oving through our city on a bike is dangerous enough, but pedaling around a neighborhood to find out if residents really use vicious guard dogs – in place of alarm systems – can feel just plain suicidal.

I head northeast from Chinatown – coming close to death twice – through Lincoln Heights, clipping the edge of Mount Washington, and somewhat miraculously arrive safe and sound in Highland Park; a historic district newly touched by gentrification. A ’hood where yuppies and cholos ride the Metro Gold Line downtown, singer Jackson Browne and Zack de la Rocha live, and a large portion of Reservoir Dogs was filmed. And H.P. is a place where canines back up the residential fences like bodyguards do superstars on the Sunset Strip.

Is my pepper spray still in tow, in case a dog breaks free from its cell, er, front yard? Yes, it’s at the ready. I notice a group of guys gambling underneath a tree; one of them grips the leash of a large Rottweiler that sports a spiked black leather collar – an apparent fashion must for this breed. The animal attempts to attack me before the owner nearly yanks his head off with the leash, thank God.

I pass Sycamore Grove Park, a 15-acre site once a haven for bandits who victimized travelers through the area, but now an irresistible patch of land that promotes health and fitness with an outdoor gym. The park is now vastly equipped with bright red and yellow workout machines, like those I’d typically ignore at Bally’s. Here, I jump off my bike and give them a go. I pump iron, my ears open for barking dogs, and a stray German Shepherd with ribs exposed roams the park desperately in search of food. Could food be me? I don’t waste time before jumping back on my bike and continuing my mission.