Setting out on two wheels to become a local tourist





 

 

There have been endless excuses for years now that have continued to keep me off my bicycle, all legitimate yet still unacceptable. Being aboard my bicycle is far beyond mere exercise for me; I’m a tourist on two wheels, and every ride is full of exploration and discovery.

So I loaded my bike and plotted a leisurely ride, from the Agoura Hills Library to the edge of Hidden Valley in the Westlake portion of Thousand Oaks.

It was a calm Sunday with perfect weather. Local repaving projects had produced smooth roads and ample bike lanes. Yet I struggled as if hauling a dozen hippopotami, as if my legs were more Godzilla’s than Gumby’s, as if my back bowed over the handlebars would never straighten out again.

To no avail I implored the cycling gods to send me some power and energy. Level terrain should not prove so taxing, so miserable. Back at the car I coursed my hand lovingly over the bike frame and confessed to my little silver mountain bike that I had washed out as a cyclist and we were through.

In my tactile farewell, I unearthed the problem. Yes, I was rusty, but the chain was lacking lubricant and the tires were soft. The possibility it might be a combination of lack of bike maintenance and human rustiness struck me like a lightning bolt. I drove home divided equally between despair and determination.

With the tires properly inflated and the chain liberally lubed, I was excited to try again. Yet I hesitated. What if there was no improvement, and it was true I’d become too broke down to propel my relatively lightweight bike?

The dilemma between hopes fulfilled, or crushed ego led me to avoid the bike until one afternoon when I impulsively jumped aboard. A few pedal strokes in and the bike felt buoyant and fluid. I took a few hilly streets in my rural Agoura community absent any moan and groan factor.

We hit Mulholland Highway at a good clip—no sagging or dragging—and biked out to the “M.A.S.H.” site in Malibu Creek State Park a few miles away.

We sailed through a beautiful summer’s day with views to glimmering Malibou Lake and spectacular rock formations while a breeze coursed over us and gave rustling voice to every leaf on every sycamore. Flowering buckwheat created snowdrift-like patches on trail sides, and willow leaves turned silver in the sun.

A long segment of trail was canopied by oaks, then we reached open acres of chaparral above which russet-hued cliffs soared.

At the “M.A.S.H.” site, there was no sound other than rustling leaves and a woodpecker tapping away.

It was just a baby ride by any seasoned rider’s standards, but a sweet, happy, exhilarating new beginning for a tourist on two wheels.

Glasser is a writer fascinated by all manner of natural phenomena surrounding her home in the Santa Monica Mountains. Reach her at ranchomulholla@gmail.com.


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