Biking Along the Venice Beach Boardwalk – Part 1

I have been lucky to travel and see many amazing places in the US and Europe, but my recent unemployment has reminded me of an old truism – one often forgets to visit the wonders in one’s own backyard. Shortly after I had purchased my townhome on the westside of Los Angeles over a decade ago, I purchased a bike to enjoy an occasional ride to the beach, but I allowed my job to turn that occasion into an annual or biennial event on the Fourth of July or Labor Day weekend. When I was laid off over a year ago, I suddenly had extra time on my hands which I used to write and publish a novel as well as get myself into better shape by riding my bike two or three times a week down to Venice Beach. Just off the boardwalk, a concrete, two-way bike path snakes it way from Washington Boulevard to the Santa Monica pier and beyond towards Malibu. I found that I could head down Venice Boulevard straight to the bike path, turn and bike up to the northern end of the Venice boardwalk, take a pause and head back home all within an hour. Add an extra half hour and I could add the Santa Monica Pier to the round trip.

The boardwalk basically begins at Venice Boulevard North on the south side. The pedestrian strip does extend farther south to Washington Boulevard, but the adjoining buildings are all residential, out of sync with the eclectic vibe from the stores and sights to the north. A stark indication of this vibe is the first store at the Venice corner, a medical marijuana dispensary whose clerks come out into the boardwalk in green scrubs announcing, “The doctor is in.” The bike path at this location is separated from the boardwalk by a city parking lot. During mild weekdays in the winter, parking is a reasonable five dollars and readily available. Film and TV crews will often take up half the lot during these off season periods. During mild weekends in the winter, the parking rate doubles as traffic backs up on Venice. When the weather really warms up, the lot full sign pops up and the backup traffic is forced to turn around and find a way out of the jam. I wave to them as I navigate my bike through the traffic into the lot to the bike path entryway on the other side.

As I bike north on the path, I catch glimpses of the open-air gym of Muscle Beach, the handball and basketball courts, and the children’s playground grouped north of the parking lot. The bike path curves in just past the police station and then curves back north between Windward Plaza and the skateboard park. This is the busiest area of Venice Beach as Windward Plaza is the beach side’s extension of the open area plaza signifying the central entry point to Venice Beach and its boardwalk. Next to the skateboard park, a modern art sculpture of five iron bars stands vigil over two flat-top concrete cones and a couple of concrete walls painted over with graffiti art. Navigating through the pedestrian crosswalk and skateboarders can be tricky at this point even during light off-season days.

Past this point, the bike path curves in toward the boardwalk, turning back north to snake along in close proximity. Near this point in the boardwalk, there is an open air restaurant with a faded red-and-white canopy over the eating area that extends over the entry of a small independent bookstore, Small World Books. I pitched them to carry my book in their store as a local author, but the owner let me know that the store is too small to carry unknown books on consignment. One day, I hope to sell enough books to entice them to stock a few copies of Legacy Discovered on their shelves.

To be continued…

An Accent on Perspective

In September of 2007, I was selected as part of the support team sent to London to handle the publicity events promoting the launch of High School Musical 2 in Europe. The week of press events led up to a “blue carpet” premiere screening at the O2 Arena. During this event, I was stationed next to the stanchion and rope holding back the throng of British teens and tweens hoping to see Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens walk down the carpet. Just before the cast was scheduled to arrive, I was handed a stash of posters to hand out to the fans. I started to pass them out, occasionally waving a poster and calling out, “I have posters for you. Get a poster here!” Suddenly, I heard a plaintive admiring cry from the back of the crowd, “Oh! He’s American!” As if on cue, a young lass looked up at me and said with a sweet English inflection, “I just love your accent.” Maintaining my composure, I politely thanked the young woman for her compliment and continued to hand out posters. However, inside, I was floored.

I had grown up in Jacksonville, Florida, but my parents were from upstate New York and we lived in a suburb next to a naval air station, so my speech never picked up a distinctive Southern drawl. It blended to match closer to a Midwestern tone that later fit in perfectly with my fellow classmates at UCLA. I did not consider myself to be much of a speaker or conversationalist and felt my voice and speaking style was somewhat bland. The way I saw it, my voice did not carry the interesting proper tone of the British Isles, the romantic flair of Paris or the playful lilt of the Italian peninsula. It was just a straightforward work-a-day way of speaking. Yet here I was in front of a group of English teens who were enraptured by my American accent. What was it that enthralled them?

Perhaps the standard American accent presents an egalitarian confidence, presenting information in a uncomplicated classless manner. Of course, maybe this is how I expect the rest of the world to hear and admire the American accent. Perhaps the unique tones of my American accent conjured up images of a foreign land separated from these girls by a major ocean, but seen often on television and publications as a country sharing a common mother tongue and a connected history. It is possible my voice identified me as a person who has personally experienced the skyscrapers of New York, the beaches of Southern California or the ability to drive a car for days over a vast landscape without crossing an international border. These are wonderfully wild conjectures on my part, but there is one thing I now know for sure – everyone who speaks on this Earth has an accent that someone else in this world will find fascinating, if only the world gets small enough for them to meet.