Once under the highway near Universal is where does begin a magnificent hill. Its sidewalks are wide with green trees it abounds and thick are the shade-spots that dapple its grounds and rich is the reward that arrives at last when spying the peak of fair Cahuenga Pass. It’s rideable whenever daytime or night (now during the latter I switch on a light) and watch at the top for loose rocks on my right while pedaling madly with all of my might. Along it are fast-food booze cigarette shops dispensaries groomers yet few red-light stops; when southbound upon it people rarely turn lest they run smack into nature’s own rock-berm. Then… over! I’m over! by golly hot dog here comes some relief from that hard-churning slog my wits are about me though I dare not rest for slaloming traffic’s a demanding test. At some points are gravel at some points are holes I take over lanes lest I should be bulldozed by uncaring drivers who’re trying to shoot the gap between me and boulders thick with roots. I know not the name of the goddess whose is the honor of guarding the Cahuenga Pass but thank and applaud her for her loving hands that guide and protect all who pass through her lands.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
This author is barely back a week from Los Angeles, and already he yearns for the runs. The velocipedist who reads this blog will recognize the Ord Run from previous writings: it starts at Marukai Market in Little Tokyo, heads up to Hill and Cesar E. Chavez, and mashes Sunset all the way over to where that boulevard hits Vine. Old man Ord, however, has a new companion, the San Vicente Run (i.e. Santo Viczenzo), which starts at where Wilshire crosses the 405 freeway and approaches Hollywood from the west, either via Elevado or Santa Monica Boulevard.
Both of these runs the author would make regularly, never ever standing to pedal, on an L.A.-made, fixed-gear, gray Retrospec bicycle with bright green wheels. He surfed Bay Street and the Venice Breakwater, hunted urban art from the Palisades to Elysian Park, and ran the runs whenever he was able to – during rush-hour or at 3 am, under skies clear and smoggy, his heart bursting joyfully with every passing foot, flashing spoke, and humming tire. And the Boba Fett nods he received from other smog-sledders (!!!), each glance-and-dip a barely perceivable acknowledgement of his worth as a self-respecting street cyclist, each quick look grudging recognition of the toughness commonly found among persons who mash California's sun-burnt boulevards.
Someday, I will once more reside in the fine Golden State, and run these runs whenever my heart desires, but, until then, be well in my absence, fair Angelinos, and mahalo.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
blog updated thrice weekly
Among other things I am barber, bicyclist, surfer, vagabond, writer, and yogi.