Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Wheely Fun Weekend

I'm putting it on the record that I initially began this blog with, "Wazzap party people!" stared at it for a few moments, and then erased it. My punishment is public cyber-self-shaming, but the reward for not actually posting is a slightly more interesting opener.

Speaking of slightly more interesting, it was very much a "Look At Me I Live In LA" weekend for me and I know you're just dying to read about it.

Statement meant to be read ominously in the month of October.
I embarked on the bi-annual bi-cycling event CicLAvia, where the City of Los Angeles shuts down a few major streets to cars and grants sole access to bicyclists, walkers, and any aberrations of the two. It's a county-wide marathon that lasts for one day, because if it went on any longer car commuters would probably go insane and drive into the ocean. On most days, I would be one of these drivers (also, the babysitter said that's how you become a mermaid). However, with my new Channubicycle, I was able to fully embrace the event and bike down Wilshire like it was nobody's business. It felt like this:



"You biked a marathon?" You may be thinking. "Either you're lying or I have to reassess how attractive I remember you being."

Well, don't look me up on OKCupid just yet-- I only look for dates on Craigslist. Besides, I'm far from what you'd call "a biker," as in one who rides bikes for the enjoyment of physical activity. I only ride my bike short distances, and if it's not to get to the grocery store faster then it's only because I enjoy the idea of enjoying physical activity. Trust me, I tried track, gymnastics, surfing, swimming, and for one very depressing JV tryout, tennis. Did not work. I would be very happy for me if I had a single strand of DNA encoded for athletics, but it would seem I'm doomed to be a lethargic artist. That's okay, at least I'm really good at organizing things in my pantry.

The point being, Ciclavia was a fluke in all-that-is-Jessica... and as it turns out, a pretty fun one! I biked 7-something miles each way down Wilshire with Casey and my roommate, who is the embodiment of "a biker." If they ever pass legislature making it legal to marry bicycles, my roommate will be first in line at the courthouse.

Yes, that was just another way of saying, "If you love your bike so much why don't you marry it?"

Along with Casey, roomie, and myself were hundreds if not thousands of other Angelenos peddling 
and promenading from 1 Wilshire to Miracle Mile and back. Behold:

Are you beholding?
My roommate is actually in this picture; if you spot him you get a taffy.

As it turns out, the actual act of biking down the middle of one of the busiest main streets in Los Angeles was half the fun. All along the way people were playing music, hosting special events in their restaurants, setting up food and drink carts along the sidelines, and even conducting Chocopie eating contests, which we witnessed in Koreatown. Also, we got these sick fannypacks:

Coincidentally, "sick fannypack" is also the name I give when ordering at Starbucks.
The route was far from rigorous, mostly flat with a few minor inclines and declines and exlines and outlines. It was, however, about 3 hours of biking. Of course, I'm not factoring in the point at which the three of us stopped at a cafe and had lunch before getting back on our bikes to finish the loop. Yup, I'm a pretty hardcore marathoner.

ABRUPT END OF BLOG BECAUSE I DECIDED I'M DONE TYPING

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