LA is a prison. Most people just don't realize it because its so damn expansive and pretty. Don't get me wrong, it really is an amazing place. There is so much to see and do, and being in Manhattan Beach was great. The beaches were gorgeous, the food was excellent and the weather was perfect. What I could do without though was the traffic. What an aboslute mess. This brings me back to my original statement of LA being a prison. There is practically zero public transportation, so to go anywhere you are at the whim of the traffic, which is rush hour almost 24/7. Therefore, you really have to be motivated to go anywhere outside of the little corner of LA you call home. Eventually, I imagine, people just give up and stick to their usually neighborhoods. Trapped. Like mice in the maze.
I'd have to say the highlight of my trip was getting to spend the day with my high school friend Nick. Not only did he take the day off from work to hang out with me, but he was an enthusiastic and knowledgeable tour guide driving me all over the place to give me the full LA experience. We did lots of typical tourist stuff, and capped of an excellent day with dinner in the city with another high school friend/California transplant. Throughout the day though, I found Nick's perspective on the city most interesting. He summed up Socal culture in one word that I found extremely apt: status. It is so incredibly flashy here, and it seems the sole purpose of each individual is to prove their superiority to those around them whether it be by where they live, the car they drive or the suit they wear. In short, a nice place to visit, but not somewhere I'd like to live. I have such respect for Nick though. He has always had such a solid understanding of how the world works; not only has he figured out LA, but with some hard work he has managed to turn the tables and let the city provide for him. Classic Nick. He seems very happy, which makes me happy for him.
Obligatory (sideways) Randy's Donuts pic. Sorry, too lazy to crop and rotate.
Now, on to Arizona, or as I like to call it, the Devil's butt crack. I'm so glad that part of the trip is behind me. The temperature in Phoenix hit 109 degrees, and it stayed well into the 100s even into the twilight hours, which translates to no escaping the heat. Here's a quick lesson in heat transfer to give you an idea of how miserable it was:
For heat to flow from one medium to another a temperature gradient must exist. That is, regardless of the mode of heat transfer (i.e. radiation, convection, conduction) there must be a difference in temperature so that the heat can flow from the hotter source to the cooler receiver. Considering that my body temperature is about 98.6 degrees on any given day, and the air around me was over ten degrees hotter, that means that even cruising down the highway at 75 mph the air around me provided no cooling sensation, but rather made me hotter. It may have been disgusting, but I actually found relief when bugs on the highway would crash into my bare arms (I had to strap my riding jacket to the back of the bike) exploding in a cool burst of moisture, and then gone, completely obliterated. I had to stop every hour to choke down some of the boiling hot water I kept on the bike with me just to stay hydrated, but after getting a little dizzy at midday, I decided to play it safe and stop every half hour instead. Three days of this felt more like three weeks, but thankfully I made it to Austin where I am sitting here writing this now. I've met up with my best friend (also Nick), and we are about to head out to explore the city. Updates of our adventures to follow.
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