LA River & Cycling Love

I wouldn't say that staring at the LA River fills me as tightly as staring at the ocean, but it's close. Very close. Which would seem odd to the majority of Angelenos because the LA River is basically considered an iconic eye sore. The property around the ocean is coveted and the most expensive in the world. The property and neighborhoods around the LA River just as soon be forgotten, and often are. These neighborhoods are some of the poorest in the city and often experience the highest crime. But I find the most extreme beauty in the aftermath of a social-economic-political backturning because in these neighborhoods there are still people; mothers and fathers who want well for their children, people who want comfort and fairness for themselves and their community. Beyond the struggle, and criminal frustration, a fiercely organic hope emerges; beauty blossoms that is rooted in the collective, if minimal hope of people. It's a beauty that cannot be stopped. This can be witnessed in any neighborhood, anywhere.

On Sunday, I rode my bike 50 miles in the 9th Annual LA River Ride which is put on by LA Bicycle Coalition. The LACBC is a bicycle advocacy group that champions our issues as cyclists whether for sport, transportation or recreation. I think they do amazing work and I'm thrilled to be a member and really, if you live in Southern California and have a bike, be it collecting dust or used every day, please become a member to support them. Lately they've been relentlessly staying on the city to follow through with our huge, planned Bike Path program that would create many more bike-only roadways in LA.

Not only do I love the LACBC, but how lucky am I that they put on a fundraising event to be almost entirely ridden near the LA River?

I want to now admit that I was at first regretful I had signed up to ride 50 miles. Pre event, I kicked myself for not starting smaller with the 36 miler or maybe just the fun family ride. Maybe I should just watch! On Saturday night, my stomach was in knots. I didn't feel prepared. I felt I hadn't put in enough road work on my bike. This event is not a race at all, but I didn't want to feel like shit out there, y'know? Then I just resigned to it. I'd just go out there and roll around and take pictures and fuck it, right? I figured a 50 mile ride would take me at least 4 hours, maybe more, especially since the route would only be half bike path and half open city streets with traffic. I could deal with that. I made homemade energy bars from Brazier's book Thrive and rolled them into individually-wrapped balls to stuff into my fanny pack. I filled two water bottles with electrolytes, packed my camera, my phone, sunblock, lip balm.

Sunday's sky was uncharacteristically full of character for LA. Our skies generally like to stay clearly blue or muted silver and not much in between, but the shimmer off the clouds onto the water and neighborhoods was a breathtaking back drop. Here we are starting out along the river near gorgeous Griffith Park, downtown LA in the far background. Here, on the bike, my nerves had evaporated. I was thrilled to be there.

Heading out into the streets on the peripheral of downtown, we crossed a classically inner-LA bridge, over the river.

I sighed going over the bridge and said aloud, "Ug, I love the river." A gentleman who was riding near me and who had exchanged plesantries earlier said, "Really?" I said, "It's so beautiful." And he said, "Huh. I guess you have to have a lot of imagination to find it beautiful." I looked at the river again just incase we were looking at different things, and thought, Do I just have a lot imagination? Thank god for that, then.I think what moves me a lot is the clash of industrial with natural, or the emergence of the natural no matter what. The broken down factory-like businesses along the stretch of river between Commerce and Compton were dinosaurish, but I saw wild lilies growing in unkept grounds around them. Cattails had been planted to line parts of the path, just underneath barbed wire fences. Even the river itself is contained in a human-made concrete vice, but the graffiti keeps it alive. The touches of expression burst and compliment the river. There are a lot of industrial businesses in these neighborhoods, and whoever constructs these steel and concrete monstrosities, no matter how hard they try to make them look so drab and unappealing, they can't stop plants sprouting through the cracks or kids releasing their art onto the banks, the awnings, the tractors, the steel-bolted monster buildings.

There's nothing in this next picture really. It just appeals to me. Rolling along at 18mph, it was hard to get all the photos I wanted. I couldn't capture a fraction of the images that moved me. And looking at these photos, and thinking about what that guy said, maybe it doesn't translate as Beautiful to many others, but maybe you guys could use your imaginations too.
Here I am, riding along sola, just after at the halfway turn-around point in Compton.This was the last picture I took(with my Post Punk Kitchen tshirt on!) because I told myself that if I felt strong, I would pick it up in the last half of the ride. And at 25 miles, I did feel strong. I told myself that if I still felt good in another 12 miles, I'd bring it on even more. With about 20 miles left I caught up with a man wearing a Tivo cycling jersey. He rode a decent bike at a decent pace and he and I exchanged leads through the streets near downtown. We passed a bunch of tiring riders and we caught up with another rider who wore an event jersey. He became our new pace car. What I learned about myself as a cyclist is that in the streets through traffic and over rolling hills, I was a very strong and confident rider. The endless amounts of railroad tracks and manholes and crater-like pot holes did not bother me in the least, while I heard many a "serious" cyclist grumble about the bullshit going on in the streets. (P.S. The biggest obstacle I wove around was a huge pile of horse shit right in the middle of the bike path in Lynwood. Lynwood! Where are these city horses at?) So, obstacle courses and cars didn't phase me because I've mainly ridden my bike in traffic since I was in 3rd grade. But when the two jersey dudes and I got on the flat, empty bike path, they smoked me a little. They gained a good 75 yards on me that I wasn't able to recover. When I finished the ride, I was a little breathless, my legs felt fatigued, but I felt like a billion bucks. With all the traffic lights and the one time we had to wait for a passing cargo train which lasted five minutes, I finished the 50 miles in 3 hours and 15 minutes. Seriously, a billion dollars and all the worrying for nothing! I kissed the frame of my bike while waiting for my goodie bag.

My car was parked about a mile away and I slowly rode back to it, elated. The last 200 yards to the parking lot was a steep hill. I decided to walk it, but half way up, where the road leveled a little before it got steep again, I decided I should just ride up the freaking hill already. Walking in my clip shoes was almost as hard. I clipped in my left foot, went to accelerate and realized I was still in a big gear, so big that the bike did not move, only leaned left. When I realized I was doomed, I just relaxed and resigned to the fall and I timbered over onto my left side in the empty street. I was laughing and unclipping myself when a grandma drove up next to me in a minivan. She rolled down her window and asked if I was ok. I love how I can feel so badass one minute and be so not badass the next.

I love you LA River and LACBC. Thanks for a great ride.

Bay Area Trip, Spring 2009

When a good picture is taken of yourself, do you wonder if they'll ever be another good picture taken of you again? This picture is like that for me. It may very well be the last good one. Seriously, I dunno if all the elements will converge again like this. It was taken Friday. I had driven into San Francisco a couple hours before and Betsy and I were riding our bikes along the Embarcadero looking for a decent sports bar to watch college hoops. Betsy took the picture from her bike as we rolled along. The weather was perfect; the sky, the water, the Bay Bridge, my favorite color jacket; I'm glowing happy . . .

We had just come from the Rainbow Coop which is always my first stop when I go up there. Betsy took the BART over from the East Bay with her bike and met me there. We putzed around the aisles of the store. I bought vegan apple pie and a new cookbook called Vegan Soul Kitchen by Bryant Terry. Terry is originally from TN, but now lives in Oakland. He calls himself an eco chef and a food justice activist, which wildly inspires me. He also has written a recipe for Jamaican Patties with Sweet Coconut-Ginger Creamed Corn, so forget it, I love him. So, Betsy and I wove through Rainbow laughing loudly, muted only when we peeped out some new thing on the shelves -- oh and once we fell silent when an anorexic woman passed us sporting a full chin beard. Tattoos covered her bone-arms. I think it was a woman. But definitely anorexic. With a chin beard for sure. "I love this town," I said. Our cashier was a tall man with pig tails, wearing an ornate black-beaded choker and a green-khaki skirt. I hardly noticed until I was paying. Then I was set on picking up something in his voice, in his mannerisms to give me more of his personality. I listened to him talk as I slid my ATM card through. He gave me nothing but warm welcomes and casual conversation. He was just a regular dude dressed not so regular.

Oh look, here we are again on the Embarcadero.I feel like a bike model! Get outta here. I love myself. After Rainbow, we went to eat at Cafe Gratitude. The day was sparkling through windows so we sat in the bay seat to watch everyone coming in. A woman in a flowing skirt and purple velvet hat sat at the bar of the restaurant next to a hand-written sign that read "Free Tarot Readings." No one had joined her and it didn't really cross our minds either. The waiter came to take our order. At Gratitude, all the food and drink are listed as affirmations. The shake I ordered was named the I Am Grace, and the waiter will say, "Yes, you are grace," and on. The waiter rattled off the specials: "Cream" of mushroom soup and the entree was an enchilada stuffed with nuts, carrots and cranberries. Betsy closed her menu and said, "Oh yea, that's for me." I said, "Yup, I Am the Specials," which the waiter didn't get so we awkwardly had to tell him to hook us up with the soup and the enchiladas, dang. He said, "Here's the question of the day: What inspires you about Nature?" I blushed at such a personal question thrown at us so unexpectedly. Defensively, I only thought of smart-ass things, but I kept my mouth shut. Betsy said, "Blues and greens," which was a good answer. I declined partly because Blues & Greens shouldn't be topped, but mainly I thought, "I am Nature. I am Nature." The menu had gone to my head.

Later that night, we went over to Hotel Utah to catch Bhi Bhiman, who is a fantastic singer from Oakland. I consider him a lyrical activist too, but I'm surprised nothing of the sort is mentioned on his website. His lyrics are heavy on comedy, but poignant too. His voice though, that's the thing; his voice is divine and quirky and special though he looks like any dude on the street who wouldn't catch your eye. I stared at him most of show, set on getting something from his mannerisms to get more of his personality, but I only felt it when I closed my eyes and listened.

What I learned about myself the next morning as we climbed Mt. Diablo on our bikes is that I have a lot to learn still about cycling. We all know this about ourselves, about many things, don't we? But we kind of really don't know this about ourselves, do we - that we usually don't know much. The good news is that I was fit enough to make it up the hill in ok form and I was nowhere near discouraged. But I was just unfit enough to realize I have only chipped the tip of this sport. I feel inspired to forge on. I have a feeling I have no idea what I'm getting myself into, but on we go!

Here we are 54 minutes up the hill at the Ranger Station, Betsy, me and Betsy's husband Jim. The thing about learning something about yourself in one day is that you'll probably forget all of that the next day. On Sunday morning, Betsy and I went on a 17 mile ride from Layfayette to Oakland to the top of Skyline and back. The views were spectacular. Most of the ride was on a two-lane road sandwiched by messy and fragrant pines and clear creeks.But the last 12 minutes to Skyline was hill. A hill steeper than Mt. Diablo for sure, and while I felt fast and good and confident and inspired after Saturday's ride and for a lot of Sunday's ride, that last bit of hill made me think I had even more work to do than yesterday's epiphany. Gasping the last 200 yards to the summit, determined not to stop, I didn't appreciate that Sunday's realization had to trump Saturday's. Betsy waited for me at the top, said I did just fine and then she flew back down the hill, clocking in at over 30mph while I cautiously made may way down squeezing the brakes so hard I was afraid to set the tires on fire. But once down the gnarliest part of the hill, I locked into a type of fast coast that made me feel deeply for my bike. I blazed through pine-tree shadows, skimming needles and dirt. I fast-nodded my good mornings to the cyclists making their way up. The sun flickered like an old film reel and the smell of buttery tree sap laced the rushing gust I cut through easily. My fragility on a seventeen-pound wisp of a vehicle disappeared, and Whitey and I were gonna be all right.

Nearing the end of the ride, we cruised leisurely on the path towards Betsy's house. Some parts of the path were too beautiful not to dismount and admire and photograph. We balanced the camera on a post and hit the timer. .” I wanted to stuff the huge feelings I had during the ride into a hefty bag and lug it over to Café Gratitude. I would dump it on the table and the floor – some would spill into the kitchen -- and I’d shake out the last bits of it by gripping the tips of the bag. I’d tell the waiter, “Is this what you mean? Is this the easy answer you were looking for? Here it is."

Thanks Betsy for such a great weekend.

Cycling = Compelling TV, and GOTRIbal

Do you think recording and watching every minute of the Tour de California is too much? Yea, me neither. Have you been watching too? Girl, did you see when Lance Armstrong's trial bike got stolen the night before the prologue and he's all, "There's only one of those in the world so you best not show it to anyone if you did steal it." And I was like, right?? And then Fabian Cancellara dropped out before Stage 1 after he smoked everyone in the prologue? He said he had a fever! And I'm all, What the--? And then Francisco Mancebo won Stage 1 after riding 108 miles in torrential rains. There was so much hard rain that UK cyclist Mark Cavendish was all, "I coulda stayed on the Isle of Man for this!" EL OH EL! And did you see what Floyd Landis was wearing? Nutz, right? Good, good drama -- if you enjoy four hours of cycling television, which is a given. Ppff. Seven more days to go, and I'm stoked!

Remember the bad-ass cycling twins from the great ATHLETE movie poster in the last post? The twins and I are practically BFF now. I told them I want to be the triplet because when I grow up, athletically, I want to be just like them even if I am about eight years older. Check out Kellie's website and if you're a tiny bit inspired by my athletic resurgence, this woman will put you over the moon. If you click on her training calendar to the right you'll say things to yourself like, "Ok, maybe I can go run those 2 miles . . ." Kellie also directed me to a site called GOTRIbal. This is a support-group site for any woman who has ever even thought about doing a triathlon. Even if you're just thinking about running your first 5k, this is a site of support, information and out-and-out love for female athletes around the country, from beginner to pretty elite from what I can see. When the most in-shape person you've ever seen is telling you that you that walking a 5K is an accomplishment, there is a safety there that makes it ok to believe it too. The cornerstone philosophy of the site is that the higher up the ladder you go as an athlete the more you're able to pay it forward to athletes who are behind you in experience and accomplishments. I can get behind that type of communal sharing and support any day of the week. I encourage all of you to spark up your inner athlete here too. Let me know when you do so we can link up on the site.

I posted this to my GOTRIbal page because I thought if Facebook can do stuff like this, then why not the athletes too. Some of it is stuff you already know. Some of this is on my Facebook. Well, here you go anyway:

25 Random Things About Me, Athletically

1. When I was thirteen, almost 30 years ago, I thought I'd be the first woman to play in the NBA. I missed that mark by a lot. But I did run a few playground courts in my day, up until I was pregnant with Mina.

2. In high school, I ditched school often to go play pick-up basketball at our neighborhood legendary court where pro's played off season.

3. Once, at these courts, I played three on three against Cynthia Cooper who was a star at USC back then. She was so gracious and encouraging as she kicked my butt all over the court.

4. I was on a spring board diving team in my teens. When I hit the board on a routine dive, I was so mind-fucked that I joined the swim team instead because I believed the two hour workouts would be easier. I was right.

5. I was inexplicably pretty good at the backstroke and very mediocre at everything else.

6. Though I did play one season of water polo on the boys high school team.

7. And I placed tenth for women in a Mile Open-Ocean Swim Competition many years ago. I couldn't believe I had (kinda) placed

8. I get all soft in the knees over college basketball (DUH!!), and March Madness is a sacred and cherished time in our house (Noooo . . .). I didn't go to college, which allows me to jump on any fan bandwagon I want during the tournament!

9. When I was nine, I had my picture in the local newspaper for being an all-star soccer goalie. The picture is of me diving for a ball in the mud, with a Dorothy Hamil haircut.

10. I've commuted on a bicycle my entire life, but December was the first time I ever rode a road bike.

11. And now I'm in love with cycling.

12. Deeply, deeply in love.

13. (You already know this one too) My commute bike is a black fixed-up hand-me-down Specialized named Loops. My road bike is a pristine white Cannondale Six named Whitey Heidi. My nine year old daughter named them both within seconds of looking at the bikes.

14. I love both bikes equally.

15. I'm not a very good runner, mentally or physically. I'm trying to break through that because I've been attracted to triathlons for 20 years. I've shied away from them because of the running.

16. I'm going to do my first triathlon this June.

17. I'm going to learn from the women at GOTRIbal how to get through and do well at the running part. I thank them, in advance.

18. I support my daughters 110% in anything they want to be involved, but I'm secretly thrilled that they are both natural and driven athletes.

19. Playing ball inside our house is not only ok, but encouraged.

20. My husband was ranked on the east coast tour in tennis when he was younger.

21. He has no patience to teach me tennis and frankly I have no patience to learn from him. Ha!

22. As early as five months ago, I was stuck in an emotional plateau regarding my fitness and my athletic ability and purpose. I questioned if staying fit was even worth it, worth anything, especially as I march on into my 40's. Then I rode a road bike.

23. Now, I'm on a mission.

24. Now, I train smarter than when I was a teen or in my 20's.

25. I've randomly met a handful of people in the last four months (and was directed the GOTRIbal site) who bring me more support athletically than I've ever had in my entire life, and I can only think that it is some divine intervention, some cosmic fate or quite possibly just a seasoned understanding that being an athlete has always been and will always be a big part of who I am. If I still can move it, then I need to move it. And move it as strongly as I possibly can.


Let me know if you do this list too. Beginner or pro, I'd love to hear what motivates you, or what you've done or what you will do. Or what you've always dreamed about doing. It starts with that, y'know.

Dusting Is Fun

Maya's basketball season has started at school. After practice, after all the drills and running are done, Maya, and a couple of the girls and some of the coaches want to play a fun game of Knock Out. Knock Out is when anyone who wants to play lines up at the free throw line. The first two in line have basketballs; the first shoots but if she misses and the second player then makes it, guess what? The first is knocked out. Last week, I showed up before Knock Out and Maya begged for me to play with them. One of the main coaches mumbled to another coach, "Yo, Maya's mom can ball," which he knows because we went to high school together. And secretly I was all pumped that my legendary basketball skills were not just tales that I tell in the most longing of ways. So Maya begs and I'm standing there in jeans and flip flops and a nice sweater and shirt. Another coach says, "Naw, Maya. Your mom wants to go. We'll play next week." Maya ignores this and says, "Mami, seriously? You don't want to play Knock Out?" And I take off my purse, walk to the free throw line and say, "Run it." Mina stands in front of me and I let her take a few shots before I knock her butt out. The coach I went to high school with, Shamel, says, "Dang, just knock out your own child." I said, "She shoulda made it." Then I proceed to knock out everybody, Maya, players, coaches. Shamel slaps my hand on the way out. "You still got it, girl," he says. I feel a little like a meat head, all pumping my fists and strutting around, beating children at basketball, though there were grown-men coaches playing too. Next I'll be arm wrestling Lupe and kickboxing infants.