Where’s Jose? - 007

I had a friend who impacted my life back in my late teens. We bonded over motorcycles and an occasional mountain bike ride. He was a prominent DJ in our area, known for hosting underground events that I never got the chance to attend. I remember seeing his flyers on Facebook with his DJ name plastered at the top, “DJ Safarii”. Jose was from Camden, too, but his outlook on life was different; it was refreshingly positive. He rode bikes, he snowboarded; stuff you didn’t really see inner-city kids doing. Honestly, most of us thought he was a little weird. But in truth, we were the ones missing out on something bigger.

One day, while talking with some friends, someone asked, “Where’s Jose?” Another replied, “You didn’t hear? He moved to the mountains.” In my head, I thought, Who does that? At the time, I was deeply rooted in South Jersey with working in the family business, and surrounded by everything I knew. But Jose? He left.

Over the years, I caught glimpses of his life on social media. He had a family now, kids, and a wife. I’d see photos of that classic Jose stare, that one that looks right through you.

Jose was gone, but life had moved so fast, I lost touch. Thankfully, his younger brother Kevin stayed close. Kevin is just as awesome in his own way. Kevin kept pouring nature and adventure into our lives. I’m grateful for that.

Fast-forward to last year—I felt called back into mountain biking. I sold my old 2012 Scott 29 hardtail and bought a full-suspension Canyon. The crew reunited, plus some new faces. In September 2024, we took a road trip up to Vermont to shred the legendary Kingdom Trails. I had such a blast, I turned to Kevin and asked, “What’s the next trip?” He said one word: “Pisgah.” I thought, What’s Pisgah?

Turns out, Jose moved to Pisgah, North Carolina. He has been there for 12 years. He settled into this two-story cabin—part cinderblock, part wood. Getting up to the property requires either 4x4 or sheer determination. If you floored it hard enough, the gravel would explode under your tires. At the top, there was a clearing with a few bikes casually laid against a shed. In Jersey? Those bikes would’ve been stolen in minutes.

Omar, Andre, and I made the 10-hour drive down. Kevin and Melvin came in another car. We got there first. Jose was packing supplies into his work van when we pulled in. He embraced each of us as if no time had passed. But it had.
He looked the same, he was still slim, but now with grey in his beard and a little less hair up top (he’s 40 now, after all). “My house is your house,” he said. “Relax. I’ll be right back.” Before heading out to work, he showed us around the place, giving us a glimpse into why he left. He never quite finished that story.

Jose’s house felt…alive. It had this amber glow, the scent of wood lingering in every corner, and little personal touches throughout. It felt like home.

That weekend was unforgettable. We rode hard and laughed harder. Jose was patient, full of encouragement, and radiated kindness. He poured so much into us. I don’t even know how to describe it, he just made you believe you could climb any mountain in Pisgah.

There were so many gems he shared. Stuff I wish I could recall word for word. But before it all fades, I had to write this down. Because people like Jose leave a mark.