San Diego Hell’s Angels truck kills cyclist near Pringle and Kettner

Photo by Robert Burroughs

Solo Angeles from Tijuana resembled, with a few anachronisms, the villains of a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western.

Where are the bikes

I noticed a guy was playing pool using a broom as a cue. He looked like he had been an extra in a movie with a title like Chainsaw Rapists on Wheels, but almost everyone was too. He gave me a cool look and went back to his game. There were more biceps and steely looks than I felt happy, and I wondered if my voice would crack when I ordered one. beer.

By John Brizzolara, January 18, 1990 | Read the full article

“I went to Fiesta Island when there was a club there, it was dangerous.”

Photo by Robert Burroughs

Rebels without motor

“Most crashes are weird accidents; very few of them are preventable, from my point of view, unless you’re not riding a bike. Some crashes happen when someone is standing there and another nobody bumps into them. You know, they’re standing on their bike and a skateboarder bumps into them. I’ve seen all that. If you ride long enough, like with a motorcycle, you probably have a 100% chance of getting hurt.

By Ray Westberg, November 14, 1991 | Read the full article

At the Community Concourse, some brave souls tried and did do the center corkscrew, but most were content to ride the less intimidating outer spiral.

Photo of Sandy Huffaker, Jr.

The summer of the airborne poodle

Like thousands of other San Diegan kids in the early 1970s, I became addicted to skateboarding. With the money earned on my paper route, I bought a set of Chicago trucks and Cadillac wheels, which I quickly bolted to a rough-shaped homemade mahogany board. It was my primary form of transportation and I spent many afternoons walking the streets of Coronado with my friends in search of the ultimate terrain.

By Evan Douglas, July 29, 1993 | Read the full article

15, looking south of Escondido. Up there, travel on the expressway goes from an average in the mid-1970s to well into the 1980s.

Photo by Robert Burroughs

The unnatural ecology of a highway

The decision to build 15 from Riverside was made in 1965, a logical extension from one military enclave to another. Larson argues that the root of the interstate highway system can be traced to General Pershing and his fears that we may not be able to move our troops across the country effectively enough. “[T]it was a mistake, or oversight, on some of the early laws, and instead of ending on I-5, the damn thing ended on I-8. “

June 9, 1994 | Read the full article

Sid Bandak at the wheel. “I am number 59 out of 650 pilots. Every three months we would bid for the route we want. And this is one of the few runs to have … extra time.

Buses are like bread

“Oh sure, at the start of the month a lot of homeless people are drunk. We are twice as crowded. There are more numbers 7 running than any other route. From afar. One every six or seven minutes. We have it all here. Tourists go up to the zoo. Schools. City College, San Diego High School, Roosevelt Junior High, and Helix High School. Also, we pass the Blind Center, so we have a lot of blind people using us.

By Bill Manson, December 15, 1994 | Read the full article

As we drive away from San Diego, 23 people are in the upper deck car that I randomly selected, 21 of them Caucasian. No kids, no old people, no shabby outfits, no old-fashioned cuts or hairstyles, no tattoos, no men in undershirts or lime-green polyester women, no lunch buckets, no of prison t-shirts.

The highway is nobody’s home

If anyone tries a new recipe, they’ll bring more for the pool to taste. They exchange videos, books, recipes, tips. It’s not uncommon for runners to bemoan their family struggles in the morning run or let off steam at work in the evening, and Dorinna makes it clear that the group is applying her collective wisdom. As Helen’s mother died of cancer, several bikers decided to recite rosaries to her during the few days’ trip.

By Tim Brookes, September 12, 1996 | Read the full article

Did someone call a cab?

At knife threat, two thieves took $ 15 from Taheri and attempted to beat him until he lost consciousness behind the North Park Safeway.

There was a strike. The Yellow Cab drivers got out in August 1976, and by October they were crossing their own picket line. The strikers set fire to yellow taxis, assaulted drivers. Meanwhile, they organized their own taxi service and called on city council to end Yellow Cab’s monopoly on the company. The council then created the one-taxi companies, each of which in turn created two jobs for the drivers. The owners have promised changes, some of which have come true.

By Joe Applegate, May 18, 1978 | Read the full article

I finally ran into my taxi. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing on four wheels I have ever seen! I got inside and kissed the steering wheel.

Around town in seven years

About halfway between Clairemont and Del Mar, the beer, the bologna and the two loaves of bread weighed heavily on our stomachs. It was time for some music. Mexican, of course. We were right in the middle of “I Love El Rancho Grande,” the song that echoed from both sides of the cab, as on the right side of the highway stood the Border Patrol, with a car full of Mexicans stopped.

By Paul Warden, July 18, 1985 | Read the full article

Gordy Shields: “A few years ago, everyone thought bike lanes were going to be the solution, but we’re trying to avoid them now. “

Photo by Robert Burroughs

Ten-speed terror

In 1983, an active young triathlete was cycling from Poway to Mira Mesa. By car, this route is on I-15, but bicycles are not permitted on the highway. This cyclist was coming down a hill on a front road, going about twenty-five miles an hour, preparing to turn. At the same time, a moped, going about thirty-five miles an hour, was coming up the bike path, preparing to veer onto the front road.

By Steve Sorensen, October 23, 1986 | Read the full article

The Classic made all other RVs look like a moving slum. There were real oak wardrobes and hardwood floors, electrically adjustable leather chairs, VCR and TV in the front and back.

Paradise on wheels

Like most people, I had spent my time on the road stuck behind a land whale crawling at twenty miles an hour on a sixty mile hill. I had tried falling asleep in campgrounds listening to the buzz of an RV generator as its owner watched reruns of Gilligan’s Island on TV and strawberry daiquiris mixed in the blender. And I had seen and felt the switches in the road where motorhomes stopped to empty their sewage tanks.

By Steve Sorensen, November 13, 1986 | Read the full article

The security guard took out his mass canister, but in the fight he sprayed his partner’s face, the whole back of the car and finally his opponent.

Along the tracks

At the Palm City station, a ticket inspector and a security guard swing aboard. They work the aisle with cadence and rhythm like a kind of dance. When they get to the end of the train I’m sitting on, I recognize them from the fight earlier. “I could tell he was going rabbit,” said the ticket checker of the man she and her partner fought. “He made a bunny earlier, and I could see him coming again.”

By Rick Geist, June 25, 1987 | Read the full article

They refuel on Miramar Road or at the So-Cal stop in National City. If they arrive at night, truckers have coffee at Aunt Emma’s in El Cajon or at Denny’s on Miramar Road or Rosecrans Street.

Truck stop story

Carriers apply 1980 fares and pay 1987 operating expenses, and for many drivers the ride is over. At Perry’s Cate, the truckers say the bulk of the money goes to shippers and brokers. “There is a long line for good driving jobs, and you have to know someone. You must have relationships. You have to pay the brokers under the table. It’s easier to starve at home. Every day that I sit in this parking lot it costs me money.

By Sue Garson, July 2, 1987 | Read the full article

Kymythy Schultze: “When you’re stuck in traffic, there’s not much you can do. But at least I can give them something to look forward to. “

Photo by Robert Burroughs

Circulation disorders

“Sometimes when you see the traffic being blocked you can’t see an accident, but you know something has to be there. Kym takes another look through his binoculars and scribbles a note. “Here we can see a CHP vehicle coming to a stop in traffic… It’s heading west 8, east of 15. And that’s okay with no problem. “

By Mary Lang, September 14, 1989 | Read the full article

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