Today was quite newsworthy for cyclists all over as today was the day Google unveiled its Bicycling directions option. My Twitter and Facebook feeds buzzed with links and praise.

I plugged in my home address from work and was directed to one of the best rides home. Park Way is one of the best solutions to Santa Monica Boulevard’s dark, torn up east bound lane-slash-racetrack. You do have to cross some major streets, but they are not nearly as difficult to manage as 4th Street’s two major crossings.

It was a little dark and a little desolate, but you are also riding between Beverly Hills homes, so you are never truly alone. Large backyard trees leave potentially flat-inducing shedding…but you’ve always got your flat kit on you – right? The route works better westbound than eastbound, where you have to attempt an unprotected left turn back onto SMB after Park Way dead ends, but if you’re an experienced rider, it’s totally possible. Or you can ride on the path along the north side lawn.

Overall it’s like riding in a dream. No cars. Smooth pavement. Some truly magical sights. It’s a Secret Garden.

Riding a bike is so awesome because it occurs at exactly the right speed.

In a car, the idea is always to collapse time in order to accomplish many things at once, so you never notice anything. On your own two feet, the world unfolds at leisure, unfurling like a cat, and it is so leisurely, in fact, that you don’t even see it moving. But at a crisp ten or thirteen miles per hour clip, the fabric of the universe flutters at your passage because you are moving fast enough to stir it, but slow enough to feel the breeze of energy it produces.

In Los Angeles, it requires a special sort of dedication to favor two wheels over four, but I will never understand the strife between them. Some of the scariest moments of my life have occurred on my bicycle, often driven by malicious intent. Yes, I’ve run and raced through stop signs and yellow lights, but no more than your average driver has. Impatience and frustration is a symptom of entitlement, but five seconds is potentially a lifetime to me.

Still I ride, and generally without incident. I never want to do it, and even as I pull on my helmet I consider my car keys, but once I am pedaling in LA’s perfect riding weather, I am so glad I did not take the car. Each ride is a small adventure and an opportunity for self improvement (Because I am getting lazier and lazier and leaving my apartment for work later and later). Moving at the speed of meditation, I can’t begin to explain the nirvana of catching the scent of night flowers blooming, hearing someone sing with all her heart in her car at a stop light, another person quickening his step to return some unknowingly dropped item to a very grateful human being, riding along Venice Beach just after sunrise, looking out at a sprawlng city coated in dusk from the Observatory after a long long climb.

I like driving my car, but I love riding my bike. One good ride can clear your whole mind, nourish your body, and center your soul. It’s a potent mix of endorphins, good health, and sunshine. Maybe it’s even a little addictive. Moving in sync with the rotation of the stars, it’s almost as if time becomes suspended, and all around you the life energy is humming. It’s a frequency that resonates with the beat of your heart, and your heart stops, and then suddenly an opening in space appears. But just as you are about to peer inside, you pass it, and wonder if it was a dream.

Thirteen miles per hour later you’re certain it wasn’t.

Writing March 10th 2010

When your bike shorts are still a little damp….

Necessity may be the mother of invention, but desperation is her bastard son.

How to get your bike stolen:

1. Ride up to Trader Joe’s 2. Park (your shiny new) bike (on kick stand) 3. Walk away from it

My daily parting of the Red Sea.