This morning I trunked my bike down the I-5 from the LA River to its tributary, the Río Hondo, to ride the 20th Annual Tour de Sewer. As both a leisure cycling enthusiast and a connoissewer,* I felt downright obligated to throw myself heart and soul at this opportunity. I mean, there’s a reputation to build here! There’s a sexy bike jersey to collect! There’s another stinky concrete megalopolitan river to conquer!
My self-start on the Río Hondo bike path was unceremonious and a little lonely. Ah, but sometimes it gets lonely at the top of the bottom, I reminded myself. Opening my senses to the surroundings and slipping a regal cloak over my imagination, I became a self-proclaimed Cloacina out to survey the newest territory in my queendom. High on the crest of the gray levee, I followed the dark green stream, all aswirl with rich browns and tans and emitting the organic chemical smell of a sweaty deodorized armpit. Ahh! I was almost tempted to scramble down to water’s edge and find out cuánto hondo es el río.
Huffing and puffing my way to the top of the Whittier Narrows Dam (not nearly as steep as I make it out to be), I reaped a photo op and a pit stop to gobble chocolate chip cookies and bites of banana. The trail continued down through swampy land a short way until it dipped into a flood and it was time to turn around. Towering above the path, several dump trucks rumbled about and oil pumps creaked menacingly. Surely a rendezvous for James Ellroy’s wicked cops! I thought with a shiver of delight and belted out the chorus of “Venus as a Boy.”
Venus Cloacina “believes in beauty”! And returning with the wind at my back, I found beauty in… the two giant peacocks of the little Montebello barnyard zoo, the cowboy on horseback just chatting away on his cell phone, the expansive tin shack barnyard housing what sounded like scores of crowing roosters, the long freight train pulling double-stacked shipping containers (Cosco, Hanjin, Hyundai, Maersk) in from the port… messages in graffiti (VEO, ANGER, NITRO, Fucking Injesting Rocks [Investing for business-minded taggers? Or Ingesting the nitro perhaps? But, In-jest-ing, I'm sure it was-- Must be the sewer clowns expressing pride in their work])… Zoom! under Beverly, Whittier, I-5, Florence… yellow daisies adorning concrete and barbed wire, a community garden of cacti and lettuces, backyards in Downey and I wonder which street claimed Tom Waits and Lily Tomlin as residents…
I arrived triumphant back at John Anson Ford Park and, soaring on an adrenaline high, marched straight to the shirt vendor to demand one for myself. Now proudly sporting a rat on one shoulder and a frog on the other, I hit the lunch buffet for a heaping plate of salad, spaghetti, and breadsticks. As the deejay spun some moldy sewer pop and the Lions Club prepared to raffle prizes, I perched upon my throne at the base of the biggest tree in the park and guzzled Coke from the can.
Yes, it’s good to be queen.
*Credit goes to this merry punster for the fabulous coinage: Praise or blame him accordingly!
Thank you, Velo Connoissewer, for the wonderful story! Your writing is so flush with fun tidbits and obscure detail. The rat story was a gas! It stinks that I wasn’t there to join in on the fun, but perhaps on your next sludge-trudge?
Hi Katie!
Nice to finally get a (whiff)of your tour d’sewer experience… (lol) had heard about it from Corvallis-Scott for a few days… was intrigued to find out that such an adventure actually existed. Sounds like quite the day too… too bad you had to do it alone, but then, it would have been a completely different experience wouldn’t it??? -smile
Enjoyed the momentary vista from someone else’s eyes… hope to meet you soon.
Thanks for posting.
Sandy
Cool, man! I can’t wait to post at The Connoissewer: the perfect place to deposit my stinky unwanted comments!
You might have some obnoxiously frequent readers, however; what fun could Dirty Girl have there!