bikes in cities

I first started biking when I moved to Portland, OR, where I was a student looking to save some dimes. I wanted to pay for transportation exactly once. No fares, no gas, no insurance, no licensing. I bought a bike, & I rode it every day, & I took it in for repairs two times. Once, I broke a spoke. And once, I got a flat.

I didn't know how to repair a flat.

Then, I moved to Los Angeles, & I didn't ride for about six months. But I missed it. If I worked on the weekends, I rode in, to "treat" myself. Then, I started to "treat" myself every day because I could see no reason not to. I learned how to repair a flat, how to adjust my brakes, saddle height, derailleurs, &c., because I had to. My bike started to fall apart all of a sudden, it seemed, because I was riding it much more, & because I had enjoyed startlingly good luck in Portland. I amassed a small bag of tools, which I kept with me at all times.

My fourth (or maybe fifth) group ride in Los Angeles.

Later still, I discovered Midnight Ridazz. It took me about four months after I started riding every day to learn that thousands of other riders were doing the same all throughout the city, the Valley, Orange County, the Westside, the Eastside. Bikes were everywhere, but they had been invisible, even to me. In retrospect, this is almost inconceivable. Riders in Los Angeles are the most tight-knit group of people I've ever come across, anywhere, & the most welcoming. (I was jumped into a bike gang on my third ride, by SP00K.) How did I miss this? Now, I'm (unofficially) a member of three bike gangs. There is no rivalry; we all go to each others' birthday parties.

Ridge Way Bike House turns 2.

I don't think bikers in Portland are as galvanized. I figure it's because bikers are as common as the roses that grow untended there. Like their roses, it's just as beautiful a thing, but it's not so very special. In Los Angeles, riding a bike is a strange thing to do. When seeing someone else riding on the road, I look to see if I know them, & often enough I do. If I don't know them, I nod. A tacit acknowledgment that we both know what's up. It's a unifying activity here, whereas in cities where it's more common, it doesn't mean as much.

Another thing: In Los Angeles, riders don't seem to care much about what you ride. I mean, they care — they appreciate a good whip. But I ride with fixed gear riders, geared riders, mountain bikers, BMX tricksters, chopper bike riders, tall bikers, road racers, polo bikers, velodrome rats, & even people who ride recumbents.

Just kidding. Not recumbents.

I rode this bike once. ONCE.

Every day is a custom bike show. Every night is a ride, usually several. Alleycats every weekend. Name a holiday — Christmas, New Year's, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, your birthday, your dad's birthday, Arbor Day. There's a ride that day. Ahh, enthusiasm. It's fucking scintillating.

SCINTILLATING RIDES:

The Ride with No Name
The Passage of a Few People Through a Rather Brief Moment in Time
C.R.A.N.K. MOB (The Wonder Year)
Westside Mosey
ROB010100100101010TZ
Midnight Ridazz (official) rides
Wolfpack Hustle
Cub Camp
All those rides that wound up on the beach in the middle of the night, & then there was swimming, & Trouble

Go ride.

Love,
Katie

C.R.A.N.K. MOB taught me: los angeles is good for biking

Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my first-ever group ride in Los Angeles. That ride was C.R.A.N.K. MOB.

I hated biking in LA when I first moved here. I was bad at it. I'd moved from a city with three bike shops in every neighborhood to a city with more, bigger neighborhoods and fewer shops. I rarely saw other bikers on the road. Those I saw were mostly road racers, and I didn't have much in common with them. But I did enjoy it for its own sake, whether I had a community behind me or not, and I did learn more about bikes on my own, mostly by necessity. Then I found out about Midnight Ridazz from a co-worker who saw me bike in to work. (Thanks, Kristy.)

We went on that first C.R.A.N.K. MOB together, and I was stunned. It implanted in me the desire to be better, stronger, and faster. It shook the complacency right out of me, as suddenly I was exposed to a much bigger variety of kinds of bikes, of bikers, than previously. I saw how much more there was to know.

Over time, the more rides I went on, the more I rode to work, I got stronger. I got to know the city better. My sense of direction became a little less appalling. I could take care of basic repairs on my own. And my speed, hill-climbing, and handling skills improved. And C.R.A.N.K. MOB had a lot to do with it, alongside Midnight Ridazz and Los Angeles itself (all those longer distances and far-apart bike shops had a lot to do with my learning curve). For these, I'm grateful.

Thanks, C.R.A.N.K. MOB, and happy birthday.

LAB grand opening #2

Yesterday (Saturday, Sept. 20) was the SECOND grand opening -- "Because one opening just isn't enough" -- of fixed-gear and track bicycle shop Los Angeles Brakeless.

They did swift business at their former location in Culver City which opened in November 2007. But when a vintage store went out of business at Venice Boulevard and Grand View, owners Anna and Dave saw an opportunity to move to a location with higher visibility and more street traffic. Other, complementary businesses in the area include a coffee shop, an art gallery, a used book shop, a tattoo parlor, and a costume store (if you've ever been on C.R.A.N.K. MOB, you'll know the importance of a good costume shop on the westside). All it needs is a repair co-op, and it could challenge Heliotrope and Melrose's distinction as Los Angeles' "bicycle district."

The opening-day celebrations were launched with an alleycat race -- a multi-stop event where the racers only find out the checkpoints moments before the race begins. Racers choose the order in which they make the circuit of the checkpoints, and one checkpoint demanded that racers take a large package with them for the remainder of the race. The requirements that the racers know surface streets well and be able to ride quickly with a large package strapped to their back were nods to the race form's messenger-style beginnings. Below are the front and back of the alleycat spoke cards and manifest (both designed by me).

tiled & terrific: changing the lexicon

Once, not long ago, I tried to remove a word from my vocabulary. That word was "awesome." The word I tried to replace it with was "terrific." It means almost the same thing. (The meaning of "awesome" is "inspires awe," and that for "terrific" is "inspires terror." Awe ≠ terror ... but it's close.)

It didn't work. Mostly because "terrific" is something that junior high librarians say. That, and my own personal failure -- I kept slipping up and saying "awesome" anyway. I have no self-control, especially when it comes to words.

But this doughnut shop seems to be in alignment with my thinking. I'm wondering if they're also sick of the word "totally."


Not just terrific. Extra terrific.

A little further down is a tile store. Look closely and see that this lady is a mannequin with a swimsuit tiled directly onto her body. They can set a mood with a window, I'll tell you what, and that mood is "creeped out."


She looks lonely.

The other window has this guy. Now HE is terrific, in all senses of the word. LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND FEEL THE TERROR.


Help this robot!

And so I present to you the strip mall of discontent and loss.

portland south

In honor of the overcast skies, the relentless chill, and the constant drizzle, I'm going through today as if I still lived in Portland.

I'm wearing every piece of wool I own. The socks are high and striped. The sweatshirt is hooded ("Like your eyes!" says my dirty, ill-cut hair). I just came back from a coffee shop, where I had organic coffee and a tasty grilled sandwich served by scruffy, attractive people. And I'm on my way to a paper store, where I'm going to source cardstock for some arty-crafty thing I'm super excited about. It's been another car-free weekend, after a nearly car-free week. I'm thinking later on I'll hang out on a bridge and pass out beers to bikers.

Wait, that last one ... I don't think that really works here.

bitch

I don't know that I've ever been called a bitch before. I've been called plenty of other things, but not a bitch.

Or maybe it's just that I don't bike enough on Saturday nights. On the way back from some Los Feliz thing, I had a perfectly delightful ride. Really good, in fact, until about a mile from my house, at which point a Jeep driver was compelled to impart his opinion.

"Bitch!"

I was doing the bike driving thing (acting like a car in the absence of a bike lane), in the right lane. They were in the left lane. Then the light turned red. I passed them, they passed me. I gave them the "I'm looking at you because I want to not hit you, but I'm looking with cold, dead eyes." Then, this:

"GET ON THE SIDEWALK, HIPPIE."

Wow, wrong. I would have expected "hipster" before "hippie," but hipster's not right, either -- I do bathe. Most accurate would be "Nine-year-old boy!" because, well, I dress like a nine-year-old boy. Or "Fashion-Lazy!" I would have taken that. Or, like, "Rigorous with your Political Beliefs, in your Words and in your Actions!"

Oh shit, I am a hippie.