And Then, For No Particular Reason....

I watch "Forrest Gump" just about every time it's on. Sure, it's a sappy portrayal of silly and sillier coincidences and staged improbabilities, but....

It makes me think every time I see it. And I need an infusion of Gumpian logic today.

Let me count my blessings: I have a job. I have a uniquely wonderful family who loves and cares about me. I get to write as an avocation. And within my aging body I feel younger as each year blows past.

But that same job, while providing the means to operate the home (don't I sound like the prototypical Capricorn?) has exhausted me as it keeps me from trails, from writing, from all those escapes I enjoy so much. It's not the job's fault - I enjoy what I do, and month after month I keep proving I'm damn good at managing numbers as well as personalities.

I miss my time with the birds and animals, though. If I'm lucky I have time to take a drive somewhere to listen to the owls and slithering night things. And that's a drive, not a hike. Solutions are just not there, work close to home in my specialty is just not there, and that sets me into a funk.

I'm lucky enough to share my night excursions with The Kid or The Gina, sometimes both. Those drives are good for me, allowing me to explore possibilities I can't explore on someone else's time. And the time to pull the trigger on change may be now - it may be time to take The 4wheelbob Story public.

I so enjoy speaking to groups, to schools, Scouts, to anyone who'll listen. Do I have something to say? A lot of folks have told me so. Then there's the $100,000 question - could I support my family as a writer and speaker? Hmmm....well, I think so, if all the dots connect. It'll take finding someone to represent me, as I have a decided lack of ego which doesn't allow me to ask for money for an hour during which I'll try to motivate. Finding an agent should be easy, right?

Not so much. As a newbie, it's hard to get anyone's attention. But I'll keep plugging, hoping to find a representative with a few yards of vision, one who might be able to understand that when 4wheelbob talks, people listen.....most of the time.

Just a few short words on frustration, and the ideas that can spring from it. I'm so ready. Is there an agent in the house? Now I'm off to calm those critters in my head with the Arroyo Mocho Trail for a bit. Take care, and Happy Trails!

Happiness is.....

...not so tough to find if you don't have gigantic expectations. I'm a pretty simple guy. I like birds, animals, snakes, long trails and a few people. I like being able to listen to other's ideas and enjoy the time spent looking in each other's eyes and sharing some human time.

I also like to issue challeges - to me. Often. I don't like disagreements. They rarely end in accord because most people aren't very flexible anymore. I'm able to keep smiling because I understand that just as I'm not going to change their minds, they probably won't change mine. I simply listen, hope to hear a cogent argument being made and usually...OK, frequently...just go on believing that my position is right. I don't understand why it's so difficult to learn to defend a point of view without hurling invectives at each other.

Oh, yeah - I really hate web based disagreements. I guess many feel they are now licensed to say anything to anybody in any foul, disrespectful manner they choose because it's done anonymously and no one will ever know they said it. There is nothing quite so disturbing as the incivility of this "modern" world.

But I digress. Barn owls are flying over the yard, and I can sit in the back and listen to them stake their claims to that air space all night, and always with a sense of wonder. So many magnificent creatures, and so few who appreciate them. Instead, the world has come to a wherewillwegowhatwillwedothisisntfuniwannagohomebecause itsboring kind ofplace. How sad. Life blows past so quickly, in huge chunks if you happen to have any of your time placed on temporary or permanent disability, for example. Survival then sudennly takes on a new spirit, not always a positive one. Our world has become a "me" world, each of us with an entitlement to the life we want. It can get contentious among us, and instead of finding solace in nature, with beings who understand that they are pieces of a larger, impossibly intertwined community, we take by force, practice cruelty, destroying the very people and places with whom we should be celebrating each other's lives.

And I'm tired of it. Enough. Humans can be educated, and egocentric, and uncaring. If you see yourself, try this - stop, sit, close your eyes and listen. Turn down the noise we people love to make and there, in the background of all those sounds you may hear a robin, a wren, a woodpecker or hawk - have you noticed them before? Now open your eyes and watch them - there's not a second of wasted time, of finger (wing?) pointing, of anything but nature's urgent push to survive. There's no pretense, and every action has a purpose.

Although I would have a problem completely shutting people out of my life, I grow more respectful of nature each time I can sit and - and learn - from a non - human. So please, turn off the Blackberry. Stop texting. Get out of the house and look around. Put your faith in these beings rather than your electronic doodad. You might just learn a few things. Then, look me in the eye, across the table or on a bench and we'll talk for awhile. 

That Big Yellow Thing In The Sky?

It's been a while. Two weeks ago, as I huddled in my down bag at 9,000 feet in the White Mountains in a snow flurry(on Memorial Day?), I swore off any knowledge of it, finally. Weekend after weekend, run after run (or roll, in my case), long hike after long hike, chipping mud from shoes clothes, wheelchair parts and miscellaneous exposed body bits, its appearence nevertheless surprised me.

I'd given up on summer. There it is, though, on my calendar - taunting me at my desk, begging me to strap on the backpack so it could once more abandon me as I set out on another adventure. But here it was today - the sun, showering warmth that fractured the foggy morning in Silicon Valley. I wanted to get up from my cube, but feared disrupting the moment, maybe setting off rebellion with the Weather Gods. So I just sat, as I always do, and looked out the window.

Checking the forecast for the weekend, however, finally fired me up. No, 12,000 feet will probably hav to wait until September given the snowpack, but local trails will be dry enough to navigate over any possible distance. Maybe a loop from Skyline Gate in Redwood Regional. Perhaps a long slog up the Iron Horse and back, Dublin to Concord, a 40 + mile endeavor. Or maybe I'll find a creek or pond and just roll in - after all, I've gotten so used to wet weekends...why change now?

The best part? Summer, real summer, is just two weeks away. And it looks like summer is going to hang on for a while - maybe September, if there is a Santa Claus. Training is way behind schedule, so I'm going to have to double time my days, making Casey Jones - style rolls all over the western states.

I hope to see you, by the way, this Saturday, June 11 at Quarry Lakes Regional Park in Fremont, where I'll have my Ambassador shoes on as the EBRPD unveils "Healthy Parks, Healthy People". Early next week you can read my full take on the program at ebparks.org/bobcoomber . Best of all, it'll be a nice day. A nice weekend. Nice nights after work to zoom some mileage into the mix. Has anyone ever made the Livermore - San Jose commute in a chair? Probably not...another "first" to seek... :-)

So enjoy this time - full moon on the 15th, Solstice on the 21st, and Livermore's Relay For Life the 25th - 26th. I'm still looking to finish with close to 50 miles under my wheels, and being on the track for as much of the 24 hour event as I can muster. All because it's finally summer, and I'm ready to roll. It's what I do, how I roll. Oh, I'm on a roll now...see you out there, for as long as this summer thing hangs around. 

One of These Months, We'll Have a Summer! Memorial Day, 2011

Memorial Day weekend has, for the last couple of years, been "Opening Day" for me. Three days of almost - summer weather in a mountain or desert setting, warm days and cool nights watching Mom Nature shake winter off and welcome warmer times.

Why would this year be different? With as heavy a snowpack as we've had here in the Golden State, I read with rapt attention the CalTrans road openings that made my Thursday prior to the holiday - Sonora, Ebbetts and Monitor Passes had opened, while Tioga was still closed. Friday I could hardly wait - I was to be off to California's White Mountains, our highest desert range, for 3 days of nesting bluebirds, trails through the bristlecone pines and short summits, those to maybe 11,000'. Last year I was able to spend a fine 3 days out here over Memorial Day, even with copious bits of powder still on the ground over 11,000'. I knew it would be cool at night this year, and had heard of snow predicted in the Sierra Sunday morning. And though I was physically prepared for grungy weather, I really hadn't let my mind deconstruct the possibility that conditions this year may not be, uh, optimal.

But onward I went. Leaving home around 8 AM Saturday, I made it to Sonora Pass by noon. In all my Memorial Day crossings of this pass, I had never seen such an accumulation of snow still on the ground. Ever. And that's a long time for me, as my wife will be pleased to let you know. The trip over was uneventful, and Hwy 395 south to Bishop was remarkably quiet for a holiday weekend. I stopped to pick up supplies and gas in Bishop (Von's for both, by the way - cheapest gas on 395) and headed south to my turn off at Big Pine.

Hwy 168 east from 395 is a nice 13 miles to White Mountain Road, and because there was no traffic I was able to drive in a most relaxed state, looking at the wildflowers, watching for animals, marveling at rock formations in the Inyo Range....all good stuff. Arriving at White Mtn Road, I made the turn up into the Whites. Already, though, the weather had set the tone - wind was howling in the 25 - 40 MPH range, and ominous clouds were wrapping around the mountaintops, settling low on the hillsides. When I arrived at Grandview Campground it was 45 degrees - a tad cooler from Bishop's 80. As always, I have the car arranged for quick set up so I can get camp put together in a hurry. This was a perfect day to test my ability to put up the tent, set up cooking stuff, get the water source and secondary water source ready to roll....which, despite the silly wind, proved I hadn't lost my touch. Only a blow up of my new 2.5" luxury (for me!) pad from REI (Camp Bed) might take a minute or two. That little purchase, by the way, made even a stormy, cold night seem like a hotel. Well, almost.

My concern as afternoon spun into night was the wind and dust. Clouds had blown east, and those to the west over the Sierra looked ominous but would, if White Mountain history held true, dissipate by the time they moved east. I started a campfire under heavy wind, impressing even me with the method I used - ignite dry grass and tiny twigs, add larger and larger pieces until the fire had been established, then add the Heavy Duty stuff. Around 6 PM, the temp had dropped into the 30's. I was bundled up well enough, and the fire kept the front side warm. But by 7 I was done. I got into the tent as the wind threatened to blow my chair into Nevada. A few well placed rocks anchored it firmly in place and I put on my very warm night clothes. I was tired, so I brought my secondary water supply (my Camelback) into the tent with some cheddar flavored potato chips so I could enjoy them without a fight. I was dozing by 7:30, waking up intermittantly as the wind blew without let up for hours. I woke at 2:30 AM because the outside had gone silent - no wind, not even a rustle. I could hear a pair of night birds chattering with each other and went back to sleep hoping that was the end of the breeze.

The next sound I heard also woke me, an hour and a half later. It was some kind of precipitation, but I was not awake enough to determine how hard it was raining. It was also at this small sleep disturbance that I coughed while in the middle of a rotation in my sleeping bag. Something in my rib cage tweaked, and I was in some real discomfort. It was not going to go away, the pain told me. I found a position in which I was comfortable, and tried to get back to sleep. It was all right as long as I didn't cough. <coughcough/hack> OUCH! Water fixed the situation, though, so I was back to sleep. For a while. Dawn woke me, and as the sky lightened I saw the result of the pitter patter heard in the wee hours - an inch of snow had accumulated on the seat of my chair. The campground had been carpeted with a soft, delicate layer of fluff, which amused me to no end. The cold, however, was not amusing. It had to be in the teens, at least. Now, I've been here in October and camped at 11,000' and run into nearly zero. But this is late May. Memorial Day. It was to be sane at night. So much for using a calendar to plan a trip.

And then to top things off the wind started howling again. Sticking my head outside the tent I saw a disturbing gathering of clouds surrounding the campground. I got dressed and ready for the day, heading to the stove to try to boil some water. The stove had been covered in snow, however, and the water jug was frozen solid. I got into the car and turned it over. The thermometer said it was 20 outside. It didn't provide the wind chill number. I grabbed some essentials from my tent and decided to head to Bishop for some warm coffee. Although such a side trip would normally violate all my outdoors orientation, I wanted warm food, dang it! I made it to the road, heater blasting, up the hill toward the Visitor Center so I could get a cell signal and let Gina know of the weather conditions. However, the road was iced to impassibility a couple of miles north of the campground, and I headed out, back toward the highway and Bishop.

It got uglier. As I approached Bishop, the big electronic advisory sign let me know all the passes that had just opened two days ago were now closed. 4, 88, 89, 108, 120....all were impassible. I then glaced east to the Whites to witness a hellish cloud cover moving southward, gobbling up White Mountain Peak, Campito Mountain, Boundary Peak....Clouds dropped lower and lower, new snow could be seen falling over the entirety of the range, and I felt lost - clearly I had to pack up unless I really wanted to demonstate a superior masochistic ability. I gobbled up a hot meal and headed back. I would have to pack, and fast. There could be no time wasting. And then I'd have to figure the best route home. I had one in mind...

Back in camp, clouds swirled over my favorite trees and the little bluebirds spoke softly with each other, probably laughing at me while hunkering down for a cold day. It was now 24 degrees, balmy by early morning standards. I packed quickly, well organized and with  mercifully little to pack. Snowflakes blew through, and the temps made every one stick. I left camp and headed back to the highway. One short drive north to the Sierra View overlook told the ultimate tale - from Sierra View I could not view the Sierra. The storm had taken the Palisades, Mt Ritter / Banner Peak, all the way down to Whitney and Williamson - the Sierra might just have been a cloud. I said a prayer for any unlucky through hikers that might be caught on the PCT, despite all the posted warnings; this was a February storm, not May.

I usually feel a sense of defeat if I don't ride out bad weather, and have been hiking a lot over the winter in driving rain and fierce cold. But I felt good about this; I would be safe, and I'd enjoy one hell of a long drive in order to get around the Sierra. I made it south after filling up in Bishop, toward Independence and Lone Pine. I spoke with a ranger farther south who advised me that my next possible crossing, Hwy 178, was a windy, RV - filled pass over toward Lake Isabella. He advised me to go all the way to Mojave and catch Hwy 58. I did, and he was right. 58 moved fast through the Tehachapis, into Bakersfield and west to Interstate 5. The wind was still blowing - it was as if the windmills on the Altamont, over the Tehachapis, near Palm Springs - had all reversed themselves and unleashed a horrendous statewide wind.

My day became anticlimactic on the Interstate. Miles blew past, and each mile closer to home was just a little more comfortable. I made it back by 9:30 PM, tired as I've ever been and full of ideas about how I'd ride it out next time...a 4 - season tent? Sequestering the water supply in a larger tent? A wind - proof fire? I intend to be back there soon, perhaps in a couple of weeks, and will try to convince Gina and Sab to share the big tent with me. But like me, they aren't yet convinced there will be a summer. I was so pleased to be able to see one last (hopefully!) blast of winter so late in the year. Although it screwed up my plans, it was just another day for Mother Nature to keep us in the loop as to who's boss. See you out there soon! Maybe in summer, if we have one...

It's The Right Thing To Do

People are among Nature's most interesting studies.

Capable of almost anything, from delving deeply into subjects of great intellectual and physical intricacy to feeling emotions unlike any other member of the Animal Kingdom, we can be caring or callous, instructive or destructive, ambitious or malicious. Trying to understand what we're going to do next may be a matter only for historians, philosophers or physicists.

But there are only two things I know about people, things I try to practice every day, and each very difficult to refute. Yes, this is the internet, so while those who stay up for days at a time trying to find any conceivable glitch in another's point, hold on for just a little while. I'm sure you'll think of something. But I'll make it short, elemental. Here are 4wheelbob's Pair of Random Wisdoms;

First, and most important: Each of us has something to offer everyone - lessons of sorts, a thought, an image, a smile. Not all the lessons are warm, fuzzy and rosy - not all education is easily disseminated. But a lesson may be as simple as "hey, I smiled and she smiled back!" or as tough as "guess I shouldn't have gone for a drive after that fourth drink (sound of handcuffs clicking)". Some people seem downright unapproachable, distant, aloof, even angry. What lessons have they had to endure? What might we learn from them? Then the obvious: what can we do to help make their lives a bit easier to endure, if not completely enjoy? Each of us can learn such tiny, important things from one another.

The second piece is even simpler and more satisfying: what can I do to make another's life here better? Can I offer a joke, or a warm meal? A cup of coffee coupled with a willing ear? Perhaps even a room until a situation gets sorted out....
Being social beings, I find it perplexing that we can't use the technology that got us the internet, and the ability to look up or store vast amounts of knowledge on a hard drive to help each other. Yes, of course I see Facebook pages for every conceivable cause, including my own. Yet, when in close physical contact with our fellow humans, we back away, seeking instead to intellectualize every possible emotion, feeling, spirit....and missing the most basic primate behavior, that of talking, touching, joking, telling stories - communicating face - to - face, without the book. We retreat to our Blackberries to text another sitting across a table. We trumpet our achievements on social networking (what would Ben Franklin think of THAT?) sites, but sit on our hands when sharing a table, sitting in the cool, damp night.

I enjoy making people laugh, or challenging them to think. I love spouting off inanities, just for the simple pleasure of being inane and inviting people to look closer and see that I have a soul, a spirit, even a mystery that will take equal amounts of thought and poking to arouse. And as much as I enjoy using the computer to share thoughts like these with you, I'd be in my element if we were yammering to each other all night, being silly or thoughtful or reflective. Because on the internet, I can't see you smile or hear you laugh. I can't piss you off or argue sports in real time. No, that takes more effort. Effort which, I pray, you are willing to expend in order to make the most of this life.

That's all there is to it. Those of you who've met me on a trail and engaged me in conversation (not too hard to do) understand. Those with whom I've shared coffee and chatted about the beauty of the day and what it will hold within its boundaries understand. Those who've allowed me to be a part of their lives, as either benefactor or benficiary, friend or lover, jokester or foil understand.

Writing and posting this as I will may seem contradictory, but fear not. Stop me to talk if you see me on the street, and you'll know, too, of my passion for people and life. Break away, if only for a day, from your electronic bindings and listen to another, without anger, without judgment, without scorn. We'll all be better for the time when we can look only at the individual and our similarities and not the artificial factional differences that so frequently divude us.

Share a moment with someone you don't know. You might find it the most educational moment of your life.

Time's A Wastin'!

As usual, even my after work / resting part of the day is turning into an adventure. It's just to the left of 9 PM out here on the West Coast, it's still low 70's outside and I'm getting ready to go find some Great Horned Owls just north of town.

As I'm writing, a barn owl just flew over the house, causing a great disturbance in the Dawg Force - all three of them are sitting in back looking at the dark sky, wondering if some kind of angel is about to descend on them.....kinda cute, really. But the warm air tells me there will be a wide eyed flying circus this evening, and I want to check it out.

Another spring - summer favorite I haven't noticed yet should show itself soon - bats. The Giants could only hope to have bats as active as our neighborhood's. A few years back a small, innocent critter flew into the house and caused us no end of goofy looking drama as we tried to usher it back outside. It was probably not a fun evening for the flying mouse, though. By the time we managed to gently direct it toward an open window it had tired. Once outside the poor thing rested for a few minutes then flew off to take its frustration out on small, six legged flying things. Bats are good to have as neighbors.

Ah! Just now, a killdeer is going off about something a backyard or two away. Of course, they go off about damn near anything, so it's not a shock but it is amusing. Meanwhile, barnies are still chatting while cruising the neighborhood.

So I have a fascination with the natural, and a general distrust of too much electronic doodadism. That's the old fart in me, trying to find comfort as an analog guy in a digital world. That's why birds, lizards, ground squirrels, wolf spiders....all those beasts and critters that just don't want to leave their niche in the evolutionary chain....appeal to me so much.

Maybe there's a bit too much of that around my home. It's hard to interest a teenager in Mother Nature's magnificence, even harder to convince them to just sit, listen and marvel. Hopefully, age will mellow them and they, too will catch on. As one feels the urgency of life pulling in an unkind direction, there's little comfort in a world without all the flying, crawling, slithering, swimming beings with which we share it. I may, in fact, be just a bit more comfortable in their world sometimes. It's really a great place to be. Join me there!

As for me - I'm off for some owling. Have a wonderful evening!

Mister Toad's Wild Ride - Saturday, April 23, 2011

A lovely Saturday after a long and very busy week had me itchin' to hit the road. Although that's an old, overused expression, I tend to hit the road more than in a cliche sense. Saturday was not an exception - at 8 AM I had not picked a compass heading, tending this time of year to head north or east. I was open to suggestions, and Gina had a good one.

"Why don't you make a run to The Olive Pit?" It was more an invitation - The Olive Pit is a small specialty store in Corning, CA, just a few miles south of Red Bluff on Interstate 5. We make a semi - annual pilgrimage there for olives of all descriptions - cheese stuffed, garlic stuffed, rutabage stuffed (OK, I wanted to see if you were paying attention)....olives, trail mix, olive oil, some of the best peanut brittle, which is a particular weakness; each visit I roll through the doors as a warrior, taking no prisoners as I fill a cart with goodies. Our young houseguest and I are both savage olive fiends, and she has found and neutralized my stash. This is a drive that had to be made.

Off I went by 9:30 or so. It's not a difficult drive - I 80 to I 505 in Vacaville and onto I 5 at the metropolis of Dunnigan, home of Bill & Kathy's restaurant. Highway Five is an easy drive, and one can be entertained by looking west at the mountain ranges of Mendocino County or the many wildlife refuges just east of the freeway. Traffic is light, especially on a Saturday. I made it to The Olive Pit by noon. By 12:30 the shelves had been plundered, and $120 later I had enough olives to satisfy even the most insatiable olivephile (is that a word?).

But I wasn't happy. Yes, I got a chance to get out and clear the work week from my consciousness. But I detest out - and - back drives, strolls, trips of any kind. This seemed a good day to make a long, convoluted loop of a drive. As I packed everything into the car, I knew it was early enough to drive almost everywhere and still get home before dark. Knowing the neighborhood as I do, I realized the short drive north to Red Bluff would hook me up to Highway 36 and east to Lassen Volcanic National Park, then return through the little burgs of Chester, Greenville and Belden. These are places I knew intimately, where I feel as if I were home. I spent many a summer vacation in these parts. So what a way to create a nice drive! I didn't ponder the negatives - there were none as my time was concerned, and Gina knew I wanted to get away for a long drive. I called to let her know that I'd be awhile and got a resounding "go for it!" from her. I peered into the clouds surrounding the place in the sky where 10,300 foot Mt. Lassen would be, and the clouds enveloping her summit would lead me into her arms.

Only minutes after turning onto 36 in Red Bluff, the rain started. That was good, as the birds in my neighborhood had made a statement on the hood, trunk and roof of my Corolla. The rain was light but steady. I passed the elevation markers - 1000 feet, 2000 feet....tiny former stage stops which were now sleepy places if one needed gas or something to drink - Payne's Creek and Mineral for example. Like many small settlements, these had begun life as stops for stagecoaches and, later on, buses. These days only the occasional passerby stops for anything, especially on a cool, wet spring day. As I made it past 4000 feet, the tiny drops of water drifted more randomly through the air - snow! Tiny, non - sticking flakes pattered on my windshield. Nothing stuck, as they melted off as quickly as it hit the car. The temp had dropped to 35 degrees (from 70 at Red Bluff) and I plowed on, intrgued by this spate of good luck in bad weather.

Lassen Park was only open to the Visitor Center on the south, so I motored on and into Chester a short piece later. I felt great, which doesn't always happen on my long drives. Cruising into Chester in the rain was uneventful. There was little traffic, as the summer vacationers were still months away. Businesses were closed for the season or just closed - I tried to find coffee, but as I also found in Greenville coffee was a scarce commodity in Plumas County, CA this damp Saturday.

After a drive south through Greenville (now featuring the Plumas County Charter School) I put my mind into "relax" and dropped into the wonderful Feather River Canyon (Hwys 89 & 70). The Canyon is a special place, waterfalls spilling from every crevice and crack in the sheer walls. The East Branch and North Fork of the Feather River were high and stunniing in their collective power. Although far from the highest I've seen the river run, it was not a day to launch a kayak or raft. I stopped at some of my favorite places - Twain, Belden, Tobin, Pulga - to watch a train go by or marvel at a 200 foot high waterfall. The wildflowers had started blooming in The Canyon, cementing images that I hope will carry into the work week. Driving up the hill from Pulga and into Jarbo Gap and Yankee Hill I realized I had relaxed thoroughly. Traffic was light, so there was no pressure to keep up a speed at which I didn't want to motor. I pulled off where I wanted to pull off, waited until I was ready to move on and traveled once more. This pattern was repeated all the way into Oroville.

From Oroville the trip was familiar and not nearly as enticing as The Canyon, but fertile orchards leafing out and readying for peach, nectarine and apricot season got me excited about driving back soon. Into Marysville, I followed Highway 70 to 99 where I turned south until it crossed I 5 again. This time, I took 5 through the Valley and into Sacramento, Stockton, Manteca then west to Tracy and home.

Usually, once I'm home from a 532 mile day I'm weary and just want to rest. But I enjoy sponteneity; I was excited to see The Pit, Plumas County, The Canyon...all among my favorite places, all in one day, all at 44 MPG (thanks, Toyota!) and all without incident. The amount of planning and forethought put into the journey consisted of filling the gas tank. Everyone should take a day like this once in a while - make a circle, see your state, country, world. With each loop, each new exploration, each addition to your self confidence and knowledge base comes a desire to see even more. And as anyone who knows me well will tell you, the road can be an educational, entertaining, wonderful place to be. All it takes is a tank full of gas and the freedom to leave convention for a few hours. Hey, meet you in Mt Shasta? Oh, HECK yes!

The Case For Trail Running

It's not the best kept secret that I'm a competitive sort. I don't like losing, or worse, not finishing. and although I'm slower than cold lava and older than dirt, the fire still burns to get out as often as I can and try to prove to myself that I can still do it - maybe faster than ever.

Over the past couple of years, I've done a bit of volunteer work for Brazen Racing, a trail running race organizer and friend of trail runners everywhere. The events are more than enjoyable - people of all shapes and sizes are finding that there is no standard for a trail runner other than the will to start and finish no matter the conditions.

Therein lies the appeal. Anyone can do this. Running is cheap, fills the "vigorous exercise" model perfectly and will boost confidence with each race. And after volunteering or rolling in so many of Brazen's events, I can conclude that trail runners are unique among athletes in their acceptance of participants of all ability levels. Many of the runs are on East Bay Regional Park District properties, and fit neatly with the District's "Healthy Parks, Healthy People" initiative.

Sure, elite runners as well as weekenders run their events. And as I sit off the trail at an aid station or turnaround point I find refreshing and a little fascinating that even the fastest runners will say "hi" as they pass, or at least return a wave. Even after running through mud, water, dust or heat the finish line overflows with smiles and satisfaction. All finishers are part of the clan; handshakes and kudos are there for Top 5 closers as well as those who bring up the rear. I pack up after each volunteer opportunity and feel as if I just hung out with 800 of my closest friends for a few hours.

Part of the cameraderie comes from a group mindset, especially as runs take place in drenching rain, through slippery muck or bitter cold. You look around as 500 runners line up for a start and decide that, dang, if these folks can all do it, I can do it. The satisfaction gained from each finish cannot be dismissed. This is a cool bunch.

In case you missed the subtlety, this is my pitch for you who don't get out and exercise much to go to Brazen's website, http://brazenracing.com/ , sign up for a 5K and lose any self consciousness or doubt and run. You'll usually see me at some point on the trail at most events, and you won't regret that you'll feel better after each run.

I'm looking right now for the next race. I intend on being there, whether course marker or participant, and having a heck of a time. I hope those of you who want to begin an exercise program will join us. Don't be shy! You won't regret it, and I promise to wave you past my station as you thoroughly enjoy a day as a trail runner.

Impressions On A Spring Afternoon

Mines Road, 17 miles south of Livermore. a short decompression drive. To "The Turnout" next to Big Meadow, stopped and put the chair together. Up the road, pushing slowly...wind sounds like cars driving on the road a half mile away...wind gets louder blowing through the grey pines and blue oaks, a Civil War of trees in elevated ranchland...noise finally becomes alive when gust makes it through the forest to be at my side...goldfields in full bloom, can hardly see the green for the gold, birds announcing "we're here!" - quail by the hundreds, red winged blackbirds, hummers and kites...a flock of squawk as grounded birds take flight, one was too slow as Kite vs Red Winged Blackbird ends quickly and poorly for the smaller of the two...up the road, pushing hard and moving quickly, horses in meadow take note....one walks to fence, I meet him there, he nuzzles looking for an apple or carrot, none found he wanders back to the rest of his equine bridge club... Kites flying, no strings attached but sporting long white tails, riding the breeze into dead oaks, calling kite calls as she leaves her perch; squirrels yell, and as a lower mammal might not realize their shriek is simply a hawk magnet, "Prey Made Easy", right from the infomercial, all the raptors are flying in 'n buying in...past the meadow, the ringing noise of phones, computer generated complication and the workplace left in a field, now 18 miles south of Livermore on Mines...blue oaks going green, leafing out in a sporty blaze of magnificence...back past the horses, met once more at the fence for a few strokes of a large snout...stopping at an overlook, creek below, bullfrogs leap in when I rustle the gravel...."Bob!" the passing bike rider yells, "climb any mountains lately?"....on toward the car but not getting in...hills green and trying to imagine being the first to explore, where I'd go, how I'd manage, where the home would be set up...sun behind the western hills now, still warm, first loggerhead shrike of the season on the branch of a dead oak...time spent but hardly wasted; feeling sorry for all who place so much importance on technology and doodads of modern life, where THIS is where we have to learn our balance points....no, Herb, Three Dot Journalism will never die!...Happy Earth Day / Week - make your mark out there, take a raptor to lunch....these are the days that will shape our children's futures - use them wisely and to our collective benefit, please!

Living the Unlimited Weekend

Working a whole bunch of hours each week can make for a pent up, trail deprived wheelchair hiker. Since there's little time off, I make a point of trundling around most of California's 58 counties every Saturday and Sunday.

With gas prices once again bordering on the absurd, the responsible adult hidden deep within my carefree exterior is surfacing - now, when I get in the car and go, I'd better have a pretty good idea where I'm going and what I'll be doing. That's not always the case with me. Sometimes a good, long drive helps keep me balanced; at other times I'm looking for new adventures on the fly - as in "I'll know I found it when I get there."

This weekend was a combination. Saturday had a lot less focus, as I simply wanted to get as far away, reasonable boundaries considered, from the office. It's been hectic lately, with scattered directives and shallow considerations given new initiatives. A good drive, I told myself, might be just the ticket.

Off I went, east toward my beloved Sierra Nevada, knowing that my favorite passes would be closed for at least another 6 weeks. although an avalanche would have felt wonderful in comparison to my work week, I chose an old favorite, California's Highway 49, the Big Deal through the gold rush country of the Sierra foothills. I was going to make it north to Jackson, then east to Volcano and around the old byways into Fiddletown, Somerset and Sutter Creek.

But as I drove up CA 88 to Jackson, I let the wind gather me in. Southbound from 49 it would be, at least for awhile. I took a brief intermission to see how the tiny burg of Jenny Lind had survived the winter - Jenny was a Swedish songstress, a miner's favorite who never actually made it out to the mines; contemporaries such as Lotta Crabtree and Lola Montez each left their mark at opposite ends of the behavior spectrum, but little Jenny never made it to Jenny Lind. It's just a short side trip outside of Clements, CA, but every time I see the sign I make that turn and stop for a minute.

Jenny Lind has little of historic value besides the name, though. And I wasn't interested in stopping to look around. This day would be for driving, seeing the plush green carpet covering the hills with spots of color everywhere. Maybe the day was meant for smaller places.

Into Jackson, I barely slowed. Jackson was just too big; I sought quiet and a chance to listen to my own thoughts, undisturbed by office politics. Passing Mokelumne Hill, another favorite, I turned on Campo Seco Turnpike for a few miles before taking a cutoff toward Lake Pardee. I found a nice turnout and stopped to gather in the sounds of Spring. Meadowlarks, Scrub Jays, Red Winged Blackbirds...all were advertising their positions loudly and with great precision. I wasn't sure which direction I was heading, so I drove on to Valley Springs and CA 12, which took me into San Andreas, Calaveras County's seat.

Not a lot was happening in San Andreas, and my restlessness just wouldn't let up. I drove south this time, staying on 49 toward the Home of the Jumping Frog, Angels Camp. I drove through the old part of town, preferring to head east on CA 4 to Murphys, but via the old Hwy 4, not the new, faster bypass.

Eastof Angels Camp came Douglas Flat, a few small wineries (a staple of the foothills these days) and into Murphys. There's a small coffee dispensary which makes a really good house brew, so I grabbed the largest they had and cruised back down the hill to Parrott's Ferry Road, which would take me the quiet way into Columbia and Sonora. I stopped to see New Melones Reservoir, or as we used to call it the Stanislaus River, quickly filling with fresh snowmelt. Sure miss the days 40 years ago when the Upper Stan was one of the finest whitewater rides in America. Sad to recall those days when staring at rented houseboats full of people who are clueless of the history of this canyon cruise quietly past.

From Sonora, I had finally had enough for one day. Down CA 108 from 49, into Jamestown, Oakdale, Escalon...all the Central Valley pass throughs that were once bustling with stage traffic en route to / from the Mother Lode. As I arrived home, I wasn't quite sure that I had accomplished anything except opened my eyes to opportunities, as if I could quit and write full time. The sad reality is simply a sad reality. But I saw meadowlarks, so this had been a day of value.

Today I took it on the road, but only as far as Sunol Regional Wilderness just a few miles from home. The sun and bearable temps had encouraged half of the East Bay to get out. I set off on the Camp Ohlone Road, a wide trail and service road frequented by many during the "nice" months. I knew everything about this trail, yet understood that each day would be different from another. The "wilderness" feel wasn't there for the hordes of people, but folks on a trail bring the joys of conversation, of people enjoying their pursuits chatting with one another. That doesn't make for a lotof solitude, but I knew where to find that.

Up to Backpack Trail and it was just me and the vultures. I sat at a familiar flat with my eyes closed, in the shade of a large Valley Oak just beginning to green up.It was quiet enough that I could hear everything from birds to crickets to lizards running on a fallen tree. The serpentine rock was warm; the shade was an exquisite place to nap for a few minutes, letting the natural symphony proceed, movement by movement to a crescendo punctuated by ground squirrels and red shouldered hawks. While the band played on, I turned back toward the parking lot and my car, just 3 miles away.

I had a chance to talk to people, dawgs and horses today. Not an unpleasant vibe was felt, as we all took in this day, this spectacle of beauty slowly bringing a gorgeous weekend to an inglorious end. I sat in the shade a few more times heading off the hills, hoping to catch a bobcat or coyote in the distance. I did hear a Great Horned Owl hooting beneathe a dark canaopy of oaks. That made the trek perfect. A perfect day. We can hope for one of these every now and then, I tohught...maybe it's my own expanded view of perfection that brings magic to today. Am I expecting too much of work week people?

I think the answer is pretty simple. I'm not a really demanding sort, but I get annoyed when people fail by refusing to make an effort in this life. Life is not a spectator sport; all the people out there with me today were participants. Maybe that's why I enjoy them so much. They were out there, as Teddy Roosevelt might have said, making demands of themselves, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not. But they know the pain of failure as well as the great motivator that is success. The weekend ended with that thought - that achievement, marvel, success or failure are accomplished only by those who choose to be in the game. How sad I am for those whose ultimate victory is to watch another's successes and failures...

And That's The Way It Was...

The weekend's on the wane, but it's been fun...and draining. Welcome, Spring 2011! We watched you ride a storm front into the Bay Area, raising creek levels to new heights. And as much as we love you, Spring, we'd be good if you could relax the rain for just ONE day this week. But your influence is already apparent.

Yesterday's Diablo Trails Challenge was an epic - anyone who finished the 50K, Half Marathon, 10K or 5K should put the date on their resume should they be asked about their perseverence and dedication. I was the "5K Turnaround", a position for which I volunteered. Pushing through mud and stream crossings for a mile to reahc my station, I was shuttled the remaining three quarters of a mile by a park ranger who took pity. The creek crossings were great, though - the stream through Pine Canyon was a foot higher than last weekend thanks to monstrous overnight rain showers. I was dressed for the occasion, though, and didn't drop feet in the water even once (my technique requires front wheels up while in the water, and feeling my way over the rocky streambed).

Once at the turnaround, I watched as the Half runners, then the 10K, then the 5K folks cruised past. Rain of varying intensity was the order of the day, and being cocooned in rain gear I was in no distress. We sat and cheered the runners along both directions - they passed us on the way back, too. The trail was a thick, gooey muck by the time the 5K sweeper came by, so I packed up and pushed back, knowing the mud would be stuck like some bas relief acrylic to tires, frame, shoes and clothes. Each creek crossing was a gift, enabling a firmer grip on freshly cleaned tires. That brief bit of solace disappeared into "fail" mode once I hit the shore and I took on more mud, though.

As on the way out, though, the friendly ranger stopped to help me in as I wallowed at the mercy of the slippery, sticky trail. Half marathoners and 10K runners still flew past. The rain was a motivator, as the wind must also have been in the higher elevations. We heard from the higher aid stations that the temp had not climbed out of the 30's, and that some 50K runners were experiencing hypothermia. That category of athlete is built from some of the more rugged pieces of The Human Experience, though, and I'm sure all made it home safely.

Fast forward to this morning. I was tired after yesterday, so I slept in until 9 or so. Having been awakened at 3:30 AM by a torrent of wind and rain, I decided to head out to the Mines Road - Del Puerto Canyon loop to see what Nature had wrought overnight. Now, I know we had rain in Livermore...but what must have occurred in the Southern Diablos was incredible - the tiny creeks and drainages had turned to rivers; waterfalls where waterfalls had never been were falling from every notch in the hillsides; entire valleys had become flood plains. Canyon walls had fallen, leaving rocks of all sizes in the road, and testing my Corolla's ability to navigate the narrow passages around them.

The most fun was finding that the two places where the winter - gorged creeks normally crossed the road had become challenges. The water was still less than a foot deep, but velocity and volume were off the charts. Add to that a normally quiet culvert where the creek crosses beneath Mines Rd. had burbled over onto the road, leaving that section of pavement in tatters. A short distance past that last crossing was a large blue oak entangled with a half dozen manzanita bushes lying across the road, blocking the northbound lane. Mines is a quiet road, though, so it probably wouldn't have stopped any traffic. The locals are used to it, of course. The theme seemed to be "these mountains got one HELL of a lot of rain last night." The runoff was unbeleiveable. I drove all the way to the base of Mt. Hamilton before turning around to take on Del Puerto Canyon. Water was everywhere.

I knew the Canyon would be difficult. The walls are vertical most of the way, composed of flaky sedimentary rock and loose topsoil. As expected, rockslides were everywhere. The recent frozen mornings followed by warmer rain probably loosened up the canyon walls a lot. I drove with crossed fingers, half expecting to be ambushed by a 500 lb boulder dropping from one of the walls. Several of that size had found their way to the middle of the road.

Driving wasn't too hazardous if one stayed on the pavement. But one unfortunate 4WD - offroad pick up type abruptly violated the "Rule of Four Wheel Drive Infallibility". I drove past and watched a bulldozer pull the unfortunate large, dual cab, 4wd truck out of the flood - stage level creek at Frank Raines County Park. I guess a flooded creek crossing in a steep canyon seemed like a good idea at the time to someone who will probably still guess wrong going forward. Some people are like that....

The upshot is - this was a heck of a storm, but it didn't dampen the weekend. The ground is beyond saturation, a finding that's somewhat ironic for the First Day of Spring. We expect rain the entire week. And still good things came of the weekend. Bush Lupine blooming next to Bush Daisies were a beautiful accent to Del Puerto Canyon's unforgiving allure. Deer chomped on fresh greens everywhere. A lone jackrabbit just north of San Antonio Valley gave me two ears "up" for getting past the rockslides and flooded streams.

A weekend doesn't have to be sun and warmth to be fun and games. Welcome to Spring, 2011. No matter the weather, it's with us for three months so PLEASE make the most of it! See you out on a muddy trail soon!

Diablo Trails Challenge

For those of you who are athletic outdoors types, check out my good friends at Brazen Racing: http://brazenracing.com/diablo.html

This weekend's excitement is the Diablo Trails Challenge, a Brazen event and benefit for Save Mount Diablo, one of my favorite causes. If you fancy yourself a mud runner, this weekend will be right up your alley. There's an unbelievably difficult 50K, a half, and a 10K / 5K.

I'll be the 5K turnaround, a position I hold close to my heart as I watch Gina, Sabbath and hundreds of running friends pass by. The cruise to the turnaround location might be excruciatingly difficult by itself - I was there last Sunday, a week after any rain had fallen, and there was plenty of mud, as well as a half dozen creek crossings...and it's to rain all week before this run.

And I'm SO looking forward to it! So much support from all, as well as the thrill I get from seeing so many people, some of whom have never run a mile, as they grit teeth and bear down to finish what will be a grueling event no matter the chosen distance.

It'll be wet. It'll be muddy. And it'll be the most fun you can have without breaking any laws. Pine Canyon is gorgeous now, and Stage Road will offer challenges for the shorter distances. The Diablo Regional Trail will carry the 50K route, including the hellish 4.5 mile hill from Round Valley to Morgan Territory. It took me 4 days to roll this trail 2 years ago...these runners will be mere hours from end to end, no matter the conditions.

So think of me slogging through the mud to hang out with you on a wet, soggy trail Saturday, March 19th at Castle Rock Regional Park. Check out the link, sign up if you can and please say "hi" as you run past me or turnaround to head home for the 5K. Hang around to greet the 50K runners as they finish. Most of all, welcome to a real life, real time experience, one you won't get sitting around watching basketball in the morning.

Runners, to your marks - sign up, I'll see you there. My best to all participants. Maybe if I start tomorrow I can finish with the 50K folks....;-) See you there! 

The Kid In The Candy Store

The next two weeks are the 4wheelbob equivelent of a major holiday. We all celebrate The Season in different ways, though. For some, it's sitting on the couch and watching college basketball or pre - season baseball. Others will start getting the garden ready, planting, trimming; maybe you'll clean the house, or the garage....

Not me. After all, it's The Holidays.

Sunday marks the start of Daylight Savings Time, perhaps the most useful creation ever to spring from Congress. The following weekend, or shortly thereafter to be precise, Spring will, well, it'll spring. Wildflowers and animals will be everywhere. As the mountains warm, the snow will melt, filling reservoirs and clearing the way for some high altitude 4wheelbob cruises. And every night, thanks to that extra hour of daylight as well as the lengthening days, will be an opportunity to cruise my beloved trails.

I'm already getting a big time itch for those long, late days. The middle of June will come all too soon, and the longest day of the year will pass as if on a surly wind if we don't take up the call to arms. Get off the couch. Grab the dog, kids, husband or wife and go outside. Leave the car (and save the gas!) and take a walk.

Sunday...Daylight Savings Day...I'll be out as early as I can get up, and will be out somewhere until the darkness returns. So many trails, so little time. Maybe I'll finally do the Coyote Creek Trail from Morgan Hill to Sunnyvale or Milpitas and back. Maybe the Iron Horse Regional Trail, a long standing favorite. Maybe Mt. Diablo's North Peak, a summit I enjoy like few others.

The point is - it doesn't matter. I could tell you about the things you're likely to see but that would ruin your fun. Think renewal, freshness, wonder and amazement. Nature will be just getting warmed up. Watching the transition from winter's stark beauty to spring's restoration and celebration of life will have you in awe if you have a soul. It's free, too....why go anywhere else?

The first day of spring follows a week later, and will almost be anticlimactic. We'll have had a week of late daylight, and the wildflowers will bust out between now and May or June. Our green hills will call us out, to look closely at the tiny flowers that begin the color show at ground level. Mom Nature will put together color shows, the likes of which cannot be duplicated by fashion designers or any other pretentious human endeavors.

And again, I'll be on a trail, rain or shine. The Diblo Trail Challenge run will be March 19 at Castle Rock Regional Park, a perfect way to welcome spring whether it warms or it's gray and damp. You'll see me out there Saturday as well as Sunday while I sit and listen to the springtime jazz concert coming from the birds of the season. Find me, get in touch if you've never experienced this, and I'll take you there. Because everywhere will hold zillions of wonders, beckoning us to enjoy.

Tis the holiday season, after all. It's ours, all of ours to take in. I'm back in the gym getting ready for some really epic early season hikes and climbs. Some won't last as long as others, but the universal reaction will be that of the kid in the candy store - so many good things to take in, to see, to hear, to smell.....and just enough time to be filled with the experiences. Join me. Come out, come along. Get your Spring self on - this is a season unmatched over the coursing of the calendar! See you out there!

True Confessions

This is going to be short, as I am not proud when I make a commitment to do something that I NEED desperately to do, then get sidetracked and hogtied.

This was to be the Week of the Return to the Gym...an epic in 5 parts. I alluded to it in my last post. I felt great every night this week, ready to get back to the extreme workout regimen.

Except - it didn't happen. Instead, events conspired to get me home later than anticipated; illness in the home kept me watchful and available; and now I feel redemption is necessary. Redemption may come in the form of trying to put in several miles during my lunchtime, even on the ugly streets of Silicon Valley. It may mean 30 minutes in the gym at work, if the workload abates and I can find 30 minutes. It may come as a quick "see you Monday" at Noon tomorrow, after which time I'll head to the friendly homelike confines of Sunol Regional Wilderness. To get away for an afternoon, finish a couple of projects and spend enough time in the gym to convince my fragile ego that no, I'm STILL a viable entity. That would be a gas!

There is no crueler tantalization than a gaze out the window on an Almost Spring afternoon, and realizing there is no way in hell to enjoy it. But the call I hear, the one that yearns, in my best William Wallace shout, to cty "FREEEEEDOOOOOOM..." at the top of my lungs out in the parking lot, while high tailing it to a trail.....that's the voice I hear. The working world may simply be too structured for me as I age; my job could ultimately turn out to be that of the sage, watching life in its zillion forms provide the inspirations and motivations so many seek. So let me finish with this - rather than being found keeled over at my desk by an indifferent co - worker, how much more rewarding to meet Mother Nature in Her home, on Her terms, and at Her mercy. Food for thought. Have a perfect weekend, let's meet somewhere and listen to the bluebirds...

No Snow? So What? It's almost Spring!

I've got a serious, horrible case of cabin fever. In order to keep the illness from spreading, I left Saturday morning to see how the spring wildflowers were coming along. Although only a hardy few species had begun blooming, the greening of the East Bay Regional Parks is moving relentlessly over hill and dale (what the hell is a "dale"? Anyone?).....and the unshorn locks of native clump grasses are asserting themselves over everything. Here's the forecast, again - it's going to be an awesome year for wildflowers.

But my attention was quickly diverted as I crossed the bridge over Alameda Creek in Sunol Regional Wilderness - the ever present red shouldered hawks started it. Then, as if tuning up for a symphonic statement, bird after bird after bird chimed in - from hawks to woodpeckers, kinglets to flickers; something was in the cold air this weekend, and I wasn't going to miss out on it for a second.

After being invited to attend St. Mary's College's clinching of the WCC title (I had a seat just behind the west basket), I went home a happy camper Saturday night, feeling as if the game were an omen and pleased in the knowledge that tomorrow would be spectacular.

Sunday didn't let me down. It was cloudless and clear enough to pick out the snowy mountaintops 200 miles away along the Sierra Crest. After a breakfast at the old Byron Inn, we drove across the street and around the back side of the Byron Airport. Red Tail Hawks, Egrets, beautiful, nesting - colored Western Bluebirds, even a Sharp Shinned Hawk, rare in that we were in grassland, not forest where they are usually found. We drove home smiling at the bounty of beauty, and after a short while at home I decided to try out a brand new section of trail that would connect me all the way from the house to Sycamore Grove Park.

The trail was a creation of the City of Livermore, whom I thank for providing the means to enable me to leave the car parked while I wheeled the 4 and a half miles to the park. Along the way were songbirds, mockingbirds, birds of prey, wild turkeys with small turklets - very curious they were, so much so that mom & dad turkey had to herd them away from me as I approached them. A kite flew over, circling, circling until something caught its eye and it went into hover mode - the quick, silent flapping that lets it lie stealthily in the air over whatever it is about to kill. It hovered for several minutes, then flew off, circling higher, effortlessly catching the breeze and gaining altitude...

The new trail was nice. I felt good, but it had been a long time since I'd taken to our civic trails. The rolling of the trail over short, paved hills did nothing but give my winter - dormant psyche a lift. I coasted through Holdener Park, then down the hill toward Sycamore Grove, passing thousands of acres of our fabled Livermore Valley grapevines while maintaining a controllable speed. Small songbirds danced alongside puddles that lined the road. They seemed to be cheering me as I passed, and I reveled in the attention.

Sycamore Grove was beautiful, just weeks before Spring springs forth. I chatted for a minute with Ranger Amy, a member of the wonderful ranger / interpretive staff at The Grove. She offered some fresh highlights of the park, and I took note to get back soon. But I felt a little ragged, even after such a short cruise. I knew I had a lot of "up" to deal with on the trail home, so Ol' Paint and I saddled and "up" we went.

The long haul back up the trail wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. Sometimes, a trail seems easier if you talk yourself into thinking it'll be much harder than it is. I cruised up toward Arroyo Road, keeping pace with my idle thoughts; soon I had climbed enough to cross the road and enter the trail to Holdener Park again....it was on this stretch that the trek became grueling...

No, it wasn't because I was fatigued, even though somewhat out of shape. The trail was delightful; the problem was much worse - the splendor of this marvelously sunny day had allowed a longstanding block in my brain to soften. That block had held in forebearance thoughts of a song I'd hoped never to hear again, one that causes me to cringe in fear when driving, forcing me to pull over and look for one of my live Grateful Dead CD's. Here it was, though, making an unwelcome return from the 70's:

That song was none other than "Knock Three Times" by Tony Orlando and Dawn. And I was humming it! The song matched my cadence perfectly. I tried slowing, then speeding up just to throw it off and send it back to Big Hair Purgatory. Nothing worked, until, as if sent by a divine, forgiving force, a Northern Harrier flew just a few feet over my head, looking for a crow to harass. It was so close to me that I could see its beautiful eyes searching for its next lunch. As the bird flew over a rise., I heard the squak of alarm from 3 crows, flying at this moment much faster than crows should fly, with harrier in pursuit. Had I been in Vegas, I'd have known where to put my money.

The song eked its way out of my head as the breeze cooled and with it, my arms. I sped up to try to keep warm as the sun was an hour from setting, by my awkward calculation. I flew up and down, up and down over rolling trail until I reached the Marina Road section. It was now flat, and I was 2.5 miles from home. That was good.

Cruising at a modest pace, modest because by now I had realized how low my endurance level had become during a sedentary week or two, I noted the same kite I'd passed on the way out was still hunting. Kites are a favorite, hunting constantly, appearing to drift and float with the wind once in a while so we'll know they're cool. I watched as she settled over a soon - to - be unfortunate gopher or mole...eventually, the inevitable dive happened, and she flew home with her take out meal. Watching a kite hunt is a celebration of efficiency.

By now, I'd reached Concannon Drive. I was cooling rapidly as well as tiring. Caught up to Mocho Creek, around the school, across South Livermore Ave. and on the home stretch. The last 300 yards were the fastest - although I had a jacket in my pack, I decided to get home as fast as I could to get out of the breeze. Dusk had arrived, the sun was down and I was pleased to be inside. Had I been camping, I'd have cuddled in my warm down bag inside a nice, tautly erected tent and settled off to sleep.

The lesson of the weekend was simple. I need to get in shape again. That starts tomorrow night, as I'll be off to the gym. Summer and mountains will be sending me postcards soon, and I want to be ready. So here's to a weekend of flowers, birds and all the beautiful living things, people included, whose paths crossed mine. My best to all, and I'll be out there to do it again just as soon as I can. Join me, OK? We'll meet again in a few days, just you and me.

Beating The Annual Gas Price Frenzy!

Each year, it seems, I have to post something about gas prices, and how American consumers can lower them at the pump. Each year, I have the same answer.

It's not about Libya. It's not about unrest in the Arab world. It's not about anything political at all, no matter what the New York Times says.

It's about economics. It's about you and your driving habits. It's about American consumers setting the marketplace to their advantage. Really. It's this easy......

This is the time of year excuses spew from the PR machines of the oil companies. The Middle East unrest made it easy for 2011, and it's as good as they've been able to come up with in a while. It's not the usual "refineries close for maintenence" or "deliveries from Alaska are stalled by pipeline repairs". We now have Libya to blame for $4.00 / gallon gas. But the fix it is close as our car keys...

Here's how we do it, America. I want your undivided attention.

Stop driving so damn much. There. I said it. Believe it or not, the U.S.A. is almost oversupplied at this very point in time. As I drove CA Hwy 33 a couple of weeks ago, I found the Kern County oil fields blazing away with production - it appeared that 80 - 90% of the pumps were cranked up, well above the norm. Easy to wind them up when per barrel prices were above $92, much better now that Mideast "tensions" have moved the marketplace over $100.

But get on the floor in your lotus position and visualize something with me.

Close your eyes. Imagine planning a daily trip route each morning over that first cup of coffee. How often do you need to go out? Can you combine trips by parking at one shopping center or mall and picking up several things? Or can you walk to your kid's school with them, eliminating one short drive and perhaps getting to know your kids a little better?

Can you look at how many times you use the car each day and for how many miles, and cross at least one trip off - every day? If all drivers did that every day, we'd be at a critical oversupply in less than a month - really. It IS that simple. We've done it before, mostly in a reactive mode because we couldn't afford to use gas at the rates lower prices encourage.

Now is our chance to make a proactive statement. Stop making unplanned trips. Walk downtown once in awhile. Ride your bike. Walk the dogs to the local dog park instead of driving them. Then watch gas prices at the pump. Any contrived scarcity issues will have abated. Overstock will take its place - then it becomes as simple as supply and demand, just like high school economics taught us. Don't drive as much, the marketplace will react within weeks. Prices will drop, and it won't matter if the Mad Hatter or Santa Claus becomes the leader of Libya. If nobody's buying oil, the price will drop until we decide it's fair again.

But make no mistake - the oil companies will, believe it or not, report record profits in the first quarter. With your support, though, by the end of the third quarter their profits will be merely obscene rather than unconscionable. It's in our hands now. Park the pick up or SUV and drive the smaller car to work, or take public transportation (ACE train to the South Bay from Livermore is a special ride, by the way). Walk instead of driving when you can. All I ask is that you forego ONE TRIP a day. That's all it will take. All the phony "experts" in business or government won't convince me otherwise.

Take charge now! To quote Peter Finch in "Network": we should be "as mad as hell, and we're not going to take it anymore." Walk, ride, lose one trip a day....and you watch - prices will drop as we drive fewer miles. It's in our hands. Make it happen. Do your part to reduce oil industry bonuses! One less trip. And please - let me know what you're doing and how it's working for you! See you on the trail - NOT driving!  

Scouting Mission - Carrizo Plain Nat'l Monument

The drive down Interstate 5 is always a long, boring drag. Fast food and speeding traffic are the norm, but yesterday I made my first overnight foray of 2011 to a Central CA favorite of mine, the Carrizo Plain National Monument.

As far as monuments go, Carrizo is a little utilized, barely known three quarters of a million acre paradise. The main attraction each year, besides free campgrounds, is the early spring wildflower bloom. Although it's too early to tell yet how the bloom will be or when the peak will happen, I took a sunny weekend before a week full of rain to check on the potential for this season, and to see some of the other features of the monument.

Taking the Highway 58 exit which most people use to get to Bakersfield, I turned west instead, putting me on track to travel through such small stalwarts as Buttonwillow and McKittrick. Neither would be mistaken for a burgeoning suburb, and although they are just a few miles apart each is grounded in a completely different economy - Buttonwillow is an agricultural crossroads, while McKittrick is in the middle of Kern County's vast oil fields. For the sightseer, getting through them without stopping is the right thing to do.

Hwy 58 would eventually lead to Santa Margarita on the Central Coast, near Morro Bay and San Luis Obispo. But I wasn't going that far. This was a solo overnight campout on a perfect, warm winter day. I was going to gauge the pending wildflower bloom, to find out if Carrizo had gotten the early rainfall the rest of California got hammered with in late fall. 58 was empty, as usual. Not many cars or trucks travel this desolute route, which traverses western Kern County and its oil fields into the fertile farm and ranch land of eastern San Luis Obispo County. Parts of the monument are in Kern, the rest in SLO. One thing is unmistakeable - this is a monument with a zillion natural features, even when it's not yet wildflower season.

One of the most obvious as 58 ambles down toward the Plain, is the San Andreas Fault. The fault runs on the east side of the monument, at the base of the Temblor Range, a rugged series of wrinkles and push ups rising to over 4,000 feet. The animals and birds are what attract me, along with the wildflowers. You might run across a herd of pronghorn, or a small band of Tule Elk. Kangaroo rats will inevitably invade your campside as soon as the sun goes down, especially at the southernmost canpground, known simply as KCL. I've seen or caught an endangered snake, the San Joaquin Coachwhip, in the hills. Mega - sized jackrabbits might convince some that jackalopes live, and live at Carrizo. Small voles and mice abound.

My attraction to this place is all of the afore stated; the two campgrounds, Selby to the north and KCL farther south, each sport wheelchair accessible outhouses and nicely put together campsites. I've been comfortable here in warm sun and driving rain. And if you're not here during wildflower season, it's likely you won't have much company. I like that part in winter.

I chose to camp at KCL toward the southern acreage, because I knew there would be great horned owls and I needed an owl fix. The birds at sunrise are very noisy, so if you wish to camp at KCL be a bird lover. It annoys many. I found the perfect campsite, with just one drawback - the tent would be beneath one of the large eucalyptus trees, which are bird hotels. Knowing this, and that I'd have to wash the tent fly when I got home, I began to set up the tent anyway. I placed it with the entrance facing the south east, to get a wake up call from the rising sun right in my face. Didn't want to sleep too late, although it would be a relaxing night.

The setup was perfect. Not only did I have a clear view of the sunrise ready made in the morning, I found that as the half moon set a thousand galaxies became visible; I had camped in a postcard - view site, able to look out over a half million acres of green beauty, and all the stars in Heaven staring right back at me.

I wasn't very hungry and decided after the long drive to head to the tent and look up from inside. Laying flat on my back felt great; before I know it I had drifted off to dreamland, awakened only by the respectfully soft "whooo  - who who" of at least three resident owls. I woke at midnight, already having slept 5 hours. Took a short roll outside to listen for critters and saw in my headlamp another of my favorite residents, a kangaroo rat. I had to race him to the tent because I'd left the tent fly unzipped and he was making a b - line for it. They are such cool creatures! I herded him away from the tent and listened as he made his way into the thick, fresh stalks of young fiddlenecks, a ubiquitous early bloomer at Carrizo.

All night long I heard mice and other small rodents in the plants outside. At the same time the owls hooted, every so often getting an answer from a compadre in another tree. It was delightful to hear, happening just as I'd hoped it would, and caused a great sense of relaxation. I awoke this morning at 7:30 AM - I guess I needed it, and a 4wheelbob "thank you" to the Great Horned owls of Carrizo Plain.

I set off early this morning to come home, packing up quickly at 8:30. My camp is an easy set up, easy take down - nothing very difficult except finding the energy to say "time to go home." And for the first time in all my visits, I was going to exit the Plain at the south end, toward the sunny burg of Maricopa and the quiet, old empty Highway 33.

The south side of the monument was considerably greener than the grass of the north portion. Fiddlenecks and buttercups were beginning to show, and it looked as if this might be another banner year for wildflowers. The large number of marked BLM sites included Padrone Canyon and Traver Ranch, both begging for further exploration. The folds of the hills, hidden canyons a walk away, endless dirt roads to who - knows - where...all are among the features that call me back at least twice each year. I missed the pronghorns this time, but I'm sure they knew where I was. I'll be back in another month to six weeks to watch the bloom explode all over the monument. I expect it'll be a very good year, especially if this week's rain forecast holds true. Soda Lake, a seasonal alkaline sink was very close to full at this time. The lake is yet another attraction, as are the great fields of flowers north of the lake along the feeder creeks.

For the first time visitor, here's how it goes during wildflower season. Get there on a Thursday or very early Friday to be assured of a campsite in either Selby or KCL. Selby's got more sites and more room to improvise, but KCL is more picturesque. Oh, bring water - there isn't any available at either campsite, and it's a long drive to find any. I usually pack a 7 gallon jug no matter how long I'm there, just in case. And firewood...it gets cold at night, no matter what time of year. It can get windy, or rainy, or be hotter'n...well, you know. Dress accordingly.

Carrizo Plain National Monument deserves your attention. I suggest reading about it first on the BLM website (that's federal Bureau of Land Management for you who stay home too much), and call the number of the Guy Goodwin Education Center at the Plain for best wildflower viewing information. Will you see me down there? Watch this space for updates. Planning may be no more than a week in advance. But I'll be there again at some point, chasing kangaroo rats, listening to owls and convincing newbies that if you drive across the Plain to the San Andreas Fault and start jumping, you'll register on the seismograph at Parkfield....heh heh heh....I love newbies! See you there! 

February? Winter? REALLY????

Thoughts of snow, ice, cars sliding on Slurpee - covered roads and highways...that's been the past week in America, at least that's all we see day after day on the news. So for those of you experiencing such conditions, let me tell you how we in NorCal suffered over Super Bowl weekend:

It started with me getting out of the house at 9 AM Saturday. Expecting the usual low 40's of winter, I found instead a thermometer reading 68 degrees. It was 70 by 10. No clouds. No fog. Sabbath and I left a couple hours later for Saint Mary's College and a fantastic event for young people as well as old farts such as myself. After an afternoon of inspiring speakers and enthusiastic attendees, as well as Chris Major's incredible energy and leadership, we made it to McKeon Pavillion to sit on the floor as St Mary's (that's 20 - 4 SMC) put a whuppin' on Loyola Marymount. But Saturday was just a warm up.

Sunday morning came too quickly. We hemmed and hawed about where we'd go when Gina and I came up with the perfect solution - Pt. Reyes National Seashore. It would be a wonderful day (almost 80 in sunny Livermore) featuring unchecked visability - would we see the Farallons today? I was more interested in the great herds of elk that roam Pt. Reyes. We even had a trail in mind, one we'd partially finished a couple of years ago - Tomales Point Trail just above McClure's Beach.

The drive was sensationally easy, as most of the sedentary world was pre - filling up on Super snacks well before the kick off. We had no allegiances in the game so had no concerns about missing it. Arriving at the historic farm buildings at the Tomales Point Trailhead, we found it was already 2 PM. The sun was high and bright, though, and the cool (60) air cruising sedately over us from the sea to Tomales Bay created perfect conditions for a fine day on the trail, or to sit on a hillside and watch the waves.

We started off northbound on this perfect trail, rolling over soft dirt mixed with assorted rock on a level path. If a hiker stopped every few yards to look around, he or she would find a complete change of scenery with the movement along the path. It was easy to stop and take it all in on this spectacular winter day, too. The cool air tempted a good pace, and with each slight downgrade I coasted along the trail effortlessly taking it all in.

One of my favorite features of this trail is the short drop to a saddle followed by a long but fairly gentle uphill. It wasn't the grade that made this stretch a challenge as much as the ruts and narrow sections where I had to balance the chair on thin ridges of soft, sandy support. There was no danger unless I wished to take the more difficult parts. But the hill seemed unending; there was a summit point, but with each turn it moved farther away - it was a bit like watching parts of "The Shining", those parts where the hallways stretched out more and more.

This was not a hill that would have me breathing hard, either. It was just long. I stopped a lot, mostly to keep an eye out for the whales that cruise past this time of year. I had barely a few hours over our rainy winter to get some trail time in, so to say I reveled in this long roll is probably an understatement.

Gina and Sabbath had taken residence on a grassy hillside overlooking the beach and a beautiful feeder canyon where seasonal streams ran. Lest I forget this part as I froth over the wonderful day and trail, we watched a large (maybe 3 dozen) herd of elk munch fresh vittles as they grazed along unruffled by human observers. Elk were everywhere - my only outside disappointment was the lack of raptors riding the breeze. But I know I can expect them soon on the Bear Valley Trail as the ospreys nest. Gee, a reason to go back...what a tragedy!

This day was quite literally one in a thousand. Mother Nature might well have been sitting in my lap for the warmth I felt. And she's a loving Mom, too, tossing out a few early wildflowers as well as elk and deer by the dozen during the drive home. We were glad it was such a long, sedate drive from the trailhead to Highway 1. Although we all had obligations today, had this been a Saturday night we might have stayed in one of the many wonderful inns or B&B's in Olema or Pt Reyes Station. The day had been surreal, beauty at every turn and green being the Color of the Day - extending, we found on the drive home, to the football game that dominated America.

So for all of you in the Midwest and East, we're sorry we had no snow and 80 degree weather around the Bay. We apologize profusely that as we laughed in short sleeves along a coastal trail, you may not have had electricity and are huddled around the fireplace trying to keep warm. Mom Nature was riding the trail with us, and we didn't want her to be disappointed. For you, let's hope you thaw out soon, that you have ample firewood in the meantime and soon can think of a Spring that will be here shortly. And as you read news reports and headlines and wonder why we who are California natives love our state even with all its issues, look no further than a long coastal trail in a large national seashore...then wonder no more.    

A First Look At The Coyote Creek Trail

I had the pleasure of spending last night at the San Jose Fairmont, as a bonus of attending my annual office party at the San Jose Tech Museum. Being up early this morning, I decided to follow up a night in the South Bay with a day in the South Bay.

I'd been curious about a paved trail I'd seen for years along Coyote Creek south of San Jose, whenever I was driving driving on US 101. This afternoon I treated myself to a little discovery and a nice welcome from one of my favorite things - a long, paved trail.

The trailhead for this 14.5 long (one way) regional trail is east of Morgan Hill off Cochrane Road - take the exit off 101, go east a few miles, following the signs. The parking lot seems smallish, but there was still ample space for me to unload chair and myself. At first look, this trail appears to be a favorite of bicyclists, equestrians, walkers, runners and wheelchairs (I was one of three today).

But popularity isn't everything. The trail got points for following beautiful Coyote Creek, which was probably burbling along peacefully - but I couldn't hear it for the traffic noise from 101. No worries. There were birds - raptors, vultures, jays, woodpeckers and ducks. There were smiling faces from just about everyone, save for the earnest looking bicyclists trying hard to emulate the Tour De France and feeling that acknowledging anyone else might provide clues to some weakness; there was a radio control model aircraft park, hugely entertainiing as the very skilled pilots managed all kinds of tricks, and refraining from buzzing the people who walked past. There was gently rolling terrain, appearing as if the trail had been designed to be engaging without overtaxing the diverse communities of users.

Most of all, though, is that it provides another winter (as in "muck free") place for me to get out and stretch my wheels. One woman told me she thought it ended in Sunnyvale - that's a good, long way off. But this time of year I'm struggling to get trail time, and the Coyote Creek Trail fits the bill for shaking off winter rust and getting back into shape again.

Having arrived around 2:30 this afternoon, I did only a 6 mile round trip and barely scratched the surface. Perhaps next Sunday I'll do the entire 29 miles. Once away from the freeway the trail takes on a wilder character, much like EBRPD's Iron Horse Trail does. It'll also go through neighborhoods, which might add dining opportunities or a chance for coffee - that much is pure speculation, though, but you can bet I'll update you once I finish. Maybe I'll dare my office mates to go with me - I can think of a scarce few who wouldn't flinch at the thought of a 29 mile day hike with the crazy guy in the wheelchair...

My initial impression was quite positive, though. I look forward to the follow up visit as soon as my schedule permits. Some days I feel as if I'm taking on too much...but an afternoon on a trail like Coyote Creek offers the chance to relax, make a cooldown day of it and wander. It was a great find, an excellent alternative to football, and perfect on a 73 degree January afternoon. 4wheelbob gives a tentative "2 wheels UP!" to the Coyote Creek Trail, pending a longer and more thorough analysis. Stay tuned - but in the meantime, check it out. You just might get carried away and get in some copious midwinter mileage. Hope you have as good a time out there as I did! Happy Trails!

Coyote Hills Regional Park, Fremont CA

An extra day added to a weekend - what a novel idea! Spent a long day on the road yesterday exploring hidden canyons in the southern Diablos, and I was tired of driving....but still wanted OUT.

I hadn't decided which direction I'd be taking, and kinda let the car lead. Wanting out of the Valley fog, I headed toward San Francisco Bay and Coyote Hills Regional Park.

Five miles south on Hwy 880 the sun was shining, traffic was moving smoothly, all was well. But as suddenly as the sun appeared, it vanished. As I got near the park's entrance, fog shrouded the grounds, trails, people walking along the road.

But far from being discouraging, I knew that this thick soupy stuff could lift just as quickly as it ate the Hills. I parked and was off, heading for the marsh and the Bayview Trail loop. Birds were bound to be abundant, at least I had hoped.

A slow cruise north from my car came the first signs of Good Things to Come - A "V" of Canada Geese flew just overhead, quietly honking other bird traffic out of the way. Canvasbacks, coots and mallards dotted the marshes. A white tailed kite chased and was chased by a northern harrier. My day had just begun, and was already made.

Bayview is a paved loop, usable by hikers, bikes, runners and wheelchairs alike. It's a gently rolling trail, with built - in accesses to the Alameda Creek Regional Trail as well as Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge. It's a favorite of Fremonters and Newarkians alike, but there's enough space that no one feels crowded. I rounded a corner and, heading west, got my first look at the Bay.

Soon after I saw my first long - legger, a Common Egret feeding on the hillside between the trail and the Bay. I stopped to chat with her, but she could hardly be bothered. I have that effect on women, I guess. At least she didn't fall asleep.....

The trail is an easy one for me, as it combines gentle up / downhills to make for a low stress hike. Throw in some of my favorite raptors, a gaggle of squirrels, and a few gamebirds (they didn't name it the Quail Trail for nothing!) and you have a recipe for a nice, short hike in bayside suburbia.

As I rounded the corner near Don Edwards and the new group camp at the Old Quarry parking area, the sun broke through, melting away the fog. I sat and chatted with some nice folks who'd made the trip to scout the route for a 5K / 10K / half marathon scheduled for 1/29. I'll be there, but no scouting necessary - I'll be a course worker. I watched a courting pair of kites  flutter over various potential lunches, then dart after each other and land in a leafless tree. Another harrier flew low over a goose patrol that barely noticed. Canadas have that "bring it on, dude" collective look when threatened. If I'm that harrier, I'm picking on ground squirrels...

The stroll went faster than I'd anticipated, and I realized once done that I'd better start picking up my conditioning focus. But it made for a pleasant early afternoon, and as I left the park I turned on the radio in time to hear the end of one of my favorite oratory pieces - Dr. King's "I Have A Dream" speech. Hearing it still gives me goose bumps. When it was finished, I turned off the radio and reflected, all the way home. All that reflection makes for quite a glow, and that's how it ended. Another nice day in our parks. Let freedom ring!

Just One Wheel After the Other...

I run across a zillion really good, appropriate quotes that put into context my personality and drive. One of my favorites:

"A pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty."
- Sir Winston Churchill

I'm an optimist, perhaps in combination with a realist, and a little masochist. I don't mind a little pain as long as what's gained from it outweighs the hurt. Every time I head out for a hike, to summit North Peak or Mission Peak - again - I know the end of the day is going to find me staring into space after hours of trying to find my limit. And there'll always be a smile.

So far, so good. Limits are sometimes temporary, when common sense tells me that today might not have been the best day for a given trail (or trial, as the case may be). No worries. I'll try again tomorrow. No analysis or self criticism necessary. I'll keep trying until it gets done, or I determine that the pain has finally outweighed the value of the journey.

Now, that doesn't happen too often. I don't like losing, especially to a mountain or long trail. After all, they're usually static, right? It's a matter of pushing each wheel, and if the chair moves forward you'll eventually get there.

Maybe you've sensed that I'm getting to something. Although my experiences are just as slow and perhaps grueling as painted, I propose they are also metaphors to which each of us can relate. There's much value in getting there on our own path, in our own way, however we wish to take the journey. There may be triumphs and setbacks, achievements and failures, elation or frustration. What matters is the story is yours. Each day we have the opportunity to do wonders, or not; to test limits, or not; to participate in our own stories......or not.

For me, the story is written with stark simplicity - it's one wheel after the other. Every day I have to wonder - where will each push lead me? Yet off I go, one more chapter provided, the story's end well down the road. May you take full advantage of yours. Each of us has a Steinbeck, a Keats, a Poe within us, whether we transcribe our stories to page or not. I hope that yours leaves you with a smile on your face and light glowing in your heart. To life!

Somber Thoughts After a Tragic Weekend

Being positive is something I endorse heartily. And usually it's easy to see the bright side of things. This weekend's shootings of a US Congressmember and the senseless loss of innocent lives in Arizona got the best of me, though. I drove south of town this afternoon, radio off, just trying to figure out what's up with our civilization these days. Hopefully, this'll make some sense.

There's something about the world we live in compared to even a half century ago. World population has exploded. That's not news. Resources are being consumed at unsustainable levels all over the globe. Tempers run short in our tiny vehicles as we drive to and from work, look at someone in another car a fraction of a second too long, or make a mistake while driving. There seems to be a general decrease in civility among all people these days, whether there's a reason or not.

I notice when I'm out for a roll how people gather but rarely talk. The proliferation of electronic devices with which we can claim to communicate better has really had the opposite effect. The loss of face - to - face contact has emboldened and desensitized us - interpersonal communication is quickly becoming an emotionless, cliche ridden choice for increasing numbers of people. I've watched tables at my favorite coffee shop with 4 or 5 people sitting silently, sending text messages or blogging or using social networking at the expense of looking another human being in the eye, expressing their feelings (along with the emotion which comes with a voice), maybe holding a hand or saying "I love you" to someone who might really need to hear that. Reading a text may be OK for some, but there is no feeling, no soul involved - no real emotion expended, no real connection....and therein lies the rub.

We're losing out on our ability to connect with each other. For the suspect in the Tucson shooting, well, what if a friend had spoken with him, talked to him, not simply seen video or read a rant on a social site? Could something have been said, face to face, so 13 lives wouldn't have had to been either lost or forever changed yesterday? I don't know the answer; I wish I did. But part of who I am is that I enjoy talking to people, in person, as often as I can. The incredible anger, frustration, misguided hostility toward people that's exhibited on virtually every social media channel must be dealt with. No, I'm not talking about censorship, or government intrusion into our use of the internet. It's much simpler than that.

What if we said "hello" to people we pass on the street instead of looking away, avoiding the eyes of another? What if we chose to leave the internet for more hours each day than we are on it, instead making that choice to meet for coffee or a meal or just to come over and play "Monopoly"? What if we took the time to listen to our friends, and lend a shoulder on which to comfort or a hand to hold when we feel we're hearing a cry for our attention? I could go on, as you, hopefully, are doing right now.

A Member of Congress critically woulded, her life never to be the same. The families of those who lost their lives in a state of absolute innocence forever changed. Our nation shaken, once more, by gun violence because, perhaps, there was no one there to listen, to notice, to share a moment...

I wonder if the shooter's on line posts were met with "LOL" or derisive comments by people who didn't know him? I wonder at what point he lost touch with reality and no one was there to check him? I wonder what video games he played to encourage him that it was OK to kill a 9 year old girl? I wondered a lot this weekend. And I've come to no conclusions, solutions or ideas.

I'll humbly make this suggestion, though. Let's shut off the electronic conveniences that seem tethered to our consciousness. Let's listen to each other instead of being afraid to see the look in the eyes of another. We don't have to agree all the time, or rarely, or never. But without an enhanced version of The Human Experience, Early 21st Century - style we may lose touch en masse with those very traits that make us human. Call or meet a friend. Tell them you're thinking of them. Tell them you love them. But for the sake of everyone, don't put them on "Ignore" and leap back into Digi - World for a laugh at a video of someone falling off a roof or something. We need each other. Maybe if we have the capacity to care for one another, this proliferation of inhumane, vile attacks on each other will cease.

It's that hope to which I cling. Share it with me, and with me work toward a more loving world. Thank you! 

another Year In The Books!

I'm not sure when, precisely, I stopped giving much thought to getting older. Five, Ten and Fifteen were all good years, looking forward to all the trappings of adult life. Twenty, Twenty five and Thirty had me beating my head against the wall, looking back and wondering what the rush to get here was all about. Along the way I acquired an illness that would become my constant companion for as many years as it chose to behave. And it brought along some friends, none of which are pals of mine.

Nonetheless, each day got easier despite assignment to a wheelchair at Thirty Five, and developing some other, minor deviations from the norm. The chair became a challenge, mostly - a challenge to myself and to the many who believed that such a cruel existance was the end of the line. Needless to say (at least to those who know me well or have read of me or seen me on TV) that little notion was disproved, and by Forty Five I had solidified my place as "America's #1 Wheelchair Hiker" (Tom Stienstra, SF Chronicle) or as the one who spawned "How the hell did you get up to the top of this mountain?" as a common greeting from hikers everywhere.

Here's the best part - from Fifty on, I've felt younger, stronger, more energetic than ever. With each new trail, new mountain, new state there is an accompanying new challange. And have I said that I adore challenges? For this year, maybe I'll have time and funds to head to Tanzania and close down Kilimanjaro without assistance. Maybe I'll FINALLY be able to keep up with Fireman Matt at Livermore's Relay for Life this summer and pace him all 24 hours. Maybe I'll do my long planned Sierra crossing - from east to west over Kearsarge Pass. Each week or weekend will be a gas, though, as I rarely fail to have a good time.

So now it's Fifty Six, an unthinkable number at Fifteen ("56? Your blood boils if you walk too fast!") but both the energy and commitment are still there. Most of all, I hope to be on the road meeting as many of you as I can. Life is all about the people, you see, because we're here for each other - to share ideas, thoughts, successes and failures....and keep coming back for more. So here's to another year - with good friends, whether I've met them yet or not!

When You Open Your Eyes...

....to what's going on around you, anything can happen.

Consider today. In the Bay Area, we had two NFL teams finishing lost seasons, the games meaning nothing. As I sipped coffee watching the first quarter of the 49er game this afternoon, I figured that almost ANYTHING would be better than watching the game. I got out to the car and looked around - the rain had turned to the leaky - faucet type, drippy but not adding substantially to the water table. I headed out on a favorite drive, Mines Road south of Livermore. Once on this small, infrequently traveled back road, I could look around for 31 miles before deciding to turn east and down into the San Joaquin Valley, or continue south over Mt. Hamilton. But I get ahead of the story.

Every drive out Mines, as we call it, usually gives us a chance to see some new wildlife or wildlife behavior. This has been my experience for 30 years - it's an incredible drive, quiet, perhaps lonely if you can ascribe such an emotion to a certain topography. For me, it's alive. Water's flowing everywhere, creating miniature waterfalls and creeks in every low rivulet.

Within five miles of the start, I ran across two young eight point bucks, whitetails, it appeared. They were nonchalant even as I stopped to say hello while they grazed. It was a good sign. The inclement weather seems to have stirred the critters....

The drive always gives me time to think, too, maybe sort things out. I can stop almost anywhere and wait for deer to cruise through, or turkeys to forage while I watch from a mere few feet away. Heck, I bring a chair, and can sit for hours. It's amazing what wanders by as I stop to look around. Acorn woodpeckers, crows, flickers...all are well represented on Mines Road. Wood ducks? Yes, I know where they live. Coyotes, foxes, bobcats? Almost every time. All it takes to see them is to turn off the car, turn off all the noise we humans tend to make, and wait. Thank you, Ranger Patti Cole of LARPD for that timeless advice.

The special part of the day came just a few minutes after I pulled in to San Antonio Valley. Usually I make a left and roll down Del Puerto Canyon 30 miles to Patterson. For the first time in years, though, I decided to try Mt. Hamilton Road. I remembered it as a slow, winding morass of a road, especially difficult once past the summit at Lick Observatory and on the downslope to San Jose. Out here, Silicon Valley felt a thousand miles away. Choosing the Mt Hamilton Route would mean a slow, 38 mile drive from San Antonio Valley. It would be dark by the time I was heading down, but the views are fantastic from the Bay Area's highest point.

But back to San Antonio Valley. Moving south towards Mt. Hamilton, I noted several people with cameras or binoculars slowly walking along the road, looking for / at birds, it appeared. I didn't stop to ask, not wanting to disturb them. And since there was no traffic at all, I drove between 20 - 30 MPH toward the mountain while looking out the window.

Still in the valley, and surrounded by sparse woodland and open meadows, I pulled off at a gate when I saw somwthing that made my day. A dozen (I counted an even 12) tule elk were grazing about 250 yards south of the road. I KNEW they lived out here, but had never run across them. I got the chair out along with my small and completely inadequate camera and sidled up to the fence. I was of no concern to them as they slowly moved around to the freshest grass. I sat in a light rain for forty minutes watching these beautiful, huge animals that look to the casual observer like a cross between a mule deer and a draft horse. There was only one adult male (a dang good ratio if you ask me!) keeping a lookout over his girls. He stared me down but wasn't motivated to aggression due to the distance between us. But I was captivated. I'd added this day to my "Once In A Lifetime Mines Road Excursions", usually limited to wildflower season.

The point at which I spotted the elk was on private property just a few miles north of the Henry Coe State Park boundary. And in Silicon Valley, I'll have to explain tomorrow what a tule elk is. That gives me the opportunity to create another bizarre trail story, kinda like my flying rattlesnake and carnivorous butterfly stories...yes, they believe them. No, I don't always come clean and let them know I'm making them up. But I've still got them hooked on jackalope migrations each winter in N. Arizona...wonder where I can take this one? Tule elk...I've got some ideas, though.

After that stop, the ride over Mt Hamilton and into San Jose was anti - climactic. The road was as gnarly as I recalled, and several times I had to remind myself there can't really be any such thing as a 720 degree turn...but it sure seemed like it.

I'll post the photos I took if I can manage some compu - zoom so you can see their smilin' elk faces better. But January 2, 2011 will be remembered as a rare day, indeed - both the Niners and Raiders won, and 4wheelbob communed with elk on a drippy, delightful Sunday! See you out there soon, somewhere, on a trail!