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486 Posts
I don't know about your daily routes, but commuting in LA can get a little lonely at times. Everyday as I see thousands upon thousands of people go by in cars, I ask myself- Why is it just me and a few other wackos on bikes? Sometimes it would be nice just to ride even a few miles with someone, chat for a few minutes, and part ways. Now I'm not saying that I'm fast or anything, but my Latino brothers on their squeaky beaters just can't keep up. Until now that is.
A couple of weeks ago riding west on Venice Blvd., I felt that thing you feel when you sense someone on your wheel. I turned my head and there was a dude, hauling ass, with a big grin on his face. I pulled for about another mile, then turned off and he continued. About a week later I saw him again. This time I was following him. Jeans, old backpack, workboots. But a beautiful pedal stoke. You can tell when someone really rides. He was on an old lugged steel Trek roadbike with crappy platform pedals, no clips, nothing. At a light I said, "How's it going?" He smiled, but I could tell that he didn't speak much English.
Well today all of a sudden he's on my ass again. Same grin, same big work boots, same flawless form. I thought- I gotta talk to this guy. This time I spoke to him in Spanish. Turns out he's from El Salvador and raced for many years as a young man in Central America. This guys has two restaurant jobs. He rides to both daily, one way out to the east, and the other on the westside with time in between to go kiss his wife and kids at home before riding on. 50 km six days a week!
This is what I love about LA.
I look forward to riding with him.
A couple of weeks ago riding west on Venice Blvd., I felt that thing you feel when you sense someone on your wheel. I turned my head and there was a dude, hauling ass, with a big grin on his face. I pulled for about another mile, then turned off and he continued. About a week later I saw him again. This time I was following him. Jeans, old backpack, workboots. But a beautiful pedal stoke. You can tell when someone really rides. He was on an old lugged steel Trek roadbike with crappy platform pedals, no clips, nothing. At a light I said, "How's it going?" He smiled, but I could tell that he didn't speak much English.
Well today all of a sudden he's on my ass again. Same grin, same big work boots, same flawless form. I thought- I gotta talk to this guy. This time I spoke to him in Spanish. Turns out he's from El Salvador and raced for many years as a young man in Central America. This guys has two restaurant jobs. He rides to both daily, one way out to the east, and the other on the westside with time in between to go kiss his wife and kids at home before riding on. 50 km six days a week!
This is what I love about LA.
I look forward to riding with him.