Westside BikeSIDE!

When I lived nearer the concrete canal, I ran there late at night.  Training for a marathon meant running 80 miles each week along the uniform banks of Ballona Creek, and sometimes this became monotonous.

Some chill nights a magical event occurred.  Flying and gliding silently on the flicking knotted wood legs of the long distance runner a companion joined me.  Orange street light sprinkled across black water to reveal a long slender wave spanning the canal, and moving upstream.

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I just ran a bunch of red lights. First, I ran the light at Olympic & 4th St, directly in front of the Santa Monica Police Department.

Then I ran a light crossing Lincoln Blvd, in the middle of the on and off ramp traffic for the 10 Freeway.

Then one more a few streets later, and one more near my house.

Why? Because it was good for me. It helped me out. It made my life better. It was a selfish act.

Also, because the decrepit signals wouldn’t change for me. Every time I visit Santa Monica City Council I run the light in front of the Police Department. I wait and wait and wait before I realize that the signal is not going to change for me. Then I look around, make sure there aren’t any police about, and I run it.

Supposedly there is an element in the California Vehicle Code which allows one to run a light if it is not changing for them, after waiting a reasonable period. Me - I’m not looking to have that conversation with a cop.

Next time someone remarks on how green Santa Monica is, or how West LA is more bike friendly than some other place, you can do the polite thing and laugh in their face. But I suggest doing something aggressively non-sequitur - like spitting in your hand and then wiping it on your pants, or pulling out some papers and ripping them up. Maybe just step into traffic or try to eat your shoe. Perhaps your bizarre act will dissuade them from regurgitating regional mythology in the future.

(this is a guest post from David Pulsipher, CICLE Steering Committee member, Bikerowave Volunteer, and urban planner at Alta Planning)

I love when different parts of my world collide. The other night a favorite movie reminded me an important lesson about riding your bike in the city, and I had to share it.

Often, my wife and I like to enjoy a little bit of mindless television while we eat dinner. Searching for something to catch our attention, I found refuge in a childhood (and present-day) favorite, the Karate Kid.

My connection to the Karate Kid runs deeper than this underdog, poor-kid-gets-the-rich-girl tale. When he was in his adolescence, he was uprooted from New Jersey to California - and so was I! Daniel loved riding his bike - for transportation! And so do I!

Daniel gets in trouble when he doesn’t take the lane on his ride home from dinner. Instead, he lets the Kobra Kai gang run him off the road which then sends him into his blabbering, teary rant about how he “hates his bike.” What treachery!

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Why do I have to travel around this great city of ours in fear? Why do I not deserve equal treatment and protection under the same laws that govern non-cyclists? Why is public transportation such a joke in Los Angeles?

Why does a Beverly Hills police officer think it’s a good idea to turn off his lights at night, point his SUV at us, and speed up towards our group in order to teach one of the three of us a lesson about not having a headlight (License plate #1098193, short blond hair, medium build)? Why does the Santa Monica Police Department harass cyclists without even knowing the California Vehicle Code? Why do you robotic, peon police officers harass us when we ARE the F’in future? Why can’t you see this as clearly as I? Why don’t more people watch Star Trek or PBS or read Jules Verne? When did you ever read a (good) sci fi book that still had gas-powered vehicles?

Why do I always beat the Metro Rapid and Big Blue Buses on my way to work? Why does that Blue Line driver talk smack to me every Saturday morning when I bring my bike on board? Why is the Culver City bus from LAX so god damn slow? Why would I want to stop at TWO MALLS on my way home from the airport? Why does the Blue Bus stop at every other street? Why does the Metro Rail not have a designated place for bikes?

Why in the heck are the people that are supposed to protect and serve me, whose pay is partly covered by my taxes, turn against me? Why do I, a zero emmissions motherfucker deserve such shitty treatment? Why do we think “advocacy” is going to work in this polluted city that hasn’t learned it’s lesson in two decades? Why do we get so happy when we hear the word “bikes” in a future-will-be-all-bike-friendly 20 year plan?

Why does one relatively safe bike lane that ends at Bundy and the occasional bike valet make Santa Monica Bike-Friendly?

Aaaargh. See you on the streets I guess.

(This is a guest post by Tom Bosch, Bikerowave’s head mechanic on Monday nights.)

When I was a kid, I would ride my big sister’s beat up bike through the neighboring apartment complexes in my hometown, rain or shine, riding as fast as possible, sometimes near the brink of disaster. When disaster struck, whether it was a bent stem after sliding out of a curve, or a broken pedal, I’d fix the problem and keep going. That pretty much sums up my relationship with my bike. I got lucky and survived my fair share of close calls back then, never even broke a bone.

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