El Lay. People Live Here. Believe it...or not.
Last week I had an adventure with El Lay's public transportation system, and I was too wrapped up in my hunger to share it. I'll fix that today. The pic on the right is the Shakespeare Bridge, somewhere between Hollywood & Vine and Griffith Park. Who knew there was a bridge with little turrets on it in Hollywood? I sure didn't.
The Metro system does have certain things going for it, as long as you have a means of quickly covering the gaps. Once my 7 mile bus trip home from work took 3 hours. I could have walked it faster, had I worn different shoes and been healthy enough. While you're sitting there, however, you just keep thinking, it will be here in a minute I just need to wait a little longer. Then pretty soon, it's a battle of wills. Never get in a battle of wills over the El Lay bus schedule, because you will find the driver operates on their own time zone, and since loud, rich people around here drive fancy black cars...there is no oversight from the powers that be.
Taking the Metro always feels a little like going undercover, like I finally found a way to escape what is expected and entered the underworld. No, I don't mean criminal activity, and I suppose given my zip code it may feel just a little like a PI going on a 'job'. This said, I always have fun on the train. It feels like an adventure, like anything can happen, and something in meusually wonders what might happen if I don't get off at the planned destination but just keep riding and riding until I end up staring down the asshole of Mr. Doom. Oh, come on, you know it could totally happen--one way or another, it's El Lay.
So the other day I hopped on my bike and decided to see what it takes to get to Hollywood from my Beach town. The Metro trip planner suggested a nasty route involving lots of busses and transfers and hoopla. I prefer to ride the train, because I can stand there with my hand on my bike instead of clipping it to the front of the bus. Also, the trains come every 10 minutes or less, and some of those smaller routes the trip planner finds...well, I told you about my 3 hour trek home, you get the picture.
The ride started with a spin to the neighborhood Green line, about 3 miles down the road. The traffic sucks, but I think I almost have a better route worked out that stays off the main arteries but doesn't hit a stop every damn block. Take the Green line from the Beach Cities through Compton and almost to Watts. You...recognize these cities, right? Poor Compton gets such a bad rap, but I have always had a decent time cutting through on the Metro.
This lady was amazed at the size of my pedals, and instead of just sitting there looking at them, at me, at them again, she got up and came over to talk to me. It was one of the best conversations I'd had in about a week--because it was real. She was real. She wasn't putting on a show for anyone, she wanted to know something, she just asked. She smiled, she laughed, we commiserated about riding with dudes and getting dropped in the dust. I got embarrassed when she asked how much my bike cost, though, and fair enough. I should be. I didn't learn her name, but her amiable curiosity will stick with me forever.
I took the Silver Line (which is really an express bus that will outrun the Blue line) to Staples Center, thinking I could cover the last few blocks to the Red Line on the bike faster than the bus. I probably didn't, but got a good look at street level, which is far more fun than watching from the bus. Street level comes with pedestrians conversing in Spanish, trying to figure out what the whooshing noise is (the Metro, ladies...of course...), the smell of charred meat, tourists negotiating luggage to boutique hotels...there are so many things to see while sidewalk surfing downtown El Lay. Well, not as many as one might think, because the streets and sidewalks are pretty empty for such a metropolis.
Waiting for the Red Line I had to stifle a laugh as this guy started chatting with a young woman on my right in Spanish. Honestly, I thought he was reading from a bad Spanish 1 conversation dialogue. Hello. What is your name? Pleased to meet you. How old are you? Seriously?! Fucking how old are you? About this time I was wondering if he was picking up on the poor girl (she was 21 and he was 27...or so he said). Thank God the train came before he started asking if she danced or if she was going to the fiesta. Still, that never would have happened if either of them had been in the car.
The trains have areas on the cars that are reserved for those in wheelchairs, or for bikes, as the case may be. So I often found myself standing next to some over-tattooed dude with a BMX, or way too much mountain bike for the big city. Sure, we complain about the conditions of the road, but truthfully, you really don't need a huge suspension system to comfortably navigate most El Lay byways. It's the bicycle equivalent of feeling rugged because 'I drive a big black SUV with 4WD!' No, baby, it's not macho and that desk job you've got is leaving too much of an imprint on you physically, so not working for me, but you're after younger and stupider anyway...so more power to you.
On the way home, I stood next to this hipster and his fixie...and his girl. The fixie (a fixed gear or single speed) was his bike, and the girl was human--I think. I have to admit I never saw her face, because the constant sound of lip smacks combined with the grinding I could see...well, let's just say I didn't want to look any further. Still, it never would have happened, it I'd been in my car or even on my bike. The Metro is amusing, and I always see something that makes me glad I took the ride, even if I have to avert my eyes.