Reflective Rims, Reflective fabrics....Reflective Tires...?

For a while I was considering spraying my bike with the reflective coating available in a spray can (available at Home Despot)... then I started to use it for commuting advocacy - circling out road hazards, stops, dangers to the commuter...
Then today a friend of mine sent me a link about reflective tires.

Yes, reflective tires.

Okay, yes the music may be annoying, but you can turn it off through a 'button/link' at the bottom of their site.

Apparently, rather, according to the SweetSkinz website, the tires are made out of a rubber composite that has reflective material embedded within it. Considering how tires are made these days, this is entirely possible - and to take it even further, which they have, the manufacturer can embed graphics into the tread as well. I haven't tried these yet, but I am interested. They do have only one tire in the road version, and it's a think 26 at that. Cushy, no? That may be on the thick side for my liking, but probably best considering the conditions of Los Angeles roadways. The other products are mostly mountain bike and bmx tire sets - each with varying graphics that are successful to some extent. ... Check it out, and if you've got them on your bike, do share about their quality, durometer (ie, how soft/hard of a rubber is it) and most importantly, if they actually work!

Triple Chicken Foot Cd Release

featuring three cooks and one long beach bike buddy.
come to the Old Town Pub this Friday, November 3rd
to help them celebrate.

LAPD Bicycle Brigade (circa 1904)

No, not Mack Sennett's "Keystone Kops." The real deal. They're approaching 5th Street on Broadway.
(Photo found on Old L.A. Photos blog).

Code Black

A word to those traveling east on Wilshire Blvd, near Curson: the Tar Pits are busting out all over, and best to mind your puddles, or be blessed with a christening of goo.

I can't really say I was that upset to find viscous lumps of tar all over my pink pants after hopping up a curb through what appeared in the dark to be a regular old water puddle. There is something magical about the La Brea Tar Pits being right here in the city, bordered by an art museum, a pseudo-utopian housing project, and a magnificent east/west corridor. Learning about these pits in science class as a young midwesterner, I imagined them to exist in the Middle of Nowehere. To find them jammed into the urban environment, paved over and embellished with dramatic sculptures of mastadons, was an odd surprise.

It's unfair to blame nature for curdling up out of the ground when you least expect it, but if you want to save your pants from getting extremely soiled, it's a good idea to steer clear of tar puddles.

Thankfully, last night, a generous old time fiddler was on hand with a flask of Tennessee whiskey. Jack Daniels managed to cut the tar pretty well, though further experiments later at home involving degreaser, rubbing alcholol and WD-40, found the latter to be the big winner for tar removal. The bike needed a cleaning anyhow, but this is the second pair of pink pants to be consumed by street stains.

Street Signs and Solar Ovens

Featuring some of our very own bike buddies, this thought-provoking exhibition curated by the Journal of Aesthetics and Protest starts this weekend and runs through December 31st. Stay tuned for an organized ride to it on November 19th.

Tall Bike Trailer and Cello

Somerset showing his skills riding to the life can be so car free event. the weird thing, it looks strangely natural.

2nd Annual Whirly Girls Ice Cream Social!!!

A.k.a. City of Angels Ladies' Bicycling Association, this ride is timed to end at the Bike Now "Life Can Be So Car-Free" event on Saturday, September 30th. Meet at Scoops at 2pm!

IAAL•MAF Inauguratational Ride - September 28

As you may know (and if ya don't where ya been?) the IAAL•MAF is a ruthless and legendary bike gang that has been terrorizing the streets of LA for months! We have locked down deadsexy rides several times a week but out of the goodness of our evil hearts have decided to open up the last Thursday of the month ride to anyone who wants to join us. Thursday, September 28th will be the first of these invitational rides.



Start: Factory Place
End: Joy Mart in Little Tokyo

Route (via Google Maps)
Mileage: 18 miles.

*Our Thursday rides usually start at 8:00PM but it's been requested that this one start a little earlier. We're going to say 7:30PM but we'll be gone for sure by 8:00PM so if you want to join us, aim to be at the starting point before 7:30PM.

Orlando Hits The Big Time!

Flipping through the August issue of National Geographic magazine this morning, I lingered on a double-page ad for Liberty Mutual because the dude on the bike at the far left looked immediately familiar:



Congrats on the national exposure Orlando!

Wear It Loud Wear It Proud

Kitchen Bikes

so i'm creating a gallery of bicycles built at the bicycle kitchen. it's a long due project. i guess we have been too busy building bikes to document them. but now it's the time. it would be great if you want to send me pictures of your bikes or the bikes of your friends that have been built at the kitchen. names, descriptions, dates and stories are all welcomed and encouraged. i will post them in a web page, so if you want to give credit for the pics please let me know.

send them to biciblog@gmail.com
or if you prefer flicker or something like that send me the URL.

our Bici Cocina and this blog are alive and well thanks to you all.
Ride On!

Snapshot: Midnight Ridazz Sell Out Tour

T'was yet another excellent evening excursion! Photos from the eleven-miler are here.

RIDE-Arc Hits The Escape Key

Last night's RIDE-Arc ride was a departure from the norm in a couple different ways. Not only did it deviate from its usual stop-and-talk informational format, but man did we got the hell away from it all.

First off we took a wholly unique route outta Chinatown that involved spiraling access ramps to pedestrian walkways paralleling the 110 Freeway. Down a stinky staircase and over to Riverside Drive we next entered the L.A. River Bikeway from it's humble unlighted, dip-filled Frogtown endings north of Figueroa to its proud, well-paved and much more illuminated beginnings next to the 134 Freeway. After that it was up, up and away into the heart and height of Griffith Park (the route through the park is the same that I posted here back in February). After all that climbing up to the top we found the temps oddly warmer than down at street level and we were serenaded and scoped out by a pair of great horned owls before winding our way back down and through the tunnel under Mt. Hollywood...



...and past the Greek Theater on our way back to civilization. I didn't get a chance to nab a lot of snapshots, but I do want to give an appreciative photographic shout out to the kind riders who marvelously personified the No Rider Left Behind ethic in coming to the aid of my friend Alice in speedily patching her tube after she flatted on the river path just north of Fletcher:



UPDATE: Stephen Roullier's pix of us nightriders are available here.

No Greater Gift

There I am on my 42nd birthday yesterday with my trusty Ibex at 1,386 feet above sea level on the floor of the Panamint Valley at the end of my 17-mile downhill on Wildrose Road, which began at Mahogany Flats Campground at 8,133 feet. The Panamint Mountains of Death Valley are in the background and I’m pointing to the 11,049-foot Telescope Peak, which is where I had hiked to with my wife and friend Rachel about 23 hours previously.

I have never been so high, literally and figuratively.

Subcultural Sensitivity

Last night I joined up with the central LA critical mass ride. There were about 60 of us, including the always-fabulous sound system that turns our rolling conversation into a rolling saddle-dance party. After some tug-of-war at the front of the ride, we veered towards South Central, to visit the South Central Farm [or] and show support for the struggle happening there. [In (very) short, the Farm is the largest contiguous urban farm in the entire country. It has been producing for 13 years, and it supports 350 families of very low income, mostly recent immigrants. It is an irreplaceable resource for the 350 families, South Central, the city of Los Angeles . . . for the planet.]

For the last 3 years, the families and organizers have been applying themselves full-time to staving off eviction by the city after the city decided to sell the land out from under the farmers. Myriad paths have been traveled in an attempt to save the farm. As of a few days ago, what appeared to be the final path had ended up short and now the farmers are awaiting, in a hypervigilant state, the sirens of the police as they arrive to forcefully remove the farmers and allow the bulldozers onto the land to tear up their livelihoods/community/culture and replace it all with a large concrete warehouse.

Our ride through South Central residential streets was met with confusion, mostly, but also the cheering and clapping and reciprocated “peace” signs that we get from pedestrians and some motorists when we go the usual north or west direction from our starting point. In reality, the “confusion” I just ascribed to most who witnessed our passing last night was something more than that. Most people don’t know what critical mass is, so there is some confusion for people who see a very motley group of people NOT in racing clothes (for the most part), on bicycles and trailing a large sound system. We aren’t carrying signs or passing out xerocracy, lately, so there’s really no indication what we are riding for. In fact, that is our most commonly received question: “What are you all riding for??” My usual response: “Fun!”

While everyone has some confusion about us, the majority of folks we saw last night in South Central met us with suspicion. Like the farmers, the whole of the low-income people of color in this city (this nation) have reason to be suspect of unusual people entering their community. In short, their own hypervigilance begs, “are these people here to exploit us?” So the joy of sharing a different vision of a Friday night with the children who were running on the sidewalk, cheering at us, was sharply counterweighed by the squinted eyes and crossed arms of the weathered men in front of their humble homes and the momentary stress our large group with no obvious purpose caused them.

And so our mass birthed out of 41^st street heading east, crossed the blue line tracks and took a sharp turn north on Long Beach Ave., past the main entrance to the farm as a whole line of activists were walking around the perimeter of the farm, holding candles and cheering at the vision of us flooding into the street and past them. We did a loop around the entire farm in the opposite direction of the marchers, and on the far side of the farm the people on watch with walkie-talkies took notice and quickly picked up their radios to report / get feedback on what all the people on bikes with a sound system was about. Hypervigilance.

As we rounded the bend back towards the main entrance, our cacophonous and blinking mass of cyborgs was in distinct juxtaposition to the tranquility of the quiet vegetables and the palpitating candlelight at the farm. Then, out of our group, came a loud “beeeoooooop!” police-car-imitating yelp originally meant to get the attention of motorists who might otherwise crush us, as cyclists, if they weren’t forced into attentiveness by the threat of a cop car in the vicinity. Most people have no idea about this sound, so any non-cyclist who witnesses it has nothing to conclude except that there is a cop car behind the mass of cyclists . . . or, in the case of THIS situation, if someone saw that it was, in fact, a cyclist’s mouth that made the sound, that the farmers’ hypervigilant state was being mocked. It’s like entering a sweatshop in downtown LA and yelling “La migra!” Insensitive, idiotic, or both. As the cop car imitation is now a greeting in the cycling community, another cyclist shot a loud “beeeeeooooooooop!!” back. I did what I could to quickly shut those people up, and I think no hard feelings were experienced by the farmers guarding the front gate, as they allowed us in. We all stayed for some amount of time, hearing the speakers, eating some food, touring the farm, enjoying the music, checking to see how Julia Butterfly Hill, up in the oldest tree at the farm and on her 11^th day of a hunger strike, was doing.

The night was not ruined, but the issue arose: as a subculture in this city, we have a responsibility to be sensitive to other subcultures. We, of all people, should be able to identify with the vulnerability and concomitant hypervigilance that being in a subculture can cause. While a large group of our cyborg beings of flesh and bicycle steel might be considered threatening in some places, we’re usually roaming the city by ourselves, and, as such, we are vulnerable to the much larger and sometimes much faster-moving cyborgs known as people in cars. Whether we dwell on it or not, we are aware of our vulnerability. If someone behind us honks, we jump because we are in, even if we don’t know it, a hypervigilant state. If we hear a skidding car somewhere behind us, we think “oh SHIT . . .” because the car could be heading straight for us. It is ironic and appropriate that from this vulnerability was spawned the cop-car-imitation as a weapon against those that could harm us.

We are imitating a (multi-leveled) oppressor in order to manipulate another oppressor. And so our weapon was inadvertently turned last night, for a moment, against a sister subculture in this city: some recent immigrants of low income that are finding sustainable, culturally appropriate ways to exist.

It’s easy to be caught up in one’s own experience, regardless of who you are. This is a call to each of us, as members of some cultures and some subcultures and as over-privileged in some regards and under-privileged in others, to THINK . . . about those around us and their positionality and to be sensitive to such, particularly when they are inhabiting a more oppressed subculture than we can claim.

[This post cross-posted with Really Deep Thoughts and published on CICLE.]

Ditty Bops depart for US tour on bikes

As you may or may not have seen here, The Ditty Bops are going on tour across the US. The majority of the distance will be covered by the two singers - Amanda and Abby on their Surly Cross Check bicycles. Sponsor New Belgium Brewing provided the bikes which will be carrying them through a broad range of experiences over the next few months. It should be an amazing journey.

Today was the launch ride, heading north from L.A. with a show planned tomorrow in Santa Barbara. Fans, family, friends, and well-wishers were all invited to join and ride along, and so we did just that. The group gathered in Venice beach at 10am PST and began the trip through Venice and Santa Monica towards Malibu.

Abby, Amanda and accompaniment at the start.


Rolling out


Fans


Amanda chats with a fellow rider


The band rejoined us at the first rest stop, although they had gotten high since we saw them last. Tunes included "O When the Saints" and "Happy Trails". Great stuff.


The girls christen the new bikes in the Pacific ocean.


We continued on up Pacific Coast Highway, which required stowing of the camera and paying full attention to the road. The shoulder width varies and traffic flies by at a crazy rate of speed. My buddy and I turned around at a rest/gather spot and wished them a great tour and a safe ride.

Returning to the city via PCH. Not a bad way to spend a Thursday. ;)


You can keep up with tour updates here

View their archived live show on KCRW this week here. Bicycles! Shadow puppets! (requires Real Player)

Changing Times?

Though it's come out after Bike Commute Week — oopsie! — there's little fault to be found in today's (May 22) L.A. Times Health section, which features a nice package of features on commuting by bicycle. Of course, I would have liked to see Bicycle Kitchen mentioned more but it is nice to see the Times finally promoting bikes as a viable transportation option rather than demoting them.

Here's the link (registration may be required to read the stories).

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs!

Tommorow (May 21) is the L.A. County Bicycle Coalition's annual Los Angeles River Ride and while prior obligations prevent me from participating, I did pitch in this morning and help in the mounting of roadside course markers to help keep riders rolling right, left or straight ahead.

So if you happen to find yourself from mile 12.4 to mile 17.5 between Mariachi Plaza in Boyle Heights and the L.A. River Bikeway entrance south of Vernon, you have the team of Howard Hackett (left), Bruce Dobb (right) and yours truly to thank for keeping you headed in the right direction.

Wednesday's Ride of Silence

To honor Morgan's suffering

And the lives of the three (known) cyclists that have been murdered by motor vehicles in last nine months in Los Angeles

And the fear that many cyclists in the city face every day

And the fear which imprisons millions of would-be cyclists in small metal boxes as they suffocate themselves and the planet

We rode in silence.

May our actions change the face of the city and turn fear into hope and suffering into joy and suffocation into lungs filled deeply with high levels of nourishing freedom and low levels of particulate matter.

let the stencil speak

stencils by f.a.g. and th3Cybr4rian

master of the sword in the extended battlefield

fuck man. fuck, my friend morgan got hit. and tears run through my face. man. i'm listening to something he likes, and i'm reading something he likes. and fuck man (or woman). i'm even eating something i think he would like. Dark Throne bleeds though my stereo. fucking Dark Throne man, Transilvanian Hunger. and i'm reading the third issue of the bikepLAgue zine. and plexe's intro was great. and the zine has that detached fashion of too white ghostly pages and black fucking precise letters crawling like fragile -too fragile- ants on the fucking white wall of destiny. and i loved all the contributions: camryn's lovecraftian bike crash recount, ms.spindles advice column, matt's politics and Liz's from C.I.C.L.E "How the Po-Po Set Us Car Free". and you see, the day i heard about morgan's crash i couldn't ride my bike for a few hours. it was like a bucket of lead attached to my feet. and this sadness/insecurity. and, what am i doing? and is this sense of despair... and i had to confront myself, for where there is sadness there is beauty. for beauty is a fucking cruel monster. and then i knew i had to write this shit:



this is our sword manifesto

as published originally in BikepLAgue #3


this is our sword.
this is our tool for disarming the wars being fought across the planet. the magnitude of the weapons used grinds everything to pieces. bloody messes, and meat from all species torn across the land and the streets and the sky. this is no time to stand disarmed. the bicycle is the ideal weapon for the transnational citizen. a simple non-destructive means for liberation, a tool for internal and external battles, a companion and critic. a Way. our form of iron. our form of irony.

when in the streets, alone on the battle field, the warrior tempers her spirit confronting weapons of mass destruction with the simplicity of his self powered weapon. a candle that dares to shine like ten thousand suns. such is our stupidity and our glory. and such is the humor the world has given to us: an autonomous form of transportation that is at the same time a weapon of Mass creation.

non-violent battles with non-violent weapons in ultra-violent contexts for daily metaphor bending are being fought. and we fall to pieces. and we paint the soil-asphalt with our blood and bone and we dare others not to paint it with the blood and bone of the oppressed, of those for whom the simplest way out of war is death.
the transnational-citizen/warrior rides knowing that his life and the life of others are at stake with every decision. that's what we call riding at sustainable speeds. and within the limits of her weapon the transnational-citizen/warrior pursues elegance in motion. and this is how freedom occurs in the interstices of slavery, like riding in the gaps of a traffic jam.
many of our swords come from places where metaphorical wars are confounded with real ones. where bikes are meant for competition and pride seeking. we gave our bikes nakedness and taught them the humble ways of the streets. our bikes are swords to deconstruct the war metaphor. and like swords of the past they have names and mythical stories to be told, and some of them have been the companions of warriors who lost their lives in the battle field.
bicycles are our vehicle in the mythic grid

our vector in and out of the integrated circuit
our passport as transnational citizens
our cybernetic implant for recrafting bodies
our strategic advantage
our mighty pen
our sword

To our friend Morgan, master of the sword in the extended battlefield.

federico

El Ridazz Fantastico

Man I'd guesstimate at least a thousand cyclists took part in last night's Midnight Ridazz and it was a sight to behold. The high point for me was that awesome mariachi concert at El Mariachi Plaza de Los Angeles.http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Photos from the ride are up on Flickr and viewable here. And Stephen Roullier's ever-evocative imagery can be seen here.

Badge Of Honor

I was justly accused of being militant in nature by some nameless commenter objecting to my post last month in which I dared express incredulity at the perennial pedestri-tards and the casual disregard they exhibit by walking/jogging along the BIKES ONLY beach path.

The laid-back anonymite who is blessed with far more forgiveness than I urged me to just chill and scolded my aggravated attitude as having the potential "to do more harm than good."

Fair enough. But folks, I've rocked both sides of sanity's thin centerline. I've been a veritable Ghandi on two wheels nonviolently internalizing the frustrations of those who trespass and transgress against me, and I've been the raging roadie who's externalized my anger against the innumerable automotive asshats who've cut in front of me or honked at me or forced me off the road or otherwise almost killed me and then been unfortunate to get stuck at that red light up ahead where I catch up and confront them wielding a tire pump in one paw and swinging a cable lock in the other and suddenly it becomes "easy there, dude!" and "whoa there man!" and even occasionally "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me!"

Let me tell you, externalizing beats internalizing every time. If it doesn't get you killed in the short term, all that blown steam adds years to your life in the long run. But in this day and age I've mellowed substantially. Not just because I'm getting older (which I am), but wiser, too. Nowadays I strive hard to keep in mind that everyone has the potential to exit their driver's side strapped and ready-aim-firing to finish what almost running me over didn't.

Ain't easy though. Yesterday I rode from Silver Lake to and through downtown to the convention center and then up across mid-Wilshire and north into Hollywood and I guess I missed the memo about it being Cream A Cyclist Day In L.A., because I had to work hard to avoid getting crunched on six occasions in the 90 minutes I was on the road — far above the norm for me. I had to work even harder to keep my emotions in check and I was mostly successful. Mostly. The worst I did was fly the bird at one turd. Oh yeah, and I did spit in the general direction of that Taurus with Pennsylvania plates.

What I've taken too long to communicate is that being badged as militant is a good thing to me. A necessary thing. I don't let such a stance ruin the fulfillment and satisfaction I get from riding, but I don't lay back and chill as its ruined by others either. Maybe it's hyperbolic but I consider every one of us who saddle up and crank it out there to be rebels with a cause. Warriors. Righteous even. It's a battle out there every day, and while I'm ever more careful to pick mine I refuse to accept a single incident where cyclists and their rights and privileges are marginalized or relegated or dismissed or demeaned.

A Spate Of Bike Hate

So during yesterday's infinitely enjoyable edition of the monthly RIDE-Arc group roll and its nicely sized contingent of riders that traversed the town from the Arts District to Chavez Ravine to Koreatown and back downtown, we had the distinct displeasure of being verbally accosted by not one, but two individuals — each of them from disparate ends of the socio-economic spectrum.

The first tirade came from a substantially distraught and obviously destitute woman who laid into us unprovoked as we came off of Main Street and coasted past the Lady of Guadalupe mural outside the La Placita Church near Olvera Street. Spouting such maximum volume endearments as "Fucking bikers!" and "I fucking hate fucking bikers!" and "Get the fuck out of here you fucking bikers!" we bathed in her unconditional aggravation. And when I dared correct her saying "We're not bikers... we're cyclists, she reeled from the retort and mewed something about how we shouldn't be mean to her because she has the cancer.

Oh, sorry. See ya later hater.

The second incident came near the end of the night's journey as we cruised up through the Theater District past the packed and happening Broadway Bar. A dapper and definitively drunkifed dingleberry who had just exited the establishment on his way to unwisely operating a motor vehicle was apparently able to focus his blurred vision long enough to see us pedaling past him and was kind enough to take the time to scream out how he really felt.

"Bikers!?" he said. "Fucking bikers! Gawd-dam liberal treehugger sunzabitches! I fucking hate you all!"

"Well we love you!" I yelled over my shoulder, to which he demonstrated some sort of Brokeback Broadway-type conflict. "I love you too..." he blurted out, "but I hate you more you self-sufficient retard liberal jackasses!"

Man, but it ain't easy being green.

UPDATED: Stephen Roullier's pix of the ride are here.

Rider Temporarily Down

Morgan from the A-house had a serious accident a few days ago. The doctors say he will not have any permanent damage, but after he has surgery tomorrow he will have a long recovery.

So . . . now is a good time to step up and turn out your love for Morgan and your support for his housemates at the A-house and his family that has flown in. Drop by the A-house with any of that love and support. Get well wishes for Morgan. Vegan food for the house. Whatever you think you would really appreciate in such a situation. Or send positive intentions through the many dimensions of the universal fabric for Morgan's quick return to being the most insane distance cyclist (that still manages to keep it real) in LA.

A-House:
210 N. Rampart Blvd, LA, CA, 90026

His housemates have a lot going on, what with finding a new A-dwelling and regular life and stuff, so be sensitive to their time when showing support.

Bike Love,
A.

the pLAgue

if you thought the L.A. bike scene didn't have a zine, well, you are wrong. it probably has more than one. i know of this one, the bikepLAgue bikes in L.A zine issue number two march 2006. the good Matt handed me a copy the other day when we were ready to leave for the bad idea ride and it took me a while to process it but that's what i like about zines, you can have them around for a while untill you get to them. flat flipping little creatures.

bikepLAgue is published under a creative commons licence and it has a bunch of reports of bike events, news, and random stuff. my favorite section is Ms. Spindle's problem page, good answers. i suspect she makes up some of the questions, but that's ok.

there is an excellent interview with Cole Coonce some writer dude who has been droping bicycle articles in our not so dear mainstream media. well done.
i also liked this short description of a long touring adventure between seattle a S.F. some down to earth recomendations there. like: "iPods. If you're riding with other people, sing to each other okay?". sweet.

support the pLAgue. if you want more information or want to contribute or distribute write to bikeplague@gmail.com cash donations accepted i hear. and don't forget zines stay around thanks to your writing too.

Update
get a PDF of bikepLAgue here.
Thanks Max!

Look Who's Jumped On The Bike Bandwagon

Having successfully tackled "the homeless problem," L.A. Times columnist Steve Lopez has now set his sights on getting people outta there cars and onto their bikes by writing in today's edition about joining Ed Begley Jr., former Mayor Richard Riordan and others for a roll down San Vicente Boulevard and along the beach to a diner in Playa del Rey:

People tell me I'm off my rocker, but it seems to me that since L.A. is mostly flat and the weather is good year-round, thousands of people could get out of their cars and onto bicycles.

It would take vision, if not wild imagination. I say we shut down a lane of Arroyo Parkway now and then and open it to bikes. You can't get anywhere on Wilshire Boulevard in a car, so let's get them out of there altogether.

Welcome aboard Steve! Now leave Ed and Dick and the daylight come on out for some Midnight Ridazz action!

In the biciblog inbox: 279 dollar ticket

hi, I was carrying an antiqe chair that i had cane'd for nine days(to get paid a mere 50)and was pulled over for ?. I was searched for crack and my hair was pulled the whole time by a trainee cop. I protested about the severe hair pulling and no probable cause and was told the ticket was for riding with one hand and no long beach bike licence.( of which I have bought half a dozen) then I got a change of date ( the whole gestation is almost 4 months) and a written explanation of being on the wrong side of the street. I go to court on may 16 , pulled over 2/4.

Also does anybody want to help me rescue an American white pelican from the san gabriel river near the 405? In lakewood/long beach has been in heavily cloramie water for 4 years according to wildlife management. has broken wing and beak abnormality. I dont have time to blog and am virgin to blogging bu feel free to add this. thanks

by Mark Ayers (radman3[at]webtv.net)

Riding A Bicycle Can Save The World?

This is great. Follow the link for the full article!
Riding a bicycle can save the world

by Dana Green
Killer storms. Glaciers melting. A rapidly disappearing snowpack.

The signs of global warming are here, and they aren’t pretty. With the U.S. spewing 6 billion tons of carbon dioxide into the air last year – one-quarter of the world total – a global meltdown, Day After Tomorrow-style, doesn’t seem farfetched anymore.

But getting on a bicycle saving the planet? Call me a skeptic, but I wasn’t buying it. Jim Sayer, Director of Adventure Cycling, a national bike advocacy group headquartered here in Missoula, was giving a lecture during Bike Walk Bus Week claiming bike travel could save humanity from its own excesses. So I hopped on my cruiser, with its cute little basket, and biked over.

I left convinced that, if I would only drop my car keys in the toilet and flush, a revolution would sweep the globe. One person at a time. With happy, smiling people across the planet riding bicycles everywhere.

Mo Better . . . Street Corners

NE corner of Fairfax and Pico. For over a year I passed by this Mo Better Meatty Meat Burgers place on my bicycle commute home from work. A vegetarian for 12 years, this was at once disgusting to me and at the same time reassuring because it was boarded up and locked behind gates, graffitied and clearly not . . . serving dead cows. Anymore. Of course, the McDonald's down the street still is, but that's another story.

Anyways, two months ago I actually had my camera with me because I had needed it at work, so I stopped at various points of my commute to document some oddities. This was one of them. Today, on my commute, I stopped at my usual corner, one foot on the curb, the other on my pedal, scanning the lights to anticipate the perfect moment between cars and photons that I could safely jump my light and be on my way, when my eyes picked up a certain emptiness . . . on the NE corner of Fairfax and Pico . . . and my jaw dropped as I realized that the entire Mo Better Meatty Meat Burgers building was GONE, some broken pieces of urbanite and a bulldozer in its stead.

Tonight I will pray to the infinite goof and to the goddess of cosmic irony that Mo Better is not going to be replaced by a McDonald's. Please feel free to do the same . . .

Spring Fevered Glaze, No Haze

Last Wednesday I had a beautiful spring bike ride home. It started when I was rolling west down Jefferson along through Culver City at the industrial part just before it heads north. The sun was casting a honey glow from behind me—my bike shadow stretched out long and lean in front and my knees pump pumping and I thought, “This light reminds me of an Alaskan summer late evening twilight glow.” Then I looked up into the full moon hanging there in the clear blue sun and I remembered ah that’s where it’s at. The full moon has a way of pulling the energy to the front of my skin. Propelling me forward. Suspending my stress and exhaustion for this instant. Then I’m heading north on Redondo and I hear “grrr!” “GRR!” and “scamper, scamper,” and the shouts of kids behind. Aware suddenly of an impending ankle clamp, I look down to see this small brown dog veering off like his job was done, heading back to the arm waving shouting kids and I yell “Tough dog!” And go on. At Washington I decide to head east as I wish to continue riding into the full moon and away from the sun—I like being between this energy, and not my usual route up to Pico. At the stoplight at LaBrea, this dude crosses the street with a peculiar drug addict posture: just his clothes, a cigarette in one hand, lighter in the other and a destination in his eyes. He sees me and says, “You only got one brake?” “Yeah,” I say. “It’s a fixed gear so I only need a front brake.” He nods his head and tells me how a few days ago he rode the marathon. Then looks sideways and says, “Well, I joined up with it.” I say, “Yeah, I’d like to do it. I just can’t get up that early.” The light changes—“take care, man.”

Later on down Washington near western maybe, on the north side of the street there’s a semi-circle huddle of folks on the corner. Could be a tour group or Jesus proselytizers, but as I pass I notice they are huddled around burning candles and one of those flower-covered crosses. To my right coming out of what has always struck me as a promising “thrift” store is this elderly black couple out to see what the fuss is about—possibly the owners and I say, “What happened over there? Somebody get killed?” “Beg your pardon,” he says. And she of the oversized black frame glasses waves her hand dismissively and says, “Shot. Last week.” “That’s terrible.” And I keep riding. The sun lowering now. I pass that really amazing old brown Victorian haunted house with the two scraggly trees at the front porch on the southside of Wasington. Its got a big lot and i want to live there. Then I head north up Alvarado. I need a donut for phase four, the climb home. So, I stop at yum yum just before Pico and pant, “Donut with sugar.”

“What?”

“Sugar, coated in sugar.”

“You mean glazed.”

“Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for. Glazed.”

I stand outside watching the pink of the sun edge towards dark and all this activity passing by and I think, “Man, I love this town.” Home.

The Eternal Infernal Question

What part of BIKES ONLY are you falsely entitled, egregiously ignorant, doesn't-apply-to-me shmucktards having trouble with?

g for Punk not D.

it might not be entirely bicycle related, but here we go:

so last night i went to see my friend scott aka vladimir play with his band glassel park 3. first time i heard them was through a cd scott gave me at the kitchen. scott is cook, wich is the way we call volunteers at the kitchen. the first time i heard scott was when he was playing the banjo on this old timey band he and other two cooks have called triple chicken foot. anyway. GP3 is cool to the point of dancing. three dudes: bass player, tricked up six string banjo through almost distorted amp, and wooden box-snare-two cymbals for percussion. bluesy-old timey-punk filling the place with the energy, with the energy, let me say one more time, with the energy of a train going through the dessert as its being robbed by the reincarnation of some sex pistol with a fake water gun, riding a bicycle.
so i get there with my friend Kirlian who is out of breath after the rushed 7 mile ride. and GP3 and friends are sitting there sipping beers. Scott aka vladimir is pretty buzzed, or so he says. we have another beer and then they jump on stage. and they JUMP on stage. banjo flyes and bass kicks ass from the hands of slick looking dude wearing johnny ramone t-shirt and the box (cajon) thumps in the empty glendale night through electrosensitive microphone and scott aka vladimir SINGS and screams. and there is no name for this music and do i like things for wich there are no names.
so when S. comes down he's sober as a legal code and we give thaks and hurrays. and kirlian and i go through the avenue of car dealers to L.A on our bikes. and it makes me sad to think that he's leaving to the northwest in a few months. may GP3 play again, and again.

Putting The "Go" In Verdugos

For whatever reason — let's call it spring fever — the last couple of years at the end of March have marked a tradition of undertaking "10 Rides In 30 Days" up in the Verdugo Mountains north of Glendale, pretty much the closest rideable trails to the city of Los Angeles, where mountain cyclists are considered lower than the dirt they're banned from setting tread on.

In the satellite image above (pieced together from the Terraserver-USA website) I've marked out the course of the climb up the Verdugos' Beaudry North trail (officially referred to as a "motorway" but I dislike that inappropriate term) that I travel on to get up to Tongva Peak (the dotted stretches represent approximations of sections that the camera was blocked from capturing by foliage overgrowth or topography). The network of fireroads is quite extensive throughout the range and even includes a thrilling singletrack I've heard referred to as "The Viper" (in homage to the Magic Mountain rollercoaster, I think). And there's plenty of wildlife. I've been paced by coyote pups, chased mule deer, spooked bobcats napping trailside, and marveled at coastal horned lizards, western toads, garter and gopher snakes galore. Then there's the serenity found atop Tongva Peak at sundown... priceless.

From the trailhead to the water tower is about 2.2 miles in length with an elevation gain of almost 1,200 feet. This Friday will be my first time offroad on my mountain bike since my tenth ride up the Verdugos last April so I'm expecting slow and unsteady going my first few trips. By the end though I typically "zip" up to the top in 30 minutes or so (wel... at least to me it's zippy).

Directions: Get on the Glendale (2) Freeway north. Exit Mountain Street. Left onto Mountain down to Verdugo Road. Right on Verdugo and then get in the left lanes to bear left onto Canada Boulevard where it splits off from Vergdugo at Glendale Community College. Another mile or so is the light at Country Club Drive where you'll make a left and follow it up to Beaudry Boulevard. Left on Beaudry and across one stop sign you'll find the entrance to the trailhead at the sharp curve in the road. Street parking.

Giant Links for Lazy Stairs

Acura L.A. Bike Tour Route

Using the awesome Gmaps Pedometer application to measure tomorrow's bike tour route I found it comes in at 21.82 miles in length. Check it out here.

UPDATE (03/23): A photoset of stills from the DV footage I captured can be found here. And Stephen Roullier's excellent and evocative images of the tour are on display here.

Treasure Hunt Postponed

(Cross-posted from Blogging.la)

Word's just in from the event's organizer that the much-anticipated L.A. Treasure Hunt -- something akin to an Amazing Race on bikes -- has been postponed from tomorrow to April 2 "due to weather conditions."

From the email sent out:

"There is a thunderstorm coming in tonight and chances of heavy rain tomorrow are high, or so numerous weather reports have said. It would be selfish of me to play it by ear and wait till the last minute to cancel the event being that people from all over southern California and as far San Diego are coming to participate in the treasure hunt. I would feel terrible for them to come out here and it be cancelled. I apologize to everyone that was looking forward to the hunt tomorrow but I feel this is the best decision cause its going to be fucking freezing all day and the chances of rain are extremely high. This is for the best."

While I can appreciate the reasons behind the decision, I'm curious as to what weather source he's heeding as weather.com shows the 90026 as being partly cloudy and 56 degrees tomorrow with a 20% chance of rain.

A Time For Reflection

Not really. I'm beat. I took a cold shower just to warm up after getting in from tonight's rain-graced Midnight Ridazz Safety Ride. But I just wanted to give a heartfelt "ride on" to all those diehards, delinquents and degenerates who ignored the inclement elements and common sense to make this two-year anniversary ride a blast. It was a wild 13 miles of wet and cold and awesome.

I'm sorry to say my pix turrned out like crap, but I charted the route over here on Gmaps. Check it out.

And Mack Reed who I rode with last night has a marvelous recap and photos of the ride over on his LA Voice website.

UPDATE (03/12): Stephen Roullier has delivered another excellent photoset from Friday's ride.

My Bike is Beautiful

I finally finished her a coupla months ago and wanted to show her off. I'm calling her "folksfixie" cuz of the upright e.z. ride and industrial look. I just need to add a bikerack to get my messenger bag off my back and my 14 mile each way commute (only twice a week) will be perfect.

Completed at the Bicicocina, natch.

inspirada y . . . ?

lo que pasó

ningunos saben, realmente

todo pasa por una razón

como amor

y el muerte

como éso, son los mismo

Griffith Park Loop

So I mapped out this route from Silver Lake up around and over Griffith Park and back several months ago before I finished working on The Phoenix, my beloved single-speeder, and I've been hesitant to undertake the trip in large part because it sports an 1,100-foot elevation gain and it's a bit of a given that uphill and one-gears just don't mix very well.

But then I read Mack Reed rockin' about his latest roll over on L.A. Voice and I got the gumption up to tackle the trek, which I did this afternoon because my current state of joblessness allows me to do shit like that.

It was exhausting and exhilirating to climb so high, though at times it felt as if I was hauling my fat ass and a tractor up those winding roads. Funny thing was that my arms were actually wearing out before my legs. From a life spent dependent on granny gears seldom is it that I've had to stand and deliver like I did today and my arms were not at all happy about all the work they had to do.

Anyway, the distance comes to a little more than 17 miles and I finished up seven minutes shy of two hours. It's an awesome mix of urban and rural that lets you get up high and away before bringing you back down to earth.

Flickr photoset of the scenery can be found here.

Check BikeBoom Calendar for info on group ride down from LA proper.

Vicious Writing, part II

Regarding: The final paragraphs of “Vicious Cycling,” an article by Laura Hauther

At the end of the article entitled “Vicious Cycling,” in a recent issue of the Los Angeles Alternative, Hauther introduces a current campaign in Los Angeles to improve cycling conditions. The campaign is centered on the implementation of street markings called “Sharrows,” which is an abbreviation of their full name: “Shared-use arrows.” Shared-use arrows are: a picture of a bicycle, similar to the bicycle painted in bike lanes, with two arrows above it pointing in the direction that traffic should legally travel. This symbol is painted in the middle of the traffic lane. There is no delineating marker segregating this symbol from regular traffic. It is away from the parked cars on the curb. It is situated such that it runs directly under the middle of cars as they drive in the traffic lane. The message the sharrows unequivocally convey is that the traffic lanes are not “car lanes.” They are “shared-use lanes,” to be used by all vehicles under California Vehicle Code, which includes bicycles. The particular focus of the sharrow, rather than increasing awareness of bus or motorcycle rights to the streets, is BICYCLES.

Hauther states, “Detractors fear it could be a step toward segregating and restricting bikers, and since bikes are already allowed full use of the lane, certain cyclists feel it’s unnecessary.” Both of these arguments are irrelevant to sharrows. As for the “detractors,” there is no way that sharrows can restrict bicyclists, as- mentioned in the exact same sentence- bicycles are already allowed full use of the lane, according to California Vehicle Code. The sharrows are reinforcing a law that already exists, and creating no new distinctions between places that bicycles may exist and places that they may not. Sharrows increase the visibility of bicycles on the street by creating a lasting reminder, on the asphalt in front of all vehicles as they travel, that the streets are for bicycles just as much as they are for other vehicles.

As for the “certain cyclists” mentioned above, they either have not ridden their bicycles in traffic lanes for long in Los Angeles, or else they are more comfortable with hostility on the road than the majority of cyclists. While many cyclists are aware that they have the legal right to the entire road- to exist as a vehicle in every capacity: taking the entire lane when traveling, crossing the second and third lanes of traffic to reach a left-hand turn lane, etc.- most motorists are not aware of these rights. Any cyclist in Los Angeles that has traveled as a vehicle on the road for a month or longer has been honked at or yelled at to get on the sidewalk or to get a car or just called terrible names. This hostility, which has escalated into physically dangerous and even fatal situations (in the case of New York City), proves a very clear necessity. The necessity is for all controllers of vehicles on busy city streets to be aware of the legal imperative to share the road. Sharrows will do that necessary job, which is currently not being done by any infrastructural device in Los Angeles.

Hauther goes on to say, “The other option is the method of Vehicular Cycling-treating a bicycle as a form of transportation equal to motorized vehicles, with the same rights and responsibilities. These bikers follow the same rules as drivers: fully stopping at all stop signs and traffic signals, using the full lane of the road instead of bike lanes. Vehicular Cyclists believe this gives them greater visibility, making it more likely drivers will treat them with consideration and respect on the road.” This is the SAME option that sharrows reinforce, not ANOTHER option. Sharrows make vehicular cycling more safe and, hence, encourage vehicular cycling. There is absolutely no conflict between vehicular cycling and riding a bicycle on a street marked with sharrows.

“But the bike does not always win.” And so the final three paragraphs of the article go the way of so many recent articles about bicycling published in Los Angeles periodicals. Hauther describes the scene of a car-bicycle accident during a large group bicycle ride. This closes an otherwise thought-provoking look at some aspects of the Los Angeles cycling community with a reinforcement of the fears of otherwise well-intentioned Los Angelenos who just can’t seem to incorporate a bicycle into their arsenal of transportation options. We are invited to look at a transportation subculture, and marvel at the ingenuity flowing out of it into other aspects of life in Los Angeles, invited to ponder the thoughts and dreams and work of so many tireless, joyful and well-intentioned creators of culture and experience, and then given a foreboding, simplistic reason to not become a part of it. We might get hit by a car. Hence, we should keep driving our cars and leave the bicycles to those who don’t value their own lives.

In a car-bicycle accident, it is undeniable that the motorist is less likely to get hurt than the person on the bicycle. The physics of such a collision is clear: greater mass, sometimes greater velocity, give a car a much greater kinetic energy which will be imparted to / lost upon the body of a bicyclist in truly tragic ways, if a collision occurs. The beautiful thing about many of the bicyclists on the street in Los Angeles is that they do value their own lives. That is why they ride a bicycle instead of locking themselves in a metal box and spending hours of their week sitting still in that stale, monotonous routine that car-drivers almost affectionately label “traffic,” or waiting for the sometimes unreliable buses to take them where they need to go.

The bicyclists not only value their own lives, but they value everyone else’s life. To ride a bicycle in this place and time is a rejection of people being murdered for oil. Bicyclists may not have a big metal box around them, providing them limited protection from an oncoming metal box, but they also don’t have hundreds of dollars a month going to oil companies as an incentive for the companies to acquire more oil, with whatever means necessary. To ride a bicycle in this place and time is a rejection of the idea that only one’s own safety matters. A bicyclist will be hard-pressed to murder someone else in a collision. On the contrary, cars murder people every day. The larger the car, the more murderous . . . and, ostensibly, the more safe is the passenger inside.

So the real piece of foreboding, not very simplistic, information any would-be bicyclists in Los Angeles must accept is that, by deciding- yes, it is a decision- to drive a car in the city, they are making a declaration of their lack of concern for the safety of people around them. Bicyclists are aware that they may die in a car-bicycle collision. Motorists must be aware that they may murder someone in a car-car or in a car-bicycle or in a car-pedestrian collision. Cyclists sometimes joke about cars being the Weapons of Mass Destruction on the streets. The term car “accident” is farcical, because there is evidence everywhere that cars cause serious damage, in numerous ways. Choosing to drive is a direct denial of that evidence, or else an acceptance of it. The larger the vehicle a person chooses to drive, oftentimes for the express purpose of protecting themselves, the greater the affront to everyone around them on the street.

A friend recently made a graphic design of a bicycle with the subtitle “This is Our Sword,” perhaps delineating the transportation alternatives that exist in the typical Los Angeleno’s arsenal. There are cars- the weapons of mass destruction that are meant to get somewhere the fastest, with the greatest capacity for carrying. At the same time, they travel with much noise and excessive needs for fuel. They are a dirty technology and, in the end, especially in congested LA streets, they often don’t serve their purpose of getting anywhere fast. Then, there are bicycles- the swords of transportation, svelte and graceful, a classical technology that is still effective and requires no fuel input and produces no pollution.

The final paragraphs of “Vicious Cycling,” instead of focusing on bicycles “not always winning,” should give consideration to whether a car can EVER “win.” A cyclist or a motorist or a pedestrian lying motionless in the street is an all-around loss. In terms of fueling oil wars and in terms of polluting air with particulate matter and noise and in terms of contributing to the sedentary lifestyle that kills so many and in terms of causing tangible damage on our own city streets, cars will never “win.” It’s time for coverage of the fascinating bicycle subculture to get real about the options. Weapon of mass destruction or sword: here’s to consciously making our decisions.

Vicious Writing

on the cover of the Los Angeles Alternative an article titled "Vicious Cycling,Struggling to ride on two wheels in a four-wheel city" by Laura Hauther. it mentions Midnight Ridazz and the Bicycle Kitchen, which by the way, are not officially associated. this is the kind of article that makes me think that L.A bicycle culture is reaching a boiling point (unlike others), which is cool. now, since i've been quoted in this article i feel i have the right to make some corrections:

-recycled parts are not free at the kitchen, as much as we would like to redistribute the bike love in material fashion we still pay for a lot of things, but we try to keep them as close to free as possible.

-as much as i like the iterations of my name "fRederico" is not my favorite one these days. you can call me however you want, francisco, felix, fernando, frouliano, you name it. i'm really bad remembering names myself so i don't put a lot of stress on that, but if you are going to cite me i will really appreciate the correct spelling: federico. now, i give the author extra points for spelling the name of my country of origin without U's involved.

"...Tobon’'s conversion to the bike-only lifestyle happened when he moved here from Colombia and couldn't afford a car. By the time he could, he didn'’t want one. Instead, he became a devotee of the fixed gear bike. Fixed gears are stripped-down bikes with no cables or controls of any kind, including brakes... "I feel more connected to the bike, I'm forced to be very aware of everything going on around me so I can easily flow with the traffic,” Tobon says. Even after talking about how fixed gears were declared illegal in Holland after a safety study found their braking ability inadequate, he insists he feels safer on his fixed gear..."

-i didn't move to L.A from colombia. and so far it is not true that i have been able to afford a car -it is true that i don't have the faintest desire to have one-. more important, a fixed gear bike does not imply lack of controls, cables or brakes. a fixed gear bike can have all of the above and still be a fixed gear bike. it can be a cool fixed gear bike, a hardcore fixed gear bike and a fun fixed gear bike and still have all of those things. i do not advocate or not advocate for the use of brakes. fixed gears have NOT been declared illegal anywere (thanks to the gods) that i know of. i did mention a story my good swiss friend told me about a law suit that happened in Zurich about messengers riding fixed gear bikes with no brakes; apparently the law states that you have to have brakes on your bike so the police was cracking down on those brakeless fixed gear riders so after law suits and ensuing tests it was declared that stoping using only the drivetrain of your fixed gear bike wasn't as effective as using brakes, so it didn't meet the safety requirements for street riding, and so it might not be "legal" to ride brakeless in zurich, not holland. i have no accuracy claims on this story and no sources that i can easily confirm, so lets take it with a pinch of salt. it might even be "illegal" to ride brakeless in L.A. if we follow closely the california vehicle code equipment requirements (CVC 21201)

a) No person shall operate a bicycle on a roadway unless it is equipped with a brake which will enable the operator to make one braked wheel skid on dry, level, clean pavement.

now, i do feel safer on my brakeless fixie, that was accurate. one of the reasons might be the usually mentioned feeling of connection. but these days i've been thinking that the constant kinetic feedback the lower part of my body receives from the fixed gear bicycle is a constant reminder of the consequences of my speed. i would go as far as to say that any device that lowers your perception of the consequences of your speed is making your mode of transportation less safe for you and for others. as an extreme, but unfortunately common example: most cars do a good job in numbing you to the deadly speeds you're dealing with. to a much much lesser extent freewheels also lower your perception of consequences of your speed. this enters the realm of subtlety since on a bike you are really out there feeling the wind and all but i choose to attribute my legs more perceptual power. and maybe, i am vicious about fixies.

-i do not have a boss. in my work with an electrician we are trying to defy the notions of boss /employe. i'm learning from him but yet even the notion of apprentice seems difficult to swallow. maybe we constitute the smallest instance of a community of craft. in many communities some people know more than others and monetary transactions happen without the need for established hierarchies.

-Paul Choppercabras, as we call him affectionately,acquireduired a new pseudonym in this article: Mr.De Verla. i won't reveal his real last name since it's possible he changed it on purpose, but beware.

-it is not true that the last midnight ridazz dissolved at sunset and echo park with the accident scene. many of us continued to the designated "make out spot" at the end of the ride and there were a lot of people. a lot.

It Was The Best Of Rides, It Was The Worst Of Rides

Depending on who you spoke to, last night's Midnight Ridazz was comprised of anywhere from 500 to 1,000 cyclists. Certainly it was the biggest turnout I've seen (although I'm not one to judge really, what with this just being my third).

Last night's was as invigorating a trip as my previous two — I even volunteered to cork up traffic at a couple intersections. But the 20-mile route, which brought us up to invade Glendale and its popular Galleria before coming back down through Silver Lake and across Echo Park to climb up Stadium Way and deep into Elysian Park, was not without its low points.

First up, it was either a slow night for the Glendale PD, or the attending officers were just waaaaaaaay too smalltown uptight for anybody's liking. Several patrol cars lurked along our perimeter like sharks, and I heard they even brought a helicopter and its bazillion-candlepower high beam to the dance. Their message was loud and clear: Get The Fuck Out Of Our City. Have a nice evening officers.

Then came the spills. The first was south of the Silver Lake reservoir in which the rider in question emerged somewhat unsteady and incoherent after his unhelmeted head met the asphalt. Next came the telltale display of flashing red lights at the intersection of Echo Park and Sunset boulevards, in which another rider came into contact with a vehicle. He was already in the back of the LAFD paramedic vehicle and I assume was transported to an area hospital for treatment. My hopes to both fallen cyclists are for minor injuries and speedy recoveries.

For me at least, the remainder of the ride climbing up Stadium Way and into Elysian Park was done with dampened enthusiasm, and the damper air and fog blurred out what otherwise would have been a marvelous view from the vista point of the Peter Shire sculpture up the hiking trail from Academy Road.

UPDATE: Check out Stephen Roullier's excellent photo set of pix from the ride.

SYNCHRONICITY CON POCO CHILE by El Jimmy

Mmm, mmm ... goddamn this burrito is good
And to think this is just what I wanted
Broiled onions, laying, glistening, sizzling
Pensively next to a voluptuous habanero, charred just so

just so

just so that the pastor collides with it like
a Black lowered Landrover and a Golden raised Expedition

When I tried to explain to Ms.Stazer
To explain why art was what,

was that

that That

The words didn't spill out like jesso unto freshly stretched canvas
No, just a meager,"It's like this band," and I point above me,

"this band of energy that flows constantly.
For some reason, I think I can be part of it; I can reach it."

And that was That, that That that had

No Definition.

No Delineation.

Perhaps amongst the swaying palmtrees
Banshees lulling the swarm of motor-locusts to gentle sleep
Among the Angeleno Archbishop's trunk of implored hope
Perhaps I finally surf-it-dude like I knew I wanted

e.g.

There I am, finding myself again, as I keep on doing
I've realized the power of the band
I've toiled, inspired and championed under its tide
And goddamn! Mmm, mmm this day is so good

I ruminate

Mis amigos
Mis ambiciones
Mis exitos
Mi comunidad
Mi ciudad
Mmm, mmm ...

And I see another surfer
He's on Virgil, catching a yellow rip-curling pipe unto the next sidewalk
Whirls past me in a cyclone of stone-washed jean mayhem
From out of nowhere, a shark of a 70-pound pedestrian school girl!
He stops, politely miffed

My red, goes blue,

goes green, goes green, goes green

I take that moment to say to me-self, "he'd do better on one of My single ..."

Snap! Chain breaks, that is, his chain breaks as I say this

"Ha! I saw that!" I yell across the walkway.

He's looking like, "fuck off asshole.
I'm looking like, fuck it must be alarming having a strange 6-foot plus smiling messenger dork bicycling at you with unwarranted enthusiasm

I repeat, calmly, "I saw that."
He Peaky No Engli, so I stay quiet, cause I'm too excited to really say anything valuable
Swing left, snap center, poop, yeah poop and out comes my Federico Tool bag
He's incredulous till the chain-breaker says, "Yeah, this is your lucky day biatch!"

1, 2, 4, 10 ... dirty fingers and then some

Chain fixed.

Do not bother to tell him the whole story, at all
It was a private moment in the pipe, just call 976-...
"Cuanto?" me pregunta

"No. Nada, hombre. Asi esta bueno, " le digo.
And with a perfect "gracias" se va.

I'm late! But that was dope. Fuck, that was perfect.
I clean my hands, put the tools away, adjust my L.A. County Coroner cap
and "Toma. Funciona mejor que antes. Muchas gracias, " as he returned astonished and pleased.
Always aiming.
And he shoves a fiver into my hand.

Me pongo a rumiar.

My comrades
My lady
My aspirations:

Cool, Studio Fund!

I tell him the abbreviated whole story and
Mmm, mmm
Chinganda, este pinche burrito esta buenisimo!



also published here with a little introduction by f.

RIDE-Arc / 02.03.2006

For the return (form a two-month absence) of SCI-Arc's monthly night train, the architectural theme of "Sex, Sexuality & Love" took us on a route from the heart of Hollywood, through WeHo across the 90210, to Westwood and UCLA and Holmby Hills before an invigorating sprint back through the vibrant night life of Sunset at the Strip.

Small Flickr photo set found here.

Fun Show this Tuesday

With Three Kitchen Cooks

Ridazz In The Media

Don't know if anyone else caught it, but on last night's (Saturday, Jan. 21)) "Eye on L.A." show on KABC, a segment was devoted to the Midnight Ridazz with footage filmed during last November's "Dead Theater" ride. Nice.

bici film fest in LA

I want to see LA all up on this one!
I am posting this for my friend Brendt but I think this is something worth contributing to and supporting.
Especially while rocking the helmet cam!

SIXTH ANNUAL BICYCLE FILM FESTIVAL Call for Entries

-----------
The Bicycle Film Festival is seeking submissions for its sixth annual Festival. The event will feature dozens of different films on a variety of bicycle styles - from BMX to urban bike culture, cycling to commuting. The 2005 Bike Film Fest was attended by 15,000 people with many sold out showings. This year's festival is larger then ever before and will include 10 cities throughout the world including last years cities New York, Los Angles, San Francisco, Tokyo, and London! It is bound to be a lot of fun again in 2006!

We encourage YOU to submit films with these guidelines to enter: All lengths. Short is great and easier to program. All genres: BMX, animation, narratives, docs, experimental, Hollywood, cycling, and so on. The festival is more than films, it also features music, parties, fun bicycle parade, and art exhibitions.

For info:
http://www.bicyclefilmfestival.com
brendt@bicyclefilmfestival.com

The deadline for submissions is February 17, 2006.

Thanks,
Brendt Barbur

Bicycle Film Festival
70A Greenwich Ave. #307
New York New York
10011
212 463 8891