Are You Living It?

After yesterday’s morning meeting in the endless industrial park that is Hayward, California, I decided to take the afternoon off and hit the trails for some much-needed time in the woods.  Too many spreadsheets, too many sales pitches, too much of my own voice.  Time for some silence and sweat.

I crossed the San Mateo Bridge and meandered my way over to the Purisima Creek Redwoods Open Space Preserve.  It’s on the western slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains, not too far from Half Moon Bay, home of the famous Mavericks Surf Break and its occasional 40′ waves.

I wandered so long in my efforts to find the trailhead that I nearly gave up.  I’m embarrassed to say it, but that’s how I felt after looking at the map a hundred times and driving back and forth on the same stretch of road for an hour.  I finally located the tiny parking area at the end of 4 single-lane miles of unmarked, serpentine roadway, but it was so far past when I needed to start riding that a malaise had settled over me … the little “let’s go home and have a beer” voice had begun whispering in the back of my head.  Mojo lost?

There were a few cars, but no humans in sight.  I strolled over to the trail map, still in my biz casual attire, loafers crackling across the thin gravel.  I took note of the mountain lion warnings (”if approached, pick up small children without bending over” … just one more reason to maintain one’s flexibility), and then let my gaze settle on the singletrack that extended from there into the forest, sunlight dappling the hard-packed dirt and pine needles.  Mojo regained. I was out of my slacks and button-down and into semi-clean jersey and shorts in less than five.  A few pumps in the tires and I was rolling, making a mental note of where I’d left my keys (broken fender, back left of car, tucked inside… don’t tell anyone).

Throughout the 1700′ climb that awaited me, my surroundings closesly resembled the Ewok forest in Return of the Jedi.  There were fidgeting creatures in the brush near the trail, “smallish” redwoods of the 8 foot in diameter variety, and clean views of the Pacific when I rode into clearings.  The utterly perfect singletrack continued to unfold above me.

I never saw a soul. But I got back in touch with my own.

James Schaffer