I did think of Lewis Macadams in passing (—happy 70th birthday, Lewis!)— at 7 AM as I rode my bike fourteen miles (7 each way) on the L.A. River bike trail where it starts near a bridge from Glassell Park up to zoo, Autry Museum and soccer fields at Griffith Park, passing joggers, old people walking, some with dogs, bikers on nicer bikes streaming past me, this heavy 25 year old bike, river flowing peaceful under floating mats of vegetation, around islands of trees, laurel, willows and bamboo where homeless people live (one encampment had a little arrangement of potted flowers and laundry at the entry path to the island), shopping carts parked on the bike trail, past studios and fabricator’s factories, the armored car depot and sheet metal sheds in the dusty smog wind off the 5 freeway that runs alongside, white egrets, black-necked stilts and lots of mallards in the river, black birds (cormorants I think) sleeping on a wire overhanging the river, Canada geese, (one dead coot in the bike trail), a hawk, but I was in a hurry to do the run, had to get to a meeting, so I pushed it and turned abruptly off the trail at the end, too fast, hit the sidewalk and flew over the handlebars, sprained my wrists when i somersaulted and landed on my back, an old lady calling, “Are you all right?” Nothing was broken, “Yes I am, thanks!” a little skin scraped off my hands, back on the bike, pedaling off to my breakfast meeting. gas-board-echolot

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