If there’s one thing I hate when biking, it’s having to do it rushed. Such was the case yesterday when I got up at the crack o’ dawn with earnest plans to roll out at 6:30 a.m. and take my sweet old time cruising Bike To Work Day pitstops around downtown and in Culver City. …
With the exception of last year’s Bike To Work Day where there was a sponsored pit stop basically around the corner from my house, my various routes to my various work places over the various Bike To Work days over the various years have left me a geogrpahical outcast in terms of partaking of the …
I suppose I should just zip it and rah rah about another Bike To Work Week, but I have my issues with the annual five-day faux fest kicked off yesterday. Sure it increases awareness and all that jazz, and without a doubt it is commendable as a catalyst that gets however many people out of …
Replaying the timelapse vid of last night’s ride home hardly tells the tale. I’m biking up Larchmont approaching Rosewood north of Beverly Boulevard. To the sidewalk on my right I notice a young man and woman jogging and calling out to something in front of them, and about three parked cars ahead is a dog …
Read more “Another Thing A Bike Is Good For: Wrangling Runaway Dogs”
As a subscriber to the New York Times, I remember breezing through this article about the Dutch bicycle and fashion a few weeks ago and mostly forgetting about it. But not quite. Something gnawed at me about its pretentiousness and the accompanying spread of fashion-forward pictures of young men astride machines wearing suits and ties …
So yesterday morning’s 37 miler — from Silver Lake down to Watts Towers and back up to Boyle Heights, across the 6th Street Bridge, and down under the bridge to the LA River bed before heading up to the top of downtown an cutting across to MacArthur Park, and coming back past historic Alvarado Terrace …
Read more “The “Not The LA Marathon Bike Tour” Ride Wrap-Up”
I step outside the climate-controlled comfort of my office building at 7:30 and blink dumbfounded at the surprise heat. It was like a flash fever, or as if someone left the door to hell open and the devil’s wondering who. Mounting up and and hitting the streets, the schizo winds bumrush from all sides. They …