Today I went on my first bike ride of the new year. I spent an hour looking at OCTA’s bus schedules and maps, figuring that La Palma could take me up to Imperial Highway. Then I would bike 3.3 miles up to Oak Canyon. Memories of this serene nature park, with never ending oak groves, blue jays, coyote footprints and droppings, the impeding solitude (Until you hit this area where you see the real cougars of the canyon nestled inside their multimillion homes)…. but then the clock hit 3 pm.
I had some new glasses to pick up on Lincoln and Knott, so I decided to go and celebrate the first day with new glasses. The office was closed. I stared at the nearby Northgate…I did have nopalitos to buy…yet my legs were itching for more.
So I went ahead on my bicycle , passed the huge fancy sculpture/sign announcing the boundary of Buena Park and turned right on Holder. “I’ve never been through this street!” I thought.
seeing this old house with tree fooled me into going on with Holder:

I was wrong. Very wrong.
Holder took me through a never-ending maze of 1950′s tract housing with every single East-West streets named after one saint or another!
Maybe it was because it was the first day of the year and there was no school, but these streets were as sterile and similar as their names. No one was walking and about three cars passed me by in the course of an hour. It came to the point that I could ride in the middle of the street and not worry about getting run over.
Now, this was very cool because I always am close to getting run over by a big truck driven by some bro douchebag and that was a welcome break. But after 20 minutes of this movie perfect suburban tract, it began to get creepy.
I have no idea why Buena Park would name their streets after saints in this tract…these streets might as well be named 1,2, 3, 4 and so on. Even the housing tracts in the West Anaheim Island have personality (If by personality I mean chaos…).












