The general wastelands are not lightly traveled…stories and tips from the Southern Californian deserts from 2010.

One of many unusual things that lurks in the desert...

It’s quiet. That’s usually the first thing you notice when you are in the desert. It’s not the quiet of a city, where things stop for a split second, leaving only the hum of lights burning the fluorescent orange glow into the low hanging clouds of the night sky, and then the noises restart so quickly that one forgets that there even was a moment without sound. It’s not the quiet of the mountains, where winds whisper across the rocks and make them groan from the cold long nights. It’s not the quiet of the forest, where the trees talk to the ground, the ground talks to the stars, and the animals walk between all of those noises. It’s not the quiet of the jungle, where the day shudders with the sound of constant growth and the chatter of bugs. It’s not even the quiet of the ocean, which murmurs comfortable nothings, nor the quiet of ice that blinds your ears with the sound of death. The desert is none of those things. It is the quiet of the unknown.

It is not just the quiet of the unknown that permeates the desert. It is the quiet of the unexpected. It’s the silence of the calm before the storm. It’s the silence of rapidly building heat. It’s the silence of icy cold. It’s the silence of a coming storm, of wind that scourges sand over your bones, or rain that floods and rushes over all that it sees. It’s the silence of shifting terrain, from flat plateaus, to boulder strewn hills, to impossible mountains and shifting dunes, and everything in between. It’s the lack of water where springs are marked on maps, and impossible wells where there should be none. It’s the quiet of a changing landscape, where things fade out of wavy lines into substance, and then disappear again, and of things that stay fixed in one spot, but should not be corporeal. Above all, it’s the silence that is the desert, a silence that seems to be watching you at all times.

One cannot travel in the desert and not be changed by it. Whether it is a simple case of nerves, or actual oddities, the desert changes you, just as surely as your tracks change its features. Just as easily, if you are not prepared, a desert can make you fade from existence with its sliding sands and vastness as if you never existed. Desert travel involves a lot of risks because of the unknown and unexpected variables. But, in my opinion, the risks are well worth it, as the desert possesses a cold and majestic beauty, and many undiscovered wonders. Practically, deserts cover over one fifth of the earth’s surface, and in some instances are growing. In fact, some leading scientists believe that should global warming continue to go forward, eventually, the earth’s surface will be one large desert, an idea that’s somewhat popularized in the upcoming movie Obselida (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qhly0dt8Fj0). Despite how the world may or may not end, there are many amazing things to see in deserts; things of wonder; things of beauty; and unexpected and unknown things. Since I’m in Southern California, I’m fortunate to be near a number of deserts – if not one large un-named desert, so the next couple weeks will be stories from things I’ve seen this year as I once again explored some new and favorite locations this winter and spring. So, let me be your guide, and follow me out into the invisible unknown wastelands that I know.

Xterra Malibu Creek Challenge Trail Run – May 8, 2010

Hills that were not run up and down at Malibu Creek SP during the race.

Full disclosure: I ran a bad race. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Realistically, I didn’t run that bad of a race. I still finished sixth in my age bracket, and in the upper teens for the race as whole. Out of a field of over seven hundred and fifty, I really shouldn’t be complaining at all. I’m also not going to make excuses either: sure, I had to get up super early to be at the race site; and yeah, last week, and this week, I’ve been battling some sort of respiratory crud; and I didn’t position myself correctly at the start, and got stuck behind some really slow people, but making excuses is silly.

I ran the race badly, and making excuses doesn’t change that fact, and to me, it diminishes the accomplishments of the people that were there who ran a good race, if not a great race at times. Realistically, had I been healthy, and had I done some things differently, would I have won the race? No, probably not. So, there’s no need to make excuses. When I ran Black Mountain, after I finished the race well, a person who had finished behind me came up to me during my cool down, and started telling me how “if he had been healthy he totally would have schooled me”. I listened politely and smiled, but what I was really thinking was, “You just had the whole race to ‘school me’, but you didn’t, so get out, guy!” For me, you either live up to your word, or you don’t, and if you don’t, you shouldn’t try to drag others down with you. I ran badly this week; others ran better, all I can do is get back into the groove and run better in my next race.

Despite my ineptitude, there were a lot of things I loved about this race. First and foremost would be the setting. I haven’t spent a lot of time in Malibu Creek State Park (http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=614), but the scenery was amazing, especially this time of year with all the rain we received, everything was a lush, verdant green. The second thing I liked was the course layout. It was a somewhat brutal course, with a slight uphill grade for the first mile, broken by a steep uphill up some single track trail to the summit, followed by a slant downhill from single to wide track. But that’s how a trail run should be, with steep grades, single track trail, and some stretches of double to wide track to allow people to pass. It was an immense and impressive improvement from the Lake Las Vegas “trail” run which was really a road race. The third thing was the level of competition. When I broke into the single track section, I was surrounded front and back by runners who were in great shape and form all struggling to hit the hill and maintain their positions. No quarter was asked, and none given. It was a great group.

In terms of my race, I did not follow a number of my unofficial rules. I did not position myself well in the start group. I was at the race early enough to be in a good spot, but I mentally checked out for a bit while I was talking to some people, and then had to hustle to make the start. This caused me to burn a fair amount of extra energy in the first mile to get around people, which in turn threw off my overall race pace. The one thing I did do well (fortunately) was run to my strengths. I managed to pass a fair amount of people at the beginning of the hill climb, and maintain my position throughout the single track, but at that point, the damage had already been done to my time and my placing. I managed to keep a decent pace, and pushed it at the end to pass a few more people, but realistically, I didn’t have the mental focus that I needed to finish strong as I knew I was out of contention. Despite all of that, I’ll definitely be back next year, as it was a great race, and a lot of fun. Racing badly also has now given me a little extra motivation to finish out the series strong here at home at the end of the month at Mission Trails, so running a “bad” race isn’t all bad! 

Red Tide! Red Tide!

Waiting for the bioluminescence...On Sunday night I found myself down under a local empty lifeguard tower, watching the clouds seeping over the ocean as the sky darkened. The wind pushed me back against the rocks I was sitting on and I instinctively shivered. I quietly took in the scene but kept most of my attention on the relentless waves. The sky went from blue to charcoal over the ocean to glowing orange over the city while the stars and planets switched themselves on in the growing darkness. I still watched the waves intently. Then, I saw it in lazy ripples at the edges of the water, a dim glow. On the next large break, it came into focus. The wave crackled as it crashed ashore. Every facet of its face flickered as it broke on the beach, before receding back into the black ocean. I grinned. Despite its potential harmful properties, the red tide had returned to San Diego and was putting on a small show.

The “red tide” is caused by a large growth of algae – dinoflagellates – in a particular area. The large growth or “blooms” of these organisms cause the water to turn red – or brown in the affected area during the day, but at night, the movement of the water causes the dinoflagellates to emit bright flashes of light. As a result, when one is watching a red tide, one is watching the interaction between water and millions of microscopic creatures – something that is fairly interesting to think about; additionally, it is also interesting to note that bioluminescence of the plankton is not fully understood yet. (http://explorations.ucsd.edu/biolum/). However, there are harmful effects of large algal blooms to both sealife and potentially people in areas where there is a red tide. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algal_bloom).

To my untrained eye, I’d say that the red tide that’s occurring in San Diego right now is a somewhat small – while the waves were glowing, it was nothing compared to some of the bigger blooms I have seen during the summers here. One summer when I was working at Torrey Pines State Reserve, the water turned blood red near the coast, and at night, the waves and sand sparkled with light. Compared to that, this red tide is somewhat ethereal and insubstantial. But, if you’re in the greater San Diego region (probably not much further than Oceanside), and you’ve never seen a red tide before, you should head out to the beach just after sunset, preferably somewhere with limited lights, and check it out to see the mystery of nature in action before it fades out completely for now. 

How Changing a Tire Becomes an “Epic Adventure” – or, it’s all about perspective.

My drawing skills and handwriting skills are atrocious. I know. :)In my life, I get asked two questions above all others. One is “How are you still alive?!?!?” which is always asked in an incredulous tone. The second is, “How do you manage to get yourself in all of these situations??!?!”. The answer to the first question is a trade secret. Someday, I’ll reveal it, when I figure it out. The answer to the second question is harder. I usually laugh it off. Sometimes, I’ll try to explain that I have the devil’s luck (http://www.lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/4/29/smoke-em.html), sometimes I confine my response to “wrong time, right place”, and sometimes, I’ll try to explain that it’s all a question of perspective about whether the incident was extraordinary or not.

For example, a couple of Wednesdays ago, I left my office. While sitting in a long line of cars, I saw something that did not belong in the day-to-day sameness. It was a car with a flat tire parked up against the curb. Behind the car, an old man was struggling to get the spare out of the trunk. After watching seven cars pass the old man without stopping, I realized that I would be ashamed to proceed any further without helping. I pulled out of the line of cars I was sitting in. I parked on the curb behind the old man. I introduced myself and offered to help. He told me he was 87 years old, and among other things, very grateful for any help I could give him. I rolled up my sleeves, got the spare out, wheeled it over to the flat, and then noticed that the car wasn’t really on the jack that he had put under it.

As I hesitantly reached in to see whether I needed to remove the jack entirely and replace it, the car shifted. I jerked my questioning left arm back, but not fast enough. Something clipped it – the bumper, the car, whatever – something. Blood began to well out of a gash. Shaking my head at my own naiveté, I went back to my car, and bandaged my arm. Then, I went back to the old man’s car, laughed off his comment that he had thought I was leaving, and finished changing the tire. After he and his wife thanked me, they drove off. I then continued on home, and cleaned and bandaged the wound. Later, at dinner with friends, one of them pointed at my arm and asked what had happened. I told them, and as they shook their heads in disbelief, the above question came up. Amused, I told them that it was nothing, because it was within the normal range of experiences in my day-to-day life. At that point, looking at their faces, I could tell that their perspective, it was an adventure.

Despite this, I was nonplussed. The next day, I was with some different friends, when the subject came up again as the bandage was still there. One friend kept asking me, “how exactly did that happen?”. And, after I had explained it a number of times, he was still curious – and had a number of questions I couldn’t answer. Laughing, I told him that I didn’t have the answers to his questions because I had been too busy trying to save my arm. As I joke, I told him that I’d draw him a picture of the events. After finding pen and paper, I began to draw a picture – but in the midst of drawing poorly, I realized that I’d rather make a joke out of it, and began to make some additions. The picture you see at the top is my recollection of the picture I drew for him. Yes, my art skills are horrendous. And yes, my handwriting is even more awful.

In the picture, fish fly across the sky, trees have wisdom, the old man was an evil wizard, and there was a summoning circle to another dimension, among other things. When I was done, I handed it across to him, and said pithily, “This should answer all of your questions!”. He stared at it for a bit, and very rightly criticized my drawing and handwriting, but laughed about things. Later, when I was at home, I realized that the story had become an adventure due to the attention and silliness that had followed it.

In that way, perspective’s an interesting thing – it changes based on time, place, and sometimes, the reactions of others. I find it’s always good to try and consider as many perspectives as I can, when I’m making a decision, solving a problem, addressing disputes, dealing with crises, accepting rejection, or simply choosing a flavor of ice cream, before remembering who I am, and using that perspective to do what needs to be done. I find if you want to have an adventure, all you need to do is change your perspective. Adventure is everywhere. My tip: start small, consider different things, and work your way up from there; and always be ready to deal with small issues, like scraped arms, with a smile.

I’ll be out at the Xterra Malibu Creek race tomorrow (http://www.trailrace.com/malibu.html) for most of the morning, racing and talking, if anyone wants to swing by. Next week: race coverage, and an extended series of posts about desert adventuring and the perils it may entail….

The “DC” – Step lightly, dangerous at any speed since days of yore.

Some of the DC in action...but not taking a step back.It’s lonely being an adventurer. The remote places of the world don’t speak homo sapiens, at least not verbally, and if you think they are, chances are that you’ve been out in the wild too long. It’s tough being an adventurer. Bad weather leads to close quarters at times, which leads to murderous tent fever between even the best of friends. It’s dangerous being an adventurer; the world barely knows that you stand upon it; and the stars can’t see you from that far away, so when disaster strikes, you’re on your own. It’s beautifully complicated being an adventurer, because it’s hard to articulate that heart stopping serendipity that permeates every aspect of your soul when you see aspects of the unknown in far-off spots; but fortunately, there’s glossy 4 x 6 prints, and stories that last beyond the arc of a lifetime, if you’re lucky.

It’s interesting being an adventurer, because everyone inherently wants to explore this planet in their own way; and if you’re personable, eventually you persuade one person to come along with you; and another; and then another; and then, before you know it, you’re surrounded by the very people you wanted to avoid, but if you’ve done a good job, you realize that you don’t mind at all. I’ve led expeditions; I’ve rescued expeditions; I’ve gone on solo expeditions, and most famously, I punched someone on an expedition after he nearly dragged my team down a crevasse. After all of this, I can fairly say that I wouldn’t want to have any other group of adventurers with me than my current hiking group, the DC.

What does the “DC” stand for? Dorky crickets. Danger curtains. Double coco. Dodo chase. District chipper. Dastardly calm. Daffodil covenant. Dancing couches. It stands for anything you want it to be, because it’s really about the people. Literally, it stands for “DEATH CLUB” because one year, I took some people to Death Valley. The week after my trip, a friend of mine was talking to me, and when she heard about it, she said, “What’ve you got going there, some sort of death club?” before laughing. Later on, when I was asked to led hikes, there was no doubt in my mind what I would call the group.

Enough about names. What makes the group exceptional are the people. The group’s got people who went up Whitney in legendary fashion. It’s people who are willing to put up with rain, wind, triple digit temperatures, mountains, desert, beach, forest, snow, ice, sun, and hiking in the dark. It’s people scaring people with noises of mythical creatures. It’s people solving puzzles; debating the state budget without understanding it; noting that dirt is brown; laughing; and occasionally saving the planet when asked to do so. The DC is people who read my crazy e-mails and laugh at them, and it’s people who Photoshop pictures of group trips. Most of all, the DC is people finding adventure everywhere, because they know that adventure is lurking beyond every corner of life. It’s a group of people that I feel privileged to take out into the wild each month. So, this is for you guys – thanks for coming along and making each experience I plan that much better by your presence there. It’s probably also worth mentioning that we were out yesterday, enjoying the day – maybe next month, if you’re a hiker or bystander, you’ll see us out there, because when it comes down to it, there’s really no mistaking us. See you on or off the trail!Marine mammals - deadly when sleepy.

Xterra Black Mountain Trail Run, March 14, 2010 5/15k

Authorized fourth gear speed only. It’s too damn dark. That was the first thought in my befuddled head as my alarm shouted loudly. My second thought was simply frustrated. I goddamn hate spring back, fall forward and all of that Daylight Savings bullcrap! My third thought was garden variety surly. Why am I doing this again? I didn’t have the answer to the last question; and I certainly couldn’t change the planet’s rotation to make me feel extra rested, so I did what any rational person would do, and rolled out of bed, cursing. After a bit, I felt semi-human, and slogged out to my car to drive up to the second regional SoCal Xterra race at Black Mountain. (http://www.trailrace.com/blackmtn.html).

As luck – or misfortune had it, the Black Mountain run had fallen on the Sunday which the clocks were changed, leaving me – and everyone else with one hour less of sleep prior to the race. As I watched the sun rise as I drove to the location, I felt a little less cranky. It was going to be a pretty day. But then, mini-disaster struck. I followed the directions to the race location, only to find that there was no race location there. As I scratched my head, checked my clocks and the date on my calendar, I saw other drivers who were clearly runners as well, driving in circles like hypnotized chickens. Rather than do the reasonable thing and follow one of them, I kept driving around in my own circles in increasing desperation until, out of spite, I followed one to the right location for the race. At this point (a month later) I can’t find the directions that I had that day, and I’m not sure if I read them correctly as I was very tired that day, but let this be a reminder of what I discussed last post (http://www.lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/4/30/the-worlds-fastest-5k-the-carlsbad-5000-april-11-2010.html), to always allow yourself enough time prior to the race to get there and get ready.

Despite my potential directional incompetence, I got to the starting line just in time to hear the announcer discussing how the course was going to be an “in and out” track, meaning that we’d have to come back up the same hill we ran down. I lodged that fact and started hopping around to stay loose in the chilly, dewy air. The next thing I knew, the gun had fired, and I was mid-pack charging down the hill. As more and more people passed me, I began to wonder if I was just that slow, or I was having that bad of a day, or what exactly was going on. As we hit the turnaround point, the track leveled out, and I looked back up at the steep ascent up the hill in front of us. I could still see the leaders, and as my legs churned up the hill, I began to pass people, slowly, at first, and then in groups and bunches. Before I knew it, I had separated myself from the horde of tired runners who had blown their speed in the first part of the race, or didn’t have the legs to charge the hill.

My words of wisdom for this type of situation are therefore pretty simple: first, always run your race. Don’t worry about who’s passing you; or who you’re passing. Unless you’re that good, chances are there’s someone faster than you, so accept that fact, and do the best you can, but not on someone else’s terms. Second, on an “in and out” trail run, don’t burn your energy on the easy, downhill portion of the race. Save it for the killer ascent on the way back. But, back to the race. Even though I was running my race, I left a little time on the course by not pushing it as hard as I could after the person in front of me near the finish. As such, I finished fourth, but I’ll definitely be back next year with a better knowledge of the course, more motivation, and hopefully, a better night’s sleep. 

The World’s Fastest 5k– the Carlsbad 5000, April 11, 2010

My favorite Floyd song "Fearless" off of "Meddle"

Tick tick tick. Bounce bounce bounce. My head was bobbing to the plastic beats of Just Impolite by Plushgun as I waited to turn. The track was a great addition to my music library based on the suggestion of my good friend Kevin, who always keeps me updated on music and all things technology related. (Catch his blog here: http://iphoneliving.blogspot.com/). “I walk the line like Johnny Cash” I wailed along to the lyrics as I shook it out behind the wheel. I knew I was being watched by the car next to me, but as always, I didn’t care. I did, however, feel relieved that they couldn’t hear my atrocious singing. Then, the light clicked over, I threw a smile at my audience next to me, mashed the pedal, and zipped onto the freeway. The iPod clicked and whirred and skipped to Something Good Can Work by Two Door Cinema Club, and I set to work butchering the lyrics to that at seventy-five miles an hour across the Southern California northbound freeways.

Despite it being cloudy, I was feeling good and ready for the Carlsbad 5000. I had my eighties headband on, and, as seen above, my Pink Floyd t-shirt in honor of the 25^th anniversary of the race. In case you’re from a part of the world that hasn’t heard about it, the race is a standard five kilometer along the Pacific ocean on paved roads, and over the last two decades has developed a well deserved reputation for being the “fastest” such race in the world. (http://www.carlsbad5000.com/Home.html). Each year the race attracts a large field of serious, bona fide competitors, and a larger crowd of aspiring athletes and happy locals. This year, the weather was sadly, a little overcast, cool, and windy, but overall, not too bad.

After arriving in Carlsbad, I set about looking for parking. Due to the size of the race, start times were staggered for the different age groups and genders. As my friends jokingly told me, I was in the “old man group” of men aged 30-39. My first pro tip for racing in general is that no matter the size of the race, always arrive early, to have plenty of time to park, get warmed up, and possibly inspect the course. At a large event like Carlsbad, extra time is a necessity, as I think I spent thirty minutes trying to find a spot. Once I had my spot, I walked to the start area, and found the area packed with runners and friends. Surprisingly, I found my friends, Steph and Nina who were running the woman’s race after mine, and after talking with them for a couple minutes, headed off to get ready. After stretching it out and jogging around, I went to position myself for the starting gun.

This brings me to my second tip: in large races, signs will be present regarding positioning for the race, based on mile times, such as “Nine minute mile”, “Eight Minute Mile”, or whatever a person’s pace is per mile. My tip is as follows: always position yourself accordingly! If you place yourself in too fast of a group, you’re going to negatively impact faster runners behind you; or, if you’re me, you’re going to hurt your time by placing yourself in too slow of a group, and have to pass people earlier and inopportune spots than you would otherwise choose to do so. In this respect, I mis-judged my conditioning. I knew that a road race was not my type of race, as I do a lot of cross-country, hill training as opposed to straight, flat, speed training. With this in mind, I placed myself mid-way between the six and seven minute mile pace, only to find that the group around me was way too slow overall for how fast I was running.

Despite this mistake, the race was fantastic; it’s an amazing experience to come down the straightaways in Carlsbad with all of the people cheering; and the views of the ocean at the midpoint are always nice, even on a cloudy day. While I was nowhere close to winning, I did manage to finish within the top finishers of my class, and even had enough energy to run the race again with Steph and Nina later on. I’ll definitely be back at it next year, hoping to improve upon my time and possibly pass a few more of my challengers then!