All sunshine shines not the same. For the first 18 years of my life I supposedly grew up in Southern California. (Some would question if I have actually ever “grown up.”) In contrast to my California years, I've spent over 30 years in my life in Canada. Based on my experiences in these very contrasting environments, I believe that not all sunshine shines the same.
The
sunshine striking the earth in the Southwest USA looks and feels
quantitatively different than the sunshine striking the earth in
Ontario, Canada. Ontario sunshine has a warm, almost golden glow to
it. Maybe that's because being further from the equator the sunshine
has to pass a greater distance through the atmosphere. I don't know.
I'm just guessing.
But
the sunshine striking the earth in Los Angeles, California, looks and
feels different. Brighter. Stronger. “Sunshiny-er.” (The spell
check disputes that word.)
Such
powerful sunshine penetrates the curtains of our (very) small motel
room. My eyes flicker at the natural “alarm clock” the visible
light spectrum creates. I'm feeling hugely better than I did when I
collapsed in bed late last night, or I should say, very early this
morning.
Imagining how hot and sweaty I will be in just a few hours, I head to the shower. At least I can start the day not attracting attention as an aromatic environmental toxin. I love showers. I call them “Hydro Therapy.” I'm pretty sure that somewhere out there scientific evidence proves warm and cold water striking the skin enhances mental, emotional, and physical health and well being.
After
my Hydro Therapy, I prepare to face the world donning my super hero
spandex bike suit. Bro Mark has awakened from his beauty sleep by
this point. He is already suited up. (Bro Mark is not an
environmentalist, I think, and therefore does not believe in morning
de-tox showers.)
We
do the final packing and securing of all our gear (which we will
discover in the next 48 hours constitutes way too much gear. And
within the next four hours, I learn how to properly secure my
relatively new pannier bags to the rack and sides of my rear wheel in
a manner in which they do not fall off in the middle of busy street
intersections).
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| The street just outside our motel as we head west towards Santa Monica Beach |
We
say “good bye” to our memorable motel and hop on our fully loaded
bikes and head the wrong direction. On purpose. The city of Needles
and the Colorado River lay east of us, several days of bike riding
away. But we purposely head west right now. We want to go to the
beach. Not for a morning swim, but for historical reasons. We want to
see what travelers of long ago saw when they finally ended their
3,966 km (2,448 mi) trek in Santa Monica from all points east on
Route 66.
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| Getting closer to the beach. Note the nice bike lane. Los Angeles seems pretty good about providing these, sometimes. |
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| The white structure centre picture is the building at the base of the pier. |
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| Bro Mark next to the multi-use path along the beach; a common feature in Southern California. Nice for walking, riding, skate boarding, roller blading, etc. |
Coming
off this pier, I also experienced my first annoying mechanical
problem with my bike. Not a total breakdown. But a malfunction
impacting my pedaling in a serious way. My bike would not shift into
its lowest gear.
For
some cyclists, this might not be a problem. But for me, this
constitutes a big deal. My muscles do not ripple against the
tightness of my spandex suit like a Superman or Batman. I, therefore,
need that “easy” gear or “granny gear.” (A rather gender
discriminatory term, eh?) Especially when I am loaded very heavy as I
am today.
But
there's nothing to be done about it right now. And fortunately today,
we do not climb any significant hills. But I immediately miss Granny.
And thoughts of the 4,000 ft (1,220 m) pass we climb on our route
tomorrow sit uncomfortably in the back of my mind.
But
now we leave the pier and head west (The correct compass heading) on
Santa Monica Boulevard. We are in the downtown area, but this is not
“the” downtown. But close enough. I look down streets on my right
and I can see the classic and modern downtown Los Angeles sights
captured in movies featuring this city – such as the tall, round
Capital Records building. Given the intensity of morning rush hour
traffic on the six lanes of Santa Monica Blvd, I am not keen on
challenging the downtown core commuters on my lightweight aluminum
bike. (If I had a Titanium Bike and an Iron Man suit, I might consider riding through the downtown core.)
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| The beginning of Santa Monica Blvd. And the ending, or beginning, of Route 66, depending on which direction you are coming from or going to. |
We
ride carefully on the edge of our right hand lane. The 9:00 AM (09:00)
shadows stubbornly cling to the street and east side of the
buildings. Commuters strut their vehicles with a strong confidence
and mostly disregard for our presence. But Brother Mark and I were
urban born and raised. Our Orange County California childhood city
smart skills kick in and we maneuver east carefully and successfully.
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| One of about 200 signal lights ("controlled intersection") we will enjoy throughout the day. |
A short distance ahead we simultaneously see a famous eating establishment, “Jack In the Box.” Without exchanging a word, we realize the steak and egg burritos are calling us to consume them. We do so.
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| Breakfast at Jack In the Box |
Empowered
by our consumption of simple and complex carbohydrates and protein
from Grade E meat sources, we pedal on. For the next 109 km (68 mi) we
experience intense urban cycling. Which means, lots and lots of
traffic lights. I calculate almost two hundred traffic lights by the
end of the day. (Picture a lot of ups and downs off the bike seat
throughout this day.)
The
automobile traffic is not as intense and nerve wracking as I thought
it would be. I only came close to getting hit by a vehicle twice. The
first incident occurred as a van rushed past me to make a very abrupt
right turn in front of me onto a street I was pedaling across. I'm
pretty sure I felt the back edge of his van brush the hair on my left
elbow.
The
second incident occurred when an elderly lady, who was to her credit
paying very close attention to Mark and I as we proceeded through the
intersection, contemplated completing her left-hand turn. I don't
think she was trying to be lethal. I think we just confused her. At
any rate, I think she panicked. (She had already, as we say in the
trucking industry, “taken possession of the intersection.”)
Perhaps she was afraid of being hung out there in the middle of
everything. Whatever her thoughts, she rapidly accelerated into her
leftward bound direction.
Unfortunately,
I was in her path. As soon as she saw me, she braked hard. No contact
followed. No damage to vehicle or bike. Possibly some to the lady's
nervous system. But I have not heard from her lawyer, so I think
things are ok.
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| Anti-Gridlock Zone? I don't think so. At least the commuters haven't gotten the message. |
So
goes our morning – Navigating the concrete jungle of Santa Monica,
through the heart of Los Angeles, so as to arrive at the seemingly
endless and seamless (that is, no distinct or obvious boundaries,
except the obvious fluctuation of visible economic prosperity or lack
of) of urban communities.
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| A rare moment when Bro Mark is following me. |
As
the sun climbs towards its zenith, we pedal through iconic cities of
metropolitan Los Angeles. Names of real places made fantasy through
folk lore, urban legend, television and movies:
Santa
Monica
West
Los Angeles
Beverly
Hills
West
Hollywood
Sunset
Pasadena
Aracadia
Monrovia
Duarte
Irwindale
Azusa
Glendora
San
Dimas
La
Verne
Claremont
Upland
Rancho
Cucamonga
Beverly
Hills proved “interesting.” Pedaling along, enjoying the sights,
and looking for the Beverly Hillbillys instead of looking at our map,
we suddenly realized we were “lost.” Enter technology. Using my
very limited US Data Cell Phone Plan which I purchased from Bell
Canada for just such a scenario as this, I discerned our position and
we plotted a course back toward Sunset Blvd. We actually enjoyed some
nice residential streets and a little break from the heavier traffic.
I think we were only about two or three miles “off course.” But
never did see the Hillbillys :-(
One
must remember that Route 66 is not a street name, but rather a
highway designation. And a historical obsolete one at that. Meaning,
there aren't a lot of “Route 66” signs in all jurisdictions along
the Route. Each city decides how they want to identify, or not, the
Historic Highway. But by the end of the day, I give Pasadena and
Rancho Cucamonga high marks for blending the historicity of Route 66
with the dream of American capitalism. Not a bad partnership:
Preserve and promote history while making an honest dollar. Truly the
American Way, eh?
 |
| The Aztec Hotel was? is? a Route 66 Icon. I was surprised to see it closed. Just a few weeks ago I saw a DVD on Route 66 and it was shown as very much alive. But this was typical of my research. Many establishments promoted in the travel literature have, it seems, over just the past few years, faded into history. I keep hearing that Route 66 is experiencing a renaissance of sorts. But we didn't see a lot of evidence of that. |
At
the restaurant we met a few young men who were most impressed by our
insane plan of pedaling across the desert. I felt good getting the
respect of such Urbanites.
Speaking
of Urban, East LA impresses me as ultra-Urban. We ride through in the
early afternoon. Regardless of the blazing sunshine, my “Personal
Security Button” felt pressure from the environment. East Los
Angeles provided a moderate challenge to my generally conservative
courage quotient. (I'm a real chicken sometimes.)
Nobody
tries to hurt us. Nobody even seems to look at us. But the graffiti
and pervasive poverty found this White Anglo Saxon Protestant Male
(Not a title I would choose for myself, by the way) a little
uncomfortable. But I quickly add, this insecurity emanates more from
my imagination than the environment. (I don't think I would say that
if riding through on a bike at 2:00 AM/02:00.) The locals didn't
invoke it or create paranoia. Perhaps I've just seen too many movies
and now possess a paranoid, stereotyping brain. Hope not. That sounds
pathetic.
If
opposites attract, this explains why East Los Angeles and Pasadena
are neighboring cities. Is it a matter of socioeconomic cultural
distinction? Or a testimony to the multicultural diversity of
Southern California?
Heading
east out of East LA, the environment becomes less “citified” and
more sub-urbanized. I was getting a bit tired, having by this time
put almost 100 km (62 miles) of city streets under my wheels. But I
was also very much missing and very much getting concerned about the
“loss” of my lowest gear. My arthritic knees really depend on
that easy-pedaling function when I am faced with anything
approximating an upward incline. I am pedaling along getting even a
little more worried about the loss of my low gear as I thought about
that 4,000 ft mountain pass we are scheduled to ascend tomorrow.
And
then something akin to a miracle happens.
Directly
ahead of us and to the right we see a bicycle shop. I have known all
day that retrieving my lowest gear is just a matter of a very minor
adjustment to my gear cable – but an adjustment I am not skilled to
make. But I am not over thrilled by the sight of this bike shop.
After all, it is past 6 pm (18:00) in the evening on a Monday. What
bike shop would be open on a Monday at this hour?
But
as we pedal closer, we see a van with the bike shop name on its side,
slow to a stop in front of the shop. A man steps out and walks to the
front of the van. He's looking our way. He waves. We wave back. We
pull into his parking lot. The man says, “I've been in this
business long enough to spot cyclists who might be looking for some
help.” Amazing! This guy is not only a bike technician, but also a
mind reader! We grin and respond, “You are so right on!”
We
explain our loss of low gear concern. He, who we quickly learn is
Cory, Owner of Coates Cyclery, 760 E. Foothill Blvd., Pomona,
California, 91767, 909-624-0612, http://coatescyclery.com/,
who says, “Come on in, I'll fix that for you.”
So
Cory re-opens his shop, puts my like on a repair stand, and in a few
minutes brings my lowest gear back to life.
We
see lots of interesting sights and hear lots of interesting sounds in
our Cycling Adventures. But the most interesting, and memorable, and
meaningful experiences involve the amazing and great persons we meet
along the way. And Cory is one of them. Here's a guy who has worked
all day and has a family to go home to at the end of the day. But he
volunteers to put that all on pause for a half an hour and help us
out.
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| A Modern Day Hero and a Modern Day Explorer/Adventurer |
Waving
goodbye to our new favorite hero, Cory, we continue pedaling east on
Route 66 through the cities of east LA County bordering its
historical curbs. The sun is setting very low at this time. We are
losing our daylight. But we are very close to our Rancho Cucamonga (I
just love saying that word “Cucamonga”) motel destination, the
New Kansan Inn; a vintage Route 66 motel.
We
stop and activate our red strobe-like rear ( bicycle :-) flashers. We
really should attach and use our headlights. But we opt not to.
Street lights and car lights provide enough light that we can see
where we are going. If someone does not plow down our behinds from
behind we should be alright.
Eventually
we reach our motel. We are given the “handicap” room; which means
it is a large spacious room with easy access shower, etc. I wonder if
we perhaps looked and walked in a way that prompted the owner to do
this?
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| First Night Home Away From Home New Kansan Motel, Rancho Cucamonga, California |
After
much needed and refreshing showers, our friends, and frequent
transportation facilitators, Chuck and Marguerite (i.e. they haul us
and our bikes around when we need a truck! They rescued us in
Ocotillo, California on a previous trek across the Sonora Desert)
knock on the door.
Chuck
and Marguerite have been waiting for hours to have supper with us.
They are patient souls. We head to a nice restaurant and enjoy a
great meal while speaking of our day's adventures and life in
general.
Once
back at the motel, the Shelley Brothers have zero difficulty going to
sleep. We are tired enough. And so we should be.
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| End of Day 1 Picture. We both look a little older than we usually do. |
Today's
stats:
Distance:
109 km (67.5 mi)
Average
Speed: 14.5 kph (9 mph)
Time
on Bike Seat Pedaling: 7 hours, 34 minutes
Total
Trip Time Today: 11 hours
We
drift off to sleep wondering about the climb we face tomorrow through
Cajon Pass and over the coastal mountain range and into one of the
world's most severe desert environments.
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| Santa Monica Beach |
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| A memorable street sign for me. From 1977 through 1986, my family and I lived on and worked on Normandie Ave several miles south of here in the community of Gardena. |
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| This is not a product placement ad |
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| Middle of the Day 1 Picture. Notice we do not look as old as we do at the end of the day. |
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