With a little Quicktime trial & error I figured out how to include the footage of two perspectives in one file, so now for something completely different… For the first time I documented a bike ride (involving the CicLAvia of October 18, 2015, that sequed into Mr. Rollers’ Chinatown meetup and birthday ride) with cameras simultaneously mounted to the handlebars and the seatpost, resulting in this 5-minute hyperlapsed perspective on the 105 minutes recorded of the trip that’s probably guaranteed to induce vomiting or seizures or both.

Here’s a 5-minute hyperlapsed version of the roughly 18-mile, 105-minute casual bike ride I did Labor Day morning that went from Silver Lake and back via Atwater Village, the Los Angeles River Bikeway, Boyle Heights, the Sixth Street Bridge, the Scrap Metal District  and back up Central Avenue across downtown and through Echo Park:

farewellWith so many of my Los Angeles touchstones lost to progress and reinvention, in this city a landmark means almost always having to say goodbye — and that’s proven to be the case for the cherished Sixth Street Viaduct.

Only it’s not being demolished for some over-development. Instead it’s shortly scheduled to be brought down and be replaced by a modernized version because the bridge has long been ravaged internally by a concrete “cancer” that has slowly eaten away at it and compromised its structural integrity beyond saving. There’s something like a 70% chance it will fall in the event of a major seismic event.

It’s rather ironic that in a city that so often destroys itself, the bridge was a bit of a victim of its location. The on-site plant supplying the concrete during the bridge’s construction in 1932 produced a product with a high alkali content that reacted adversely with the area aggregate introduced to it. In a way it was doomed from the start.

And now the end is nigh. Work has already begun at various locations at and around ground level, but it’s been a bit of an unknown when the bridge itself is to be closed and dismantled. As such, on yesterday morning’s bike ride I specifically paid the beloved bridge a visit — perhaps for the last time — and paid my respects.

titoHaving never been to Tito’s via automobile (nor ever planning to), should I find myself attending tomorrow’s CicLAvia and pedaling past it with anything resembling an appetite + a desire for their style/version/class of tacos, I’m of a mind not to continue my unintentional life-long boycott of the place and instead ignore its owner’s stupidity and order up something just to make the ironic point that despite having motored past it scores of times throughout my loooong life, it took a CAR-FREE event they hate to get me to patronize the place.

Given my (increasingly distant) past of pedaling 6,000 miles-plus a year, I  had a totally doable resolution for 2015 last January: bike 2,015 miles. As of today I’ve logged… 38.39 miles. To put that in perspective, the last time I placed ass to saddle was January 6.

That few number of miles and that amount of time between rides is essentially criminal to me. To call it embarrassing is an understatement, but it’s not without a reason.

Fast-backward with me to December 2012. I was hip deep in my academy training Rio Hondo College. Lean and mean. Under 200 pounds. Going on four mile runs like they were walks around the block. At the same time the Glendale Trail Patrol for which I’d volunteered was about to have its official debut so I added in mountain biking to the physical activity equation via a series of practice rides in the Verdugos. I was thrilling myself making it all the way up the Brand Motorway from Brand Park without stopping.

SciaticaIt was at some point then that I tweaked my sciatic nerve, and I’m guessing it was from the sudden uptick of hard trail riding I was doing on a bike I hadn’t been on in awhile and whose geometry was far different from my street bike — and maybe aided by all the running, too. At least that’s the best explanation I could come up with.

Here’s the thing though, I didn’t notice the tweak until returning to the academy after a holiday break and getting back into physical training. There wasn’t actual pain so much as a deadness to my left leg. Running around the track it was like the foot was asleep and it took a concerted effort to minimize the amount of flopping around the foot would do as I’d run.

Quite disconcerting, to say the least.

I remember breaking off from a run and reporting the weird sensation to my training officer and he very gruffly thought I was using it as an excuse. “You either get it examined by a doctor and bring a medical diagnosis or you get your ass back on the track,” was the gist of his response.

Sir, yes sir. I got my ass back on the track.

Long story short, it got worse before it got better, leaving me fearing for a brief spell that I might have to withdraw from the academy. Not that such a thing was going to happen even if my leg fell off, but thankfully the numbness plateaued and was manageable going forward (and yes, that’s my excuse as to why I’ve never sought actual treatment for it from on o’ them medical perfeshunalz).

But a side effect was that I reeeeeeally minimized the mountain biking — and the road riding, too, to the point of quitting by attrition the Glendale Trail Patrol. I did jumpstart things by embarking on a “50 rides in 50 Days” crusade in the summer of 2014, but roughly six rides in that horrid dead-foot/leg sensation returned and I jumped off the bikes as quickly as I jumped on them. It didn’t help that I was no longer sub-200 pounds and/or not in the best condition of my life.

Then at the close of 2014, itching to ride and my leg feeling better I decided I could no longer stay away from my favorite way of commuting and exploring the city, and made that resolution.

Two commutes in, 38.39 total miles, it came back. Ultimately manageable as ever, but also as maddening as hell.

This past weekend I decided that maybe my 15-year-old 24-speed road bike might be the solution. Perhaps it was time to quit single-speed biking all over town as I’d proudly done these last nine years and instead retire to enjoy the luxury of being able to downshift on uphills rather than just grrrrrrrind it out and thus potentially anger the nerve. So Sunday I pulled my dust-covered  Giant OCR-3 roadster off the garage rack where it’s hung untouched for at least three years thinking I’d dust her off, tune her up and ride her to work Monday… only to find the front derailleur hanger that attaches to the seat tube had inexplicably cracked in half leaving the derailleur dangling and the bike unrideable.

Fortunately I found a bike website that sells replacement hangers and it’s been ordered, hopefully to arrive this weekend wherein I can install it and go for a test run around the neighborhood making sure everything is in working order — both bike and nerve. Fingers crossed.



I’m digging this hyper realtime alternative to timelapsing. My third and fourth rides of 2015 — the morning commute to work of approximately 8.5 miles and the dusk-to-dark ride home of 10.6 miles– seen at approximately ten times normal speed.

Agggh, my tiring old GoPro. It’s got a mind of its own. Instead of timelapsing my January 2, 2015, bike commute home it video’d it in real time. But rather than find away to bore everyone entirely to death with an upload of the entire uneventful 54-minute journey across town, I found a way to show you something a little different by speeding the clip up ten times faster from start to finish — a true hyperlapse. It still might bore you to tears, but at 5:45 in length, at least it will do so in a tenth of the time the original would.

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