Like many of our LA stops, Randy’s is an institution both because it is well-loved by the locals and because it has been featured in all sorts of movies and photo shoots. The giant donut on the roof is a landmark of the city. And while they could likely remain famous just for having a big fiberglass pastry up top, the donuts at Randy’s are indeed the best in this wide city. Far from just a tourist attraction, Randy’s serves up soft and fluffy goodness on a daily basis. Buying one will never be enough, and its hard to go wrong with any of the options. We tried them all (for science!), and were hard pressed to pick out a favorite.

Full of enough calories to put down Rosie O’Donnell, we find ourselves in the South-West corner of Los Angeles with a hankering to head downtown and check out its burgeoning street art scene. Between downtown and us lies the storied area of South Central LA, so rather than take the freeways, we steer our CLA AMG onto the surface streets and explore this much-maligned area for ourselves.

We detoured over to the most (in)famous South Central neighborhoods of Compton and Lynwood, popularized in many early gangsta rap songs. But South Central has come a long way since ’88, and it couldn’t have been more welcoming to two pasty white guys. We met some of the nicest people of our entire LA trip here.  It’s still an absolute tragedy that the neighborhoods and streets are in the condition they are in, and we didn’t see a single police officer there (unlike Santa Monica, where they are on every corner), but you can forget all about the urban legend nonsense that you’ll be shot just for wearing the wrong colors while driving through.

Now if you want a really sketchy neighborhood, you want downtown LA’s skid row. That is where we are headed, but not for the stabbings and homeless encampments but for the exploding and vibrant street art scene. We’re trading in tags and simple “bombs” for full blown murals and commissioned wall pieces. The arts and fashion districts of downtown are undergoing a bit of a renaissance as of late, and the gentrifying hipsters have begun moving in and doing up old warehouses as upscale condos and coffee shops. That’s not to say its a particularly nice area. There are many LA residents who would rather walk the midnight streets of Compton than head downtown. Bu it’s at this juxtaposition that street art has found its home – between the indifferent poor and the appreciative yuppies.

Shepard Fairey cut his teeth here (there are still original Fairey’s to be found around too), Banksy and Space Invader have made their presence known, and of course the litany of local artists who are turning the downtown wasteland into an outdoor art gallery. From stickers and wheat pastes to full building walls, downtown is a riot of color and imagination.  Turn any corner and you’ll be confronted with some style of expression and message. It turns this ghostly part of Los Angeles into a truly cultural heartbeat of the city.

The same fashion district that is home to much of this art is also ground zero for the local garment industry, and for crazy good shopping. The area is full of bodegas and open-air shopping centers full of the strangest knick-knacks, wholesale fabrics, and retail suits and shoes. This is a tourist-free zone to get great deals on clothes and mingle with the real locals of this beautiful city. I couldn’t resist picking up a pair of caramel monkstrap shoes that were only $25 in one of the stalls. If these only lasted one weekend they’d be worth it at that price, but they are actually holding up great and are in regular rotation. Chalk it up to buying your clothes from the original source wholesalers.

Nothing goes together like shopping and eating, so it was time for lunch at one of downtown’s many street vendors. With the high proportion of Latino garment workers living or working downtown, the street food here is not watered down or prepared by chef hat wearing posers; they are the real deal here. Most of the carts don’t event have a single english word written on them. It is this subtle cue that tells your stomach – “Prepare thyself for some awesome f@&$ing food.” Oh and it was. Going authentic will do that. I couldn’t tell you the name of the cart, or even remember what we ordered, but it doesn’t matter. Just find the truck with the a large group of middle-aged latino women eating there (those would be your garment workers), and queue up for a fantastic lunch. Get what everyone else is getting, and chow down. You’re welcome.

With a hearty meal in our overstuffed bellies, it is time to depart this metropolis we have so fallen in love with. That means it is also time to say goodbye to our Mercedes CLA AMG. From Beverly Hills and Malibu to dowtown and Lynwood, we’ve driven to as many corners of this city as we could cram into 72 hours. Los Angeles is too big to be knowable, but that is what makes it great. It is ever evolving and changing. It actually CAN be everything to everyone. And while the CLA AMG can’t pull off that trick, it wasn’t designed to. If you want a boulevard crushing slice of luxury, you won’t go wrong with the CLA. And if you want a city that is less hussle-and-bussle and more live-and-let-live, Los Angeles is the place for you.

As we make our way to LAX, we travel through some of the same neighborhoods we’ve already visited. Downtown, Koreatown, and West LA bring back memories that we can’t believe are only 48 hours old. We know we didn’t scratch the surface of this town, but there are some locals who could say the same thing. We’re happy that this will always be more to see and discover here, and we can’t wait for the opportunity to do so. Until next time LA.

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Day two on our LA adventure dawns and we’re itching to get on the road. We’re excited because the particular roads we’re not waiting to get on happen to be two of the most storied roads in the auto enthusiasts lexicon. Today we use the excellent CLA AMG to tame the epic Mulholland Highway. And to get there, we taking the irreplaceable Pacific Coast Highway. So what I’m saying is that it’s going to be a good day.

After a hearty home-cooked egg and bacon breakfast, to fortify our bodies and courage of course, we expectantly plopped ourselves down into our Merc’s firm sport seats. A touch of the starter button, a fiddle with the mirrors, and we’re off to meet our California road destiny. Or so we thought. We all know LA is known for its traffic. It’s freeways are some of the most congested in the nation, but that’s why we’re avoiding them and taking the famous PCH. But someone forgot to tell the locals, because the Coast Highway was just as slammed and slow as the much-cursed 405 freeway. Stop and go. For miles. Our 355 horses under the hood trapped behind an endless beige sea of Priuses and Range Rovers. The PCH is a great road that perfectly winds around some truly breathtaking ocean views. But anywhere within the Los Angeles County line, it’s just another congested road to crawl along. We were solely disappointed. That said, further North away from the city the traffic vanishes and the PCH can be one of the best coastal drives in these United States.

But up North we are not, so we are thankful when we finally spot the sign we’ve been aching for – Topanga Canyon. With a frustration-venting mash of the loud pedal, we catapult off the Coast Highway and onto Malibu’s infamous canyon roads. Mulholland has played host to automotive antics of everyone from James Dean and Steve McQueen, to racers like Richard Petty and Mario Andretti, to the everyday garage monkeys like you and me. It is first and foremost the people’s road. An equal opportunity joy-giver and fender-denter. And most importantly after the disappointment of the PCH, it lives up to its hype.

The CLA AMG is all-too happy to tackle this icon. It positively paws at the pavement below as it rockets from apex to apex. I’m giving the 4Matic all wheel drive – and bucket seats – a workout and they are proving very capable of holding up. This AMG is not a super car or purpose-built sports car; it’s a tarted up commuter sedan. It has limits. But I’ll be damned if I found them during our day in the high desert canyons.

Mulholland has a bit of everything. Long straights, gentle sweepers, and a treacherous length of impossibly narrow hairpins affectionately called The Snake by the locals. The Snake is where the posers stop short. It is a highly demanding and technical. It is also constantly populated with fully-armored motorcyclists pushing their Ducatis and Aprilias  insanely close to your fenders. The Snake is for real, and we threw the CLA AMG into it by the scruff of its neck. I’d love to tell you all about the tire smoke and sideways drama we got into. But I can’t. From perfectly executed hairpins to completely botched switchbacks, the AMG handled it all the same – it tightened up, made a terrific noise, and accelerated out with as much speed as I could coax out of it.

Mulholland’s famous twisties proved no match for our Merc, as we tired out well before our Teutonic chariot did. If you’re visiting Mulholland, its obligatory that you make a stop at The Rock Store. Believe it or not, we did not see a geode, crystal, or any other kind of rock for sale there. The Rock Store is the go-to stopping place for the bikers, cyclists, and drivers who claim The Snake every weekend. The food’s not brilliant and its always crowded, but everyone is friendly and there are always plenty of fun rides to check out.

After a full day attempting to get in as much trouble as possible on these narrow roads, we point the Merc West and ride out the remainder of Mulholland back to it’s exit on the PCH – a full 39 miles North from where we entered the canyons. We get to enjoy a few miles of un-trafficked PCH, then it’s back to the grind. You always know you’re near Los Angeles when you hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.

It has been a long and sweaty day, and the FactoryTwoFour crew marches on its stomach. Before getting back to our base at Venice Beach, we detour East to Santa Monica’s Sawtelle Blvd. For about 1.5 miles this strip of pavement is West LA’s Little Osaka. We have come here for some of the best ramen this side of Tokyo. Situated on the far edge of the street right where Sawtelle’s Japanese-ness peters out and returns to burger joints and Best Buys sits Daikoku Ramen. Smack dab in-between a Panda Express (for the unadventurous tourists) and a Marshall’s discount store, this tiny restaurant serves up hearty bowls of happiness. With an interior done up to perfectly mimic a Japanese side street, and a pork broth that is cooked and simmered over 24 hours, Daikoku is legit. Salt is the killer of good ramen. You can spot an inferior product right away if it tastes salty. Next up are the noodles. They should still be al dente even after sitting in the piping hot broth during the coarse of your meal. If your noodles lose their slight bite or you’re tasting more salt than pork, you’re eating like a chump. Daikoku has no worries on either front.

After slurping our way to and past satisfaction, we are well and truly stuffed. We knock off the evening with an enourmous bowl of Hawaiian shaved ice down the block and head home to plan our last day in this town we’ve come to love, Los Angeles. Our final day is going to be a doozy too – with street art, taco stands, open-air markets, and a few hundred miles of criss-crossing this crazy cities neighborhoods. Can’t wait.

Read part three of our Los Angeles Adventure here!

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