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ERIC PREVEN'S NOTEBOOK - The Los Angeles Times says: take a hike. Clear your head. Smell the eucalyptus.
But the real trails aren’t behind gates in Bel Air. They run through scorched lots, shuttered rec centers, and billion-dollar stadium zones—where the public pays, and someone else gets naming rights.
This city doesn’t just mismanage power. It landscapes it.
So here’s my guide to L.A.’s real hikes—through backroom deals, donor land grabs, and disappearing public assets. No signage. No bathrooms. Just vanished funds, legacy lies, and your taxpayer dollars repurposed for someone else’s vision board.
Bring water. Bring a taser. Bring your last unanswered CPRA request.
Seven Scenic Routes Through Civic Complicity
The Malibu Burn-Scam Trail
Zone: Western LA County / Disaster Recovery Theater
Distance: 2.6 mi loop
Difficulty: Intermediate, with high emotional elevation
Parking: Wherever the fire didn’t reach, or your neighbor won’t call the sheriff
Over 300 homes burned. Recovery stalled. Permits delayed. FEMA slow-walked. And while survivors fought to rebuild, neighbors rerouted utilities, shut off water, and launched HOA vendettas.
You’ll pass scorched lots, legal threats, and remodels that rose suspiciously fast. This isn’t a nature trail—it’s a civil case in progress.
Fiscal Toll: Seven figures and counting
Permits: “Pending”
Ethics Grade: Postdated
Transit: No. But Teslas with lawyers, yes.
Restrooms: $3,200/month if you know a contractor
Signage: Disaster relief not available on this side of the street.
“We paid $211K just to keep the water on. The county said nothing.”
— Diane R., fire survivor
The Inglewood Convergence Loop
Zone: South Bay / Mega-Event Epicenter
Distance: 3.8 mi loop
Difficulty: Advanced—especially for taxpayers
Parking: $55 on event days. $8K/year if you live nearby
Walk past SoFi Stadium, YouTube Theater, and the Clippers’ Intuit Dome—monuments to Mayor Butts’ dealmaking, built with proms and community benefiises of jobts that remain... pending.
This is where public land became VIP access and 'community benefits' got lost in the VIP lounge. Transit plans are secretive, agreements are sealed, and “legacy” means whatever your PR team says it means.
Fiscal Toll: Multi-billion dollar debt zone
Permits: Developers = none. Lemonade stands = 12
Ethics Grade: Deferred
Transit: Exists, but only conceptually
Restrooms: Suite-only
Signage: Welcome to Inglewood. Enter with money. Exit in silence.
“Look for the job fair—last seen in 2019, now a food truck selling $18 ‘equity’ tacos.”
— Event contractor #1147
The River Park Displacement Trail
Zone: Studio City / LA River Corridor
Distance: 2.1 mi round-trip
Difficulty: Moderate, with steep political grade
Parking: Donor access road off Whitsett; good luck near Coldwater
Once Weddington Golf & Tennis, now a future athletic complex disguised as a “shared benefit.” Harvard-Westlake promised community access, then built a moat.
Krekorian cleared the path. Raman inherited the mess. Oakwood gets the Nazarian bridge over Magnolia. The public will be rerouted.
Fiscal Toll: “Private funding,” city-backed upkeep
Permits: Lobbyist clearance required
Ethics Grade: Self-evaluation only
Transit: 1.5/5—bring your own spin
Restrooms: For alumni only
Signage: This trail is closed for community inclusion.
“My grandfather built those tennis courts. Now, I need a QR code just to see them.”
— Furious taxpayer
Adrin Nazarian, CD2, the revitalizer.
The Downtown Legal Corridor Crawl
Zone: Civic Center to Skid Row
Distance: 3.4 mi loop
Difficulty: High—unless you’re a developer
Parking: $19/hr at Grand Park if you’re lucky
Start at City Hall. Pass Metro HQ, the new Probation tower, and the underground chambers where no livestreams reach. This is where Inside Safe was drafted without receipts, and Skid Row became a jurisdictional hot potato.
Public comment is choreographed. CPRA requests get “lost.” And every donor-named bench sits where public housing could've and really should’ve been.
Fiscal Toll: $ 1B+ spent, 8 beds found
Permits: None—just exhausted eyes
Ethics Grade: Redacted
Transit: 4/5—if you can afford the time
Restrooms: Under review
Signage: Welcome to a public space. The public may not speak.
“I was muted mid-sentence. The next speaker thanked Councilmember Jurado for the smoothies.”
— Goat Puppet
The LAX Labor & ICE Gauntlet
Zone: Westchester / LAWA Control Zone
Distance: 2.9 mi loop
Difficulty: High if you work here; zero if you’re AECOM
Parking: $50/day, free with badge and authority
Start at the hotel picket lines, loop past LA28 banners and ICE vans, and enter the taxpayer-funded modernization zone.
Beneath the billion-dollar upgrades: wage theft, delayed contracts, and Garcetti’s ghost deal with AECOM.
Above it: surveillance. Everywhere else: Quiet, please.
Fiscal Toll: $15B+ in capital spend
Permits: Required to sleep here, not to exploit
Ethics Grade: Cleared for takeoff
Transit: 5/5 for PR. 2/5 for workers
Restrooms: Not for you
Signage: Modernization provided by your silence and their branding.
“They funded a people mover. We clean rooms for Olympic guests. Can’t afford to stay one night.”
— Striking hotel worker
The Museum Mile Monument Walk
Zone: Exposition Park / Cultural Asset Conversion Zone
Distance: 1.7 mi (longer if you dodge gala prep)
Difficulty: Low incline, high irony
Parking: $20 unless your name’s on a wing
Start at the $1B Lucas Museum, where public land became a Star Wars temple. Then pass the Natural History Museum, soon to bear the name of an indicted supervisor. Cap it off at the California Science Center, where a space shuttle awaits—and so does the donor wall.
Across all stops: legacy sold, culture renamed, and ethics stored in a warehouse in Burbank.
Fiscal Toll: Varies by foundation mood
Permits: None—just RSVP in formalwear
Ethics Grade: Platinum-plated
Transit: 4/5 (Expo-adjacent if not shut down)
Restrooms: Behind velvet ropes
Signage: “This exhibit is funded by someone convicted, but deeply connected.”
“The donor wall is taller than the mammoth skeleton.”
— LAUSD teacher, 67th field trip
Indian Relay, dubbed "America's original extreme sport," has roots dating back centuries to horse-stealing raids.
The Parking Space Loop
Zone: Everywhere / Nowhere
Distance: 300 ft, plus 3.5 miles of dread
Difficulty: Emotionally punishing
Parking: If you found one, don’t move
This hike begins the moment you step away from your probably-illegal spot. The journey? A loop of faded curb paint, unposted restrictions, and existential panic. You came here to speak at City Hall—your meter ran out at public comment.
There’s no view. Just enforcement scooters, app glitches, and signs that weren’t there yesterday.
Fiscal Toll: $1.25 + $95 + 2 hours of rage
Permits: Laminated, prayed over
Ethics Grade: N/A—this is pure revenue
Transit: 0. Because your car is now evidence
Restrooms: Only if you fake a coffee order
Signage: “You are here. But your car may not be.”
“I came to testify. Came back to three tickets and a smart boot. Democracy has a meter.”
— Outspoken motorist
JOINT CITY-COUNTY COVER-UP FORCE - Special Joint Hearing
Patti Giggans, Brian K. Williams, and Max Huntsman in 2019.
SMART SPEAKER: Good morning, Council President, Supervisors, Members of the Joint City-County Cover-Up Force. It's Eric Preven from Studio City.
A number of concerns have arisen out in the districts—especially as it relates to the bombshell plea deal involving Brian K. Williams, the former deputy mayor of public safety, who, let’s be honest, didn’t just call in a bomb threat—he napalmed trust in City Hall.
No disrespect to Eunisses Hernandez, who’s rising, or Heather Hutt, who’s crying—moving moments all—but let’s refocus on the fake terrorist plot that vanished a political appointee and shut down scrutiny.
So here’s what happened, real simple:
Williams, a Karen Bass insider with a deep résumé and deeper access, faked a terror call from his personal phone to his city-issued phone—then alerted LAPD, the Mayor’s Office, and the building. He blamed the threat on a fake man angry about “the city’s support of Israel,” and said the bomb might be in the rotunda. Which is... where? Oh right, where the most embarrassing things often happen.
Now, here’s the thing—
GROAT: Your time has expired.
PUBLIC SPEAKER #2: I’d like to donate my minute so Smart Speaker can continue.
SMART SPEAKER (continuing): Thank you.
Now, some say this was just a personal lapse. Stress. No actual bomb. But what did this “aberrational” act actually do?
It cleared the building, disrupted the schedule, paused scrutiny—just in time for what?
That’s the question nobody’s answering. Because here’s what we do know:
—Williams oversaw LAPD, LAFD, Port and Airport Police, and Emergency Services.
—He helped pick the new police chief.
—He worked under both Mayor Hahn and in MRT’s orbit.
—He had a tight perch in the Bass inner circle.
And now he’s gone, quietly.
FBI raid in December. On leave by January. Massive Palisades fire hits—12 dead—and his absence is used to explain the Mayor’s fumble. How convenient.
GROAT: Your time has expired.
PUBLIC SPEAKER #3: I’ll donate my minute to Smart Speaker.
SMART SPEAKER: Thank you.
The city’s top public safety official vanishes in scandal—but not a single investigation into what meetings were scrubbed, what contracts were signed, what mess was about to blow up metaphorically before he dialed it in literally.
No motive provided in the plea deal. None.
But here's a possible one: to shield someone else. To wipe a calendar. To erase a scandal.
The word “Rotunda” wasn’t just theatrics—it was a direction to look away.
Now, Dakota Smith—the reporter closest to this crew—gets reassigned to the Valley beat.
Robert Clark, a retired FBI guy, is slid into Williams’ seat.
And everyone says, “Well, he’s taken responsibility.”
Sure. But for what?
Because whatever Williams covered up when he placed that call...
is still ticking.
And we’re all standing in the rotunda. I'll yield my time.
Prequel:
This piece from 2019 doesn’t just age poorly—it now reads like a prequel to a cover-up.
It shows Brian Williams wasn’t just adjacent to power. He was trusted with its secrets.
And when the rot got close to the surface?
He didn’t blow the whistle.
He phoned in a bomb threat.
(Eric Preven is a Studio City-based TV writer-producer, award-winning journalist, and longtime community activist who won two landmark open government cases in California.)
