20 minute radius

One of the most amazing things about San Diego its diversity of activities. The city is right on the waterfront and famous for surfing, swimming, snorkeling, and sailing. Inland just a few miles the topography jumps up to a mountain playground for hiking, cycling, cliff jumping, and rock climbing while pressing further still gives way to the desert, a mecca for dirt bikers and other off road enthusiasts. Two hours to the north puts one in LA with high society in Hollywood or hip hop’s roots in Compton, and a passport is needed to get an hour south.
The past three days I had the opportunity to really embrace the local activities hitting up a night of velodrome racing, horse racing, and Comic Con – all within 20 minutes of Pacific Beach.
Tuesday night racing, or TNR as the cool kids call it, is the weekly fast race at the San Diego Velodrome. A concrete track, 333 meters in length with a dead grass infield it isn’t the prettiest thing in the world but at least San Diego has a velodrome, unlike most cities in America. I grew up in an area with rich track racing roots at the Trexler town track where legends like Marty Nolstien frequented, and Dave Wood attempted Gymkana 3 driving stunts in a pickup truck. The scene there was great with top end racing, heckling, noise makers, drunk fans, and the occasional racer pulling up to the wall to chug a beer. The San Diego scene needs a little work – there’s a lot of hipsters and a lot of people not being ridiculous – so I did my best to amp people up by going wild with the biggest cowbell I could find. I don’t know if they got amped up, or if I just drove the lamest ones so crazy the left, but by the end of the night people were starting to cheer and get into the spirit a little more. A little 6 year old was walking around under the bleachers yelling “ding ding ding” as loud as he could, so on the last preem and bell lap of the last race I gave him the cowbell and he went crazy. But in a good way, he only rang it when I told him to so as not to confuse the racers.
Wednesday was opening day at the Del Mar race track so I went and watched more things go fast and turn left. Athena did 104mph (literally) on the way there until we ran into a traffic jam miles away from the exit. We took back roads to find a parking spot, climbed over train tracks and were threatened with arrest, and followed the stream of ridiculous hats and girls with lots of makeup until we finally found our way to the track. I don’t understand horse betting at all but by the end of the day I decided the best idea is three-packs since one of my friends won $250 on a $6 bet. I can’t even describe the ridiculous attire that was pervasive in the crowd but hats that looked like a shot glass balanced on a girl’s head, white leisure suits, and parasols start to set the scene. The girl in front of me had two massive feathers sticking off the back of her hat perfectly spaced to take out two eyes in one shot, and she almost got me at least thrice.
Despite the “go fast turn left” trend, I did not go to a Nascar race on Thursday. Thankfully. Thursday was ComicCon in downtown San Diego and most stereotypes held true, set to the background of massive advertising campaigns. Every Cartoon Network, sci-fi, or animated show had hot girls in costumes to hand out tee shirts, stickers, and buttons. Show goers got backpacks 3 feet by 3 feet with their admission, and filled them up with all the shwag available. One girl filled her’s so much the bottom ripped out as she attempted to run across the street. Watching all the crowds and cars and advertising machines circulate gave me a better appreciation for urban planning, or the lack-there-of. When cars back up the traffic cops stop all the pedestrians to allow a block full of vehicles to pass. Seems to make sense at first until I realized that a block of cars contains about 8 people, and those 8 people back up 50-60 on the sidewalks. Pedicabs are regulated against, but 3 huge tractor-trailers wrapped in advertising drive around the most congested streets pumping out diesel fumes with no regulation.
I did all of this within a 20 minute drive of Pacific Beach which itself is famous for surfing and nightlife. So many things to do, so little time. Good thing I’m retired.


Awesome pedicab at Comic Con


Placid crowd at San Diego Velodrome

Back into the States!

Getting back to the States did little to calm my travel schedule. I flew from Quito to Atlanta, bailed on my Atlanta to San Diego flight and instead hopped on one bound for Washington DC. My brother Mike picked me up and we went straight to the Georgetown convocation where I found out he had a fan club of girls screaming his name from across the parking lot. I guess one of the benefits of being 6’4” is you don’t need a mohawk to stand out. I met a bunch of Mike’s friends, ate some good Mexican which I had been craving for months, and drank some bad college beer to round out the night.
Rebecca, my sister, came down from my parents’ house in the Philly suburbs the next day. We were all pretty excited to get together since all three siblings hadn’t been in the same place at once in 5 years. We’ve been able to hang out one on one a few times, but we haven’t all been in the same location since 2006 when we were all at very different points in our lives. We decided to mark the occasion by going to every T-mobile and Radio Shack store in the greater Georgetown area looking for a phone battery. It was a glorious celebration.
Later that evening was Georgetown’s Senior Ball. I put on a formal outfit comprised entirely of borrowed cloths, while Mike and Rebecca, having not lived out of a backpack the preceding 3 months, put on their own dress attire.
Now I didn’t go to any of CU’s graduation functions, but then again CU doesn’t rent out the single busiest transportation hub of the single most influential city in the world for a night and set up 32 open bars. Georgetown does. We rolled up to Union Station and were greeted by the most massive line of people dressed like they were going into a state dinner. Hair and makeup done, fully tailored suits, “sir”s and “doctor”s and “captian”s everywhere. I was surrounded by the Hollywood image of academia, but somehow this was more polished and picturesque than the movies could have ever conveyed and this was actually real. Once we convinced the doorman to let us jump half the line we entered a sea of people filling the entire Union Station hall and several of the adjoining restaurants. Some were dancing to the live band playing Beatles covers, some were picking from tables of beautifully presented hors d’hoeuvres, and at least two were trying to tick off a drink at every single open bar. We spent the night hanging out with Mike’s friends and ordering drinks by the armload, dancing to the DJ downstairs, and watching a 50 year old woman, presumably the mother of some terribly embarrassed student, sling her sultry leg over the railing of an escalator as she exited the dance floor.
Saturday and Sunday were family time and watching Mike graduate with a fist bump to the President of Georgetown, and Monday I slung a backpack o’er my shoulder again. I hit the Philadelphia suburbs, then up to Albany to see my grandmother, NYC, Philadelphia proper, and back out to the suburbs in under a week.
The East Coast has buses that run between Chinatown in all the major cities, and they are incredibly cheap. I was told my cousin doesn’t like them because, although they’re really cheap, no one speaks English and you can’t be completely sure you’re going to get where you want to go. After a couple months in South America that seemed normal.
I watched my friend’s daughter dominate on the BMX track, visited with some more family, did some east coast mountain biking (there are alternate trails TO fallen logs, not around them), and then spent a week in DC with my brother and sister to round out my time on the East Coast. Finally I climbed into a spraypainted hippie “artcar” and took a Craigslist rideshare to Boulder.