Better Late (and Wetter) Than Never: My First Trip to FLOATFEST at 71
By a Recovering Rose Parade Veteran
Story and Photos by Michael D. Thomas, Empire Beat Magazine
For over 20 years, my New Year’s Day ritual has been set in stone. I grab my camera gear, head to my spot in the grandstand, and photograph the Rose Parade as it marches down Colorado Boulevard. It’s tradition. It’s glorious. It’s exhausting.
But this year, Mother Nature—and a nasty bug—had other plans.
I spent January 1st in bed, miserable, watching the parade on TV like a regular civilian. It nearly killed me to miss it. But when I woke up on January 2nd feeling slightly less like a zombie and more like a human being, I got restless. I had heard about “Floatfest: A Rose Parade Showcase”—that 2-mile stretch along Sierra Madre and Washington Boulevard where the floats park for a victory lap—but I’d never actually gone.
“Why not?” I thought. “I’ve got an itch to snap some photos, and how hard can it be?”
The Great Public Transit Experiment
Now, I’m 71 years old. I like my car. I understand my car. But feeling adventurous (and perhaps a bit delirious from the medicine), I decided to leave the car in Pomona and catch the train.
Let me tell you, the train ride? Fantastic. Smooth, clean, relaxing. I sat there thinking, “I should do this more often! Look at me, navigating the modern world like a pro.”
Then came the bus transfer.
If the train was a luxury cruise, the bus stop was a survival reality show. It started to rain. Not a drizzle, but a real soak. I stood there for 20 minutes, watching puddles form around my shoes, waiting for a bus that seemed to be operating on a theoretical schedule rather than a literal one.
I was shivering, soaked to the bone, and coughing. A sensible person would have turned back. But at that point, I looked up at the grey sky and used the logic only a stubborn senior citizen can use: “Well, I’m already sick. I probably can’t get much sicker.”
Up Close and Personal (and Wet)
When I finally arrived at the showcase, wet, but happy, my mood instantly shifted when I took my first photo. I was now in my happy place.
For two decades, I’ve shot these floats as they roll past at 2.5 miles per hour. You get one shot, maybe two, and then they’re gone. But here? They were sitting still. They were posing for me.
Walking that 2-mile stretch, even with damp socks, was a revelation. When nearly 70,000 visitors come here, I can see why. You don’t realize the sheer insanity of the craftsmanship until you are standing six inches away. You can see the individual lentils, the crushed walnut shells, and the perfectly placed rose petals. The creativity is mind-boggling.
It’s a different vibe than the parade. It’s not a rush; it’s a stroll. It’s family-friendly and celebratory. People were chatting with the float exhibitors, asking how they managed to glue a million dried flowers to a giant turtle without losing their minds.
The Verdict
And yes, the rumors are true—the Food Fare is back. There is something profoundly healing about eating from one of LA’s top food trucks after surviving a monsoon at a bus stop. A hot meal does wonders for the soul (and the sinuses).
So, was it worth it? Was it worth the train, the 20-minute bus wait in the rain, and risking pneumonia?
Absolutely.
I got shots of the details I’ve missed for 20 years. I saw the floats in a whole new way. I’ll definitely be back to FLOATFEST next year. Although next time? I think I’ll just drive.
If you would like to see more photos from my FLOATFEST adventure, CLICK HERE
Empire Beat Magazine 