer is a little more expensive and complex… which as we all know directly reflects on the size of one’s wallet and penis. Bud light just says ” Hey I’m beer, just drink me and don’t think about what else you could be having!”

We want to see the bromance in the beer!

So there you have it. We now have a viable beer rating scale that we can refer to as we journey down this path of inebriation and evaluation. We also now have a bench mark of mediocrity and our first beer review with this scale:

King of FAIL

Beer Name: Bud Light

Beer Type: Lager

Scores:

Taste -2

Texture- 2

Appearance- 3

Aroma- 1

User Friendlyness- 3.5

Total- 11.5 our of 25… this is a FAIL ALE!

Live the Journey-Bren

As a kid we wanted to grow up to do something awesome, like blow stuff up or go really really fast. So now that we have some more experience within the working world we here at the Bren and Sven team would like to impart upon you our knowledge of what we view as the top 5 best jobs.

1. Hosting Top Gear- OK so if your not familiar with this show… Get familiar!!! This has to be the best automotive show on the planet. It’s informative, interesting, and even someone that doesn’t know the difference between a steering wheel and a fly wheel will find it entertaining. So as for the hosts, all they do is drive around in Bugatti’s, participate in odd and interesting challenges where something inevitably gets blown up, and travel the world (yes I’m ignoring the countless hours of preparation and planning that go into the making of each episode… but for a ride in a Bugatti it is totally worth it). On top of that, the hosts aren’t all that special! There not some spruced up metro sexual TV personalities (well maybe Richard Hammond, aka “hamster”, is), their just three blokes who love cars and are funny as hell. So due to the combination of cars, explosives, and lack of six pack abs, they instantly win the top spot for best having the best job ever.

Just three ordinary dudes living extraordinary lives!!!

2.Being The Stig- If you don’t know, The Stig is a tamed racing driver that Top Gear keeps just for test driving all the amazing cars on their show. His job doesn’t rank number one because no one knows who the hell he is, but according to legend he is afraid of trees and sleeps upside down, all we know is he is the Stig. So he is number two because he gets to drive all of these amazing and expensive cars around Top Gears short circuit track. He is wrapped in mystery and most likely a former F1 racer meaning he’s probably loaded and is getting a gratuitous amounts of tail.

3. Hosting Mythbusters- Pardon me, it would appear my nerd is showing! Yes, despite how cool we at the Bren and Sven team think we are with our love of motorcycles, lets be honest, we are bloggers that smoke pipes so there is an overwhelming element of nerd about us. To appeal to this primal nerdyness, we had to give the hosts of Mythbusters a podium finish on our list of best jobs. These guys are living out the geeky dreams of our childhood by messing around with power tools, building random metal contraptions, then blowing the hell out of everything with c4 high explosives, and they get paid to do it!!

It's actually the awkward facial hair we are envious of.

4. Brew master- OK so it is a well established fact that we here like beer!! So it would only fit that a brew master would be amongst our top jobs. Now we love the taste of beer, but aside from basic understanding of the fermentation process, (thanks to the History Channel show: Modern Marvels) and the knowledge of the almighty brews main ingredients, we have yet to unlock the many secrets that go into developing the multitude of flavors and styles that go into brewing beer. The brew master holds within their mind all these marvelous tricks of the trade that lead to producing such a profound, history altering beverage, and that is why we hold these craftsmen in such high standing. Also being a brew master means you get to taste all the beer you want, for free!!!

5. Vintner- For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, a Vintner is the wine industries equivalent of a Brewmeister. Now I know that our slogan states “Bikes, Brews, and bromance” but in all honesty we view “brews” as any alcoholic beverage (Brews just works with the alliteration) so wine fits right into that category. We are steadily discovering the wonders of wine, it’s purported health benefits, and its amazing diversity of flavors and styles, and along our path of discovery we have determined that the individuals who get to create this must a have a pretty sweet job.  First of all, they get to taste wine everyday, second, think of where wineries are located… yeah usually in very temperate climates, on large plots of beautiful land, so their work environment beats the hell out of an office any day.

En Vino Vertias!

Now I know after reading this you are asking, “Hey isn’t this site all about the love of motorcycling, often described with awkwardly gay overtones, so shouldn’t a motorcycling career be on the top five list?” and the answer is yes, we are a motorcycle based website, and no, a motorcycling career should not be on our top five list. Let us explain this logic. First, we don’t need to mention motorcycling because we can’t consider it any form of work, its all fun, all the time. Second, we like to expand our horizons and give credit where credit is due, and trust me these careers deserve their credit!

Live the Journey- Bren