The journey through the San Joaquin Valley was an interesting one, providing experiences, conversations, and its own "ebb and flow" that will be invaluable in thinking about the trip and the questions I've been asking.
But the difficulty of walking on roadsides, the long and repetitive views along large farms and orchards, the skies hazy with clouds and particulates shading the relief of the sides of "the tub" (Sierra and Coast Ranges), all made for hard days and low spirits. I felt certain parts of the trip slipping a little, with resulting fear and frustration.
And so I admit the power of the senses, so loved and well described by Muir, to shape the kind of intellectual curiosity we often think of (and write about) as separate from the world of personality, of joy and despair, of dreams and wanderings. The intellect is not secular; Muir's belief in this likely helped lead to his success.
Today I began climbing the Sierra foothills in earnest, traveling from Coulterville at just over 1700 feet to a high point about 6 miles east of the town in National forest land around 3200 feet. Most of this climb came at once - I walked the uphill backward, still thinking of my Achilles injury, a decision I may regret tomorrow when the legs burn.
I spent much of the day trying to identify trees and shifting ecosystems as I move uphill. I began along Maxwell creek, thick with riparian shrubs, though surrounded by grassy and grazed ranchlands. As the climb began, I grew excited at the first Ponderosa Pine, a sign of the mixed evergreen forest that would dominate throughout much of the day. The understory was low shrubs and California Black Oaks, Quercus... the name escapes me at the moment. Higher still, conifers became more and more dominant, and at around 3000 feet Ponderosa Pines and Incense Cedars crowded the sky. On south facing sunny slopes Pacific Madrones crowded the roadside, looking like photos of an explosion. I crossed a few creeks, including two crossings of Bean Creek, whose water I avoided being clearly downstream of a mine. It is probably gold rush era and no longer in use, but the Bay still suffers from gold rush era mercury inputs, so I opted to remain unslaked. The road quickly became dirt and gravel, with only a few cars passing the entire day.
Returning to the forest today, I rediscovered the freedom I love about walking, which was lost a little in the San Joaquin. The time to stop and look, to think, and the absence of deadlines all seem so much more pronounced in the slow space of the woods. Coming from a series of long and dangerous days along roads, it felt like a breath of fresh air, or perhaps a cupful of non-mercury bearing water. And to cap it all, my first view of snowy Sierra crests, bringing happy shouts and arm swinging at my hilltop viewpoint.
Worth exploring further, today's road followed a tongue of private land extending deep into the National Forest land. This made for one very tense encounter with suspcicious landowners unused to scruffy walkers, and somewhat unwilling to accept my explanation. I can't blame folks in this part of the state for wondering why or how I came this far or what the hell it is I'm doing - I've yet to find a worthy tagline. To the point, the divisions between National Forest land and private land were quite marked, with the private lands telling tales of their use for grazing, lumber, &c.
This evening I've talked at length with Ken Pulvino, whose Greeley Hill residence is my internet, dinner, and lodging for the night, about some of these issues. Ken has filled me in about geotourism and his efforts to rename hwy J132 as the "John Muir Highway." Ken has filled me in a lot about the specifics of the area and the potential for economic and environmental alignment that might take place here. Thanks so much to Ken and Teri for the great hospitality and great conversation, I'll write more about thoughts and consequences of the latter when I've thought it all over more and sleep is not nagging quite so incessantly...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Approach
I've fallen quite far behind in the blog due to the access issues previously described, but again, a brief summary follows:
April 30: San Luis NWR to Livingston. My first glimpse of both the San Joaquin and Merced Rivers. Walked through what seemed interminable vineyards of Gallo Winery, crossing a number of small canals and a variety of other water-related infrastructures before arriving in Livingston. My longest day so far at just under 18 miles. My first view of the Sierra Nevada at the very end of the day.
May 1: Day off in Livingston. Met with Amy Moffat of the Great Valley Center to discuss some of the human issues of the modern San Joaquin Valley. Talked with ranger Daniel Rizzo of McConnell state park about the difficulties of land management in the valley, and some of the ins and outs of the state park system.
May 2: Livingston to Hopeton. The Earth began to stir, the first hint of topography since Apr. 27. Interminable vineyards replaced by interminable almond orchards. Heavy morning rain, but dry afterward. Tried to stop at an almond processing plant, but it was closed for the day. I spoke to an organic farmer briefly, fended off a few angry growling dogs (and a few vocal gangsters driving uncomfortably close...), and met a Muir enthusiast from the area who, after offering me a ride, pointed out the bluff where Muir herded sheep the summer after his first ramble to the valley.
May 3: Hopeton to Lake McSwain. With the sky clearing and the pace quickening eastward, the Sierra and foothills were finally becoming visible with some detail. Most of the day's scenery, however, came in the form of the Snelling dredge field, a kind of mountain range in miniature along the banks of the Merced. Large cobbles are piled up for at least 10 miles on either side of the town of Snelling, the remnant of dredge mining not from the gold rush, but later attempts around the turn of the (19th) century. I've seen many smaller dredge remnants since, but none quite so impressive, or oppressive, as this long field near Snelling.
May 4: Lake McSwain to Lake McClure, Barret Cove Campground. Today I finally began traversing the topography of Sierra foothills, following the road through ranches and metamorphic outcrops. To the east, the Sierra began to loom beyond the foothill valleys. To the west, the entire San Joaquin Valley was visible, with foothills misty in the distance. Even some major roadways and rivers shimmered in the afternoon light.
All this is behind, but today marks my last day in "civilization" of the trip. The next few days through national forest land and into the park promise a different kind of experience and "reading" of the landscape. I'm feeling pulled along by the closeness of my destination, but trying my best to think hard about the intervening lands and people. Until then, just trying to stay out of the mouth of the bear, or "in bocca al lupo"
April 30: San Luis NWR to Livingston. My first glimpse of both the San Joaquin and Merced Rivers. Walked through what seemed interminable vineyards of Gallo Winery, crossing a number of small canals and a variety of other water-related infrastructures before arriving in Livingston. My longest day so far at just under 18 miles. My first view of the Sierra Nevada at the very end of the day.
May 1: Day off in Livingston. Met with Amy Moffat of the Great Valley Center to discuss some of the human issues of the modern San Joaquin Valley. Talked with ranger Daniel Rizzo of McConnell state park about the difficulties of land management in the valley, and some of the ins and outs of the state park system.
May 2: Livingston to Hopeton. The Earth began to stir, the first hint of topography since Apr. 27. Interminable vineyards replaced by interminable almond orchards. Heavy morning rain, but dry afterward. Tried to stop at an almond processing plant, but it was closed for the day. I spoke to an organic farmer briefly, fended off a few angry growling dogs (and a few vocal gangsters driving uncomfortably close...), and met a Muir enthusiast from the area who, after offering me a ride, pointed out the bluff where Muir herded sheep the summer after his first ramble to the valley.
May 3: Hopeton to Lake McSwain. With the sky clearing and the pace quickening eastward, the Sierra and foothills were finally becoming visible with some detail. Most of the day's scenery, however, came in the form of the Snelling dredge field, a kind of mountain range in miniature along the banks of the Merced. Large cobbles are piled up for at least 10 miles on either side of the town of Snelling, the remnant of dredge mining not from the gold rush, but later attempts around the turn of the (19th) century. I've seen many smaller dredge remnants since, but none quite so impressive, or oppressive, as this long field near Snelling.
May 4: Lake McSwain to Lake McClure, Barret Cove Campground. Today I finally began traversing the topography of Sierra foothills, following the road through ranches and metamorphic outcrops. To the east, the Sierra began to loom beyond the foothill valleys. To the west, the entire San Joaquin Valley was visible, with foothills misty in the distance. Even some major roadways and rivers shimmered in the afternoon light.
All this is behind, but today marks my last day in "civilization" of the trip. The next few days through national forest land and into the park promise a different kind of experience and "reading" of the landscape. I'm feeling pulled along by the closeness of my destination, but trying my best to think hard about the intervening lands and people. Until then, just trying to stay out of the mouth of the bear, or "in bocca al lupo"
A Nod to the Doubters
There were many who doubted that I'd be able to blog as I walked across the state of California. I went to great pains to ensure library access nearly every day of the trip, and was feeling vindicated early on when I was able to post often.
While I checked on the locations of libraries and the availability of internet access of more remote libraries along the way, I overlooked scheduling. In Santa Nella, in the west side of the San Joaquin Valley, I arrived at the library at 12:30 to find that it had closed at noon. Further east, in the town of Stevinson, I made sure to arrive at the library before noon, and found that it did not open until 12:30. The Snelling library was open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but closed when I was there on a Sunday. My last post in Livingston was cut short when I arrived late and the library closed early.
Those who expected these kinds of difficulties are proved right. My own optimism may have pushed aside practicality. Nonetheless, I have been impressed with California's library system, the widespread availability of internet, and the generosity and helpfulness of libraries along the way. Even in remote areas like Coulterville (pop. 115), my current location, the modern world is only a few clicks away. If you can time it right.
While I checked on the locations of libraries and the availability of internet access of more remote libraries along the way, I overlooked scheduling. In Santa Nella, in the west side of the San Joaquin Valley, I arrived at the library at 12:30 to find that it had closed at noon. Further east, in the town of Stevinson, I made sure to arrive at the library before noon, and found that it did not open until 12:30. The Snelling library was open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but closed when I was there on a Sunday. My last post in Livingston was cut short when I arrived late and the library closed early.
Those who expected these kinds of difficulties are proved right. My own optimism may have pushed aside practicality. Nonetheless, I have been impressed with California's library system, the widespread availability of internet, and the generosity and helpfulness of libraries along the way. Even in remote areas like Coulterville (pop. 115), my current location, the modern world is only a few clicks away. If you can time it right.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Alive and well
It has been a long stretch without time and access to the internet, but I am still alive and well, achilles healthy, legs feeling strong, and even a day ahead of schedule. With limited time for writing now, I'll give only a brief outline of the last few days.
April 22: Anderson Lake to meeting at Gilroy Outlets, overnight at Coyote Lake
Aprill 23: Henry Coe State Park, hunting hollow entrance to near Wagon Road and Center Flats Road intersection
April 24: Henry Coe State Park, to Dowdy Ranch Visitor's center
April 25: Henry Coe State Park, Dowdy Ranch to Bell Station at Highway 152
April 26: Rest Day
April 27: Bell Station east on hwy 152 to Pacheco State Park, meeting with Ranger D. Poole at the park, continued east over pacheco pass on 152 to San Luis Reservoir State Recreation Area
April 28: San Luis Reservoir to Volta Wildlife Refuge north of Los Banos on Henry Miller Road
April 29: Kesterson unit of San Luis NWR, walked across San Luis NWR to refuge bunkhouse on Wolfsen Road
Much more to come....
April 22: Anderson Lake to meeting at Gilroy Outlets, overnight at Coyote Lake
Aprill 23: Henry Coe State Park, hunting hollow entrance to near Wagon Road and Center Flats Road intersection
April 24: Henry Coe State Park, to Dowdy Ranch Visitor's center
April 25: Henry Coe State Park, Dowdy Ranch to Bell Station at Highway 152
April 26: Rest Day
April 27: Bell Station east on hwy 152 to Pacheco State Park, meeting with Ranger D. Poole at the park, continued east over pacheco pass on 152 to San Luis Reservoir State Recreation Area
April 28: San Luis Reservoir to Volta Wildlife Refuge north of Los Banos on Henry Miller Road
April 29: Kesterson unit of San Luis NWR, walked across San Luis NWR to refuge bunkhouse on Wolfsen Road
Much more to come....
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A quickening pace
Over the past few days, I've walked from San Jose to Gilroy, the southernmost tip of the "Bay Area" at the south end of Coyote Valley. I've walked along the Coyote Creek Trail, a multi use path managed by SCC parks dept, and Monterey Highway, the dirt road Muir would have taken from San Jose to Old Gilroy and the pass to the east. Wheat was the crop then. Orchards have since displaced wheat and the historic oak woodland/savannah of the area.
It might be more appropriate to say that housing is what is "grown" in the valley now. Last night, Ranger Phil Hearin of SCC parks showed me a view of the valley from above, pointing to the bright lights of the last few years of development set amidst surrounding darkness. All those lights have come on within the last 5 years, many within the last 2 or 3, Hearin said. Even expecting this kind of development in the valley, the space and pace of it was still a surprise to see.
If this kind of development were composed of rocks instead of houses, future geologists might be puzzled. Instead of the steady layering of development upon development seen in places like San Francisco or Oakland, the developments in Coyote Valley have erupted suddenly, and with more random distribution, creating a strange pattern of light and dark at night. In the daylight, it remains bizarre to walk past stately home that might fit well in suburban Connecticut to a vacant field next door.
Some unsurprising facts: the valley has been hit hard by the economic downturn, with foreclosures up nearly 30% this year, according to Hearin. Farmland is constantly diminishing, with much of it being bought by developers.
More surprising: other farms have been abandoned, said Hearin, not because of pressure from developers but because of the complaints of new and unusual neighbors, displeased with the noise and early morning schedule of the farmers.
In short, the community itself, not just the land it is built upon, has changed rapidly. In the "Valley of Heart's Delight," the valley of Muir's "ether baptism" in rambles, what has become of the famed American pastoral dream? The farmer standing away from the city, not too far, with stars and stripes waving behind?
Perhaps it is being lost, diminished with each passing generation. America is young still, with much of its history yet to be forged, with changes coming rapidly and constantly. Or perhaps the dream is being relocated, from the land lived upon to the land visited. Parks, local and remote, might provide some satiation for pastoral longing for new suburbanites on old farmland. Or maybe the pastoral is being technologically updated, appearing now in green buildings, CFLs, and low flow toilets. I've seen many of these expressions in the last few days: the recreation intensive parks of Santa Clara County, the stubborn farms persisting in Coyote Valley, the new light bulbs and lawn designs at the Gilroy outlets.
It's been an overwhelming time, moving in and out of locales replete with varying degrees of naturalness and development. Even the place I slept last night was in a park across the creek from a juvenile detention facility ("escapes are frequent," ranger Hearin informed me just before I unfurled my sleeping bag... the after dark adventures continue, giving my mom gray hairs...). It's a lot to think about, with the change seeming fast paced even for a walker. It must seem so to the residents of Coyote Valley as well, as their world rapidly reconfigures to a new set of demands and pressures.
It might be more appropriate to say that housing is what is "grown" in the valley now. Last night, Ranger Phil Hearin of SCC parks showed me a view of the valley from above, pointing to the bright lights of the last few years of development set amidst surrounding darkness. All those lights have come on within the last 5 years, many within the last 2 or 3, Hearin said. Even expecting this kind of development in the valley, the space and pace of it was still a surprise to see.
If this kind of development were composed of rocks instead of houses, future geologists might be puzzled. Instead of the steady layering of development upon development seen in places like San Francisco or Oakland, the developments in Coyote Valley have erupted suddenly, and with more random distribution, creating a strange pattern of light and dark at night. In the daylight, it remains bizarre to walk past stately home that might fit well in suburban Connecticut to a vacant field next door.
Some unsurprising facts: the valley has been hit hard by the economic downturn, with foreclosures up nearly 30% this year, according to Hearin. Farmland is constantly diminishing, with much of it being bought by developers.
More surprising: other farms have been abandoned, said Hearin, not because of pressure from developers but because of the complaints of new and unusual neighbors, displeased with the noise and early morning schedule of the farmers.
In short, the community itself, not just the land it is built upon, has changed rapidly. In the "Valley of Heart's Delight," the valley of Muir's "ether baptism" in rambles, what has become of the famed American pastoral dream? The farmer standing away from the city, not too far, with stars and stripes waving behind?
Perhaps it is being lost, diminished with each passing generation. America is young still, with much of its history yet to be forged, with changes coming rapidly and constantly. Or perhaps the dream is being relocated, from the land lived upon to the land visited. Parks, local and remote, might provide some satiation for pastoral longing for new suburbanites on old farmland. Or maybe the pastoral is being technologically updated, appearing now in green buildings, CFLs, and low flow toilets. I've seen many of these expressions in the last few days: the recreation intensive parks of Santa Clara County, the stubborn farms persisting in Coyote Valley, the new light bulbs and lawn designs at the Gilroy outlets.
It's been an overwhelming time, moving in and out of locales replete with varying degrees of naturalness and development. Even the place I slept last night was in a park across the creek from a juvenile detention facility ("escapes are frequent," ranger Hearin informed me just before I unfurled my sleeping bag... the after dark adventures continue, giving my mom gray hairs...). It's a lot to think about, with the change seeming fast paced even for a walker. It must seem so to the residents of Coyote Valley as well, as their world rapidly reconfigures to a new set of demands and pressures.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Back on the Road
It's good to be back, but the break, some new (and very hot) weather, and a new setting have changed some aspects of the journey.
After a week off, it took a little while to get back in the swing of things. I had to recoordinate the swing of arms and legs, rediscover how to walk and look and think all at once, become comfortable again explaining the project and hearing what people have to say, and immerse myself once again in the world of the walk. By the end of yesterday I was getting there. Halfway through today I am close. The injured Achilles remains a challenge, more mentally now than physically. Any kind of sensation in my left ankle causes me to worry a little, with varying degrees of distraction. I've also adopted walking poles (never thought I'd see the day...) to help ease the burden a little. These too require a new rhythm and are distracting in their own way, requiring physical attention and providing a rhythmic clink on hard surfaces. This morning I carried them on my shoulder, for better or worse, to hear the songbirds around Coyote Creek Trail in South San Jose. It may not be the Dorian mode of the legions' march, but it paces me well. Despite reconfiguration, the pleasure of of walking has not dissipated, and I am happy to be once again on my way.
The bright sun, 90 degree heat reflecting off asphalt and concrete, and limited shade are quite a change from the rain-drenched days at the beginning of the trip. A new set of conditions to adapt to. I'd walk naked to stay cool if I could, but from Swedish, Scottish, and Irish stock I'm about as sun-sensitive as they come. So it's been long pants, long sleeves, and lots of sunscreen for me, with salty results. Last night was warm and breezy though, reminiscent of my home in Alabama around this time of year, and I was delighted to sit and sleep outside.
The new setting is a more urban one. I walked through downtown San Jose yesterday, catching up with the Coyote Creek Trail and finishing at Hellyer Park. The park, run by Santa Clara County Parks Dept., is well within the city limits. I met with Don Rocha of the parks dept yesterday, who pointed to the additional management challenges in city parks - providing access and recreation while still preserving resources, trying to limit vandalism or poor management by park neighbors, and accomplishing all this with a limited set of tools appropriate to a city limits (no controlled burns in San Jose citylimits, for example). Talking with Don brought up a really important issue - the recreational component of protected land. SCC parks dept. includes recreation as a key component of their mission, only recently including resource protection among their priorities. When I asked Don if they feel additional pressure from developers and the like to give up land, he said to my surprise that the opposite was true - there is pressure to lock up more land and limit access for its protection, a practice contrary to the department's goals of providing access. For some, the issue of access is essential to the desirability, function, and politics of a park. I have certainly benefited from public access, walking through many parks, trails, and protected areas over the past few weeks. Parks like Hellyer with heavy use on a daily basis, "backyard parks" as Don Rocha called them, can suffer from this kind of easy access. Along the Coyote Creek trail, the creek's waters, shores, and hollows, are all filled with trash and other signs of people, and the trail itself is paved. Don Rocha pointed out that even more remote parks in undeveloped uplands suffer major impacts from trail construction and use, despite the commone perception that this infrastructure is harmless. Thus, on the other hand, I can also sympathize with one of Edward Abbey's more outlandish claims that there ought to be some wilderness areas off limits to people altogether - it would be interesting to see how this worked, though chances are that if nothing else, a lot of clandestine weed farmers would quickly take root...
In additional to the managerial difficulties of urban parks, there were some personal ones for me as well. I spent the afternoon lounging in Hellyer park, watching runners, recumbent bicyclers, fishers, fellow loungers, some better stewards than others. Much of the park is a grassy lawn, allowing for a variety of activities, and having consequences for me, though still unknown in the daylight. I spoke for a while with the park's senior ranger, thinking back to pre-development landscapes. Before he left, I asked him where to sleep. He replied, "pretty much anywhere, though you may not be alone..." Bums walking coyote creek trail at night. Poachers (poachers? poachers!?) fishing the park's lake illegally under cover of darkness. Neither a group I'd like to run into in the night. I therefore spent some time finding an out of the way spot to sleep. I was trying to decide whether to look more or less like a bum - if the former I might be thought a bum and left alone; if the latter, the unusualness of a man sleeping outside his home might steer people away... After deliberation I decided that none of these preparations really mattered and went happily to sleep, weary from the return to walking. I was awakened suddenly and violently in the middle of the night.
There are a lot of obvious ways to tell whether a park allows overnight stays or not. Hellyer doesn't. It mentions this explicitly in a number of places. It has no campsites and locks its bathrooms after hours. It closes its entrance gates when the sun sets.
There is another, less well known way to find out. Sleep in the middle of a grassy lawn. If you are awakened, drenched, as sprinklers continue to startle you and soak your belongings, you probably are in a park that does not accommodate sleepers. If you then move, to a dry spot, only to have the original sprinklers shut off and new ones turn on feet away from you, startling and drenching you a second time, you can be just about sure that the park isn't designed for overnight guests, even if they've made an exception for you. If you find yourself in this situation, just hope it's a warm night.
Before I close, running out of computer time as usual, I want to again extend a very kind thanks to both East Bay Regional Parks District and Santa Clara County Parks District for their support of the project - it has really made the most of the trip to have your help, and I appreciate it dearly. Thank you for accommodations, meetings, and support and interest in what I am working on!
After a week off, it took a little while to get back in the swing of things. I had to recoordinate the swing of arms and legs, rediscover how to walk and look and think all at once, become comfortable again explaining the project and hearing what people have to say, and immerse myself once again in the world of the walk. By the end of yesterday I was getting there. Halfway through today I am close. The injured Achilles remains a challenge, more mentally now than physically. Any kind of sensation in my left ankle causes me to worry a little, with varying degrees of distraction. I've also adopted walking poles (never thought I'd see the day...) to help ease the burden a little. These too require a new rhythm and are distracting in their own way, requiring physical attention and providing a rhythmic clink on hard surfaces. This morning I carried them on my shoulder, for better or worse, to hear the songbirds around Coyote Creek Trail in South San Jose. It may not be the Dorian mode of the legions' march, but it paces me well. Despite reconfiguration, the pleasure of of walking has not dissipated, and I am happy to be once again on my way.
The bright sun, 90 degree heat reflecting off asphalt and concrete, and limited shade are quite a change from the rain-drenched days at the beginning of the trip. A new set of conditions to adapt to. I'd walk naked to stay cool if I could, but from Swedish, Scottish, and Irish stock I'm about as sun-sensitive as they come. So it's been long pants, long sleeves, and lots of sunscreen for me, with salty results. Last night was warm and breezy though, reminiscent of my home in Alabama around this time of year, and I was delighted to sit and sleep outside.
The new setting is a more urban one. I walked through downtown San Jose yesterday, catching up with the Coyote Creek Trail and finishing at Hellyer Park. The park, run by Santa Clara County Parks Dept., is well within the city limits. I met with Don Rocha of the parks dept yesterday, who pointed to the additional management challenges in city parks - providing access and recreation while still preserving resources, trying to limit vandalism or poor management by park neighbors, and accomplishing all this with a limited set of tools appropriate to a city limits (no controlled burns in San Jose citylimits, for example). Talking with Don brought up a really important issue - the recreational component of protected land. SCC parks dept. includes recreation as a key component of their mission, only recently including resource protection among their priorities. When I asked Don if they feel additional pressure from developers and the like to give up land, he said to my surprise that the opposite was true - there is pressure to lock up more land and limit access for its protection, a practice contrary to the department's goals of providing access. For some, the issue of access is essential to the desirability, function, and politics of a park. I have certainly benefited from public access, walking through many parks, trails, and protected areas over the past few weeks. Parks like Hellyer with heavy use on a daily basis, "backyard parks" as Don Rocha called them, can suffer from this kind of easy access. Along the Coyote Creek trail, the creek's waters, shores, and hollows, are all filled with trash and other signs of people, and the trail itself is paved. Don Rocha pointed out that even more remote parks in undeveloped uplands suffer major impacts from trail construction and use, despite the commone perception that this infrastructure is harmless. Thus, on the other hand, I can also sympathize with one of Edward Abbey's more outlandish claims that there ought to be some wilderness areas off limits to people altogether - it would be interesting to see how this worked, though chances are that if nothing else, a lot of clandestine weed farmers would quickly take root...
In additional to the managerial difficulties of urban parks, there were some personal ones for me as well. I spent the afternoon lounging in Hellyer park, watching runners, recumbent bicyclers, fishers, fellow loungers, some better stewards than others. Much of the park is a grassy lawn, allowing for a variety of activities, and having consequences for me, though still unknown in the daylight. I spoke for a while with the park's senior ranger, thinking back to pre-development landscapes. Before he left, I asked him where to sleep. He replied, "pretty much anywhere, though you may not be alone..." Bums walking coyote creek trail at night. Poachers (poachers? poachers!?) fishing the park's lake illegally under cover of darkness. Neither a group I'd like to run into in the night. I therefore spent some time finding an out of the way spot to sleep. I was trying to decide whether to look more or less like a bum - if the former I might be thought a bum and left alone; if the latter, the unusualness of a man sleeping outside his home might steer people away... After deliberation I decided that none of these preparations really mattered and went happily to sleep, weary from the return to walking. I was awakened suddenly and violently in the middle of the night.
There are a lot of obvious ways to tell whether a park allows overnight stays or not. Hellyer doesn't. It mentions this explicitly in a number of places. It has no campsites and locks its bathrooms after hours. It closes its entrance gates when the sun sets.
There is another, less well known way to find out. Sleep in the middle of a grassy lawn. If you are awakened, drenched, as sprinklers continue to startle you and soak your belongings, you probably are in a park that does not accommodate sleepers. If you then move, to a dry spot, only to have the original sprinklers shut off and new ones turn on feet away from you, startling and drenching you a second time, you can be just about sure that the park isn't designed for overnight guests, even if they've made an exception for you. If you find yourself in this situation, just hope it's a warm night.
Before I close, running out of computer time as usual, I want to again extend a very kind thanks to both East Bay Regional Parks District and Santa Clara County Parks District for their support of the project - it has really made the most of the trip to have your help, and I appreciate it dearly. Thank you for accommodations, meetings, and support and interest in what I am working on!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A Different World
There is no doubt that I will remember the past week as a unique time on the trip.
The Achilles strain resulting from fleeing the gunshots at Calhoun got more and more aggravated as I continued walking. Strain culminated the morning of April 13 in Ed Levin Park. Luckily for me, that day and the next day had been scheduled as very low mileage rest days, because that morning I awoke feeling nearly unable to walk. My friend Peter Wright had joined me the night before, fortunately, so his car was only a mile from the park. We walked there slowly, Peter generously taking my pack, and me leaning heavily on a walking stick I found (I should pause for a moment to note that this was serendipitously the best walking stick I have ever found. A perfect height, just up to the neck, light but very strong with little spring, and beautiful patterns of bark and worm carvings. It had two joints, one perfectly where the hand naturally fell, the other lower, correcting for the upper kink and allowing the stick to plant vertically in the ground. The diameter was just right for my hands, with middle finger just barely able to reach thumb while holding the stick. As a generally non-walking stick person, I must admit it was a really fine piece of equipment, one I was sad to leave behind. If you are interested, I left it in a grassy patch between street and sidewalk less than a block south of Calaveras Rd on Piedmont Rd in Milpitas. Let a new hand find its fortune...)
Originally I hoped to return to the walk in a day or two. But a visit to a physician and a lot of reading about severe tendinitis suggested a nagging injury. I opted then, for a few extra days off my feet to avoid a few extra weeks off my feet down the road.
A real disappointment. It's remarkable how quickly we can adjust to our surroundings. Supplanting the chill night breeze was the hum of electric lights. Replacing stale bread was fresh pasta. Despite my efforts to stay out of the way and keep my headspace intact, I felt the pull of modern apartment living once again, the gravity of the couch, the greedy eye-strain of the television, the sinking release of a warm bed. It's been hard to remain fully engaged in the questions behind the project.
This contrast revealed a personal side of the trip up to this point. The trip has been a break in the fattening, overupdated, climate-controlled convenience of the world I am accustomed to. Fast talking, fast moving, fast living, have all given way to a different kind of pace and a different kind of thinking. I have often tried to explain this trip to friends and others not as an event, but as a different way of living for a few weeks. Moving so drastically from one world to the other has shown me the ways in which this was true.
I don't mean to speak didactically here, only personally. Certainly it is hard to complain about convenience, company, and kindness that come with the world most of us live in. But for me these qualities can become cloying, leaving little room for any kind of physical or mental exhalation. For me, the first leg of the trip was just such a breath, followed quickly by a sharp gasp.
All this being said, I stand by my belief that every experience is worthwhile. What is the saying, Sun Tzu or some such, about while not fighting we are sharpening swords? This has certainly been one benefit of the trip - time off has allowed a chance to reconfigure my backpack, which now has a much slimmer and more effective combination of belongings. I've been able to plan more carefully and find more contacts for the latter half of the trip as well, and am now excited to have added an organic farm to my list of meetings along the way. Tomorrow I'll get a much needed shave and haircut. I'd hate to frighten the tourists in the valley (they say the average visit to Yosemite is 4 hrs, with the average visitor weighing considerably more than the average bay area resident. While I don't doubt these statistics, I certainly wonder how they could be collected - a secret subterranean scale beneath the entry kiosk?). More abstractly, the experience of living at home in the middle of the context of walking has been informative, with the shadow of each experience on the other adding to what light alone can tell. It has affirmed my conviction in the importance of walking as well, both as an experience and as a designated time to work distraction-free on the project. Taking a step back never hurts.
Now, with all this being said, I can't wait to get back on my feet. Monday. The anticipation is mounting again, just as it did before I left originally. The experience thus far has been absolutely unique, rewarding both physically and intellectually. I look forward again to plunging fully into the questions driving the project. And now I have come to understand more carefully the personal side of the trip, and what it offers and has already provided for me outside of athletic or academic context. It's only been possible to parse these components from afar - on the walk the physical, intellectual, and personal fit connect and overlap, making for a unique and encompassing experience.
The Achilles strain resulting from fleeing the gunshots at Calhoun got more and more aggravated as I continued walking. Strain culminated the morning of April 13 in Ed Levin Park. Luckily for me, that day and the next day had been scheduled as very low mileage rest days, because that morning I awoke feeling nearly unable to walk. My friend Peter Wright had joined me the night before, fortunately, so his car was only a mile from the park. We walked there slowly, Peter generously taking my pack, and me leaning heavily on a walking stick I found (I should pause for a moment to note that this was serendipitously the best walking stick I have ever found. A perfect height, just up to the neck, light but very strong with little spring, and beautiful patterns of bark and worm carvings. It had two joints, one perfectly where the hand naturally fell, the other lower, correcting for the upper kink and allowing the stick to plant vertically in the ground. The diameter was just right for my hands, with middle finger just barely able to reach thumb while holding the stick. As a generally non-walking stick person, I must admit it was a really fine piece of equipment, one I was sad to leave behind. If you are interested, I left it in a grassy patch between street and sidewalk less than a block south of Calaveras Rd on Piedmont Rd in Milpitas. Let a new hand find its fortune...)
Originally I hoped to return to the walk in a day or two. But a visit to a physician and a lot of reading about severe tendinitis suggested a nagging injury. I opted then, for a few extra days off my feet to avoid a few extra weeks off my feet down the road.
A real disappointment. It's remarkable how quickly we can adjust to our surroundings. Supplanting the chill night breeze was the hum of electric lights. Replacing stale bread was fresh pasta. Despite my efforts to stay out of the way and keep my headspace intact, I felt the pull of modern apartment living once again, the gravity of the couch, the greedy eye-strain of the television, the sinking release of a warm bed. It's been hard to remain fully engaged in the questions behind the project.
This contrast revealed a personal side of the trip up to this point. The trip has been a break in the fattening, overupdated, climate-controlled convenience of the world I am accustomed to. Fast talking, fast moving, fast living, have all given way to a different kind of pace and a different kind of thinking. I have often tried to explain this trip to friends and others not as an event, but as a different way of living for a few weeks. Moving so drastically from one world to the other has shown me the ways in which this was true.
I don't mean to speak didactically here, only personally. Certainly it is hard to complain about convenience, company, and kindness that come with the world most of us live in. But for me these qualities can become cloying, leaving little room for any kind of physical or mental exhalation. For me, the first leg of the trip was just such a breath, followed quickly by a sharp gasp.
All this being said, I stand by my belief that every experience is worthwhile. What is the saying, Sun Tzu or some such, about while not fighting we are sharpening swords? This has certainly been one benefit of the trip - time off has allowed a chance to reconfigure my backpack, which now has a much slimmer and more effective combination of belongings. I've been able to plan more carefully and find more contacts for the latter half of the trip as well, and am now excited to have added an organic farm to my list of meetings along the way. Tomorrow I'll get a much needed shave and haircut. I'd hate to frighten the tourists in the valley (they say the average visit to Yosemite is 4 hrs, with the average visitor weighing considerably more than the average bay area resident. While I don't doubt these statistics, I certainly wonder how they could be collected - a secret subterranean scale beneath the entry kiosk?). More abstractly, the experience of living at home in the middle of the context of walking has been informative, with the shadow of each experience on the other adding to what light alone can tell. It has affirmed my conviction in the importance of walking as well, both as an experience and as a designated time to work distraction-free on the project. Taking a step back never hurts.
Now, with all this being said, I can't wait to get back on my feet. Monday. The anticipation is mounting again, just as it did before I left originally. The experience thus far has been absolutely unique, rewarding both physically and intellectually. I look forward again to plunging fully into the questions driving the project. And now I have come to understand more carefully the personal side of the trip, and what it offers and has already provided for me outside of athletic or academic context. It's only been possible to parse these components from afar - on the walk the physical, intellectual, and personal fit connect and overlap, making for a unique and encompassing experience.
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