Hometown Trail Run Jan 3

Distance: 10.5 mi

Elevation Gain: 2782 ft

Trails: 90%

Time: 1:58 hr

Soundtrack: The Arcade Fire

"No Entry" Signs Ignored: 4?

I guess this is the anti-Travels post. I spent a bit of time in my hometown over the holidays. I might as well muse a bit.

Hometowns are a strange thing. Like oneself, they grow and evolve and change, and at the same time perhaps they do not change at all.

Our house was a part of a tract that was one of the first drops of suburbia in the hilly area. The hills were flattened, houses were built. I remember as a young kid being pushed up and down piles of dirt in a wheelbarrow in the backyard of my parent's newly acquired home. I remember not having a back fence and the grassy hillside beyond that cattle grazed on. I remember walking dirt roads to a concrete stock pond to catch frogs. I remember seeing horses on the same dirt roads. The nearest grocery store was 4 miles away. We built a fence. The cattle disappeared. Houses were made more homely. Yards were landscaped. I grew. The sprawl grew. New paved roads appeared with more houses. A park appeared down the street. Then a fire station. The nearest grocery store was less than a mile away. I grew. I built treehouses. Treehouses were torn down by the Neighborhood Association due to safety reasons. Wooden playgrounds were replaced by plastic. Chicken wire was placed under fences to keep out rattlesnakes and bunnies. I grew. A whole shopping center sprung up within walking distance with joys like Target, Toys R' Us, a movie theater and frozen yogurt.

As a kid every addition was an exciting move in the right direction. Kids like the smell of progress. But more people mean more "wildfires," and their numbers seem to have increased with the population. Freeways slow from the traffic. More lanes are added. Cars get bigger with increasing income. A toll lane is added. The freeways still slow with traffic. Either I lost my kiddish ability to spot frogs or their numbers have declined. Rarely do I see roadrunners or blue-tailed skinks or alligator lizards or any of those other joys of my childhood. These days just about everything you could possibly want from a store can be had within a short driving distance.

Now my hometown has just about reached suburban capacity with few open tracts of land left. It has achieved continuity with other cities on three of its sides. The land on the southeastern side is currently protected as a private land trust preventing spillover in that direction for the moment. Occasionally cattle still roam out there. Mountain lions are still abundant in the area, as are coyotes and rattlesnakes. Fortunately many of the original valley slopes and floors between neighborhoods have been left as open space, providing wildlife corridors to roam from one place to another, and surprisingly continuous trail running opportunities between residences. These grassy slopes and oak-lined valleys were so important to me growing up. I cannot imagine how I would have turned out without this land to catch lizards, to find fossilized leaves, to hollow out bushes into forts, to toboggan down hillsides in the grassy spring. Still I appreciate them. Driving the streets give no impression that it would be possible to run over 10 miles mostly on trails through the middle of this suburbia.

It has been a great place to live and grow up and I couldn't possibly complain about it. I was privileged with everything I had and I think I have always felt that way, even as a kid. Despite this, it is a place I would never chose to go back to live. It has so evolved with traffic and self-interest. I have changed too. The first few days of a visit I can easily satisfy myself with the endless sun, vibrant smog-fueled sunsets, tasty food and specialty wares I do not have here, but after that I crave simplicity. For now I am happy with my birdsongs, rain on a tin roof, commuting by bike, never bothering to lock my house or car, and being 20 minutes away from places no man has ever set foot. Again, still very privileged.

Long runs are one of the best opportunities for me to think, probably second only to my daily bike commute and solo hiking. The last full day in my hometown I awoke early to run the long trail loop above. Being a day before my departure to New Zealand, I was thinking of going back after being away for a month and all the work I need to do to finish my PhD.

Below is a poem I wrote after a similar run on an evening back in 2008. Funny how different my thoughts were then, fueled by tinges of selfless acts observed, a slight feeling of self-righteousness, and the uncomfortable uncertainty in my own life at the time. It is a bit harsh and one-sided no doubt. I am pretty sure it is called  "You Are The Flood You Are Drowning In."

The dam breaks as the clock strikes 5
Releasing the floods back to their homes


They race or crawl past the thousand screaming billboards
Offering suggestions of the latest need, gimmick or distraction
Lit cigarettes and empty bottles discarded into the air
For they have lost their usefulness
Maybe a selfish thought slips in as this happens
Or maybe no thought at all


They pull into their neighborhood
Past the superficially identical houses
The manicured lawns, mailboxes and street lights
The sprinklers watering the plants from somewhere else
And the sign announcing "Oak Glen," "Sunny Springs," or some French name
Cleverly dreamt up by a marketer who has never seen the place


Or maybe the house is bigger
Behind a gate and fence
And down a long private driveway
High on a hill with a million-dollar view
As if the height protects it from drowning
In the expansive sea of smog and city lights


Home at last they turn on the tube
Because life is more fun to watch than live
And distractions ease the mind
Of what it is to be human
And what is still missing