I finally took a chance to explore part of North Long Beach on bike. The power came back on as it always does, but I was very much out of shape. Too much indolence and comfort food; so it goes.
The drivers in the suburbs seem much more uncomfortable with bike riders, which seems obvious the more you think about it; there are simply less riders than in the denser areas.
It is always difficult to grasp an area until you find yourself out of it, whether by rising above it on an overlook, or sluicing through it in its bowels. I took the latter in this case, riding out into the wash - I've heard it colloquially called a riverbed, which is a sort of funny usage of the word, considering the fact that really it is just an enormous concrete trough with water flowing through it occasionally.
When you come out of the street and into the wash it is as if you are transported onto an alien surface. The moon hung above faintly in the darkening blue sky and the sun was passing behind a cluster of clouds on its way down. The concrete expanse is painful to look at, but carries a strange fleeting beauty as well, which is helped with the ribbon of dirty water that runs through it, whose surface catches the sun and shimmers. The city takes on an entirely different feel. The major streets cross over the wash and cars pass over, disembodied. You pass all of the connecting backyards, which are usually hidden from view.
There is so much land, and so much promise, and it has all been parceled out and disconnected and we've been taught that we should not share it. It is all very strange. The suburbs are incredibly strange: their general design took shape in the war economy when it was necessary to build a great amount of temporary shelters for workers, but then the style caught on.
The design itself is focused entirely on consumption and isolation. The entire environment takes its shape from the concept of both the isolated single family house - out here some of which literally resemble small castles with fenced courtyards flooded with security lights - and the personal automobile. This is opposed to starting with an environment and establishing oneself in harmony with the environment.
It is good to see plants growing everywhere, but nowhere are there edible plants. It is all ornamental. This part of the city is designed solely for consumption.
It does seem like more and more people are gardening. I see many more raised beds, sheds, greenhouses, and coops than I remember seeing maybe 5 years ago or so.
The nature of the American suburb encourages isolation. It is designed for it and so there is an overwhelming pressure to cloister oneself. It took me some time to get out again, because I looked out and felt alienated. All one wants to do is jump out, grab one's goodies, and return home as soon as possible, like jumping out of a jacuzzi into the cold to grab a drink. You see it in others, in their startled looks, though some people do manage just fine.
But if you do manage to jump out and get going, you can see some interesting things. Again, especially if you find your way outside of its structure, such as going out into a wash. You see some interesting characters. And the alien landscape itself short-circuits your sense of habituation and complacency, which is all too easy to settle into in a monotonous and colorless landscape.
