Let it Snow

On Tuesday, I got the rare opportunity to be a trailblazer. It flurried on Monday, leaving a thin white coating on the ground. The light but relentless snow shower continued through the night, and when I woke up the next morning, the dusting had been augmented to a thick blanket of three or four inches. I had already been looking forward to a trail run, now I was really stoked.

The main path at the state park had some footprints to follow, but as I turned down a windy trail through the woods, there were no tracks except those of a wandering deer, twisting between trees. In front of me, the ground was totally undisturbed - effervescent powder waiting to be kicked up for as far as I could see. At first, I stumbled through the snow, but soon enough I felt like I was skating across it. Without a clear path ahead of me, I took some wrong turns and left misleading tracks for my followers. I stayed focused on the trail, and when I reached a clearing, looked up and couldn't help but smile at the quaint, untouched beauty of the scene.

When I got to the hillier, more challenging trails on the other side of the park, I realized that I was hardly even looking down. It occured to me that this winter marks my five-year anniversary with running. I first discovered the freedom that came with the sport, and later the connection to nature trail running brought. I literally have run these trails so many times that I know where all the rocks are, and my footing was more than just natural, it was preprogrammed.

It didn't seem like an hour had passed when the trail dumped me out at the parking lot. When a run is more than just a workout, that's when putting in training is all worth it. And when I get to blaze my own trail through snowy woods, that's when I don't miss California.

California Appreciation Week

It's no secret that I've been hating on California this year. Well, mostly LA, but my itch to leave has me gazing east, passively insulting the rest of the state. Last week, I remembered that Southern California has its moments. This week, I reminded myself that LA is not California, and that the Central California coast might actually be the most beautiful place I've ever seen.

So I was lucky enough to be blessed with a wonderful finals schedule - my hard exam was on Thursday, and my easy exam on the following Wednesday. After months of homesickness, you can imagine my disappointment when I learned I would have to stick around LA for an extra six days for a test that will probably take my forty-five minutes. Until I realized I don't have to stay in LA. If I'm going to have six extra days to spend on the west coast, you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to sit around LA. I have a car so I can use it. Seemed like a good opportunity.

Agenda: Drag travel buddy from hungover-still drunk?-Saturday-morning-slumber. Load tent and sleeping bags into the '99 Accord, affectionately dubbed "Gladys" by my dad. 101 North.

I love my family, but I'm pretty sure we're not normal. Most of my friends would maybe go to the beach if they had an extra week, or go home to a friend's house, or maybe even fly up to the Bay to spend a few days in San Francisco. Only my mom would excitedly suggest that I catch the peak monarch butterfly season in Pismo Beach. And I wouldn't want it any other way. Lately, I've been using the "someday at a dinner party..." reason for lots of things I do. Someday at a dinner party, someone who doesn't know me will talk about triathlons and I will be able to say I did an Ironman. Someday at a dinner party, someone will mention the monarch butterfly migration on the Central California coast and I will be able to be a participant in that conversation. It's the same reason you would want to go see the Aurora Borealis or the geysers in Yellowstone - there's something so cool about things that people don't control.

Vineyards on the 101

So Pismo Beach it was, and after three hours of sickeningly beautiful scenery on the 101, we arrived. It was exactly as I remembered from the last time I had stopped there for lunch on the way up to Big Sur.  Everything is so charmingly tacky. There are these giant clam statues set up at a couple of landmarks in the downtown, and for the holiday season they had been painted like Rudolph, complete with antlers and a creepy grin. One of these locations was conveniently outside the visitor center. I went in to ask where the best place to see the butterflies was - I assumed there were lots of places - and the woman working there showed me a map and told me to drive until I saw cars parked on both sides of the road and then get out and go to the right. She said you can't miss it.

She was right. For a Saturday afternoon in the dead of this sunny California winter, there were cars lining both sides of PCH, everyone flocking over to a grove of eucalyptus trees on the side closest to the water.  As we walked in, we saw a few monarchs flutter around, then a few more, then a few more. When we finally got to the trees, I looked up through a set of binoculars. The monarchs were clinging to the branches, lining the tree like leaves.

It was the most spectacular sight. These butterflies flew all the way down to the Central California coast from various locations in Canada - from Vancouver to Saskatchewan. That's right, these tiny, half-gram bugs fly up to fifteen-hundred miles with those little paper-thin wings. The warm temperatures (and probably beautiful scenery and friendly people) draw them to Central California, and they flock to Pismo Beach in particularly large numbers because of the unique protected grove of eucalyptus trees. It could be any species of tree that they come and cling to, it just so happens that these protected trees are eucalyptus. During this winter season, they mate, and once they have laid eggs, their incredible five-month lives come to a close. The next generation is not so lucky, they make the first leg of the journey back to Canada, but only live a few short weeks before they stop and give life to the next generation. It takes five generations for the butterflies to get back to where they came from. And after a summer in Canada, the cycles starts again.

Life on Earth really is nothing short of amazing, and I'm glad I didn't live my whole life without knowing this tiny animal's story.

Still in a zen state of mind from the butterfly watching, we walked from the grove down to the beach. Pismo Beach is definitely beautiful, with breathtaking views of cliffs to the North and a sort of ethereal mist hanging over the hills to the South. The one drawback is that cars are allowed on the beach during the day. It's kind of disconcerting to see speed limit signs in the sand. Anyway, it was a gorgeous day, warm even for California at nearly 80 degrees. I was perfectly content sitting on a dune watching the water.

After checking into a campground and pitching the tent, we drove down to the town for dinner. Splash Cafe's "World Famous Clam Chowder" looked too good to pass up, so we took our classically cheap styrofoam bowls down to the pier and joined the rest of the town in watching the sun sink down over the Pacific. Okay, I'll give California some credit here - there is nothing like a sunset on a beach on the West Coast. Especially in December. The whole sky faded to a deep purple color before it eventually became dark.

The night ended as any good night camping should - with s'mores, star-gazing on the beach, and a 9 o'clock bedtime.

Before heading home, I was talked into a new adventure. I wouldn't say I'm afraid of horses, but I was never one of those girls with the horse sweater and posters on my walls. Despite some initial nervousness, it was definitely worth it to see the coast on horseback. My trusty, if borderline obese, steed Sheila and I rode along beautiful equestrian trails from the ranch out to the beach, trotted along in the sand, and crossed through water to get back to the dunes.  The contrast of the gold sand against the pure blue sky was so remarkable that I felt like I was in a dream. Back through strikingly green woods along a little brook, and we were back at the ranch, where, in any good competitor's style, Sheila decided to sprint that last 200, while I nearly had a heart attack on her saddle.

A stop in Solvang on the way back to LA reminded me of the charming quirkiness of California, and the trip was complete. I knew it was a success not only because I had seen what I went to see - the butterflies - but because I was driving back to LA with a different attitude. Even as we hit that bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 101 in Silver Lake, I knew that outside these city limits existed a world with an infinite number of little miracles and stories.

California, I'm sorry if I have insulted you. North of Sherman Oaks, you are really quite nice.

Back in the Saddle

The end of the semester is finally here. In September, it seemed like this week would never come, but here I am, two final exams away from home. When I came out to LA in August, I couldn't think past November 7th - it was such a big date, a date I had been counting down to for an entire year.  It's hard to believe it's been four weeks. Recovery has been wonderful, and I will never forget the whole experience, but it's time to start working toward the next challenge.

Yesterday I used my car for the exact purpose that made me buy it. Equipped with my bike and a riding buddy, I drove out to Malibu. There are so many things that frustrate me about LA - the traffic, the pollution, the prices, the superficiality - but sometimes I focus only on what I don't like and I become blind to all the good. An overcast, drizzly Sunday afternoon on PCH shed light on the best of LA for me.

After driving through Santa Monica, PCH becomes everything I love about California, and America. There are some stores and restaurants, but the attraction is the landscape, where the hills melt into the Pacific. Obviously you're going to see Lamborghinis whizz by, but there are also a fair number of beat up station wagons with surfboards strapped to the roof - a rarity in the most image-driven city in the country. I don't need to plan a trip to Malibu. Park on the side of the road somewhere that looks like a good starting point and go.

Yesterday, that starting point was just past Will Rogers State Beach. We rode up to Pepperdine, climbed up to the top of the campus, then continued north on PCH. It started to rain as we descended out of Pepperdine, but it was kind of refreshing. I never picture rain when I think of riding in Malibu, but it was more enjoyable than you would think. This summer and fall, long rides taught me that I do my best thinking when I'm out pedalling. Without that weekly release for the past six weeks or so, I've been letting all this stress build up. Out in the rain, pushing a quick cadence over the rolling hills in Point Dume, I felt free again. Of course it's nicer to ride when it's 70 and sunny, but somehow the rain made me feel more focused and connected. We turned around where PCH juts back to the coast after Point Dume, and cruised back. The road flattens out as you get back towards Santa Monica, so the last five miles were really fast. Climbing up canyons, I hate my triathlon bike, but the feeling of being in aero and powering down PCH makes up for it and then some.

Yeah, LA can really suck. But for every skinny fake blonde girl in the hills, there is a surfer or a cyclist or a runner who puts up with it all because they think it's worth it to live the life of a laid-back Southern Californian, soaking in the sun in December. Life can be simple. Don't cry for me, I'll be just fine spending my weekends climbing in Malibu or Palos Verdes, running up Topanga Canyon, pulling on my wetsuit at Tower 26. And on that note, with a more optimistic outlook, I'm ready to saddle up.