the underground cycle gangs of Los Angeles!
A golden moon hung over the city, and as night deepened the crowd lounging off Hope Street grew giddy. People swigged beer, marijuana spiced the air, hip-hop streamed from a sound system. It felt like a gritty picnic, minus food.
A yell from a guy with a Hawaiian shirt and a clipboard signalled business, however, and the hundred-strong crowd promptly lined the sidewalk, expectant. The race was about to begin. About two dozen riders, many in Lycra, some in jeans, gathered at a traffic light with their eyes fixed on the race marshal, a ragged figure with a raised baton…
The whole shop will be attending a wedding and will be unable to make it in on Saturday!
We’ll be back to normal hours on Sunday but will probably be a bit hungover, so take it easy on us!
Check this out…
Countless hours, millions of calories and thousands of training miles over nearly three years finally culminated in me successfully qualifying for Paris-Brest-Paris, a challenging 1230 kilometer ride – or 764 miles — that occurs every four years. It’s considered the signature event for randonneurs, or long-distance endurance riders, that draws nearly 6000 cyclists from 60 countries in the world. This August, I flew to France with 69 other members from my home club, the San Francisco Randonneurs, to partake in this historic ride.