Riding a Bike in L.A

On January 17th, 2013, I decided to ride a bike for the first time in Los Angeles. I rode over 20 miles in the city, starting in North Hollywood and ending near Downton L.A. 

A large percentage of people, including Angelenos, are constantly surprised to hear that L.A. has a functioning subway system. Considering its car-centric ethos and sprawling city boundaries, it comes as a shock that there are thousands of miles of connected commuter tunnels underneath Los Angeles. It wasn't until nearly a decade ago, however, that North Hollywood, separated by 8 miles of San Fernando Valley, became connected to the rest of the city via the subterranean Metro Rail system. Theories abound--from collusion with General Motors to lobbying from the Taxi Union--have sought to explain why L.A. is so miserably behind in speedy and reliable public transportation, considering its reputation as such a future-oriented metropolis.

Despite all the bureaucratic hang-ups that have kept the public trans from becoming the next New York or Paris, the subway works well and runs often; enough so that it is a great ancillary source of transportation, especially for those who enjoy riding bikes. At the moment, the train's carriage is wide and unpopulated, leaving ample room at end-cars for bicycle storage. An eight-minute trip from the end of the Red Line in NoHo takes you straight to the Hollywood Walk-of-Fame, a fun area to mill about on a bike and gawk at the lycra-laden actors dressed up as your favorite superhero or villain. 

I lived in L.A. for a month and a half before I finally got my friend's bike fixed, a solidly-built 1970's Seikoand, and ventured out into the city, an area that most commuters make out to be a "cyclist hellhole". I walked my bike to the shop across the street, filled up both tires, adjusted the seat and the brakes and rode up to the Red Line, a main subway artery only a few blocks from my apartment in NoHo, and quickly jumped on the train to Hollywood.

MY JOURNEY

I end up taking the subway a few more stops further and embarking into Silver Lake, an area with a long stretch of bike lane that runs along Sunset Boulevard. It's a nice, long ride with plenty of shops, restaurants and cute hipster girls walking around in black leotards and floppy black hats. Even in the middle of January, it is warm and sunny. I'm wearing a light thermal outside during wintertime and there are no complaints to be had. I continue, sleeves rolled up, to take Sunset all the way downtown and find myself taking a slight detour into Chinatown, a moderately congested strip of knick-knack shops, fish markets and jewelry stores.

I ride my bike through a mixture of of tourists and locals while an old man plays an Erhu, a two-stringed bowed instrument that is like a folksier violin set upright. I park my bike, walk around, eat some delicious deep-fried shrimp, look in a Chinese book store and then meander into the Jewelry district, a set of semi-identical, brightly-lit shops selling various flashy accoutrements.

It was beginning to get dark, so I hop back on my bike and ride into downtown. Even for rush hour, the streets are wide and never once felt stressful to navigate. One of the great things about riding in L.A. is that no matter what street you end up on, there usually is a fairly wide sidewalk to ride on if the situation ever gets too hairy. Also, at night-time, most streets are virtually empty, so as long as you are properly illuminated, the streets are yours after dusk.

After several blocks, I run into a large crowd of people standing on the sidewalk. I pull over to investigate what they're congregating around, and it turns out to be a DVD of a late-80s Michael Jackson concert, the audio blasted through a music store's heavy-duty P.A. system. I end up watching for a while, finding myself mysteriously wrapped into a very "L.A." moment--people interrupting their daily life for synthetic entertainment. The longer I stay, the more people crowd around, until there were at least an audience of 30, rapt with attention. Some of them even begin attempting to mimic the King of Pop's dance moves on the sidewalk pavement.

I decide to explore inside the store, which still has the DVD music playing, but even louder. Suddenly, the owner shuts off all of the lights and turns on multiple fog-machines and lasers, converting the store into an impromptu dance club; none of the shoppers seem to mind. It feels to me like something the managers did quite often when they were tired of standing behind the counter.

I cycle further into downtown and board the red line back to Hollywood and Highland station. After a 15 minute trip, I hop off and emerge from the subway into a sea of neon lights and milling tourists. Hollywood Boulevard has ersatz diamonds crushed up into the asphalt, lending the street a glittery, supernatural feel amidst the traffic. I end up riding a mile in the wrong direction on the street, but was not worried, as the air was still mild and the mood relaxed. I cruised a mile over to La Brea and rode downhill for another mile to a Comic Book store my friend was performing open-mic stand-up comedy at.

The room in the back of the store was packed with eager comedians chattering, waiting to hear whether or not they were to get selected for the line-up that evening. My friend and her friend did not get picked in the lottery to perform, so they decided to eat food across the street. I went with them for a little bit and then rode 5 miles back to Silver Lake to meet a friend at a bar for Soul Night. During my nighttime riding, I never once felt unsafe or worried about being hit by cars. There are plenty of side streets and although L.A. drivers may speed insanely along the freeways, but they don't seem to make many irrational maneuvers in the calmer areas of town.

I still have many more adventures riding in L.A ahead of me, but so far, I think the city gets a tremendously bad rap for not being a 'biking city' when the weather is agreeable year-round and perfectly navigable in tandem with the public transportation system. I believe that a certain mentality has been in place for too long, that you're 'insane' to even think about biking or that you 'have to have a car' when all it takes is a little bit of courage and ingenuity to get out there and start riding. The city can be your oyster if you subscribe to these thoughts.

The Wind Beneath Your Wheels: Riding a Bike In Chicago

In 2012, I moved to L.A from Chicago (or from L.A. to Chicago, however you look at it), where I sold my car and cycling was my primary mode of transportation. This is a story about riding my bike in Chicago. The second part describing my time spent in L.A. will be up next week.

During my first few months in the Windy City, I was fortunate enough to have several seasoned bike veterans, knuckle-deep in the grittiness of the streets, show me the proper routes and appropriate level of aggression for navigating a city that had not quite yet become comfortable with cyclists. There I learned how to ride alongside cars to the point that I felt like a sidecar--zooming around in tight corridors and developing a sixth sense for any imminent danger in my environment, hooked on the inside and avoiding potholes and rats. This developed into a survivalist mechanism still ingrained in my mind today. Riding a huge city like Chicago is like riding through a condensed version of North America, with its diverse array of neighborhoods and varying levels of bike-friendliness abound. It was a challenge coming from growing up and riding bikes in Portland, OR, a city renowned for its "bikes first" attitude and overall environmentally-conscious zeitgeist.

The longer I stayed in Chicago, the more people rode on; a study showed a year after I had lived there the number of cycling commuters had increased a staggering 150%. More bike lanes, protected and shared, meant more major arteries via the downtown plunge of Kinzie and the moderately traffic-heavy Kedzie in Logan Square. Through beads of sweat and blurred vision in the sweltering summer of '12 you could visually see the dramatic increase in people who were willing to give this 'crazy' bike thing a shot. No statistics were required to get the idea that Chicago was moving, with both wheels slowly turning, towards a stronger vision of a new Cycletopia.

The starry-eyedness of our City's vision took advantage of multiple facets of its contours. The complete flatness of the city in contrast to most other landscapes is huge, along with the denseness of space and fairly liberal attitude towards back-street stop signs. Riding your bike in Chicago felt at once liberating and rebellious, as if you were cilia within an organism which got to bypass the bulkier mytochondria. One never had to deal with the byzantine parking rules (enforced by a 3rd-party organization since Chicago had privatized its street parking many years ago) and one was pretty much free to navigate the city however you wanted as long as you didn't crash into anything. I absolutely loved it, and scarcely used public transportation, except during extreme weather or when accompanying someone who didn't deem it safe or logical to ride bikes in the city.

All of it paid off, though. In 2012, Chicago was named the 6th most bike-friendly city in America, a metric that takes into account a myriad of metric-unfriendly factors--public attitude towards cars, how easily cyclists and traffic co-exist on the roads and overall tone of the hearts of the populace. Chicago was beat out by the two other reigning heavyweights that year--Portland, Oregon and Minneapolis made their presence known--yet it had me incredibly proud to have lived in a city for three years through such a major milestone. 

Our achievements were priding, but there can still be shadows cast underneath the bridges and throughout the sodium-lit alleyways. The number one major downside to riding your bike in Chicago, as public word of mouth presumes, is that the weather there is REALLY rough for about one-third of the year. It's really hard to motivate yourself to go anywhere during the winter months, and if you chose to, be prepared to spend about 20 minutes bundling up for extreme cold and harsh, spiraling winds. I wore a ski mask and goggles during most of February, the fog of my breath obstructing my lenses as cars zoomed around me. Fortunately, I survived the Winter infirmary by being extremely careful and tactician-like in my route-chosing--taking back streets, riding slowly and trying not to get knocked off my bike in extreme blasts wind.

But, a lighter side exists to any city, and during the other 66% of the year, the riding is sweet as candy, although that candy is occasionally coupled with an unusual sewage smell that permeates certain pockets of the city during muggier weather. As gross as that sounds, it is a small price to pay to be able to access a vibrant, thriving city with a virtually endless supply of places and friends within a short distance that can hold you to a spot that beats at the steady rhythm of life.

MY WEEK IN REVIEW

Well to start off, I ending up making this slice of a screenshot here a few days ago. Doesn't really tell you much. Maybe an excerpt from an .epub?

Est. Jan. 14, Sometime in Morning

My grandmother right now is asking me why don't I take off the italics key.

This seems to be pictures of the sun over here. And then here is the secret to happiness 

Just try and read this. It's really tiny and it will make your Google eyeballs shrink.

I'm writing a Children's Book for this young lady.

Here is another screenshot of Facebook. Really takes you back, doesn't it!

Anyway, here's a final ScreenSlice™. First person to guess what it's from wins a lotto ticket!

伊豆テディベア・ミュージアム展示棟２階

にて、「スージー・ズーのいつまでもともだち」展を絶賛開催中です。 絵本の中から飛び出したウィッツィーやブーフ、なかまたちに会いにきてくださいね。Fin