Re-Introducing The Motorway

Saturday morning about 9 am, I headed off to Silverado Canyon in my trusty pick-up truck. Precisely one hour later, I pulled into the Maple Springs Visitor Center’s parking lot. There was one spot left to park in a lot that has only five or so spaces. (The rest of the people park throughout the canyon).

I decided to go up The Motorway (aka, The Silverado Motorway, Silverado Trail or Bedford Trail) to Bedford Peak for an out-and-back. I thought this was a perfect way to break in my brand new Adventure Parking Pass. Plus, I haven’t been up this trail in its entirety since the fires that closed it down in 2014. For those of you who don’t know the trail, it’s the first one off to the left up Maple Springs Road (less than a quarter mile in), and it goes for 3 miles at a tremendous climb. A tremendous climb! About 2,000 feet of gain in those 3 miles.

Here, I’m about a half mile in, looking back at the canyon from where I started:

The hills were covered in green on Saturday, and also spring flowers, and lots of tiny landslides. Aside from the beauty though, it was a pretty miserable trek. I breathed the words, “Oh lord,” many times, and ran very little on the way up this switchback single track. On the way, I saw lots of other hikers, no runners, and a couple of dozen mountain bikers. I saw deer tracks here and there. I searched for, but noticed no other significant tracks. There was plenty of coyote scat however, and lots of dark lizards scurrying about.

Some of the flowers:

Some more of The Motorway:

Finally reaching The Main Divide came as a great relief. That relief was so great in fact, it made the whole difficult trip worth it. “This is why,” I thought . . . “This is why.”

I turned right on The Main Divide, ran for about a half mile until I came to the trail to Bedford Peak. It’s not marked, but is obvious. Anyway, I found Gary’s bench at the end of the trail (which is now marked “Gary’s Bench,” otherwise, I would not have known it was Gary’s). The old bench that I had sat on before was on the ground, partially burnt, possibly from the 2014 fire. And in the time since I had been there, Gary had died. His family left a new bench in his remembrance and a journal for visitors to write in (which I did).

I sat a while on Gary’s bench, taking in the mountains both close and afar as I listened to the surrounding silence. Then after about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, I ran all the way to the truck. It was a treacherous trot, as I stumbled more than once. And when the cliff was steep and the trail rocky, I hiked, so that if I did fall I wouldn’t plummet to my death.

It was a very difficult 7.87 miles (totaling 2,323’ of gain). All of it, very much well worth it.

Cut the Trail or Die in the Mud ;)

By the end of last week (Sunday 2/26), I was just shy of increasing my monthly mileage by 10%, which is my goal right now (hoping not to re-injure myself). I wracked my brain for a ten mile loop in my repertoire. I could not think of single one. Last thing I wanted was run circles around the parking lot after my run. But all I had to do was apply a little math to realize that I only needed a bit over nine miles. I had plenty of those in my repertoire.

Weather reports promised rain, but I figured I still had enough time to run some errands and then head off to Aliso/Woods Canyons for my old standard Aliso/Mathis/Top of the World/Meadows loop. I think it must have been been about 11AM before my feet finally hit dirt. And I actually felt cold . . . gloriously cold. Can’t tell you how much I’m appreciating the cold weather now (especially at my age!). Anyway, I took off with beanie and jacket, wishing I had packed gloves. But I knew soon enough, I’d be peeling off the layers (and indeed I did).

About a quarter mile in, a woman approached and asked if I thought the trails were safe. I do think they’re safe, and told her so, but also showed her my stun gun. Still nervous some, she asked if she could accompany me into Wood Canyon. We did those first 1.5 miles together, chatting some, talking about the park and the trails. It was a nice break from the loneliness I was about to venture out on. A little bit into Wood Canyon, we went our separate ways. I think she felt more comfortable about the park at this point, as there were several hikers, runners and mountain bikers making their way about. 

The dark gray cool skies continued. And about 3 miles into my run, it began to rain. I wasn’t turning back though – 1) because I was already committed to the loop, and 2) I figured the rain would come and go.

The rain did come and go as I made my way up that wonderful-terrible climb called Mathis. I’ll take the rain on Mathis any day over the heat.

On Mathis here, with the beginning of the climb approaching:

More of Mathis:

I made it to Top of the World relatively dry. I took a doogie bag out of a dispenser in the park up there and covered my devices (phone and camera), and I clipped my ipod to the inside of my jacket. And then I headed off through the neighborhoods to re-enter the park near Meadows Trail.

1.5 miles later, I found this:

Ummmmmm. What is one to do but break the rules when something like this happens? Rain was beginning to fall harder. I couldn’t turn around and go back the other way – it was either cut through this and have 3 miles remaining, or turn back and go another 6 miles in the rain.

You can guess what I did:

By the time I reached Meadows Trail, my clothing was fairly wet. I could wring water from my jacket sleeves, but my first layer of clothing was still somewhat dry. Secure in the knowledge that I only had three miles left, and that it was all downhill, I felt fine at this point. Little did I know the grief that awaited me.

I had totally forgotten how slippery the mud gets on Meadows Trail. I literally slid down the trail, tugging on branches and barely missing twisted ankles. Using every muscle in my entire body to stay upright, I am amazed I did not fall. There were MANY close calls. Eventually, I couldn’t take it any longer. So, I cut the trail (I know – gasp!). It was either trek straight down the hillside through the grass or die in the mud.

This is what I traipsed through to avoid sliding down the hillside:

I will not deny that I felt utterly miserable in the rain going down Meadows. But on the other hand, I loved the adventure. And if the mud and rain hadn’t forced me off of the trail, I might have never seen water collecting like diamonds in the leaves of Lupins. My pictures come nowhere to giving that sight justice.

Upon reaching the bottom of Meadows, I got off the trails and rain straight to the paved Aliso Creek trail, where I sloshed through puddles to get the thick mud off my shoes.

Back at home, my arms and legs itched furiously, I’m sure from cutting the trail to avoid the mud. So, I guess I deserved that. Then at night, as I lay down in my bed, every bone and muscle in my body ached.

Wonderful.

Winter Beanie and Jacket-Kind-Of-Cold (An Afternoon in Wood Canyon)

Saturday, February 25, I got in a 7.12 mile out-and-back run in Wood Canyon (in Aliso Viejo, CA). Even though I got a late start (about 2:30PM), it was cold out – winter beanie and jacket-kind-of-cold, like it was winter (A winter in California! Why I never!  Can you imagine? ). Despite the so-called cold (probably about 50 degrees Fahrenheit), I’m still not running in pants (just capris, which are a little warmer than shorts or a skirt).

This run seems like ages ago now (though it’s only been two-ish days). I don’t recall much, which means I zoned out most of the run. I can tell you that it didn’t rain, and that I had my jacket tied around my waist by about mile one, and my beanie tucked into my pack at probably mile two. I recall that the skies were dreary, but the grass was green as ever and the yellow flowers were in mighty bloom. I saw a good amount of people – runners, bikers and hikers. But most of the time I was alone.

Alone. One of the reasons I love trails so much. Even when you go with someone else, you can still be alone.

Anyway, back to my not so eventful story . . . I listened to music, for sure. It’s a rarity that I hit the trails without music. I don’t listen the entire time, but much of the time, especially if it’s a route that I’ve travelled before. And I’ve travelled Wood Canyon many times before. At times, I grow so dang tired of the same old trails that I can’t even stomach travelling them again. The same old trails though, is better than no trails. And really the truth is, (and I know this deep down, but refuse to face it, because I’d rather sometimes do nothing) if I stay creative and alert, I can always find something new about the same old thing. Something new like this – look at what the rains have dug into Wood Canyon:

I do recall that the trip back was the loneliest. And that does not mean the worst, or bad in anyway. Lonely is good, as I think I’ve already mentioned. But with the gray skies and drippy weather, I couldn’t help but think of Hansel and Gretel as I wandered on through that last parts of Wood Canyon, through the woody areas like this:

Chiquito Falls Roars Again

I made it out to Chiquito Falls last Monday. Crossed San Juan Creek at knee-high depth, and trekked up to that spot that has been dry for so many years. It was a beautiful time, cloudy yes, and rather tiring. But what a sight – what a loud, roaring sight! I only ran some of the way up. Then I ran most of the way on the way back. And it was just when the trail flattened out some that I fell. I tripped and flew forward, hitting the ground quickly. Fortunately, the landing was soft, and I must have got in a slight roll there, because I wasn’t hurt at all. Anyway, this is gonna be mainly a picture post, mostly because I’m so behind, but also because the scenery was so picture worthy.

On the way to Chiquito Trail, looking over the edge of San Juan Loop:

Creek crossing at beginning of Chiquito Trail:

9.30 miles, 1,678 ‘ gained

Birthday Run Between Rains

I know we are making the news and all because of our storms. But seriously, how long have these reporters lived in Southern California anyway? Short memories is what I say. We had floods before, we had have downpours, sinkholes and slides before. It’s true like the song says, “It never rains in California, but girl don’t they warn ya . . . it pours . . . man it pours.”

Rain is nothing new for a fifty-two year old, born and raised in Southern California. I do not have a short memory. My memory is full of many droughts that last a few years, and many, many rains. I remember as a young girl sitting at the kitchen table and looking out onto the flooded cul-de-sac street wondering, “Is it ever gonna stop raining!!!” I remember traipsing around huge puddles at school, and creeks ploughing new routes. Gosh. Were where those news reporters then? It looks like right now, we are ending one of those droughts, finally getting us some rain. That’s all, simple as that.

In between it all, and on my 52nd birthday, I got in a “trail” after teaching one class, and on the way home to rest up before teaching another this past Thursday, on February 16. The place: Quail Hill in Irvine. The route: along the elliptical trail that over looks Interstate 405, and everything else lovely and not in The O.C. Got in a little over 5.5 miles, with only a little elevation gain. But it was good enough, as not soon after, the rain began to fall, and didn’t let up for nearly two days.

Thank you rains for all the green! The hills look so lush, I’m tempted to just drop to the ground and roll around in the grass (if it wasn’t for all those tics that might attach themselves to my flesh – eek!)