Just Above My Head: Our Crucible
Part 5 of 5: The End
Book Five: The Gates of Hell
“I know my robe’s going to fit me well,
I tried it on at the gates of hell” (traditional)
The End.
Before moving forward, I will preface this by explaining that even as I try my best, my words are incapable of capturing what these fourteen hours did. Everything that could have gone wrong, did, things I placed high value to prepare for did not materialize, and for long stretches of this trip I was left alone to tread forward against a seeming infinity. Always in my life, in physical realms, when all hope is lost I would be able to hold onto some semblance of possibility through the idea that someone I know in my life has or can do the physical trial I put forward. That was not possible for me to do here. Every rotation of that pedal saw me setting a new standard in my mind and life. And I would trade nothing to have had it any other way. I am a better man as a result of these one hundred and thirty six miles. Against the wall through the imposition of less than two hours of sleep, “a months worth of rain” falling in one day to underscore the majority of the ride, the downfall of my running mate, watching and hearing my son suffer and shiver through the rain, a head on collision, fatigue, pain, suffering–did nothing to stop me from my arrival at the lighthouse. Who will march forward when the smoke clears? A man, for his son.
The Night Before
Preparation for the ride was seemingly perfect. Eric and I purchased his bike at Jay’s Cycle Center in Westfield, where I bought mine and the same bike that endured everything I had thrown at it the last couple weeks of preparation. Foodshopping saw a symbiotic list of Alcides and Eric’s food for the ride (cheese sticks, pepperoni slices, gummy bears). The hydration material and another secret material was purchased at a GNC, and with everything wrapped up on our list, we went to go watch the new Alien movie–which I almost died at quietly because I didn’t have a drink and tried to swallow a Shilajit pill and it got stuck in my throat. I tried so hard for it to get down, but then I started choking silently and had to run to the bathroom five minutes in to drink faucet water to get the pill down (which a random man watched me do, and enjoyed watching me do). I lived and the movie was worth it, because the best way for me to relax is watching a nine foot tall Alien abomination tearing apart an (I guess?) friendly Android.
Lily had the brilliant idea of cutting a seat pad into a shape small enough to fit in the baby chair while also allowing him to be comfortable when all strapped in. The umbrella was set to his chair in case of the forecasted rain, tire lever, and accompanying tools to repair a flat, and hair ties supplied to tie his and my favorite wrestlers on the handles of my bike. Eric was set with the cooler tied to his bike, and my brother Wamidh offered up a late night visit to watch some jiu-jitsu and offer his perspective and prayers for our impending trial.
Cactus Jack and The Undertaker—if you know us, you know who is who.
The Drive
Finishing touches. City Hall, NYC. Early Morning.
The drive into City Hall offered enough premonitions of what was to come through the torrential downpour that was set to clear fully by seven in the morning–about two hours from the moment I was currently in. Sleep came at about 1:45AM, and the alarm rang at 3:30AM, and I was watching the rain insist on us as we approached Manhattan’s City Hall. A side street became our landing pad as we removed both bicycles, set-up, mentally checked-in, and looked towards a moon being blitzed by the rainfall. Lily said her goodbyes to the boys and we set on towards the Brooklyn bridge in the pouring rain.
Hurry down,
Sunshine,
See what tomorrow brings.
The sun went down,
Tomorrow brought us
Rain.
(traditional)
***this quote was chosen for part five, five weeks ago, when I planned this series. Unbelievable premonition***
Brooklyn and Queens (Miles 0-19)
Last picture before official departure. The rain made it tough, already, to capture a clear shot.
The rain quickly revealed itself as a main antagonist as we crossed over the Brooklyn bridge, folding Alcides' umbrella twice until he vetoed my third attempt to fix it and place it back in his hand. He was still so new given it was the four in the morning version of my little guy, so he handled the rain with aplomb. First up was my stomping grounds, a smattering of everything from the Barclays Center, crushing our way through Prospect Heights, Crown Heights, Brownsville all the way through to the Queens Casino.
East New York. 5:59AM.
Particularly difficult to see in this area was the shape most of these so familiar streets are in. Although Alcides cried incessantly, the chorus of sirens, the perpetually dodged glass as a result of several freshly smashed out windows, and groups of people dragging items through 5AM streets did the dual job of hurting me and having me understand how lucky I am that this ride is my “HARD”. That my son gets to cry at morning rain on the back of my bike as a result of choosing this, and not at difficulty at the hands of hardship in these same streets. I, my family, have come a very long way, and we leave Brooklyn with more reasons to move harder.
The only way out, is through.
Scrambling for my phone is difficult with the big baby behind me and the rain terrorizing anything unshielded, I managed to sneak a text through to Lily for a change of clothes and change of game plan for Alcides. First change of clothes into a poncho and two layers is carried out in a home depot parking lot in Queens, and his battles against being placed back in the seat see tears from both mom and son, but one goal and one day to make this happen–we keep it happening. Eric and I eat three pickles each, crush an Uncrustable, and shoot into his stomping grounds of Queens, New York. We pounded through Rockaway Boulevard, and the rain that was forecasted to first stop at six, then, seven, only fell harder on us as we tore through Queens. Nostalgia is over for now, and we officially enter Long Island for what is to come.
Queens Get the Money! Shout Out Pastor Norman. Eric’s Final Happy Moment Pictured Above.
Uncle Eric Taps Out and Alcides is Rained Out (Miles 19-38)
Alcides, early moments of being stunned by the rain.
We stop as soon as we enter Valley Stream off of Merrick Road, and Eric begins showing clear signs of physical and mental failure. We stopped before the turn due to momentary suppression and this understanding that this turn would lead to over two hours of driving down one street, but watching Eric nearly throw up, speak about his legs, and verbally acknowledging difficulty only two hours in was not good. What I have learned so far in my short preparation and relatively short life, is that the food, the water, the sudden lack of rain–all of these factors will not fully control or manipulate anything. Not one of these will act as a panacea to the damage creeping up as they can absolutely control NOTHING, but WILL partially influence EVERYTHING. Knowing this, I had no response to his acquiescence to fatigue, and our break was cut short as it suddenly began raining and we hit the road.
Along this road, I hit my first mental wall and despite the forecasted weather dealing out rain to stop thirty minutes before, the rain was punishing all three of us. I stopped and asked Eric if it was worth continuing or if we should wait under a building for the rain to stop. With no hesitation he directed to continue moving forward, and that declaration of resolve from him was more than enough for me to renew my will. Shortly after, even just our ten to twelve mile per hour pace had Alcides ask me multiple times “where Uncle Eric went”, with my response being “he did not quit”. The next two hours saw us reaching further and further down Sunrise Highway, which has seen more scenic days as the gray downpour was doing its best to force us to quit.
Second outfit soaked all the way through, thousand mile stare, still over an hour and thirty minutes away from our first break—discomfort and suffering.
Every time the rain ceases and begins again, Alcides would scream “AGAIN?!?”, and also began to declare his being “cold”, which was my trigger to push harder and reach my parents in Lindenhurst. Lily grabbed Alcides, who was shivering, showered, changed, and declared him rained out for now. The strongest person that I know, my father, saw my face and general disposition and suggested that this is not the day for this, and his neighbor–a former avid cyclist in Long Island (shout out Mr. Ralph)–began trying to talk me out of doing it today. The rain, the fatigue, his experience attempting the Montauk Point ride several times to only fail each time on nicer days, and his own warning of how bad the storm will be getting. At this point, Eric rolled up, and announced his withdrawal from the ride, citing his complete physical collapse. In what was supposed to be our first break, and prospectively a break from the sun, I lost my running mate who was loaded with the drinks and food, and my reason why lay down recovering from nearly forty miles in the rain. I changed everything except shoes (brought no backup), and got back on with a little under one hundred miles left to go.
Alcides I, Alcides II, and Eric. Ninety-Eight Miles Remain.
Again, not a point in which I could tell myself how tough I am, all of the physical milestones pounced on, all of the times a referee has raised my hand–none of it matters when it hasn’t happened in a situation in which breathing is difficult, seeing is hard, and there are no people and no music available to deter me from what is coming for one hundred more miles.
All examples of how serious the storm was that we rode through the majority of this ride. Ignoring the looks we were getting throughout the first four to five hours was the toughest part in suppressing how rough this actually was.
Lindenhurst to Big Duckyville (Miles 38-79)
The Big Duck. Flanders, NY.
The rain gave me some grace and I hit the ground hard after the twenty minute break, and it was all a blur until a side street whipped me right into the woods. A little sign that said Southards Pond was the only directive available in front of me and this route was particularly rough. Although I was definitely in an otherwise beautiful area, it was hard to appreciate when the majority of the ground was pools of mud, pools that found their way inside my shoes with every rotation taken. The woods broke away to a clear sky that acted as a conduit to the next area of woods–Belmont Lake State Park–that saw more would-be scenic riding before I spilled out onto Deer Park avenue. Slamming through the next two hours saw the return of rain and speeds averaging fifteen miles per hour which was principally because I acknowledged that at some point, Alcides would be back on the bike. I had my name screamed at me by a passing car, and it was my childhood friend and his fiancee who caught up to shower me with some much needed support, drink, and food and words of encouragement that would carry me through the next hour. Kristina was shocked at the idea of doing this without music and I described it as “a really ugly, bad dream in which I have a DWI and I’m riding my bike to work but my job is twelve hours away”.
Forcing a smile beside Dimitri amidst straight up (and further unrelenting) chaos.
The Accident
Riding through Brentwood and Central Islip, for anyone that knows Long Island, sucks. What happened next nearly brought an end to my day (life?) on Suffolk Avenue. I was doing my best in the rain to gun right through these two towns in particular because I hate them so much, and I was brought to a point in Suffolk Avenue that opens to its full potential as a pretty sizable highway. I see a cyclist approaching me, probably around forty years old, bigger than me. He rides in the direction of incoming traffic, including myself, and I signal right. He signals right. I signal left, he signals left. I turn right, he turns right, and I quickly realize that at around fifteen miles per hour to his probably twelve to thirteen, we would collide. I instinctively tuck my chin, grit my teeth, and dip my body low and close my eyes the moment we crash. All I heard was my own scream and a sudden flash before I saw my hands pushing off of the floor. I first breathe and swallow blood and first thought I was swallowing dirt, but quickly realized it was pieces of my teeth. I immediately walked up on the guy who got catapulted from his bike to the hood of the car that was parked near our colliding spot. Originally walking over to pick him up and see if he was okay, the first words out of his mouth were “man you need to learn how to signal”, which was infuriating because…
1: I make a point, to the degree that it is almost silly, to oversignal when I’m riding even around my home town.
2: HE was the one driving straight into incoming traffic.
As soon as he said that, I lost my mind, and left him with “yeah, this could be much worse for you”. Lily rolled up (and apparently had been there since I picked myself up), and I immediately told her to go, and waved off the lady on the front of her lawn who watched all of it happen. I heard her questioning of “if I’m okay”, and I picked my bike up, quickly realizing the handle was turned completely out of alignment, squeezed the front wheel between my knees and screamed audibly as I torqued the handle back in place. To the questions this audience will inevitably have of why I didn’t wait and see what was going to happen, if anyone grew up in a not-so-nice area (that’s the euphemism, right?) like I did, you’ll know that how that ends, even if it wasn’t my fault, is a car rolling up on me in about five to ten minutes that will roll their window down and say “hey, did you hit someone with your bike up that road”, and the moment I look up will be met with me having less pieces of teeth than I did at the moment. Down the road at 20+ MPH, WE OUT.
Look to the shoes (or lack of them) for the truth.
I caught up with Lily about eighty-eight miles in, and was blessed with a change of clothes, a turkey sandwich, and a much needed rest from gunning it for the last eight-plus hours. Alcides was having the absolute time of his life playing Kirby on his Switch, and not aware in any capacity of what was happening until he saw my bloodied face (to which he was not concerned, but actually made fun of me). I was admittedly pretty devastated at this moment with so much of this ride being drowned in rain–eight hours of it on and off torrential rain–a shocking collision, Eric dropping out, and my son’s absence which made me feel as if I already failed even if it was due to the weather. As we walked out to our third break in Flanders, at the Big Duck, I felt my mind stuck on everything going wrong, especially the perpetual reminder of my one thousand times over water-filled shoes. Lily proposed that I take off my socks–which revealed feet that looked like I had trench foot–and not put my shoes back on as we wandered around the duck.
Destined to be ducks.
I let them go first as I closed my eyes a bit, then prepared to walk and convince myself my legs were not fatigued. Approaching Lily and Alcides, I overheard them playing “Mario Kart”, both of them throwing imaginary banana peels at each other and Alcides screaming for me to join.
Right there, I knew I would finish. This was confirmed three different ways.
The original. April, 2019. Reaching this point gave me what I needed to win.
One, I was suffering. A life in combat sports and just living in conditions that I did have you separate things when the situation calls for it. I was experiencing eight hours of discomfort, and not much pain save for the collision which I was not feeling yet–but the broken teeth and probable semi-concussion would surface but not today (would surface in a very stupid decision to do jiu-jitsu the next day, my head was not okay). Not much pain. I began to feel happy. Suffering is what is happening in your brain when you respond to the eight hours of horror. Pain is your machine alerting you of an immediate problem that probably–at least as it would in this context–cause dysfunction, suffering is a conversation you have with yourself saying that this eight hours of misery is wrong. People suffer without even being in pain, but the more important distinction here is that there can even be pain without suffering, so I had to make my choice. I reached for the idea that there is no pain. Because there was none.
Two, my preparation called for this. Almost nothing went as planned, but what I did know given my lack of cycling experience is that the training would result in me being able to hold riding position infinitely, and it would not be quick but my tank would boulder through the entire island intact regardless of what got thrown at it. Spine was perfect at this point, no neck pain. A lot of the ride was spent dumping my weight into my wrists out of fatigue and all of the direct wrist work paid major dividends, and my legs were in prime position to carry me directly into the Atlantic Ocean. Again, I wasn’t going for a record breaking time, I aimed to build an indestructible vessel in which to undertake this challenge. LET’S DO THIS.
Three, I am looking at my reason why, in front of the big duck that has housed some of my favorite memories, saw our first visit with Alcides in his mama’s belly, and is representative of so many of the people that I love so dearly in this world. Even at the times that I crack and I begin to suffer, my reason for suffering is great, and I KNOW I AM WILLING TO SUFFER IN THE FACE OF UNCHANGING/UNRELENTING DISCOMFORT FOR THIS. LET’S GET SOME.
Alcides Returns: Bridgehampton to Montauk (109-126)
HE’S BACK! Growing anxious, but with no idea of how close we actually are now!
As Alcides reached the precipice of his consciousness and was ready to spill into a spell of probably the longest nap of the day, the decision was made to strap him up for the rest of the ride. At this point, I knew that if I dismounted at all, I probably would not be able to get back on, and I only trusted in my training as operator of this trip. Although I acknowledge possible defeat at dismount, I know that over one hundred miles in, my ability to maintain the integrity of the tank I have built as pain, suffering, fatigue, radical collision, incline one hundred miles in–all of this piling up has done nothing to stop me from dragging forward. Especially with only about twenty miles left, this is nothing to me.
Helmet hair, and banged up from the collision in C.I. Could be worse.
Lily straps him up, he eats two cheese sticks, and falls asleep before the second.
The longest and most opportune nap. Montauk. Creeping up.
The sun is shining, everyone is crawling all over both sides of the road attached to bikes, surfboards–we are nearly there.
The End (126-136.5)
The wind stood as one final attempt to discourage us from reaching our destiny, and it did so deceptively and invited suffering as the path down looked more than infinite.
Montauk materializes.
The pine trees and general woods cushioned by sand beside the road was enough, though, for me to know how close we were, so even though I was held back to a top speed of around twelve miles per hour, I knew we were there.
Sand and trees beginning to converge.
Alcides woke to declare that he saw the first sign for the lighthouse–”THERE IT IS!”.
A quiet conglomerate of the best things Long Island has to offer, and a tangible promise that we are so close.
Ten miles. Of the one hundred and thirty-six, that is what we had left. What I did not know was the total accumulation of incline as the final ten miles are just spans of brutal hills. Those seemingly innocuous final ten miles made me pay with my soul. Alcides was finally mounting with excitement, and remembering that over thirteen hours ago he was excited again, and probably thinking that he was going to be able to see this lighthouse shortly–the kid earned the bike. And my responsibility was simply to beat these hills. We were so high at one of the points that there were crowds of cars parked and emptying into the overlooks, which I so desperately wanted to stop at but time was pressing us. The lighthouse itself closed at six-thirty, and we were dangerously close to that.
Upon ascending to the top of the final hill, I felt my body giving way to “the executioner” from the Overlook trail, and two cyclists heading the other way engaged with me. They began by asking me how hard it was to come up to that hill with Alcides in the back, and I usually don’t entertain conversations during difficult things, but my reaction was just to burst out laughing. The second rider broke out into laughter because of how insane that probably looked, and I told him where we began, fourteen hours before. He asked if the “Century Ride” was today, and I just told him that this ride was just for him and I. His face in this moment, his partner’s face, the sun, Alcides’ quiet demeanor, and the backdrop of the sky and the road behind so steep that it gave me dizzying chills live forever in my mind, and the rider left me with, “unbelievable, get down there and go grab that cold one”.
Shortly after the cyclist encounter, the apex of the final hill. Every top of a rolling hill saw animal overlooks, campgrounds, and parks. I tried my best to not actually look behind me because I lose it very quickly when dealing with heights. I didn’t see what this picture actually looked like until now. It would have, indeed, unsteadied me.
Through that encounter, I was reminded of the cold truth that we will never fully be understanding of what is happening around us, who is carrying what, and what they are shouldering. You can’t choose who or what you know of the people outside of yourself. There is no omnipotent wave of ability anyone possesses that can appropriately vet this, and while I have been hurt in situations in which I have given myself fully to a community, person, organization–it does not change the idea that we need to take care of each other. It is an ever-living reminder to take care. Just that. You need to take care. I think this is why Wildlife exists. To combat these meretricious organizations or people that are no longer faceless, but exist with a multitude of faces, backing people up into corners and convincing the lesser knowing population that is just trying to get their health and time back that their way is the way. And it is wildly easy to see when you know people who need strength in their life.
Years before Wildlife, years before the baby, up and down the LIRR with the perpetual years-long talks of “one day we’ll just take this straight to Montauk”. 2016.
Whenever I drown in the work, I remember my first couple of students that were single mothers living in a basement apartment with one to two kids with no extra money to pay a trainer, go to a gym, or if they could afford a gym, who can afford paying a babysitter each time you need to train to see a desired effect? Just as I did with this trip, as the final hill approached, I prepared for this with some kettlebells, the road, and my mind. People can and should know that they are capable of revolutionizing their strength with a two dollar mat and some plastic kettlebells from TJMAXX (why does that store have two X’s in the name?). As I pulled away from the cyclists’, we dove down into the final hill.
A stunning realization, coming down the final hill. The weight of these directives hit much harder when you actually did come down from New York City, fourteen hours prior.
The way the lighthouse commanded the worlds’ focus, suddenly, as a result of the speed coming downhill and how high the woods were surrounding the path. The Lighthouse emerged, emerged, and
e m e r g e d
until it cracked the sky. That’s the best I could do and cannot/will not sit here for hours attempting to convey how beautiful this promise being fulfilled felt in what felt like a kaleidoscopic hallucination.
Life-Defining.
We pulled into the parking lot. We were done. The rush to get to the lighthouse was on, and as I unbuckled Alcides the weight of the brutal path to this point broke me completely. I sobbed through telling Alcides that I was so proud to be his Dada, and how lucky I was for him to let me spend this much time with him. We are always joking, and his face fell so gentle and vivid like the way it looked the first time he took steps, and his little face articulated and reciprocated the pride and gravity of the moment.
When the smoke clears.
I am terrified of heights, and the last time we were here, I backed out as soon as I saw the stairs. He told me to be brave, I was brave (brave meaning slightly crouched holding the step in front of me and the bordering wall the entire time). Climbing the one hundred and thirty-seven steps to the top was me paying him forward for all of the rain, and the pleasant surprise of my quadriceps convulsing and giving out on the way up, multiple times, was the first emblem of what we just did. We made it to the top of a structure I have dreamed of being atop for the majority of my life, and we were greeted by the gentleman telling us that it is never lit when people are on it, but we were so late that the light was operating. We got Alcides to look up into the light, and no one else could fit up there, so he took the phone and did his best to take a picture of himself. I treasure this picture and what it represents, more than anything. The literal lights of my life.
A picture I will keep close for all of time. The light of my childhood, what dreams could not even visualize, and my son taking his own picture in the aftermath of stuffing himself into the attic at the top of the 100+ foot lighthouse whose light was currently operating. Unbelievable.
We saw only one stop on the way home, where I had three lobster rolls, a soup, and Shirley Temples (XXX), and Alcides had exactly one (1) nibble of his burger. At this point, I was crashing hard and paying the price for the one hour of sleep the night before. The rain returned with a military vengeance on the way home, and my periodic sleep would end with my (probably hilarious) screams as the rain would suddenly strike the windshield with such pure violence that it ripped me out of concussive sleep.
Luckily snapped one shot of the rain’s assault, flooding Route 110 and forcing us to redirect multiple times on the way home.
Lily, with all of the driving she did already from 4:30AM to, ultimately, 12AM, managed what became an even more serious storm than earlier that threatened to strand us multiple times, but luckily we pulled up to Jersey intact.
Aftermath
My choice to specialize in not having a specialty paid the most dividends before, in, and post-ride. Not only through soldiering it and ensuring a strong operation, but returning payments on recovery. This must be explored, and will be in the coming year, as I will focus on my strength beyond the mat, and see what simplifying my work and training as much as possible with my friends will do for the quality of my life. There is so much value in experiencing these trials together, and the only shame is that I am not financially ready yet to build a gym to make “training with my friends” a stable reality.
Outcomes in life are frustratingly complex, and if you come apart at the “bayonet’s gleam”, it will never matter how many push-ups, 6 minute miles, or Max Effort bench presses you can do, you will go away.
Jiu-Jitsu is a true linchpin and control in which to test my physical and mental variability/preparedness. It is not for everyone, but it is what works for me. Always coming forward.
I learned that. I know who I am for my family now more than ever, and I am so excited to endeavor into being a kindergartner’s dad and know that that will probably be way harder than what I did on Sunday, and much more important.
The morning came and probably great for the sake of proving a point but not great for my body, a call came at 11:30. A students’ family was moving cross country for good, and there were several heavy items remaining that stood in the way between New Jersey and a better life.
Our Champion.
My body protested, but damn it, there’s the mind, the mind: A capability to respond with seemingly infinite depth and breadth. First, you are blessed with an able body, then your aerobic work will back up the strength you want, then the strength you build does the same for your heart, then the tough capacity work and miles put in build your mettle and grit, and all of this results in your ability to answer the call, no matter what condition you are in.
Are you who you say you are?
I packed the laundry, the presents, and proceeded to spend the next few hours unloading dressers, tables, and a refrigerator from the second floor down to the moving truck that housed the minerals of a new life for this beautiful family that I had the pleasure of educating, coaching, laughing, crying, and helping raise my son with for the better part of the last half a decade. After bringing Alcides to gymnastics and fulfilling my teaching obligation at Method Jiu-Jitsu, I was finally able to come home and allow myself to collapse, fully.
David Aleman, Iraq. 2004. Regardless of the damage, the enclosing threat, the call is answered. Few men can say the same. Infinitely a more difficult life than I will have ever known. Who will march forward?
As our path to the lighthouse ended, and we looked into the ocean, we all realized that the pain and suffering of today would be washed away by the stories those waves brought us as they beat us back way past where the counties meet. Below is the next chapter of our lives beginning, and a boy pictured with the spoils of the battle that he endured on Sunday, August 18th, 2024. Alcidito–I am so, so proud to be your Dada. Lily–I am so proud to be the person you poured your dreams into. I hope Sunday was a reminder that your choice will never prove to be the wrong one, the ends of the earth. All the way.
The spoils of battle. Unquestionably, my little man earned it.
Thank you to Black Belt Grant, Uncle Chris, Big Dog Joey Meola, Big Dog Joey Mud, Josh the Midwest Monster, and the Anonymouses (misses?).
“Who threw up the white flag when the bodies grew too great?
Felt the harsh grip of failure, and sent it sailing high.
What happened to the code of honor we used to entrust?
Ideas once carved in stone, have now turned to dust.
Where is the oath we swore our allegiance to? Convictions cheapened by all.
The noise these boys make, while dressed like men.
When is the pure disgust, going to rear its ugly head?
No more room here for the bastard thieves who steal hearts, and disappear.
No room for those, who come apart at the bayonet's gleam.
So please show me, someone who won't retreat, someone who's gonna stay frosty.
When the cannons and guns begin to erupt;
someone, as they are painted.
With Blood and guts.
Show me.
Show me someone.
Who Will March Forward When The Smoke Clears?”
Foundation
Atlanta XXX
2006-2019