April 2014 CicLAvia: Wasn't I Surprised





Wasn't I surprised to find that this edition of CicLAvia did not start, nor include a hub, a street crossing away from Union Station (I missed the festival the last time it followed the Wilshire route)? This necessitated a short exploration through the shear-walled canyons of downtown, with only one missed turn, before discovering the eastern hub of the route. A little daunting when I first realized this, but then pretty cool, actually.

Wasn't I surprised to find that a fair number of other festival-goers also failed to adequately prepare? The little school of fish we latched onto would coalesce and split, almost block by block, as riders followed their own best guesses about how to get to Wilshire.

Wasn't I surprised to discover that being lost on a bike, is not the same as being lost in a car? Frustration, no. Exploration, yes.

Wasn't I surprised to discover that it is quite easy getting around downtown by bike on a Sunday morning, as well as on a Sunday afternoon?

Wasn't I surprised by the relatively lengthy mandatory walking sections at each end of the route? Though I heard questions about its necessity, almost everyone respected the simple dismount rule.

Wasn't I surprised by the big dig, site of what will become the tallest building west of the Mississippi? This one should probably begin with "wasn't I amazed?"

Wasn't I surprised upon reaching LACMA and the old May Co building, after only eight miles of saddle time, that the western end of the route had been reached? Short but sweet.

Wasn't I surprised to discover that the Breaking Away exhibit at the western terminus, was promotion for the new Motion Picture Museum planned for the May Co building? Clever, very clever. They could have picked any film really, but this being cicLAvia, the selection could not have been better. 

Wasn't I surprised to (re)discover that stuff bubbling up at the LaBrea Tar Pits stinks? It did not matter, of course, as a vast swarm of festival-goers enjoyed the sunny day on the grounds of the Page Museum, gazing into the murky, foul waters, wondering what else they hide, following the tracks of saber-toothed cats, laughing and smiling along with all the people playing in the park.

Wasn't I surprised to discover that, though the route passed by a number of examples of iconic LA architecture, my fellow riders were still the main attraction?











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