(Written from Tim and Sherry's house in West Los Angeles)
Miles biked: 32.9 (1,794.8 overall)
Time on bike: 2 hours, 33 minutes, 11 seconds
Maximum speed: 31.8 mph
Roads taken: SR 1, Santa Monica bike path, Ocean Avenue, Ocean Park Boulevard/Gateway Boulevard, Pico Boulevard, Camden Avenue.
Places stopped: Santa Monica bike path (to kick it for a minute and text google to find out if Federer won his 14th grand slam), Tim and Sherry's house (for the night).
I've concluded that I'm very good at underestimating how far I can go on a bike in a certain amount of time.
For instance, on Saturday I told Tim, whom I'd be staying with for three nights in L.A., that I'd probably get to his and his wife Sherry's place in West Los Angeles around 12 Sunday afternoon.
Forget the fact that I planned on getting up early and had an estimated 30 to 40 miles of mostly flat riding to do. I never expect to get somewhere quickly on the 520.
So when I arrived at their house a tad past 10, after 32.9 quick miles, it was, naturally, a surprise to them. Thankfully, they're great, accommodating hosts and let me in the door.
(And the rest of my visit, so far, has been blessed with kind hospitality, entertaining conversation and, of course, a comfortable bed.)
As for the ride into L.A., it was actually hillier than I expected. Going through the coast town of Malibu, I climbed quite a few hills. No, they were nothing like the hills I went up in the northern and central parts of the state, but they still offered a good workout.
I enjoyed most of the ride because I got an early start and beat the L.A. heat. I executed my earliest wake-up time of the trip -- I've never used an alarm; just awakened on my own -- by getting up around 5:47 a.m.
It's incredible how early it gets light here. When I emerged from my tent, it looked like it'd been light for nearly an hour (maybe I'll have to test that during my final night of camping). Whatever the case, I had no problems adjusting to the early morning and preparing for my ride.
After a cup of tea and some oatmeal, I was ready to go reach another big city.
Riding through Malibu was nice, except for all the cars that lined the side of SR 1. I had to constantly look out for opening doors, as some early morning surfers were preparing to hit the waves.
Once I got through Malibu, it was less than 10 miles before the traffic increased and I knew I was nearing the city. Apparently, Santa Monica used to be its own city, but now it's part of the L.A. sprawl. This was proven when I noticed the Los Angeles city limit sign before seeing the Santa Monica pier.
Thankfully, I was able to get off SR 1 and onto a beach-side bike path just as the traffic was getting heavy and the bike lane becoming the width of a pencil. I knew, then, that I was in the city.
The Santa Monica beach is nice -- just a long stretch of sand, featuring several volleyball nets and, of course, broken up by the pier and its cornucopia of mini roller coasters, games and stands selling overpriced junk food
I enjoyed riding roughly 100 yards from the water, passing all kinds of bikers, rollerbladers, runners, walkers, you name it. The path was supposed to be "bikers only," but what could I expect? This was L.A.
Eventually, with the help of a nice girl at a hotel, I found the street that Tim had described as the most safe to bike on and get to his house, Ocean Park Boulevard. While there wasn't a designated bike lane, there was some room to ride and the traffic wasn't too bad on a Sunday morning.
After a few miles on that, followed by a very brief stretch on busy Pico Boulevard, I arrived at my destination, ready to ditch the bike and kick it in the city of stars for a few days.
L.A. DAY 1
My plan for Sunday afternoon was to get down by the Staples Center prior to Game 2 of the NBA Finals and observe the scene. And, of course, I'd be accepting any free tickets (shockingly, I didn't get lucky in this respect).
One of the interesting things I noticed on the two-bus ride downtown, which took over an hour, was that I was the lone white person on either bus. I didn't feel uncomfortable, but instead enjoyed being the super minority for once.
(It would be the same on most of my other bus rides in the city -- and there were many.)
The bus rides also gave me an idea of just how huge L.A. is. My route was all on one street, Pico Boulevard, but we must have gone some 200 blocks before getting downtown to the central part of the city.
Walking L.A., like I walked a solid portion of San Fran, is not an option. This is especially the case because of how spread out everything worth seeing is.
There's the beach and pier in Santa Monica. There's UCLA in Westwood. There's Hollywood north and east of there. And there's downtown, and the Staples Center and Dodger Stadium, even farther East.
I bought an L.A. map, and it doesn't even show Anaheim and Pasadena -- that's how spread out the metropolis is.
Anyway, I made it to the Staples Center about 40 minutes before the 5 p.m. tipoff and wandered around. Obviously, there were thousands of yellow- and gold-clad Lakers fans milling about, but the atmosphere didn't seem too much different from that before a regular-season or early round game in the playoffs.
Of course, the hundreds of T.V. cameras and sets gave away the occasion, but there was no craziness. Maybe the Sunday afternoon sun and heat had mellowed people, or maybe they were saving their voices for the game.
I did, however, find the pregame spot to be -- outside of the VIP entrance. I walked upon a throng of onlookers who were, apparently, intrigued about the possibility of seeing a famous actor or musicians pull up to the entrance.
And, sure enough, a few minutes later I heard a few screams and shouts, turned to my right and there, stepping out of a black SUV with tinted windows, was the one and only Diddy, the famous rapper/producer/actor/man of many talents.
I decided to blend in and snap a few pictures as Diddy, decked out in spiffy sunglasses, waved to the crowd and headed straight for the front of the line. I guess some folks around here have privileges.
Among the other celebs I saw during my brief stay along VIP lines: soon-to-be high NBA draft picks Tyreke Evans and James Harden and actress Bridget Marquardt from the "Girl Next Door." (No, I didn't know that last one off hand; I was tipped off by one of the many knowledgeable picture-takers.)
So that was fun...
Then the game started, and I found out that finding a cool place to watch the Lakers downtown is quite the challenge.
There were a few fancy restaurants and the absolutely mobbed ESPN Zone -- which is overrated, anyway. Finally, about midway through the first quarter, I settled on an overpriced joint a few blocks from the arena.
I watched the first half there, but never felt any kind of NBA Finals atmosphere and didn't enjoy the $5.50 Miller Lite.
So I checked out at the half and decided to head back up Pico for the second half. Well, I quickly discovered, surprise, that not everyone in this kind of big city cares about the Lakers. As I walked through a predominately Mexican neighborhood, I didn't see one restaurant that had the game on, didn't notice one person with a jersey.
I realized that I'd have a hard time finding a cool place to watch the game, so I hopped on a bus heading back toward Tim and Sherry's with the hope of catching the conclusion at a neighborhood bar.
Luckily, there weren't many people on the last of the four buses I took during the day, and I made it to a nice spot just a block from my temporary residence for the game's final 5 dramatic minutes plus overtime.
There were several Lakers fans watching there, but the celebrating still seemed tame to me. I don't know -- maybe they're saving their rowdiest cheers for the night when the championship is clinched.
Or maybe the Lakers winning simply isn't all that important to the majority of L.A. citizens.
As an outsider, I can only guess.
I went to bed fairly early Sunday, wondering how many buses I'd take during my first full day in the gigantic city.
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