MoM Ridaz 2nd Annual Sock the Homeless

DubinskysDigest Bernie Dubinsky

MoM Ridaz 2nd Annual Sock the Homeless-Bike Ride START 3:30 1/1/12- SEE: midnightridazz.com/viewStory.php?…

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Planning a Common Law Wedding

When I suggested the idea of a large wedding reception for my domestic partner and me to my accountant he offered that common law marriages were more common than you might think.  After all, it saves on paper.   No need for that pesty  wedding certificate.  No need to skip the service at before the reception either.

In point of legal fact, California State does not recognize common law marriage.  But after 'shacking up' for a long time most people my age (born  in  the fifties),generally feel like you're married anyway.  So why not have a wedding reception?  Keep the catering business alive here in LA, which is where Marlyn and I live. Its also important to keep some aspects of our life together conventional.

Like everything else, we figured we'll go to the web for how to get married advise and checklist stuff - but it doesn't really apply to a common law wedding. The web site said things like:

.

Ceremony Site

Decide on what type of ceremony venue

you want

Select a ceremony site

or

Officiant

Select an officiant and lock in the date

Create ceremony

Rehearse ceremony

or

Marriage License and Requirements

Research and meet local marriage

license requirements.

Obtain a marriage license.

And you know how this Internet stuff is, if you skip a step the screen keeps repeating itself with little red dots.  No, this wasn't going to work that way;  it was clear that no one was giving out free advise for what we needed to do so we either needed to start and new web site or write some of our own rules of the road.

For example - it's probably not necessary that the bride wear white.  The role of the groom had even more subtle challenges - take for example this dilemma we uncovered at a wedding etiquette site called 'Life123.com'

  "one of the more fun events of the day is the garter toss. If you are incorporating this fun and celebrated tradition into the reception, there are definitely some things that you should and should not do. The garter toss is symbolic of the groom tossing off his old life and passing good luck on to whoever catches it. The bride should be seated and have the garter just above her knee. Be careful to lift the dress just enough to access the garter and not exposing anything else. After removing the garter, you can turn your back to the cluster of unmarried men and fling it backwards. Under no circumstances should you remove the garter with your teeth, unless you are supremely confident that no one in the crowd, including your future father-in-law, would be upset."

I probably don't want to remove Marlyn's garter belt with my teeth - the teeth might come out of my head if I do. And Marlyn's 86 year old Dad would either have a heart attack or die laughing.
(to be continued)

Common Law Nuptials -Story ideas

Common Law Nuptials

you know your broke when:

a day at the domestic partner register:

how to have a common law wedding reception:

maybe 'common law' but not trailer trash
FAMILY.CODE
SECTION 297-297.5

297.  (a) Domestic partners are two adults who have chosen to share
one another's lives in an intimate and committed relationship of
mutual caring.
   (b) A domestic partnership shall be established in California when
both persons file a Declaration of Domestic Partnership with the
Secretary of State pursuant to this division, and, at the time of
filing, all of the following requirements are met:
   (1) Both persons have a common residence.
   (2) Neither person is married to someone else or is a member of
another domestic partnership with someone else that has not been
terminated, dissolved, or adjudged a nullity.
   (3) The two persons are not related by blood in a way that would
prevent them from being married to each other in this state.
   (4) Both persons are at least 18 years of age.
   (5) Either of the following:
   (A) Both persons are members of the same sex.
   (B) One or both of the persons meet the eligibility criteria under
Title II of the Social Security Act as defined in 42 U.S.C. Section
402(a) for old-age insurance benefits or Title XVI of the Social
Security Act as defined in 42 U.S.C. Section 1381 for aged
individuals. Notwithstanding any other provision of this section,
persons of opposite sexes may not constitute a domestic partnership
unless one or both of the persons are over the age of 62.
   (6) Both persons are capable of consenting to the domestic
partnership.
   (c) "Have a common residence" means that both domestic partners
share the same residence. It is not necessary that the legal right to
possess the common residence be in both of their names. Two people
have a common residence even if one or both have additional
residences. Domestic partners do not cease to have a common residence
if one leaves the common residence but intends to return.



297.5.  (a) Registered domestic partners shall have the same rights,
protections, and benefits, and shall be subject to the same
responsibilities, obligations, and duties under law, whether they
derive from statutes, administrative regulations, court rules,
government policies, common law, or any other provisions or sources
of law, as are granted to and imposed upon spouses.
   (b) Former registered domestic partners shall have the same
rights, protections, and benefits, and shall be subject to the same
responsibilities, obligations, and duties under law, whether they
derive from statutes, administrative regulations, court rules,
government policies, common law, or any other provisions or sources
of law, as are granted to and imposed upon former spouses.
   (c) A surviving registered domestic partner, following the death
of the other partner, shall have the same rights, protections, and
benefits, and shall be subject to the same responsibilities,
obligations, and duties under law, whether they derive from statutes,
administrative regulations, court rules, government policies, common
law, or any other provisions or sources of law, as are granted to
and imposed upon a widow or a widower.
   (d) The rights and obligations of registered domestic partners
with respect to a child of either of them shall be the same as those
of spouses. The rights and obligations of former or surviving
registered domestic partners with respect to a child of either of
them shall be the same as those of former or surviving spouses.
   (e) To the extent that provisions of California law adopt, refer
to, or rely upon, provisions of federal law in a way that otherwise
would cause registered domestic partners to be treated differently
than spouses, registered domestic partners shall be treated by
California law as if federal law recognized a domestic partnership in
the same manner as California law.
   (f) Registered domestic partners shall have the same rights
regarding nondiscrimination as those provided to spouses.
   (g) No public agency in this state may discriminate against any
person or couple on the ground that the person is a registered
domestic partner rather than a spouse or that the couple are
registered domestic partners rather than spouses, except that nothing
in this section applies to modify eligibility for long-term care
plans pursuant to Chapter 15 (commencing with Section 21660) of Part
3 of Division 5 of Title 2 of the Government Code.
   (h) This act does not preclude any state or local agency from
exercising its regulatory authority to implement statutes providing
rights to, or imposing responsibilities upon, domestic partners.
   (i) This section does not amend or modify any provision of the
California Constitution or any provision of any statute that was
adopted by initiative.
   (j) Where necessary to implement the rights of registered domestic
partners under this act, gender-specific terms referring to spouses
shall be construed to include domestic partners.
   (k) (1) For purposes of the statutes, administrative regulations,
court rules, government policies, common law, and any other provision
or source of law governing the rights, protections, and benefits,
and the responsibilities, obligations, and duties of registered
domestic partners in this state, as effectuated by this section, with
respect to community property, mutual responsibility for debts to
third parties, the right in particular circumstances of either
partner to seek financial support from the other following the
dissolution of the partnership, and other rights and duties as
between the partners concerning ownership of property, any reference
to the date of a marriage shall be deemed to refer to the date of
registration of a domestic partnership with the state.
   (2) Notwithstanding paragraph (1), for domestic partnerships
registered with the state before January 1, 2005, an agreement
between the domestic partners that the partners intend to be governed
by the requirements set forth in Sections 1600 to 1620, inclusive,
and which complies with those sections, except for the agreement's
effective date, shall be enforceable as provided by Sections 1600 to
1620, inclusive, if that agreement was fully executed and in force as
of June 30, 2005.

---

The Fugitives Bike the Tunnel

Sure I bike with the Midnight Ridazzz - all of them - Taco Tuesday, Ride with No Name, Mom's Ride, WIF (What the Fuck Ride).   And, Yo Dog, we have done it - done it HARD.  Drink, smoke, tag - in your face stuff that I'd only do in the dead of night riding with crazy kids miles into the dawn light of a Raymond Chandler LA whose mean streets no one knows but us midnight ridazzz.  Sure, I'm what you can call 'hardcore' BUT this one group I hooked up with showed me up for the pussy I really am.  The Fugitives, whose motto is, "We've escaped and you won't take us alive."Right, I scoffed when I read their twitter account.  Bunch of lousy nerds I meet with couple of weeks back that did this vanilla ride over Barham Road in the Valley from NoHo into Hollywood for some beers.  Pansy stuff compared to what other groups do.  I didn't think twice 2 weeks later when I see an ad on the midnight ridazz.com website for a quote, 'adventure' ride'.             ( Although, when they said, 'bring a change of shoes' it shoulda been a big ominous tip off.)So off we bike from Union Station at about 9pm down Alameda till the leader, Nerd A, says, 'Hey, we went too far' and we backtrack from Vernon to Exposition and head West.  We hit Culver City around Duquesne Ave and head onto LA River Bike path.   Kool, I'm thinking, I've done this a million times - out to Mustache Bridge in the Marina.  Have a beer on the bridge, I figure, eat the rest of my Subway Sandwich and call it a night - right?  Wrong as can be.  We back track again from West back East on the Baloona Creek bike path and then it gets fucking weird.  We duck under the cable wire barrier, carry our bikes down to the creek and start heading back in the Creek itself.  It's low water level an even though everyone else has knobby tires and mountain bikes, my ghetto bike with South Central red balloon 700 tires can handle a couple of inches of water.  So, I go with the crowd of 5 and ride the river - till we miss our turn again.Next thing is a back track to a secret tributary that's headed North off Balboa Creek. (Our group leader made us swear a blood oath to keep exact location secret.)  And before you know it, I'm in a dark smelly tunnel that kinda felt like I was biking thru a vagina.  And all the nerds are just fine with it all.  Dark, smelly tunnel filled with untreated sewage, late at night in LA.  And I'm thinking, it’s OK, be a short ride and all's fine, be out in the fresh air laughing again headed for a beer in no time.  But noooooooo, we're biking and biking and one mile turns to 3 and 3 seems like an eternity because we’re totally encased in cement with water up about 2 inches deep and now it's slimy.  We're headed North from Culver City to Bev Hills in a fucking tunnel and there's no exit, or fresh air, till we're there.Our bike lights were plenty to see with and my headset blasted enough music to overcome my sense of smell so it was like a '60s acid trip for awhile.  Lots of cell phone photos with goofy poses at various points made me think that Ken Kesey Merry Pranksters had kidnapped me for a ride on the bus and it was all cool until,  the guy in front of me goes down.He slid on the slim and banged up his knee on the upturn in the tunnel.  I go down kinda partial on my elbow and knee but hop right up so as to not get real wet or full of too much sewage.  (The sealed soda cup in my cup holder was even OK.)  But my fellow nerd is hurting and need first aid - which a ride member came prepared for.  Me, my chain got fucked 'cause of the Frankenstein nature of my bike - parts from 40 bikes put together so nothing quite fits.  But we teamed it and got the chain on again and now we're rolling again, just a little more cautiously.  We end up walking the slime for about the last mile.After about 15 minutes, somewhere north of Sunset in Bev Hills, we jump up a tunnel ledge, semi-crawl out to a closed Iron Gate and bang on it till we get sprung in the middle of wooded parkland off of a road that must forever remain nameless in BH.  Free, we escape into the cool night and everyone rushes to catch the last train to North Hollywood just like nothing much went down.  And in a funny way, nothing much did.  Just another escape brought to you complements of ’the Fugitives'.    But it does makes you wonder 'What if'' we had gotten stuck in that God forsaken tunnel of sewage.  We might not have made it out alive, indeed.  It also makes you want to get a Tetanus shot.

Jake's Ghost - A Dog Story

JAKE'S GHOST:  a dog story

                                                                     

" Christ, that’s the homeliest dog here, Charlie." I said as my 7 year old kid pointed to this 40 pound mutt in the lowest level  cage at the no-kill shelter out in East Jesus somewhere. “Why do you like him?" Charlie replied, “He looks like he really wants a home."  And sure enough, when we took him on a trail walk, he not only found our car on the lot but jumped in ready to go home as well.  So Jake it was, the half   dauschound and  half Rottweiler - whose tail was chopped off at birth 'cause his mom was the rotty.  

Something rather soulful about Jake from the very beginning.  His eyes felt like a real persons, very sad and expressive, very penetrating -as if he knew something about you that you couldn't face yourself.  There was this old TV series from the ‘50s called "People's Choice" with Jackie Cooper that co-starred a basset hound named 'Cleo' - whose expressive face summed up each episode. That was Jake. A true hound dog disguised as a mutt who was really a human being under it all; at least that's how it felt when you looked into his fixed steady stare at you.  It felt like a person was watching you, or watching over you.

And our acquisition of Jake coincided with the news I received of the death of my estranged father - similar name in Yiddish, Yunkala; maybe that how we named the dog. Nobody really knows how that happened; his actual name at the pound was ‘Spike’.  They called him that 'cause he got into fights with other dogs and that's why he was at the shelter. Somehow it was always Jake for us, we just felt it fit and so it did.   The dog was a family member within 3 days of coming home to Silver Lake with us.  He just flowed with the family, not demanding anything special other than to be fed - twice a day - and let outside in our hillside yard.

At first, Jake got out of the yard and wondered the neighborhood, more just to show us he could than to really run away.  But then, after about a month, he settled into the routine of being the dog nobody notices much except when you're lonely and need a friend or if an unwanted delivery person shows up.  That bark, this deep, scary junk yard dog bark that resonated for blocks away; and then you open the door and there stood this foot and a half high misshapen wiener dog with the face of a ferocious hound barking out of a Sherlock Holmes mystery.  Really kinda scary, if you didn't know how sweet an animal he was.

Charlie and his friends would pull on his stubby tail or tweak his nose or even step on the poor dog, and never a snap or even a growl.  He adored kids, all kids, even babies and nothing could cause him to turn on them.  Even a stranger who would say, "What a weird look dog" and then pull his floppy ears - nothing was his response except to slowly wander up and say hello.  Jake was always calm, and calming, he had this presence which did in fact lower you heartbeat and keep your blood pressure in check.  He quickly became known as the dog that made our household work.  

The marriage itself had been in the toilet from the start when all agreed my X and I were voted as 'most likely to divorce' by our circle of bohemian friends.   But it did last for 17 years - the last 8 due to Jake.  We both loved him and our kid much more than we disliked each other.  A kid and a dog is sometimes all you need.  But eventually, once the kid was old enough to not get too mangled by the breakup of our household, we parted ways.  Jake was  never in dispute.  My X knew who’s dog he really was and she also knew he won't fit with the designer furniture she was planning for her new digs.  And so it was that while I shared joint custody of our son, Jake was all mine and that's how I kept the illusion of normal family life and responsibility going.

Without that dog I could not have carried on the illusion of being a family man.  My son and I were and are very close; but I was glad to see him have a regular school week at Mom's high-end tony beach front place in the Marina.  My low-rent West LA place was close enough to his private school to make it a convenient stay and in-fact the kid voluntarily divided his time nicely so that I got to spend lots of time with him, but it was Jake that really glued us.  Things felt just like they always had, secure and comfortable.  I had kept all the old furniture and photos and Jake was there to re-assure all that nothing much had really changed, except bed partners perhaps.

That newly singles dating period is pretty alienating and unnerving and it was Jake that tipped me off about going overboard. When he buried is nose in his paws after I brought home the 5th women in as many days, I knew it was time to chill.  And Jake would sort them out as well.  If they sat on the sofa with me and he jumped up on my side to get petted, chances are the new lady friend was OK.  But if he jumped between us and nudged her always with his rear-end (something guaranteed to repel) well then they may not be for me.  His judgment was often right.  But at least someone cared enough to watch over me. 

I quickly learned after the divorce that life can be pretty detached ,lonely ,and dispiriting when you’re on your own.  I wandered through jobs and money problems and some health issues noticing all the time that other than my son (who I did not want to share all this with) no one much cared about my problems.  No one that is other than Jake.  Lost $ 5 grand in stock market collapse, Jake would jump up on the bed to nudge your armpit and sleep with you.  Had a girl friend cheat on you, Jake would replace her kiss with a lick.  And if there was no-one there to bring you chicken soup when you got the flu, well then Jake would try and do that too.  He just knew your problems and what you needed and if any dog could come close to making it all better, it was Jake.

And so it was more than troubling to see the early signs of Jake's old age set in.  He no longer barked when a stranger knocked on the door, in fact he didn't even wake up unless you yelled his name.  His hearing went out first.  It was sort of funny, I mean he was probably 12 years old or something like that and that's a lot of dog years and it was sort funny.  There wasn't much he needed to hear, he was always with me or on a leash anyway.  And then his sight started going out, but he could still smell where you were.    But when his teeth were missing, Jake got upset, because he couldn’t chew without pain.  So that by around 14, Jake was getting very slow in walking, and walked less and less.  I accepted his incontinence because he was good about going on the 'pee-pee' pad; but the apartment still stank from dog urine. 

 

By the time all this was happening, Charlie had left for college and I met someone real who was a keeper.  I could tell because she liked Jake right away and in some ways got closer to him than me.  She knew only the old guy and never remembered him running or jumping up anywhere.  His personality hadn't really changed but now he had limitation that I found troubling.  Not my girlfriend Miriam, she just accepted the dog as he was and bonded with him like a family member.  Jake was glad for the company when she moved in and glad especially to have someone who got home from work earlier than me and who never forgot to feed him.  Some nights Jake would even prefer to sleep with her over me.

That was really the beginning of the end of Jake's tour of duty watching over me.  It was as if he was tug boat gently guiding a big old ship into safe harbor; once I reached a good place, well, Jake's job was over.  Jake and I both knew that something had to change.  His health was going faster and now signs were more obvious.  Going up the stairs became a challenge with occasional trips; his breath had the foul odor of lots of mouth decay and rot ,and food just wasn't as important as it had been - even the soft kind that he could easily chew.    

Because Jake's health was always great there weren’t many trips to the vet, apart from regular shots.  When we finally decided to invest $ 200 bucks in his teeth and for some blood work two things became clear.  Jake wasn't in bad shape for a 14 year old dog and that this was just the start of a long and expensive road to keep him alive for maybe another year.  He needed teeth surgery - and the recovery period was likely to be unpleasant for an older dog who had never really known a sick day in his whole life.  I needed to make a decision there and then.  For both my own good and Jake's, I decided let Jake go.

I called a week ahead and asked the vet how it all worked and what papers needed signing and best time and all that sort of stuff and then I told Miriam.  She argued with me, at first forcefully and then resentfully.  I guess she knew what my X wife knew as well, a boy and his dog isn't something you can really get between, let alone really understand.  It was my lonely call to make.  But a week later, that last Friday of the year, when I turned to her over breakfast and told her to say good-bye to Jake, Miriam acted very shocked.  "I thought surely you'd change your mind...it can be put off can't it?"

I couldn't bear to take him in but nor could I live with inevitable decision hanging over me.  He went with me to the vets that last day, but not very willingly.  You see, he knew as well.  For the first time ever, he pulled back on his leash and refused to cross the street with me. He resisted going in.  I gave him part of a Christmas cookie from the reception desk and that got some grudging approval. Jake wasn't even friendly to the handler who came out from behind the vet's desk to take him in the back.  He felt those wet drops on his head but he did turn around and nudge me one last time to get up and follow him; but this time I ignored his nudge. 

I sat in the parking lot for a good long time crying alone in the car using a dish towel because a tissue just wasn’t big enough.  I felt as though my heart had been ripped out and every last support in my crumbling middle-aged life had just vanished.  I guess Kierkegaard described this as being 'forlorn ' or maybe Sartre summed it up in his book ‘Nausea’.  Whatever that existential locker in hell is that people inhabit at the bottom, well, there it was. I did the cliché, got very busy with a job assignment that started at 9 am and just buried myself.  Refusing to discuss details or much else with friends and family for week.  I couldn't talk about it at all; just too painful.

Now as I walk to the kitchen I feel Jake at my heels. I feel him watching me at the table eating waiting for me to drop some foot on the floor.  He is there at night under my arm as I sleep.  I can hear his paws rattling on the hard wood floor.  Even if he’s not really there  it’s kinda of comforting.  I wonder if my next dog may well be taking me in to put me down and then write an article all about it.

A Shared 'Domestic Partner' Moment at the Ronald Regan Building

A Shared 'Domestic Partner'  Moment at the Ronald Regan Building

The State of California has a particularly unfriendly office in seediest part of downtown LA in a place with the anti-government name of Ronald Regan Office Building where you go to register as domestic partners if that's something you want to do.  Lots of never-show-stain, thin carpeting stretched over miles of dingy hallway to make it clear that you shouldn't get too comfortable or expect too much in the way of personal attention here.

And on a dreary June-gloom day Barbara and I thought it would be a good idea to make our 'shacked-up' arrangement official and register with the State as 'domestic partners'.  The paperwork on-line looked simple enough, the notary work was cheap enough and we thought by being proactive in this way we'd dodge an unpleasant legal inevitability of her becoming my 'common law' wife.  A fairly ghastly, trailer park designation for a relationship that sounds like I beat her on week-ends and kick the dog the rest of the week.

Barbara and I had been to Palm Springs the week before and fell in with a very gay crowd at poolside who helped us tan without showing strap marks.  The alternative was to hang with married middle age couples that populated the pool deck but were much closer to retirement that we cared to admit to.  Most talked of things we had long since lost interest in - like 401k plans, investment properties or vacations - none of which our genteel poverty permitted .  But the boys in  the band were swingers who drank hard, had great Mary-Jane and knew how to party.  They educated us as to the highs and lows  of gay life and in particular the joys of having a domestic partner.

With on-line application complete, we marched into the Ronald Regan Building and approached this very thin young man, with a badly trimmed mustache,
behind a counter marked 'Secretary of State' and I asked, " Is this where we register as domestic partners?" 
His reply was short and sweet, 'Here's a form DP-1 - fill it out and return here when you're number's called.'
We took a hard plastic chair and said nothing after grabbing a number from one of those machines you might find at a deli counter.  We sure did look a lot different from those around us - no tats, no piercings, no purple hair - just a 'couple of plump middle-aged white folks who wore glasses and dressed in like aged hippies, which is in fact who we are.

When our  turn did come after a 40 minuet wait, Mr. Mustache looked over our application and handed it back to use quickly, "You don't qualify."  I got a little agitated and after a moment of silence asked,       " Why not?"   " Read the fourth bullets down, 'Both persons are members of the same sex, or one or both of the persons of opposite sex are over the age of 62 and meet the eligibility criteria under title II of the Social Security Act......"  Not missing a beat,  I looked up and Mr Mustache and made a point of removing my black rimmed glasses, looking him dead in the eye and said:
" I'm  going through the change as we speak, I didn't want to wait til I become Bernadette - do I really have to?  (whining just a bit)  Barbara was so looking forward to this, she wore her prettiest dress today.  You see, we've been at the doctor's office all morning and...."  Mr Mustache's nonchalant look quickly turned to terror  and his eyes grew wide as I proceeded,    " the shots have already began to enlarge certain parts of my body and caused me (in a shill tone) to lose my ......"
" OK, OK,  I understand, that's all I need to know.  Do you have the DP-1 notarized?" Mr Mustache quickly asked, anxious to change the subject.  " Give it here and pay $ 33 at window number 4. and your certificate will be mailed."    He mumbled under his breath,  real glad to yell out the next number behind us and see the last of Barbara and Bernadette.

Melisa, We'll Miss You

It seemed like every hard-assed bike messenger in LA knew that you had died Melisa. And they knew how you took your own life at 34. And every hard-assed bike messenger that ever rode under the Flower Street bridge was at your memorial bike ride Friday night - along with dozens of others - to pay tribute to you, Melisa.

You meant alot more to people than you'll ever know. Everyone remembers a kindness you extended to them, or a skepticism you express about them (which you were real willing to say was wrong once they proved themselves to you.) People remember you, cause you were a leader, a born leader. And people don't meet many of those in a lifetime.

I have my own story about going on the Bike Brew Tour with you and wondering why the hell they let a 'woman' share the ride up to San Francisco for the Bike Messenger Races in '07. And then I began to understand you and who you were and that 'woman' bullshit went out the window - you took charge of everything, and watched every detail and controlled that entire piece of chaos so that no one got hurt, left behind or starved to death. And everyone was made to feel an equal by you and that made that Brew Tour a legend.

Less known is this school boy crush I had on you which would not have ever worked 'cause I'm like 30 years older - but it wasn't like you were flirting. You were just the most amazing women, of any age, I ever knew and it made you attractive, in a stand-out way. You always did hug me, and hug me hard when we meet - but then I realized its cause all that biking made you a powerful woman and you had a powerful hug. I miss that, too.

I'm kinda heartbroken now Melisa. I knew we were the most casual of acquaintances and I need to not think about how sad me, and every other biker was tonight. Naturally, everyone got wasted and said dumb, loud, ridiculous stuff. (We cleaned out Echo Park Liquor's entire inventory for the year.) But at the end of the night, there at your place on the hill, there was a quiet moment when everyone knew someone on this bike ride had gone missing - and no matter how long we waited up for her she won't be catching up - and we'll miss you, Melisa.

Biking Palm Springs, CA.

 
If you already live in Southern California, I recommend you bike Palm Springs and its nearby towns for the following reasons:

1. Its cheap and easy to get to
2. The scenery, both natural and man made, is spectacular
3. The bus system jells nicely with the bike route
4. Its not over run by cyclist, yet

Can't bike to this destination - so don't even think about that 'cause of its dessert locale - but its a fast one and a half hour car ride from L.A.  The area encourages cyclists but hasn't yet fully exploited its potential as a biking mecca, as have places like Santa Barbara or Portland, Oregon.

The Palm Springs Metro Area is a bourgeoisie vacation/retirement/resort community that hit its peak in the '50s, back in the days of the 'rat pack', and now is filled with lots of old people and one time real estate whores who profited nicely from selling dreams to out of towners until mortgage money dried up.  The whole area is chock full of vacancies, both commercial and residential,  and strangely enough - that's what saves it for biking.  Not the hodgepodge of unmarked, disconnected bike routes; but the big empty parking lots that are the largest spaces available for bike riding.

There really is no uniform, well marked bike route through all the desert towns - Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Cathedral City Rancho Mirage and Indio - except for the City of Palm Springs, which does have a very nice bike loop that surrounds the City.  The dessert towns line the  111 Highway that stretches like a bow string parallel  to Interstate 10 for about 35 miles.  The whole area is referred to as the Coachella Valley.
I left my hotel in downtown Palm Springs early and alone with lots of water and a change of tops for when it would heat up.  You should plan to be off the road - one way or the other - by 11 am 'cause after that it's way too hot.  Luckily, if you stick to a path along the 111 you can always throw your bike on the front of the local '111' bus that runs along the route.  ( They have these extra wide bike racks to accommodate 3 bikes.) Separate bus route wind thru the urban communities that line 111.

When I told the bell hop at my hotel that I was traveling to Indio on a bike he told me in Spanish that I'd never make it 'cause I wasn't Mexican.  A tired old, white Gringo like me shouldn't even try.  He was wrong about that.  I made it fine; getting back was the challenge.

Bike lanes are well marked in Palm Springs for the most part, but once you leave the City limits you're on your own.  You see, biking is a good idea in theory for Seniors but the dirty little truth is that folks in good enough shape to be out on a bike in the dessert are probably still back in LA making a living or hustling to make more money.  By the time your out in the dessert your either too frail, too sick or too wasted from working your whole life to be out biking around.  And the cash strapped municipalities of the dessert just can't afford to complete the grandiose planners designs for bike trails.  But thanks to high vacancies in the commercial land parcels that abut Highway 111; biking at a good clip is still possible.

Heading South-east from Palm Springs you see mountains on your right and some great relics of the past in front of you.  Passing Bob Hope Drive and Dinah Shore Ave lets you know the era your in.  And then there's these road side joints like Shields Date Garden where "Everyone enjoys the theater presentation of the 'Romance and Sex Life of the Date' in sound and color".  Well, don't know about that but nothing beats wolfing down a fresh Indio grapefruit after a long ride.  ( Get their original 1950's postcards for 25 cents while you can - they sell for $ 5 bucks at a flea market in LA.)

To experience first hand the grand period of '50s mid-century, modernity just go toward the mountains in Palm Springs.  There are a ton of post and beam houses right out of a Shulman photograph.  The architecture and landscaping are striking enough to not require a cell phone camera photo - they stick in your mind like a visit to a museum.  Frank Sinatra's ghost can be seen peeking through the window blinds. 

I learned fast to be real careful about obeying lights and traffic rules.  Working people in these communities who use their car aren't used to looking out for bike or giving any sort of right of way. And besides, lot of drivers are old people who can't adjust quickly to driving obstacles or distractions.  Extreme defensive cycling is advised here.  But because traffic was light doing a week-day and the weather was outstanding (as it often is here) I was O.K. navigating the jagged path along the 111.

Camping opportunities, cheap restaurants and clean air make this a fun adventure for 2.5 hours. Just be sure your bike pump works and take 2 inter tubes.  All kinds of road conditions can be found and this is not a great ride for true roadies with their real thin tires.  Great ride for true street riders.  Lots of outdoor camp sites along the way and if you peel off towards the mountains you see huge Heron and reptiles and lots of cactus plants that never make their way into LA County.

I took too long sightseeing and didn't make the 11 am cut-off.  Bus life proved pretty interesting.  Alex, a local house sitter, gave me the guiding principals about biking Coachella

Good, clean hotel rooms can be had for as little as $75 a night and resort spa's, like the one we stayed in Downtown Palm Springs, are $ 125 a night with mineral water hots springs, big outdoor pool and gambling casinos thrown in.  Can't do that in Santa Barbara.  
 

Never Trust Anyone Over Forty: BERNIE'S MANIFESTO

BERNIE'S MANIFESTO

When I told my 20 something bike riding crew about stuff I grew up with - they just drop jaw and start to text.  "Never trust anyone over 30",  I asked?  ' You ever hear of that?'
"Naw" came the response.  Well dust off your copy of 'Rules for Radicals' guys, cause you need a little Saul Alinsky  right about now - with some Abbie Hoffman thrown in for good measure.
Weird,  these kids know they are being fucked by a generation that's taking it all out with 'em.  New retirement rules for those under 55, new job benefits (always lower) for those under 55 and nothing but dead-end jobs 'cause the brass is 55 plus and ain't retiring any time soon.  Forget about jobs altogether - there ain't any with careers attached.  So everyone is 'branding' themselves, doing pick-up work out of Kinko's computer and hoping that their folks can spot 'em rent this month.  Forget about having kids, buying a house or having a self-supporting life. The best you can do is cut out cable, car, your land line and dinner out at Denny's once a week.  And the future looks no better.
This blog is devoted to the coming revolt of the after-boomers; Gen X,Y,Z or the Millenniums or the name I'd like to give ya all, 'the Next Lost Generation'.  You guys really are  what Karl Marx would call the 'Proletariat' - but that's for my next edition.