[sic]

It was Monday when my friend and networker extraordinaire Joel emailed me out of the blue asking if I could come give a talk to his Cub Scouts troop Thursday night about endangered animals. I barely hesitated to say sure, and only after I signed on did I wonder what the heck I was going to say.

I mean, it’s not like I had a ready-made presentation stowed on some hard drive somewhere that I could call up and dust off. And as the workweek would have it, I had little time to build one until yesterday afternoon when we finally shipped the latest issue of my magazine and I had an hour to decompress — and did so finding information on condors, and tortoises and Channel Island foxes, and the like, pulling it together in a hastily crafted powerpoint slideshow just in time to leave and bike up Overland (along the way rediscovering the steep hill north of Palms Boulevard that I’d long forgotten about) to Santa Monica Boulevard to Wilshire and the Electric Fountain at that decidedly nonbike- and nonhuman-friendly intersection where I stopped to relax and unsweat since I was a few minutes ahead of schedule.

Looking down into the pool of the fountain I entertained the notion of going in for a splash but put such silliness aside when I spied several ladybugs flailing around on its surface, the water of which was moving in a slow counter-clockwise flow.

A few minutes later I’d pulled 12 from the water and transfered them to the leaves of the jasmine growing around the perimeter, where they could dry off and fly off… hopefully not back in to the water.

The subsequent talk to the cub scouts held adjacent to El Rodeo Elementary School was deemed a success.

If straight-up, no-frills urban cycling is a drug, then I’d liken it to marijuana, not only because a large segment of so-called “society” wants to keep it stigmatized and its purveyors negatively stereotyped, but also because of late radical anarchistic bike rides have begun to take place because apparently the high one gets just from a bike commute or a Midnight Ridazz ride isn’t enough for some and so has sent them in search of a stronger rush.

I’m talking about yesterday’s freeway ride — the second in which a group of renegades who ride under the name “Criminanimals” entered the gridlocked 10 heading east. Pedaling through the traffic they transitioned to the 405 North then exited.

At first glance this seems like a really cool thing the really cool kids did. But me being a stodgy codger I second-glanced and came to my own personal conclusion that my little two-wheeled addiction is good enough for me and I don’t need to seek thrills of that nature. That’s a roundabout diplomatic way of saying I crunched the risk v. reward numbers and came away calling bullshit.

The first ride took place a couple/three weeks ago and was a success in that no one got dead, injured, ticketed or arrested. Word, pix and vids of it spread around the internest and among the various cycling groups and it was enough to generate a lot of woohooing and bring about an encore, and that too apparently and thankfully went off without a hitch as well — not counting a CHP officer’s involvment.

Several people who I’m acquainted with joined in the madness and several other people I’m acquainted with were in support of it and lamented not being able to attend. I’m not going to judge anyone for their decisions or endorsements, but I am going to call the events out as stunts that have the potential to do more harm than good, not only to the bodies involved, but also the efforts that strive to legitimately bring bikes out of the gutter pan and into traffic lanes.

One might say that’s a bit hypocritical of me, since I’ve illegally corked my share of intersections during plenty of group night bike rides these past two-and-a-half years, and in fact I’m reconsidering my future participation in those. I haven’t made any decisions yet, but we all evolve. Last year the bulk of my mileage was group-oriented riding and recreational. This year of the 2,300 miles I’ve cranked around the city so far, more than 1,900 of them have been solo, commuting to work and the occasional errand.

Last year was about partying, this year’s about business. Does that mean the party’s over? Unknown. But I do know that for the first second-Friday of the month since my involvement with Midnight Ridazz began in December 2005, I missed the ride not out of a prior obligation or an insurmountable sudden onset of lazy, but out of a genuine lack of interest.

We’ll see if that trend continues, but in the meantime at the core of my cycling advocacy be it for fun or a paycheck, I don’t claim to be a role model. I’m just a guy who likes to ride his bike. Safely.

Post RIDE-Arc ride, rolling back home solo I had to stop at the bright lifelessness of Chris Burden’s “Urban Lights” installation outside the L.A. County Museum of Art (click to humongify).

It may seem odd to some, but those late hours are some of the most enjoyable to be on a bike in the city.

This eastward stretch of Venice Boulevard I video’d during last Friday’s afternoon rush hour demonstrates why bikes rule. Just make sure to keep a sharp eye for those pesky leftturninfrontofyou’ers!

I pedaled past my 2,000th mile this year with today’s bike commute (that included a trip to the dentist to fill a cavity and seal up a previous root canal retreatment… that’s right: I not only go for bike rides after riding bikes, but I even bike to and from unpleasant things). My annual mileage total now stands at 2,007.

That particular number has significance because it was my overall mileage goal for 2007. Further, I achieved that goal ahead of schedule in September of last year, going on to surpass 3,100 miles by December 31. Further further, I’ve done in less than the first five months of 2008 what it took me more than 9.5 months to do last year. Further further further, should all go well and according to plan I stand a rock solid chance of catching this year’s goal of 3,000 miles by somewhere around the middle of June — at which time, I’ll have to recalibrate to a new year-end number, dare I say… hmmmmm — 5,000?

I dare. But first let’s say hey to 3K.

(click to triplify)

Atop the stretch of uphill in Griffith Park that cyclists generally refer to as the “roller coaster” (where Griffith Park Drive meets Mt. Hollywood Drive), my friend Stephen and I caught our breath around 8 p.m. and observed this first of two coyotes pass by us. Generally I’d delete a photo of this nonquality but I liked how it pretty much captured the elusive mystery of the wild canines against the flowing streetscape.

If I were king of L.A. I’d decree coyotes to be the city’s official animal.

FYI: Yeah, that’s right. After bike commuting to work across L.A. and back, just for fun I went for a bike ride.

I love that the venerable Palms Cycle advertises itself in such a unique way. But the cheap irony of a bike shop being located on Motor Avenue is readily surpassed by the seeming waste of this classic cruiser and its message, located on the no man’s land of a Venice Boulevard median where it’s seen pretty much by drivers who probably couldn’t care less. And me.

Did you know that back in the day if cyclists in Los Angeles dared to want to bring their bikes aboard any of the MTA’s trains (which back then consisted of the Blue Line, the Green Line and a Red Line that only ran between Union Station and the Wiltern Theater), the MTA wanted to know all aaaaaaaaall about them by insisting that a signed and completed invasion of privacy application be submitted in order to obtain an official “Cycle Express” (whatever that means) permit that featured the cyclist’s name and address and photograph, documentation of which they were then obligated to maintain possession of despite its inconvenient un-wallet sized dimensions of 3.5″ x 4″.

And the kicker? If so demanded, permit holders were required to present the permit — not just to fare inspectors or law enforcement personal but “any Metropolitan Transit Authority employee” when mass-transiting with their two wheelers.

If that’s not ridiculous enough, the permits were issued with expiration dates, necessitating a stupid renewal process.

How do I know all this? Because I was the recipient and holder of MTA Cyclist Permit No. 3046, which expired 11 years ago last September (click thumbnails of the front and back to enlargify):

It’s no wonder this insulting, discriminatory and invasive program was canceled, but it’s absolutely amazing that it was ever implemented.

UPDATED (04.18): I also found my Metrolink Bike Permit, which didn’t expire (there’s an expiration date line on the front but it was left blank), and its rules on the back were a little more well-thought out (i.e. permits must be presented only to fare inspectors upon request — not just any old employee like the MTA permit):

At the northwest corner of Crescent Heights and Wilshire this morning sat a weathered man holding a weathered piece of written-upon cardboard in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. I don’t remember what the sign said verbatim, but it included the words “Please Help” and gave information that the man was hungry and had no place to go and that he was a veteran of the Korean War.

Had the light been green to cross Wilshire and continue southward I would’ve just kept on going, but it was red and so I pulled beyond him and stopped and even though he was out of my sight he stayed in my mind — especially the word “hungry” — and so I pulled up onto the sidewalk and retrieved the container of yogurt and the banana and the Luna bar out of my backpack. It was to have been my 400-calorie breakfast consumed later at my desk, but suddenly I didn’t need it because he needed it more.

As I drew beside him, he jumped a little at the sound of my voice when I said “It ain’t much sir, but you’re welcome to it,” and then he gratefully accepted the items and said “God bless you” and I said “And you” and he caught sight of my bike with a sidelong glance and added “Be careful out there!” and I said “Thank you, take care” and I got on my way.

At the end of March I wrote a post detailing a pair of stupid cyclists I encountered one morning on 4th Street. The first one was surly and despite being a slowpoke had no patience for the long red light at Wilton Place, and the second one was overdressed and jumped a four-way stop a few blocks later in front of a truck that I’d stopped for and had the right of way and almost hit him.

Guess which one I encountered this morning? That would be Stupid Cyclist No. 2. And guess what happened? Yeah he was still overdressed and this time almost ran into me because he was following me too close and not paying attention when I came to a stop for the northbound cross traffic at Rossmore. He missed me by inches with a breathless “Whoa!” and then instead of stopping continued on across the intersection despite the passing vehicles, forcing the nearest car to slam on its brakes. What a dick!

After the intersection cleared I proceeded across and caught up with the retard a block further up. If you read my post about that first encounter you might recall last time I restricted expressing my distaste to firing a warning loogie across his bow. This time I decided to be a bit more vocal.

“Dude,” I yelled. “You’re a fucking menace.” He peeled the huge headphones he was wearing from his ears and said ” Eh? No unnerstan.”

I repeated my fact-based analysis of him and advised that since this was now the second time out of two that he’s proven to be a two-wheeled retard around me, should there be any unfortunate future opportunities for us to be on the road together, it would be in everyone’s best interest and especially his if he stayed as far the hell away from me as possible.

“Oh,” he said. “OK.”

“OK? Yeah well, just so we’re clear: stay the fuck away from me,” I called to him a couple arm lengths away. Indicating the distance between us I said, “If you ever get as close to me as you are now, I’m gonna put you on the ground, comprende asshole?”

“Oooooh!” was all he said, but wide-eyed he immediately backed-off and stayed a good half-block behind me until he had no choice but to pass me stopped at La Brea to make a right and go north.