While others snooze, early birds run loose

For the Marina set, 5 a.m. is evidently the best time to swing. Just as long as you’re quiet about it. Out on the big channel leading to the Marina del Rey breakwater, an eight-man crew captained by Ethan Benson pulls a sweep boat across the black silk of the water, with nothing but the predawn darkness between the rowers and perfection.

“If the boat is rowing well, and the timing is dead-on, it’s calling swinging,” says Dave Diekmann, 38, barking out occasional corrections from a launch that putters alongside the rowers. “You’re pulling up off the water. You feel like you’re flying. You can hear bubbles come up under the boat.”

Los Angeles’ more well-rested denizens will never know about this kind of swing. Other than a few other rowing crews assembling in lighted boathouses, no one will even know we were ever here. Slicing the water like a floating razor, the shell flies past darkened condos and yacht clubs. The city’s otherwise in-your-face ambition crouches behind curtained windows. The roads are empty. Most of Los Angeles is waiting for sunlight. But not the 20-odd men and women of the Los Angeles Rowing Club. The Dawn Patrol.

“It’s the perfect time,” says Benson, 34. “It’s glassy. There’s no traffic. Once in a while, a trawler might come in too hot and [splash us with a wake], but usually it’s pretty calm.”

These are the rationalizations we use: We tell our partners and friends about the glassy water. How we beat the crowds. Get a jump on work. Get the best selection. Add hours to the day. All fine, but that’s not the real reason people get up at 4 a.m. when they don’t really have to.

Really, the Dawn Patrol is about breaking with the rest of the world. These are the hours no one can take away from you -- unless they’re also prepared to peel themselves out of a warm bed, fall asleep at work and ruin their night lives. Morning people are often getting away from something or someone. All over the city, they are moving in the predawn darkness, claiming two or three hours no one else wants -- surfing, meditating, riding horses, golfing, running, working out, making their art, reading or even shopping. They have turned their separatism into a heroic stance.

“I’ve got a wife and two kids,” Benson adds. “So I can go out and get my exercise and have some fun, and I get home and they’re still asleep. It’s like stealth fun.”

“I was going through a divorce and needed something to do with my mornings,” says a laughing Robbye Bentley, 29. Now she rows five days a week. Then she goes home, cleans her apartment, goes to her job as a photographer and by midafternoon has had a full day and more. Her friends have had to adjust.

“They think I’m crazy!” she says. “The mantra out of my mouth is: ‘I can’t, I have to row.’ I’m the one always going home early, not drinking at the bar.”

It’s a trade-off. You’re giving up club life, or late-night movies, to work on that thing that the rest of the day won’t let you do. Like swing.

Diekman was rowing with the club until June, but now he coaches a crew one or two days a week. Yawning, he says, “I bought a house, the job got crazy, the girlfriend needed some time. I just had to get some sleep.”

When you have a day job, a partner, a 4-year-old who reacts to a locked door with relentless banging and a new house that needs work, there’s only one time to fulfill a book contract or finish a screenplay: 3:30 a.m.

It’s a ghostly feeling at first, getting up that early and typing from 4 to 7 a.m. But after about a week, the joy of the new routine is indescribable.

With windows thrown open to the L.A. night, the city emits only a breathy roar, like far-off crowd noise. It has a kind of surface tension so defined that the first birdsong at 5:20 a.m. or so cuts it like a ricocheting bullet. No phones ring. No TVs burble.

Friends may toast your martyrdom in all the bars from which you are now absent, but you might not want to let on to what you’ve found: a writer’s nirvana.

“It’s great. You have such clarity,” says Angel Dean Lopez, a 43-year-old screenwriter who’s worked on “Judging Amy,” “New York Undercover” and “10-8.” “For me, that’s just my biological cycle. I get stuck on an hour, like 4:27. I wake up and my mind starts ticking. Often, I’m able to solve writing problems that seem more intractable than I can at other hours.”

In the predawn, the slippery body of dream is still warm, the unconscious split wide open. Of course, there’s also the motivation of possible humiliation. Writing is already humbling, but if you get up at 3:30 and all you do is stare at a blank page, you can feel doubly dumb.

Lopez also competes with his writing partner, Adi Hasak, over who can send the earliest e-mail each day. “You fire up your computer and you’ve got one: ‘Oh, he was up at 4.’ That pushes you,” Lopez says.

MORNING people act superior, of course, so it’s no wonder that others hate them. Especially the night owls, who are more likely to sit around in the middle of the inky void listening to French singer Serge Gainsbourg or watching the Errol Flynn war film “The Dawn Patrol,” and are therefore inherently cooler.

But maybe it’s not your fault if you’re an early bird or a late riser. Maybe we’re just born with it.

In 2002, a study led by sleep researcher Simon Archer, a lecturer in molecular neuroscience at the University of Surrey in Britain, found a correlation between individual circadian rhythms (our sleep cycles) and two versions of a human gene called Period 3. In a group of 484 test subjects, morning people were found to have a long version of Period 3, while evening people were associated with a short version. These results have since been supported by two other studies.

The case for genetic determination was strongest in either extreme morning or extreme evening types, which according to a test called the Horne-Ostberg diurnal preference questionnaire represent the 5% of people at either end of the early-late spectrum. But even then, Archer says, one gene doesn’t really determine what you do.

“Having the longer version does not necessarily make you a morning person; you are just more likely to be,” Archer says, via e-mail. “That can be strongly influenced by environmental and social factors.”

For example, Archer offered, “An evening person can force themselves to get up early for work with an alarm clock, but they won’t be as happy doing it as a morning person would be and they probably won’t eat anything for a few hours. Typically, an evening person who gets up early for work in the week will lie in late at the weekend.”

In other words, necessity sometimes drives both the long- and short-gened out into the world before the rooster crows, but it doesn’t mean they’re equally likely to make a habit of it.

An hour before sunup on a Saturday, Las Vegas residents Rebecca Lundquist and her daughter Jennifer Whitson wend through acres of cut blooms at the Los Angeles Flower Market, looking for tulips. The market is its own all-night universe, open to wholesalers and retailers as early as 2 a.m. On Thursdays and Saturdays, however, the public is allowed in at 6 a.m.

Asked if the early hour was a hassle, Lundquist said yes at the same time Whitson was saying no.

“If you want the good stuff, you have to get up early,” Whitson says.

There wasn’t any occasion, they both explain. No wedding, no funeral. They’ve come in to see the King Tut exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and want to get in a few of the city’s more rarefied kicks. Like pushing through the seasonal pumpkins and Indian corn just hoping to find the most glorious bunch of tulips -- at the crack of dawn. Although Lundquist would have liked to have slept in a bit more, they both agreed that this was part of what made it fun.

That makes sense to Janet Earl of Compton, who works for Verizon but also runs a floral business out of her home. “On the weekend, [the mart] is more laid-back,” she says. “During the week it’s hectic with the retailers. It gets a bit mad.”

Indeed, the need to beat the world to the perfect flower must be powerful. The mart’s assistant manager, Kabir Azin, looks out on the Saturday morning crowd and estimates that 80% are just regular shoppers. “They come here, hit Santee Alley, then they’ve got all that shopping out of the way,” he says.

AS much as members of the Dawn Patrol might like awakening at an early hour, does it make life better? Do they get more done? Do they have as much fun?

Many early risers aren’t asking those questions. They feel the urge is beyond their control, so they have found activities that jibe with it.

“I have to tell ya: I enjoy it,” says Bill Lockton, an ultramarathon runner mustering with several hundred others at 6:30 on a Saturday morning to train with the L.A. Leggers, a group of about 1,200 to 1,500 runners and walkers preparing for next March’s Los Angeles Marathon.

“I go back to my place and I see these people staggering out of bed. They’re sitting in a chair or smoking a cigarette in a robe, looking hung over, drinking their cup of coffee with huge bags under their eyes. And I’ve already done something fairly phenomenal, and I’m going to go out and have more of it. It’s hard not to feel judgmental about it. Or superior. But it’s like I’m getting more hours out of the day.”

Lockton is 57 but looks about 40. He designs and sells dietary supplements, and is nationally ranked in an endurance event called the 24-hour run. He does well in the Badwater Ultramarathon, a 135-mile race from the pit of Death Valley to the base of Mt. Whitney at 8,360 feet. He’s super-fit, but it does take a toll.

“I’ve had a few girlfriends tell me that I train too much. Or, ‘You’d rather run than be with me,’ ” Lockton says ruefully. “Actually, I’d like to have both.”

The people who feel this good about the early hour are, of course, the extremes. Others simply have to adapt. As the Leggers ramp up their weekly miles approaching the marathon, they have to move their start times earlier and earlier.

“Me, personally, I still hate to get up. I’m not a morning person,” says Bonnie Wright, also 57 and preternaturally young-looking. “But to be a marathoner, you just find a way to be a morning person. We joke about it: ‘I can’t believe we’re here at this hour.’ And it’s going to continue to get darker and darker.”

The real joke, however, is that Wright doesn’t realize she’s a member of the Dawn Patrol. She has trained in the small hours since 1986, competing in more than 200 events, and she is now on the Leggers’ board of directors, turning up each weekend at the Senior Recreation Center on Santa Monica’s Ocean Boulevard to send off flights of runners. If rising early is a fatal flaw, she’s a goner.

IF you’re a golfer, you’ve seen them. They’re the men and women eating breakfast in the clubhouse, having already played nine holes, when you turn up for your early round at 9:30 a.m.

“There are guys who pull into the parking lot when it’s still pitch black,” says Peter Jolly, one of the starters (those who assign tee times) at the four public golf courses in Griffith Park. “It’s a mix of regulars, seniors and two or three guys who are trying to play nine holes before work.”

At the Los Feliz course, he sees the same seniors every morning. “It’s just part of their routine. This is a par three, nine holes, and they’re all short. It’s good exercise, and it’s a course they can handle.”

The rationalizations help the rest of the world understand. But the Dawn Patrol doesn’t really need them.

If you’re a surfer, it’s the best feeling to be the first guy to paddle out to a break that’s really firing. The wind dies for a good hour right at sunup, and the increasing crowds that clog L.A.’s best breaks usually assemble a couple hours after you’ve already left the water.

If you’re a runner, it’s easy to slide into apocalyptic reveries while padding down an empty street. And huevos rancheros just taste better when they’re not all spoiled by sunlight.

“I think there’s something to it, when over one shoulder you’re watching the sun rise,” said Ginny Plancke, who leads horse rides at Everwood Stables in the L.A. Equestrian Center at 7 a.m. during the week and 8 a.m. on the weekend.

“You’re watching the sky clear and the day start. You’re outside, you’re in the fresh air versus being in a stuffy gym.

“It’s a really nice way to start your day.”

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Rise and shine

There’s plenty to keep a person busy before dawn, if you know where to look.

Los Angeles Rowing Club

Four- and eight-person crews take off at 5 a.m. on weekdays and slightly later on weekends, with classes for newcomers and competition in sanctioned regattas for the diehards.

Where: The boathouse is on Mothers Beach, on Palawan Way in Marina del Rey. Info: www.larowing.orgor email infolarowing.com

Los Angeles Flower Market

Acres of blooms at wholesale prices.

When: Open to the public 6 a.m. to noon, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Open 8 a.m. to noon Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday.

Where: 766 Wall St.

Info: www.laflowerdistrict.com.

Roosevelt Municipal Golf Course

On almost any day, you’ll find two or three guys on a bench waiting for dawn -- the first tee times are at sunrise. The public course is nine holes, par 33.

Where: 2650 N. Vermont Ave., Griffith Park.

Info: (323) 665-2011. www.laparks.org/dos/sports/golf.htm.

Encino and Balboa golf courses

The Balboa public course is 18 holes, 6,359 yards, par 70; Encino, also public, is 18 holes, 6,863 yards, par 72. The first tee times are at sunrise.

Where: Both at 16821 Burbank Blvd., Encino.

Info: (818) 995-1170, www.laparks.org/dos/sports/golf.htm.

L.A. Leggers

Start now and be ready for a full marathon by March. The group meets every Saturday.

Where: Senior Recreation Center, 1450 Ocean Blvd., Santa Monica, with the first pace group taking off at 5:15 a.m.

Info: (310) 577-8000, www.laleggers.orgor email laleggersearthlink.net.

Los Angeles Equestrian Center

Ginny Plancke at Everwood Stables offers riding lessons at 7 a.m. Tuesday through Friday, and at 8 a.m. on Saturday, riding through Griffith Park.

Where: 480 Riverside Drive, Burbank, CA 91506

Info: (818) 840-9063, www.la-equestriancenter.com.

Lap swimming

If you absolutely must swim while the rest of the world sleeps, you can express your madness at the Westchester YMCA, which opens for lap swimming at 5 a.m. Monday through Saturday. Or try the Downey YMCA on Monday at 6 a.m., Tuesday through Friday at 5:30 a.m. or Saturday at 7 a.m.

Where: 8015 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Los Angeles, and 11531 Downey Ave., Downey

Info: (310) 670-4316 and (562) 862-4201 or www.ymcala.org.

Yoga

As much as yoga people like to suffer, they evidently don’t like to suffer too early on weekends. City Yoga offers a 6:30 a.m. class weekdays, but not until 8:30 a.m. on Saturdays.

Where: 1067 N. Fairfax Ave., L.A.

Info: (323) 654-2125 www.cityyoga.com. A second facility is coming to Toluca Lake.

Center for Yoga, Larchmont, also has a 6:30 a.m. mixed class weekdays, and one at 8:15 a.m. on Saturdays.

Where: 230 1/2 Larchmont Blvd., L.A.

Info: (323) 464-1276, three other locations (Yoga Works): www.yogaworks.com/losangeles.

Surfing

If we need to tell you where to go out on dawn patrol, then you still need lessons, perhaps from Aqua Surf School, (310) 902-7737 and www.aquasurfschool.comor Malibu Longboards Surf School, (310) 467-6898 and www.malibulongboards.com; or a summer surf camp from www.campsurf.com.

Helicopter tours

Want to see L.A. wake up from the air? A couple with $495 to spare can get above it all at sunrise. Los Angeles Helicopters, 4235 Donald Douglas Drive, Second Floor, Long Beach CA 90808, (562) 377-0396, flyLAHelicopters.comor www.lahelicopters.com.

Skydiving

If you feel like bailing out of a perfectly good airplane to get a better look at the rising sun, that can be arranged through Skydive Elsinore, 20701 Cereal St., Lake Elsinore, CA 92530. (951) 245-9939, skydiveskydiveelsinore.comand www.skydiveelsinore.com

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-- Dean Kuipers