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No, this is not me trying out a costume for an upcoming group bike ride. This is me during my fourth-annual participation in the L.A. River Ride route marking the morning of June 5, south of Olympic Boulevard on Grande Vista in Boyle Heights. Photographed by my friend and fellow veteran route marker, Steve aka Mr. Rollers.

In past years, our duties involved simply the hanging of signs on various curbside poles outbound and inbound indicating where cyclists were to turn left or right. This year, I guess with hopes of having no riders miss a crucial turn, it was decided by the peeps at the LA County Bike Coalition that we would also lay down arrow stickers in the street to augment the aformentioned signage.

So why exactly am I sporting two sets of four different colored stickers? Very good question. The four colors were representative of the four diffferent ride distances: red for the 36-mile ride; green for the 50; yellow for the 70-miler; and orange for the century. The reason for two of each was simply to increase their visibility.

At the first couple marking spots on our stretch between Hollenbeck Park and the south end of Vernon, they were a royal pain in the ass. They were on giant rolls, not that easy to remove, so multiplying that times four and I had visions of this taking a lot longer than expected. Also factor in the fact that we were kneeling in the roadway to put these down we were also at the mercy of any oncoming traffic and having to wait for that to clear. From the Six Flags school of fun, with 6 being the most fun one can have, I was all ready to award this -5 flags.

Fortunately, by the third stop, I figured out a system. Arranging all the rolls in my backpack I could basically vend them from there, stick them all on me and then once traffic was clear I could get out into the street, slap them down and be done.

Happily that sped things up considerable and by the time noon rolled around, we were done and headed over to Blue Star restaurant for lunch.

BUT! Make no mistake: this was a pain in the ass (or the knees to be more accurate) that I think was a better idea in theory than in practice. For a couple reasons. 1) It’s never a good idea to be standing (or crouching or kneeling) in traffic lanes, either on your own or at the behest of an otherwise well-intentioned and awesome organization. 2) This is litter. Unlike the posted signs, which are taken down after the ride, the only thing that’s going to be removing all these adhesive-backed pieces of brightly colored paper from Griffith Park to Seal Beach and back is time and mother nature, and they’re going to end up stuck to vehicle tires and ultimately in the river and/or bay for as long as they take to biodegrade. 3) Overkill. In the previous nine years that the L.A. River Ride has taken place, participants have been told to balance their reliance on where they’re going not only on the posted signage (which is always at risk of being vandalized/removed) but more importantly on the detailed route sheets with which they are provided. Sure, a percentage of riders missed turns and got separated, but I’m just not sure any reward was worth the previously mentioned risks.

I have no doubt some of those otherwise wandering riders this year benefited from the added route direction visibility. While I’m the type of cyclist who knows where I’m going before I start getting there, even I’d appreciate the extra touch. As such you’ll probably see me dressed up similarly again this time next year, but also with the addition of an accessory I yearned for this time around: kneepads.

Coming home from a 70-mile bike ride Saturday afternoon  I saw the smoke and my heart leapt into my throat as it seemed  pretty much aligned with where our house is located on the other side of the ridge rising up between my location heading west on Sunset Boulevard approaching Benton Way and our street. What I couldn’t be sure of is if the flames generating the plume were on the east side of Silver Lake Boulevard or beyond it to the west.

A hipster in front of me in the bike lane reflexively and entirely non-ironically yelled out “Cool!” when he saw the smoke and I passed him suggesting with a snarl that “cool” was about the worst way to react to anything burning down unless you’re an arsonist or an asshole. “And I’m guessing you’re not an arsonist,” I yelled before cranking hard past him.

I didn’t wait around for him to tell me to fuck off as traffic was clear giving me the opportunity to get across the westbound lanes and in the center of the street between the double yellows to make my left turn. It was about then there when I saw the smoke was well beyond our house and street and I cruised home to find Susan up in the guest bedroom with her binoculars watching the firefighters on-scene battle the blaze. My relief was tempered by the sight of someone’s home being destroyed. And as I watched the firefighters on a neighboring roof battle the flames that seemed to surround them, I hoped no one was or would get hurt. Then the top of a tall pine nearby erupted in orange but quick action snuffed that fright out almost as quickly as it ignited.

I set up my camera on timelapse at 4:30 p.m., approximately 40 minutes after LAFD personnel reportedly arrived at the home that I later found out was located on Descanso Drive. As I understand it the fire was extinguished about 20 minutes into this timelapse. One firefighter sustained burns to his neck during the ordeal, but is expected to recover. None of the neighboring structures sustained any fire damage. The loss is valued at $1.5 million for the structure and $500,000 for the contents.

My respect and appreciation goes to the firefighters for tackling what proved to be a difficult assignment made even moreso by gusting winds and limited access afforded by the winding narrowness of Descanso and its rough and rugged condition. And my heart goes out to the property owner with condolences for what was lost and hopes for what can be rebuilt.

You may or may not have known that I’m now an official full-time telelcommuter. Have been for about two weeks. As such the distance now required to get to work has been reduced severely, roughly 15 miles to 15 feet — and no, I don’t bike from the bedroom to my desk… mainly because there are stairs involved.

It is an awesomely wonderful situation, but nonetheless in the blink of an eye the 150 miles I’d normally be biking each week has vanished, and in that interim I’ve not yet geared up to do early morning or late afternoon rides for something commonly known as “fun” (although that’s something I almost always considered my work commute to be). I expect that will be changing shortly with rides around Griffith Park and the LA River

It’s amazing how easy it was for me to bike 30 miles a day to and from the office, and how hard it is to get out at dawn or dusk (or even lunchtime) for a recreational ride.

So for Bike To Work Day tomorrow, no I’m not going to do some ceremonial ride around the block in my briefs and a t-shirt . Instead I’m going to load up my laptop and my AT&T wifi thingy and my cell phone and go velotastically mobile, setting up shops at various places around town. I’m calling it “Bike Around And Work Day.”

Among the places you’ll more than likely find me at some point but for either the entire day or for as long as it takes me to curse my crappy wifi connection and go somewhere else:

• The LA River
• Cafecito Organico
• Hollyhock House grounds
• Griffith Park
• Tarascos

Or if I want to broaden the horizons maybe I’ll start the day atop Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook and work my way back up into town for lunch and the afternoon at Farmers Market. We’ll see.

UPDATE (5.20): Well that was a total fail. An announcement this morning of  1 p.m. conference call left me fretting that wherever I might be out in the city might find me in a bad cellphone zone, so I ended up working from the home office all day.

By far the most satisfying moment of yesterday’s Frank Lloyd Wride happened at our stop at the Monastery of the Angels between visits to Lloyd Wright’s Sowden House  and his dad Frank’s Freeman House.

It didn’t begin well. Arriving at 12:20 to discover that the gift shop was closed between 12-1 p.m. for lunch, I was disappointed that I would be leaving without my requisite loaf of the nuns’ famous pumpkin bread.

Then a be-robed diminutive priest came out from a side door as we stood about the parking lot and he jovially welcomed us. Introducing himself as Father Lopez, he inquired as to what brought us to his place. I told him I was here for some of their delicious pumpkin bread but alas the place was locked up for another 40 minutes. He told me to ring the bell to see if they would open up, but if not he’d come back out in a few minutes and take care of us from his own “private reserve.”

I did as instructed and rang the bell — hesitantly, not wanting to incur any nun wrath — but none wrathed. They just ignored my intrusion into their break time.

True to his word, Father Lopez reappeared and I was pleasantly surprised that there were four others in my group wanting loaves. He then exited around the back of the building, returning shortly thereafter with an assistant carrying bags with the bread — and “a little something extra at no charge,” the Father told us.

So I paid him my $9 and looked inside to find a bonus bag of trail mix in with my loaf, which I thanked him for. Father Lopez then went on to tell us that with the help of coupons and arrangements with local grocery stores he was going to be able to turn the $50 we spent at the monastery today into $1000 worth of food to be distributed to the needy in the area. I was a bit skeptical that so little could begat so much, but as if sensing as much he produced photocopies of past receipts that featuring multiples of  $5 discounts down the right column that together effectively whittled the total waaaay down.

In short order we headed out and I was pleased not only to be in possession of the pumpkin bread, but also by knowing that my purchase of it went on to benefit others.

I posted a heads-up on LA Metblogs that this Saturday I’ll be walking from USC to Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook State Park and back through some pretty interesting neighborhoods, if you wanna join me.

I’ve biked through these awesome neighborhoods a lot these last couple years and I’m looking forward to footing it through and finally getting a bunch of photos of stuff I’ve long wanted to snap.

We’ll gather at the northeast corner of Hoover and Jefferson at 9:30 a.m. for a 10 a.m. launch traveling west on Jefferson to the top of the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook and back east on Adams. So if you’ve got the itch for some urban explorations and your schedule allows, join me.

Yep, Los Angeles got shook out of sleep this morning with a preliminary-estimated  4.4-magnitude quake reportedly striking the Whittier fault beneath Pico Rivera at approximately 4:04 a.m. I immediately started tweeting:

It took the better part of two days last week to dress the Hollywood Sign up in a fashion statement that read “Save The Peak,” an authorized stunt that is part of an initiative to raise money to purchase a large parcel of nearby hilltop land and prevent its residential development.

Yesterday, it came down much faster. Sensing that its end was near, I pointed the upstairs webcam  at the landmark through the palms atop the neighboring ridge, zoomed in as far as I could go and still have some sort of image,  then pushed the necessary keys on the computer to compile a timelapse of dawn-to-dark images of the temporary cloak’s final day on display (the hot take-down action begins at 1 p.m.):

PS. Yeah, yeah… the obstructed view ain’t nothing to brag about, but I cherish it.  The sign may be over a hill and through some woods more than 4.5 miles away as the crow flies, but I like that it can be seen from inside our house. And I like to imagine that whoever lived in the 17-year-old place in 1923 when the sign was built had chance to look out time and again and see its original construction.

I’m always pleasantly surprised when my slapped-together rides draw any interest whatsever, so you can imagine how thrilled I was that yesterday’s 8 Presidents Ride drew a variety of 24 cyclists  at the outset (not shown: Stephen and Alice and Foodtruck Maven Joni — and no, Bobby in the yellow shirt is not about to bop Alexis next to him).

Of course, some who came along for the 32-mile route weren’t as enthusiastic as others.  At the gathering place at Hoover just below Wilshire, there was some confusion leading to the  odd handing back of some of the spokecards I’d distributed only to have that group request them back a few minutes later. The more the merrier, I said.

By the last leg of the ride that 24 had dwindled to 8 of us making it back along Adams to Hoover, and after parting company with Stephen and Alice at 6th and Union the remaining six of us made for the absolute madness that was the LA Streetfood Fest:

All in all, it was a great day for a ride, and I hank everyone for turning out.