When I speak, I don't say much...

07 January, 2008

Part 1: Blame the drivers

So, I was surfing the net, because Benny is doing the programming, and I found a couple of interesting opinions on the L.A. Times website about cyclists vs. automobiles in Southern California. I'll quote the article below, and then throw in my two cents. Tomorrow will be another opinion...

The question: Bike riders and auto drivers frequently come into conflict on L.A.’s roads. Who’s to blame?

Oh, this one's a no-brainer: the drivers. Numbers alone dictate they're to blame. On one of my 13-mile morning commutes to work from Silver Lake to Westchester last week, I encountered hundreds of cars and 14 cyclists. The odds definitely favor the former to be at fault. Certainly poor roadway habits and bad manners are not the sole domain of motorists, but from my obviously biased perspective as a beleaguered bicyclist who's been pelted with pens, cigarettes, coins, beer cans, water bottles, eggs, trash, countless expletives and advice ("Get a car!" is my personal favorite), the city's already daunting streets can be downright inhospitable. There's a reason a canister of pepper spray is mounted to my bike's frame: to defend myself against the rare mad dog and the far more prevalent aggressive, ever-entitled driver. So far, I've never had to use it on either canine or car operator, but on occasions with the latter, I've come close. Let me give you an example from last August. I was on the home stretch of a casual all-day group ride that started in Highland Park and went all the way to Olympic Boulevard and the 405 Freeway in West Los Angeles before coming back to Echo Park. Returning east across town on Pico Boulevard, I wound up out ahead of the pack by a good mile or two. It had been a picture-perfect ride up until a few blocks west of Hoover Street when, while I was riding in the door zone alongside cars parked at the curb, a young man pulled his sedan tight against my left, where he called me an "ass" and flipped me the finger before speeding off — only to have his clean getaway dirtied by a red light at the next intersection.

Rolling up beside him, I inquired what that unprovoked outburst was all about, and in a magnificent display of ignorance, he berated me for riding my bike in the street. His argument was that wherever there isn't a striped bike lane, bikes aren't allowed on the road and must stay on the sidewalk. In my magnificent incredulity, I dropped a few expletives of my own while telling him that of all the idiots I'd encountered in my 20 years of biking L.A.'s mostly bike lane-less streets, he had to be the biggest one ever. Disliking that characterization, he yanked his car out of traffic, ready to escalate matters, at which point I advised him of the pepper spray and my willingness to use it along with my bike pump and my cable lock and whatever other means necessary to subdue him and then to have him arrested for everything I could possibly get him charged with. Somewhat amazingly — and thankfully — common sense prevailed over his belligerent stupidity, and he opted to stay in his vehicle, where I encouraged him to think twice before harassing the next cyclist he encountered and to familiarize himself with California Vehicle Code Section 21202. We parted with him telling me to, yep, "Get a car!"

Point of order, jerk: I have one. But last year, I put fewer miles on its odometer than on my bike's. By choice. Some might see that as a lousy choice because dealing with those motorists whose behavior ranges from inattentive to outright intimidating is a fact of life for urban cyclists on the streets of Southern California. But that's where the numbers come back into play. Because for every bad Acura there are, of course, bunches and bunches of drivers who demonstrate a respectful and considerate willingness to share the road.

What's interesting to me, is that the writer, Will Campbell, is obviously a resident of the L.A. area (he talks about his commute) and his attitude is SO L.A.. "Point of order, jerk," and the fact that he carries pepper spray, "to defend myself against the... the far more prevalent aggressive, ever-entitled driver." Man! This guy is bitter! I can't blame him. I agree that most of the drivers in So Cal are aggressive and feel that the road is theirs for the taking. But to assault them verbally as he does in his story, doesn't solve the problem.

What would solve the problem is to take all the drivers, put them on bikes, and then put on the cyclist in Hummers and let them honk, swerve, curse and throw things at the bike riding drivers. Boxing day on the streets of L.A.. That way drivers know what it's like to try and survive.

But I'm not bitter. I know what it's like to ride in L.A. Probably why I was off the bike for so many years. Didn't want to deal with the hassle defending myself. That's why I ride on tour now.

05 January, 2008

71 Hours

Guess we brought the rain with us from Hawai'i. I'm in L.A. for 71 hours (I've got about 18 left now), and the forecast has been for rain the entire time. Currently, it's very overcast and slightly cold. The thermometer outside my window says 56 degrees (that's 13 degrees Celsius for the weird Canuckans who read this blog). Not bitterly cold, but enough for the spousal unit to adjust the thermostat up. We arrived back from Hawai'i on the red eye that landed on the 3rd of January. But that's not to say we didn't leave without a heart full of warm memories and a carry on full of warm malasadas.

Here's the storefront of the most recognized name in malasadas, Lenoard's Bakery. It's just outside of Waikiki and a must stop for the returning local (me) and the sugar and fried dough fan (my wife). For those who were at my wedding, you probably remember these sweet doughy treats. They were the favor that you received when you left the reception. For those of you who weren't at my wedding, or have never been to Hawai'i, malasadas are basically sugar doughnuts with no hole. Often credited to the influence of the Portuguese culture, I have yet to find someone in Portugal who knows what a malasada is.

In any case, two of our closest friends at the wedding were more or less addicted to them. A favorite story from the wedding is of them sneaking them back to their room from the breakfast buffet at the hotel. You know you have an addict when they steal. And seeing as we were there, why not fly home a dozen of them to share with them.

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One day Nicole and I will learn our lesson, never fly the red eye. It's hard not to choose that flight, because it allows us to maximize our time in Hawai'i. Take the last day to tie up loose ends or get in the final gift shopping. But it's always the same thing when we land, we pretty much spend that day in a fog, unable to do much of anything except nap or watch TV. As of this writing (two days later) we still have one bag still waiting to be unpacked.

The only reason the other bags are unpacked is because I had to repack them and put them on a truck that leaves today (Saturday) for the start of the next Blue Man Group leg which starts tomorrow (Sunday). Better to have the bags packed and on the truck to the gig and save me the trouble of hauling them through the airport.

I've been touring so long, I have two sets of everything. I have a whole set of toiletries that stay on the road, and one that stays in the bathroom at home. I've got a four sets of clothes. One for winter touring, and winter home, summer touring and summer home. Granted, there are crossover items that I take with me, but for the most part, the jackets I wear on tour, I never wear at home.

71 hours is all I have at home this time. Day one was spent sleeping, unpacking and repacking. Day two (yesterday) started with a trip to the doctor. It was supposed to be a follow up appointment for a blood test (I have "elevated" cholesterol), which turned into a diagnosis of tendinitis in my elbows (no heavy lifting for 10 days), and iliotibial band syndrome in my left thigh, which means no cycling for two weeks. I'm getting old. The rest of the day was spent at the shop pre-programming the new lighting fixtures for this next leg for BMG. followed by being stuck in traffic for 2 hours in the afternoon because people in L.A. have no idea how to drive when it rains.

Today, well, today I was supposed to go shooting with the boys, but the rain took care of that. Which is fine, because I was able to sleep in at least once before heading back out on tour. And speaking of sleeping. It's very nice to be sleeping with the pack again. One of the nicest things about the cold weather is bundling up in bed and then being joined by the cats And the cats don't just cuddle up with us, they perch on Nicole.

Too bad there is no sound with this picture because Nicole is sawing logs and is completely oblivious to 16 pound cat lying on top of her. The cats operate in shifts. When sleeping starts, it's Kolohe (pictured above) who starts in that position. When it's time to get up, the job is taken over by Ipolani, who sit in the same place and meows constantly until one of us gets up to feed her. I wasn't quick enough on the draw to get a picture of Ipolani. As soon as I sat up and grabbed the camera, she realized her job was done, and she ran to the kitchen to be fed.

The only one not allowed on the bed is our dog, Pekona. He has the bear blanket which sits underneath the heating vent to sleep on.

He doesn't seem to mind, and will run to the room when you say, "Blanket!" and get in the down position ready for a treat. Sometimes he gets one, sometime not. Gotta keep him guessing.

These are the things I will miss when I get on the plane tomorrow morning. But it has to be done. I've only got a few hours left at home and a number of loose ends to tie up. I should probably stop faffing about on this blog and get cracking....

now.

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