By Ruth McKee
After weeks of oppressive summer heat and fires, the morning is overcast and cool. The main drag through my neighborhood is strangely quiet this morning, as I walk my dog. The homeless men who had been increasing in numbers over the last few weeks have all, somehow, gone missing. I worry that they’ve been rounded up.
After some at-home yoga with my husband I throw my bike in the back of the car and head out to explore another one of LA’s bike paths. This has become my Saturday routine, and I’m grateful to live in such an outdoor-facing city. For all the complaints people have about LA’s sprawl, the expanse of the city includes great swaths of nature. There is much about this set-up to appreciate during Covid-times.
Today I drive to Culver City and take the Ballona Creek path to Marina del Rey. The creek itself is a paved canal, much like those you see all over the city, engineered to keep rainwater flowing to the ocean and ensure the city never floods. The path is relatively empty, and the waterfowl still recognize the creek, somehow, as natural, so it is a beautiful ride, in its own way. There is a strong headwind as I head towards the ocean.
It’s been a week: historic wildfires, a hurricane, and another Black man gunned down by the police – all set to the backdrop of a dictator’s pageant on TV. In my own life, things have gotten harder too, albeit incrementally. After a summer of no rules, my kids are grumpily back to online school, adjusting to new teachers and schedules. At work, we’re struggling in remote formation, and everyone is on edge. Four of my recent new hires gave notice this week. And then, of course, there is the election, coming closer every day, and my life tilting in the balance along with the fate of an entire nation.
As I approach the coast, the creek path merges with the beach path and is suddenly more crowded, filled with life. Angelenos are out on jet-skis and sailboats, skateboards and bikes, obediently wearing their masks even though virus numbers have gotten much better over the last few weeks. As a whole, it seems we learned our lesson in July, and know that the only way we’ll ever get back inside schools, gyms, offices or theatres is to cover our faces. For today, we comply, and are grateful that the heat has broken and it is once again beautiful outside.
I stop at the end of the marina and drink some water before turning around. The wind behind me, it’s smooth sailing back to my car.