Chapter Thirty-Two: From e-Bikes to Bumper Cars
“Golden Hour Glow: Marvin Braude Bike Trail at Sunset" photo by author.
March 18, 2024
Dear Diary,
It's been exactly half a year since I bid farewell to my X3 and embraced the e-bike life. I mean, who needs a car when you live in a cozy two-square-mile bubble with everything imaginable within arm's reach?
When I proudly announced my newfound mode of transport to my friends, they raised their eyebrows in disbelief. "But what about grocery shopping?" they'd ask, or “how do you get the kids around?” I assured them I had it all figured out—between my bike’s trusty basket, the kids’ bikes, Instacart, and the occasional long distance trek courtesy of Hubby's car, I was a two-wheeled, and app-wielding, logistical genius.
Everything was going swimmingly. I found myself growing increasingly adventurous with my rides, starting with a couple day trips to Venice Beach and culminating in a daring decision to pedal all the way to Beverly Hills to catch up with some dear friends. It was during this escapade that I discovered Google Maps' cycling option, a feature designed to guide bikers along the most pedal-friendly routes imaginable. Intrigued by the promise of a scenic journey, I entrusted my navigation to this digital cartographer and plotted a course from our cozy abode in Manhattan Beach to the heart of the Golden Triangle, as they call it.
Surveying the 17-mile route laid out by Google Maps, I deemed it safe enough to proceed and set off bright and early the next morning, cruising down to the shoreline. The initial leg of my journey was along a picturesque esplanade, with the ocean waves as my constant companion to my left. But as I reached Marina del Rey, my route veered onto the Ballona Creek Bike Path—a narrow, winding trail through a protected wetland and creek. It was a surreal experience, traversing this secluded pathway that felt like a forgotten relic of a bygone era. The absence of fellow travelers only added to its mystique, leaving me to ponder whether I had stumbled upon a hidden treasure, or a post-apocalyptic dystopia.
After seven miles of solitary pedaling, I emerged from seclusion and continued my odyssey through various neighborhoods, each offering its own slice of urban charm. The ride was surprisingly streamlined - I made it there in about 15 minutes longer than it would have taken me to drive, and the entire experience left me feeling energized and, dare I say it, accomplished.
I became a consummate advocate for e-bikes, extolling their virtues to anyone who would listen. “They’re so efficient!” I’d brag, “mine can go 45 miles on a single charge!” “They’re so fun to ride!” I’d exclaim, marveling at the ease with which they navigate Los Angeles' terrain. It's worth noting that while I struggle to conquer even the gentlest incline on a regular bike, I can effortlessly cover 35+ miles roundtrip on an e-bike. With each boosted pedal assist, I’d feel a surge of gratitude for this eco-friendly mode of transportation, a sentiment echoed by the growing number of cyclists taking to the streets of LA and by a recently approved ballot measure (Measure HLA) to build over 400 miles of protected bike lanes and paths across the city.
Life sailed smoothly over the next several months as we effortlessly balanced our bikes and our lone car. However, as the old saying goes, a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor. Let's fast forward to a pivotal day at the mall, where a routine gift-buying mission morphed into an unexpected demolition derby. As I cautiously reversed Hubby’s car out of a parking spot, while simultaneously ignoring a terrible screeching sound, disaster struck. Olivia, with the keen eye (and ear!) of a detective, promptly hopped out of the car to investigate, and confirmed my worst fears that the front bumper had indeed decided to part ways with the car. In a panic, I dialed Hubby via Facetime, who remained surprisingly composed despite the chaotic scene before him.
"Can you pick up the bumper?" he calmly inquired. Unfortunately, it was lodged at a perfect 90-degree angle to the car, stubbornly entrenched in the ground. Suddenly, a flicker of resourcefulness ignited within me as I recalled the Tesla's ingenious feature—the ability to raise its suspension with a mere push of a button. With a sense of determination, I activated the mechanism, elevating the car just enough to dislodge the wayward bumper. Even more impressive, Olivia and I were able to seamlessly restore the bumper to its rightful place with a few firm pounds of our fists. It was a moment of triumph, marred only by the absence of any photographic evidence to corroborate our feat.
We cautiously drove home, but to our amazement, the bumper held up and Hubby and I continued to drive the car for several months thereafter. But fate had other plans, as we discovered during a recent return trip from San Diego. As we cruised along the express lane, a menacing pothole sent shockwaves through the car, signaling yet another compromise to our beleaguered bumper.
Hubby, ever the picture of calm under pressure, guided us to the shoulder amidst the cacophony of passing cars. Realizing our limited options from the narrow shoulder, we made the swift decision to exit the frenzied express lanes of the 405, our hazard lights blazing like beacons of hope in a sea of frustrated commuters. Trundling along at a steady 25 mph, every moment seemed to stretch indefinitely as we passed each pylon, further burdened by the disapproving glares of fellow travelers whenever they could navigate around us.
Finally free from the confines of the express lane, we took stock of the damage—a broken bumper, dragging along the ground like a reluctant dance partner. Yet, in our hour of need, salvation arrived in an unexpected form: a humble roll of bright blue painter's tape we just happened to have brought along with us. With deft hands and a touch of humor, we patched up the fractured pieces, fashioning a makeshift solution fit for any intrepid traveler. Our car resembled a battle-scarred warrior, but with the indomitable spirit of Braveheart.
Relief washed over us as we realized that Willow Street in Long Beach would lead us homeward, our patched-up car rolling steadily toward familiar streets. And so, with our trusty tape holding firm and the promise of Sepulveda's embrace on the horizon, we journeyed onward, undeterred by the trials of the road and the embarrassment caused by driving a taped-up car.
“You’re getting a new car,” Hubby informed me the following day. It turns out that his car will take a month to fix and we can’t actually survive on e-bikes alone.
And so, dear diary, here’s what I have learned after six months of car-free living. I've come to appreciate the simplicity of two wheels. E-Bikes are eco-friendly, budget-friendly, health-friendly and all-around friendly - there is no road rage on the Marvin Braude Bike Trail. That being true, there's something to be said for the convenience of a brand new car with all the bells, whistles, and room for seven. Here's to new adventures on four wheels—and maybe a few less dramatic detours along the way. Cheers to the road ahead, whether it's paved or pothole-riddled!
Very truly yours,
Maya
Photo of author riding to Beverly Hills