LA Wheelmen I

You can make all the comparisons you want about the differences between NY and LA. But when it comes to cycling I can tell you this: there is no comparison.

I have planned a ride with the LA Wheelmen. I've chosen them for scheduling reasons, because they meet close to me (at a spot in Beverly Hills), and because they sound a bit like the 5 Borough Bike Club: friendly and easy going. Nice "relaxed" rides. Here's what it says on their website:

"We are bicylists who enjoy riding with friends and seeing Los Angeles and Southern California on two wheels."

Bicyclists - I like that.

I have three rides to choose from: 32, 50 and 62 mi. Not knowing exactly how rigorous this group is going to be, I decide on the 32mi ride, but am prepared to take the 50 mi in case I'm the only newbie in the crowd (and I know I can do 50 by now). As it turns out, it doesn't matter because beginner or no, every route starts with a ride over Benedict Canyon. 

Um, what?

Everyone else has printed out the route map and clipped it efficiently to their handle bars. I didn't print it out because I was hoping the tour would be guided, but I just learned something. So here is the first half.

Here is Benedict Canyon

And here, in broad strokes, is where we are headed (yes, I'll be doing the 50)

The atmosphere is matter of fact as we begin our ride in the flats of Beverly Hills up Rexford.

Which turns in to the canyon. I used to live in LA, so I know these canyons. But driving tells you nothing about how steep the incline really is. I'm prepared for a wicked ascent, and am relieved when Benedict turns out to be a doable one. Not for the first time, I silently thank L for her inspiration in keeping me in shape.

The website lists the ascent for the ride as 2400 ft (I'm assuming that's coming and going?). I notice everyone else has two water bottles (I have one). What does this mean? I begin to wonder if the Wheelmen have as much in common with the 5BBC as I had originally thought. But I'm in it now. Though in the back of my mind I'm already calculating just what kind of route we'll be taking back.

During the climb, I fall into a conversation with a fellow cyclist about century riding (riding 100 miles at one clip) which I can't imagine ever doing. He makes an encouraging observation: cycling is an incremental sport, he says. You start out with 5 miles and never think you can do 10. Then you work your way up to 20, and so on. He's hopeful I may soon progress to being a century rider (there are several among us). I can't envision it now but then again, I'm currently riding with true drop down handle-bars, something I swore I would never do even just a few months ago. (I hope I will continue to carry Kleenex however).

I'm one of the first to arrive at the top of Benedict 

Which seems to lend me a measure of acceptance (or maybe Benedict has had a bonding effect on everyone). 

Meanwhile, early in the canyon, one of our women riders bows out for a quick DYI pit-stop. Now there's something you couldn't do in NYC - nor have I ever considered it on any ride so far. But as we assemble at the top of Benedict, it occurs to me that it's not a bad idea and throwing modesty aside, I enter the sheltering bushes. This is a first for me (is this one of the increments we were discussing?).

Regardless, it turns out to be a good idea. Because we ride hell bent for leather for the next 30 miles.  In fact, en route I receive a text from a friend which I am not even able to respond to for another 45 minutes, we are traveling at such a rate.

We speed by Warner Brothers

Along the LA River (a wash), 

North around Griffith Park and deep into Glendale, catching every light.

Oh how I wish I'd brought my helmet camera! We ride without a pause through such beautiful neighborhoods.

And I love some of the Hollywood street names which were adopted for film - "Fredonia" for example - but I don't dare stop for a photo or I'll lose the group. And route map or not, people have been known to disappear in the Valley and never return (at least not without an embarrassing accent). Photos will have to come from Google.

Meanwhile, I've been riding some 20-40 miles a day since I've been in LA but that doesn't seem to matter: even though we're only doing the flats, I begin to flag. I don't want to open my PB&J fearing that may be all I have for lunch. A fellow cyclist takes pity on me and hands me a Power Bar. 

Several traffic lights later I finally get the chance to peruse the fine print and make sure it's GF (it is). It gives me just the boost I need to carry on - I truly don't know what I would have done without it. And I think,  if this is a relaxed ride, I wouldn't want to be on a challenging one. This is definitely not the 5BBC version.

At 31 mi, the group looks around for a place to eat. I lobby for El Pollo Loco, but am outnumbered by the majority who, as Southern Californians, have more Mexican restaurants per square block than exist in all of Manhattan. Instead, they head for the one place I can eat absolutely nothing: a bakery. 

Damn my celiac status!  Frantic, I look around and find there is a deli attached. I order the omelet with potatoes. Out of potatoes; my PB&J will have to do. I have enough time to order, and just enough time to get it down (PB&J en route) before we're off again on the return leg of our trip. I grab extra napkins on the way out and pray this fuel will hold me...