The Awkward Pose

November 3, 2015 – Sun, 75 degrees

Miles Today: 36

Miles to Date: 9,368

States to Date: 25

Today I ventured where, I’ve learned, many Angelinos don’t go: down the dogleg of this great city to South Los Angeles and Watts, into Compton and Long Beach. In the bright mid-day sun these places aren’t the least bit scary and are full of intriguing characters. I met an eccentric meditator at the Coliseum, a wiry guy in an old pick-up in Watts, and some big mama’s at Budso’s Barbeque Shack. Still, LA’s Broadway looks more like a boulevard in a developing country than anyplace else in the United States. The garish colors, murals, used appliances, and lumpy mattresses spread across the sidewalk all proclaim that this place moves to a different set of expectations.

After visiting so much ‘formal’ art in LA, I was hip to visit Watts Towers. For some reason, I thought they were related to the 1965 Watts riots, but in fact they have nothing to do the riots of or the African-American community. Sam Rodia, an Italian immigrant, built Watts Towers between 1921 and 1955. Then, Sam left LA and never returned to visit his creation. They fell into disrepair, were rescued, catalogued, preserved, and are now part of a State Park complex.

The rest of my ride, along the LA River Bike Path, gave me opportunity to muse on the various art I saw in LA. The Getty Villa and Getty Center are renowned centers of fine art and conservation. The Disney Concert Hall is art in itself. The central garden at The Getty Center is a living work of art, while the Watts Towers are great folk art elevated to fine art status.

I think for most of us, creating is more satisfying than maintaining, yet we’re dedicating to preserving art that often takes more human and monetary capital to preserve than it ever took to create. The tour guide at The Getty Center described the central garden as, “The Center’s most expensive piece of art, with a cost that will continue to grow.” Meanwhile the State of California is spending all kinds of money to preserve Watts Towers. Towers which, given today’s development restrictions, could never be built in the middle of the city. Towers that Sam Rodia finished, walked away from, and never saw again. Is there a limit to how many millions The Getty will spend snipping individual leaves from trees in the central garden to create specific shadows on the walking path? How long will we preserve the bits of cement and ceramic that Sam Rodia stuck together? A hundred years? A thousand years? Is it ever okay to say that a garden is a natural thing that will grow its own way and an immigrant’s vision, once executed to his satisfaction, can be allowed to disintegrate? At what point does preserving things thwart our own ability to create?

November 2, 2015 – Clouds, rain 65 degrees

Miles Today: 19

Miles to Date: 9,332

States to Date: 25

If there is any doubt that LA is literally the opposite corner of the country in every respect from my home world; that was dispelled today. Bostonians are so used to rain it’s just a nuisance; it’s the sun we adore. But in the land of the eternal sunshine – and record drought – nothing is greeted with more acclaim than rain.

The forecast was 70% change of rain. In the morning that dropped to 30%, and moods proportionately plummeted. My lunchtime companions compared various weather apps; ranging from 70% to 90% change of rain at 6 p.m. I spent the day in Northeast LA, meeting with insurance brokers and The Unusual Suspects, a non-profit theater group that works with incarcerated and disadvantaged youth. I also visited the gorgeous campus of Occidental College and the gentrifying neighborhood of Highland Park: juice bars and sushi restaurants next to pool halls and bodegas.

My first day of riding after the end of daylight savings time caught me short, and I had to scurry back to my niece’s before it got dark. The clouds were thick, the traffic thicker. I saw some ferocious fender benders and slithered through long lines of stalled vehicles. Within a few blocks I passed the multimillion dollar International Style homes along Silver Lake Boulevard, the makeshift hovels of shopping carts and tarps under the railroad bridge, the banners proclaiming Frank Gehry’s new tilted high-rise exhibit at LAMCA, and stucco bungalows girdled with iron bars and spear-headed fences. Los Angels is too spread out to have the face-to-face encounters of income disparity I witnessed in San Francisco. Here, it’s all expressed in where people live.

I got home by five as the first drops splattered. Within ten minutes it was pouring outside but I was in a warm shower. Within an hour the rain was over and LA began to dry out from its big event.

November 1, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 25

Miles to Date: 9,313

States to Date: 25

The Getty Center is the Shangri-La of high culture, an Italian hill town of inviting walks and amazing views sliced into precise 5’-0” squares. It’s so thoughtfully conceived you’re never lost, but never dominated by any form or space either. Yes, there are organizing axes and a central atrium. But unless the tour guides point them out, they are references you feel rather than dictums you obey. I spent all day there, took a few tours, wandered aimlessly, and met my niece and her beau there. The beautiful museum objects are well displayed, but it’s the architecture that creates lingering memory. On a warm Sunday afternoon with a light breeze, The Getty Center is perhaps the most prefect place on earth.

October 31, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 22

Miles to Date: 9,288

States to Date: 25

It’s been thirty-five years since I’ve been in LA, so today I caught up with the city’s recent architecture. Downtown is beginning to feel like a real, dense place, although still small considering it’s the center for ten million people. Apartment towers are adding some after-hours life to the streets. The new Ritz-Carlton is the best addition to the skyline. Thomas Moyne’s CalTrans Headquarters is pretty cool, but ultimately just an office block with a very grey exterior. I don’t think it’s so unique as to deserve all the hype it’s received within the architectural community.

The most notable new buildings reflect LA’s cultural ascendency beyond TV and movies. The LA Museum of Contemporary Art looks as ill-scaled and dated as any 80’s building. Across Grand Avenue the new Broad Museum is better; its simple form and deep skin are a good complement to its more famous neighbor: Frank Gehry’s Disney Concert Hall.

Disney Hall is a very good, very expensive building. The sweeping forms are less arbitrary than in some Gehry buildings. The interior is full of drama, yet the building’s organization is simple and clear. The overlapping lobbies and stairs must be spectacular when filled with stars on an opening night. The structure required to support these sails in earthquake prone California is incredible, all the better that it’s exposed in many places from the inside. There are many excesses – a small concert space open to the lobbies is rarely used, as is the concrete amphitheater that cuts up the already difficult to access third floor ‘public’ park. We could not visit the concert hall as the LA Philharmonic was practicing, but the tour’s video simulation is very informative. The hall is universally praised as an acoustical and aesthetic success. Like much contemporary architecture, the Disney Hall is full of arbitrary stunts; angles, curves and flashy materials that mean little beyond technical whizz-bang. The forms are dazzling, but lack the shared meaning that prosaic features like portico, gallery, and piano nobile have connoted for centuries. I had to ask someone where to find the entrance. What I suppose ultimately makes the Disney Hall such great architecture is that it’s a perfect reflection of our times; technologically superb yet full of extraneous noise; stimulating and exiting, but exhausting as well.

The new cathedral, which is cold and hard inside and out, is less successful in every respect. If there is one building form that’s seeped in meaning, it’s the cathedral. But LA tossed aside millennium of church architecture tradition. People enter the building on the sides and filter into an asymmetrical auditorium. Everything is raw concrete and monochromatic light. The most interesting elements are the fabric panels of saints and believers that address the altar. How much more compelling they would have been if, as in cathedrals before, they were made of glass and glowed from within to bridge the spiritual and temporal worlds.

After so much contemporary complexity, I spent a lovely afternoon in the LA Central Public Library, a well proportioned Deco delight.

Two events bookended my downtown LA experience. In the morning I stopped at Pico-Union, a hard-surfaced space where young street artists develop their talent without running afoul of the law. In the late afternoon I cycled through the Hancock Park neighborhood where young trick-or-treaters went door to door. Since it was Saturday in this heavily Jewish neighborhood, there were also dozens of men in black suits with flat brimmed hats walking to synagogue. And I was riding along in garish yellow. I marveled at the cacophony of our costumes: the four-year-old spider man, the bearded gentleman, and the spandex cyclist.

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October 30, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 51

Miles to Date: 9,226

States to Date: 25

Hard to imagine a better start to a day than waking with the California sun streaming through the window of a hillside home with a great view. I said goodbye to my excellent hosts Diane and Alan and headed over a short pass to Hollywood. The Hollywood Bowl, Sidewalk of Stars, Graumen’s Chinese Theater. It’s so easy to see sites on a bike, especially before most people in LA are even up for the day.

I wove through west LA to Venice Boulevard; six lanes (plus a bike path!) straight to the beach, then wound along the famous beach path through Santa Monica to the Getty Villa. Riding my bicycle dampens my interest in opulence, but the Getty Villa is pretty fabulous. The recreated Roman villa is stunning. Boston-based architect Machado and Silvetti’s extensive ancillary structures are also very good. The architectural tour guide made illustrative connections between opulent, status-conscience first century Rome and opulent, status-conscience twenty-first century California. I am not a connoisseur of early art, so didn’t spend too much time amidst the marbles, bronzes, and ceramics. But, the vistas are breathtaking, the proportions satisfying, and the terrazzo and tile floors are the most spectacular I’ve ever seen.

It took awhile to get out of there. (The Getty shuttle system is a mess. Why don’t they put in a sidewalk and let people who walk, ride bike sand come by bus walk the sort distance up the hill? LA car snobbery at its peak.) I had a 3 p.m. interview on Wilshire, so couldn’t loiter on the beach. The ride back into town was worth it because Lisa Arungua of the LA Public Health Department was one of the most interesting people I’ve talked with to date. We could have talked for hours, but I had to bow out at 5 p.m. because I needed to get to Culver City before dark. As serendipity would have it, I passed one of Lisa’s public service billboards on my way.

I try not to ride at night, but in LA I need to be doubly careful. LA’s reputation as a bad cycling town is fully deserved. Within my first 24 hours here no fewer than six cars pulled U-turns and come close to me at the curb. They look for other cars, but not for bicycles.

Then there are the parked cars. Most streets allow parallel parking. What’s unusual in LA is how many people park and then remain in the driver’s seat. Don’t ask me what they’re doing there. Maybe they live in them. As a cyclist I have to monitor moving cars on my left and potential doors opening on my right. When fully one-third of the parked cars have people in them, doors open into the bike lane all the time.

Finally, there are very few bike lanes compared to other cities. Cars – fancy ones with loud engines and expensive finishes – have no time for the likes of me. As I result, I was pretty happy that I had to traverse Venice Blvd three times today. It has by far the best bike lane I’ve seen in this city.

October 29, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 46

Miles to Date: 9,175

States to Date: 25

The Ronald Reagan Library is the first Presidential Library I have visited on my trip, and it’s inspired me to pedal to more. So-called Presidential Libraries are a modern invention. Part library, mostly museum, and total spin, every president of my lifetime is enshrined in a monument of his greatness. The Ronald Reagan Library conformed to my expectations in many respects. It’s a reproduction California Mission structure on a gorgeous site. The docents I met were all middle-aged, tan, well coiffed Californians; Reagan’s most popular demographic. But I was surprised at the size and diversity of the visitors. The place was packed on an October Thursday morning with a broader array of diversity than I expected. In the 35 years since he was elected our country’s politics have shifted so far right, that Reagan is now a centrist, and sometimes even a liberal hero.

His actions are presented in sync with current tastes. Displays about how he stood down free speech advocates during campus unrest while governor of California also stress how much he increased funding for education. Descriptions of his environmental achievements fail to mention how James Watt, his Secretary of Interior, dismantled the environmental movement. But more important than how the curators tweak the message to popular taste, the Ronald Reagan Library illustrates how events, often beyond the control of the President, shape his legacy. Reagan got a huge boost when the Iran hostages were freed on Inauguration Day. Then, 71 days later, he was shot and survived, and the United States had our first bionic president. The guy was sharp and he was a great communicator, but he was lucky how events conformed to his message. Under Reagan, Americans could really believe we are a special people.

The building is well organized and sited, but the museum itself is terrible: cramped, cluttered and chaotic. I came to dead ends several times. The Air Force One Pavilion, however, is terrific. It’s great fun to stroll through the plane that served eleven Presidents. The control panel where the nuclear codes and black box were kept was eerily like the ones I witnessed in North Dakota’s Missile Alert Facility.

Simi Valley is not all that close to LA. I cycled many miles up and over Santa Susana Pass, against Santa Ana headwinds, before I landed in the San Fernando Valley. Fortunately, I had a nice bike path along the dedicated Orange Way bus line for over ten miles. However, the last five miles, along Ventura Boulevard at rush hour, were dicey. I have never seen so many stores that cater to the beautiful body. Want a gym? Massage? Cosmetics? Mud bath? Pilates? Tummy tuck? Laser hair removal? Fat freeze? Aroma therapy? Yoga? Herbal elixir? It’s all on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City, TV Capital of America.

October 28, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 70

Miles to Date: 9,129

States to Date: 25

The bike path south along the Pacific Coast Highway is well marked and worth hopping back and forth across US 101 in order to enjoy the times the path hugs the ocean. Along one four-mile stretch the route stretches along a seawall where wave overspray refreshes riders. In another section I rode tight to RV’s set up along the shore. I felt like a voyeur checking out the middle-aged people lounging on their chairs, smoking and staring out to sea. Seemed boring to me, but relaxing is not my forte.

The path dissipates in Ventura, so I traveled though the center of this pop legend town. It’s got a good vibe, but more second hand shops per strip of storefront than any town in America. All signs of bike path disappeared east of town. It took some time to find my way to Oxnard, but once I did, I sailed east past the flat farmland with a strong tailwind. Going eighteen miles an hour without having to pedal is like being on an amusement ride!

All good things must pass, and eventually I had to climb Potrero Road, a few miles of very steep grade that bought me to Thousand Oaks, an affluent bedroom city.

Serendipity took me past a development of Eichler houses, one of the few developers that built Modernist residences. I met several people in the well-preserved development, each of whom loved their iconic home. Note how the mailbox matches the front door. Modernists are cool control freaks.

October 27, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 20

Miles to Date: 9,059

States to Date: 25

Santa Barbara is paradise. The weather is perfect, the architecture stunning, the people thin and rich. That is, once you overlook the street people who have commandeered the best spots on the beach and all the parks. Even they seem pretty content to lounge in the lovely sea breeze.

I had an early morning interview with the city engineer responsible for overseeing the newly refurbished desalinization plant. Santa Barbara’s water woes are serious. Despite impressive conservation, they are siphoning the dregs out of their reservoirs. But, because this plant will come online and supply about 70% of Santa Barbara’s water needs, with the potential of meeting 100% of current demand, there’s a sense that the water issue is manageable, as long as you’re copasetic with processing sea water.

I spent the rest of the day playing tourist: the waterfront, the Mission, the beautiful shopping arcades, the elegant library. In late afternoon I visited the farmer’s market.

I’d spent a week trying to connect with my brother-in-law Matt, a long-time Santa Barbarian and neat guy, but plans never gelled. So, I found myself in paradise without a place to lay my head for the night. I could, of course, join the many other middle-aged homeless guys with bikes along the beach. But fate has been more generous to me than to them, so I figured I could cough up the cost of a motel.

In the meantime a local cyclist invited me for a beer at Figueroa Mountain Brewery in the funk district. I arrived early, snagged a spot at a community table, and before long was chatting with a personable IT wannabe explorer and a trio of Bakersfield guys on a business trip to the coast. When the men with expense accounts heard my story they insisted on buying me beer and dinner, Eventually, I met the cyclist, and her friends, as well as folks at other tables. When time came to disband Kerry, the IT guy, offered me the floor of his apartment three blocks away. Way more fun than a motel.

October 26, 2015 – Sun, 80 degrees

Miles Today: 67

Miles to Date: 9,039

States to Date: 25

Rule number one of bicycle touring: always listen to knowledgeable locals. My host last night, Bill Korn, gave me detailed directions on back roads from Santa Maria to Santa Barbara that proved to be challenging, beautiful, and worth following.

Faxon Canyon Road follows a valley rather than a traditional canyon. The valley floor has all sorts of agriculture, with sculptural hills rising on either side. I was intrigued by yet another method of efficient harvesting; a twin tractor setup that that included picking and packing in one movable process. I could not figure out what the laborers were harvesting – maybe broccoli?

As I climbed higher the fields gave over to vineyards. I had been warmed that Los Olivos, midway along my route, was a tony wine tasting town, but I wasn’t prepared for the disdain every set of eyes shot my way. The chicken panini at Corner House Coffee House was the most expensive and worst sandwich of my trip, served with a side of attitude. The Internet didn’t work (what coffee house doesn’t have superb Internet?) but the leggy staff couldn’t care less when I mentioned it. I longed for a tacqueria. Mexicanos in hairnets standing behind a steam table are so much nicer than gorgeous California girls who don’t give the time of day to a grey haired guy in a garish cycling shirt.

I was happy to shake the dust of Los Olivos from my feet, even if it meant cycling through the hottest part of a very hot, cloudless day. The grass along the road is beyond brown. It’s translucent stubble waiting to spark.

There’s a pittance of water in Lake Cachuma. The surface of the reservoir is well below the lowest discharge gate. A big green hose siphons water through the dam, an inelegant solution to a problem the dam designers never considered.

Before the big climb over San Marcos Pass, I ducked onto Stagecoach Road, a wonderful meandering path up and up and up. I passed under the giant bridge of Route 154, and eventually wound up higher. My legs were plenty tired when I finally reached the big descent into idyllic Santa Barbara.

October 25, 2015 – Sun, 70 degrees

Miles Today: 47

Miles to Date: 8,972

States to Date: 25

You know you’ve been on a diet of excessive beauty when a day rolling along the California coast seems ho-hum. But after Big Sur, mere hills and valleys, distant seas and invigorating salt air are commonplace. So, instead of dramatic views I offer close-ups of the many trees and plants I found along a single stretch of California Route 227. New England may be glowing in fall colors this time of year, but California offers its own vegetative charm.