800 riders are flocking to a park in Thousand Oaks CA to memorialize a man most of us never knew, but somehow we caught his spirit.
It’s about 8am on a Thursday and the texts are coming fast and furious.
Where are you?
Where ya at?
I’m north side of lot.
I’m stuck in traffic.
Hope we see you.
We are all rushing through the LA jungle to honor Mike Nosco on a bike ride that takes place on the 3rd of November each year – the day his ride ended.
At 9am, 800 of us take the lane and slowly roll out.
The road is beautiful, lightly traveled, Southern California coastal farmland at it’s absolute best. There is a beauty and peace in the air swirling around the slow procession lead by a fire truck.
I get it.
Mike probably just wanted to relax and go for a spin. This is special country, far from the war torn lands he had traveled to many times.
The route bathes me, it’s cleansing.
This is where it happened. A lonely country road with no shoulder, no place for a good life to end.
But it does.
And we are left to think about our own lives, and the roads we travel and the friends we make and the impact we may or may not leave behind.
Peace be with you Nosco family.