Sunday, June 25, 2006

IDYLLWILD Chapter 2: From Palms to Pines There was a brief moment of confusion when I opened my eyes this morning. My vision overflowed with a horizon of knotty pine. It floated above me. It extended all around me, the woody sworls forming and morphing into a variety of surreal shapes like some kind of Amish Matrix. A couple blinks brought my focus back to reality and I remembered I was at the Knotty Pine Cabins in Idyllwild. I then remembered I was on vacation and there was no reason to be lying in bed staring at lumber when you could step out your door and be seeing the real live thing. Besides, today I was promised a nice long hike in the woods. And as Nietzsche said "Only thoughts which come from walking have any value. Fo shizzle." But first we took a short stroll to the town 'center', which was nothing more than a few restaurants, a liquor store (with Fat Tire beer), a convenience store and local artisan shops clustered together for warmth and protection. Idyllwild has a definite tourist town vibe, but without a major fishing lake or ski hills, it's kept to a minimum. Sure there were twee shoppes with names like Two Babes in the Woods, Gary's Feat of Clay and The Gastro'gnome. But the stores were well stocked and there were no big chains as far as the eye could see. Even with our elevated vantage point up here on the 'Hill'. Oh, yes, there was a definite sense of community among the Idyllwildians. We were mere Flatlanders, come to the mountain; partially welcome invaders into their idyllic landscape. A place where the altitude is twice the population. Where the guy you served coffee to in the morning was the one fixing your plumbing in the evening. And his wife was probably your kid's teacher as well. Further evidence of this small town camaraderie was found at JC's Red Kettle, where we met up with Mr. Goodtush. Everyone seemed to know him and vice versa. We learned that in the evening the Red Kettle became Arriba's Mexican restaurant. This was a temporary arrangement offered by the owner after the actual Arriba's burned to the ground a few weeks ago up the street. JC's served up a mean stack of hotcakes and some phenomenal homemade sausage along with a stand-your-chesthair-on-its-end strength cup of coffee. Perfect fortification for what lay ahead. Leaving the restaurant we noticed several huge backpacks leaning against the planks of the front porch like steeds tied outside an old western saloon. I gazed at them longingly, visions of sherpas and trail-marking chortens filling my head. "It's okay," said Ms. Goodtush, putting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, "You can cry." Stupid Nepalese king. Mr. Goodtush mentioned the Pacific Rim Trail passes near town and hikers often come in for supplies and a real meal. "But most of them," he said, "come here with a pair of shorts and a twenty dollar bill. And they leave without changing either." Today's plan was to drive down the mountain and over to Palm Springs where we'd catch a tram up near the top of San Jacinto Mountain. We'd then enjoy a twelve-mile stroll through the forest heading towards Humber Park where Mr. Goodtush would leave the car and begin hiking towards us. We'd meet somewhere in the middle. Hopefully. The terrain on our ride to Palm Springs looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to the vicinity, leaving behind only dead red sand and the burnt husks of gnarled shrubs, ashen rocks and a few concrete bunkers. The heat rippled above the tar like angry spirits, huffing at our skin with hot tendrils as we drove by. The first signs of civilization rose high above the scrub in the form of a wind farm. Hundreds of towering metal trees with bare spinning limbs, lazily spiraled the planet forward. Just beyond them the scenery blossomed into lush lawns, palm trees and colorful Spanish tile roofs. Here, in this once hipster oasis, is where the Rat Pack packed off to when the LA heat became even too much for their timeless cool . I thought it ironic that these big fans were probably being used to run air conditioners and smaller fans in homes. We left the beckoning lushness and turned onto a road grimacing with cracks that thrust itself into the heart of the mountain. We were headed to Chino Valley where the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway would lift us over two-and-a-half miles to a height of 8,516 feet. Meaning we would go from palms to pines in the span of a few minutes. The tram was nestled into a narrow crevice in the cliffs, rising sharply up to an as yet unseen peak. The gray cables blended into the rock making the descending car look like a slowly landing cherry red UFO. We shuffled in until the compartment was packed, fighting with kids for a good view around the outer rim. I don[base ']t know if the ride ranked as 'One of the Eight Wonders of the World' as the plaque proclaimed. But I could certainly see it making most people's 'Cool Things What I Have Done' lists, for on the ride up there were equal amounts of "oohs"and "aahs" for the view as well as the guide's retelling of the tram's history and technical aspects. Like the fact it took 23,000 helicopter trips to build the tram's five towers. Or that there are 120-ton counterweights keeping its 13,100 feet of 40mm cable the proper tension. I also didn't know that episodes of both The Six Million Dollar Man and Beverly Hills 90210 were filmed here. But then so was Skyway to Death. Disgorging us at the top, where it was about thirty degrees cooler, 90% of the people headed for the gift shop or restaurant. A pity, because the view was something to behold. If the sign I read was correct, on a clear day you could see 175 miles. At night, you could see the lights of Vegas. But a clear day in California is rarer than a white heavyweight champ, so the horizon was smudged a blue-gray; an early dose of the June gloom. HG said she'd hiked this trail a decade ago, but the camper in me wanted a better sense of our path. We stopped at an information desk and asked a ranger. He eyed us like we were attempting to freeclimb K2 in clownsuits. "Well, it's going to take about 6-8 hours and you'll need sleeping bags, crampons, pitons, climbing ropes..." He spoke very slowly, sounding out each syllable of every word so we'd understand. Something in his condescending tone rubbed me like a cheese grater. "Look, I already know what that shit is, just tell us why we need it, instead of talking to us like three-year olds so you can impress the volunteer working the counter with you, Ranger Rick." Actually, his name was Donald, but he knew I was talking to him. "Er, well, it's snowed in up at the peak still. I think." "You think?" "We're not going to the peak." explained Ms. Goodtush. "We're going around the side. The trail to Humber Park." "Well, I haven't been there recently, but I bet there's really deep snow. Especially at Devil's Slide!!!!!" He said this last bit like it was going to be accompanied by a thunderclap and the lights flickering on and off. "But we don't know." "Then shut your jerkey hole unless you know for sure and stop trying to ruin other people's vacations. I bet you're related to King Gyanendra, aren't you?!" I didn't really say this, but that was my mood when I thought my chance at some wilderness hiking was totally gone. For safe measure we bought a basic topo map of the area and hit the trail. I was worried about what we'd do if we did hit impassible snow and had to turn back. We had no way to reach her dad waiting for us at the other end. Devil's Slide did look like it crossed a lot of elevation lines in a short distance. Plus, they must have called Devil's Slide for a reason. A glance at the map also revealed other features such as Black Mountain, Dark Canyon, Suicide Rock and Mr. T Gives You a Prostate Exam Crevasse. Yes, we did hit some snow. But it was in small, sun-sheltered patches not more than a foot deep. "Oh, look at this!" I shrieked in mock girlie-man terror. "What is this devilish substance? It is frozen yet stings my flesh like flame! How shall we ever cross these treacherous inches? Embrace me, I want them to find our frozen corpses together." We should have told the ranger we were from Minnesota. Our greatest danger was the giant pinecones--nature's ballbearings--that carpeted the trail. They were massive pineapple-sized ankle busters. If one fell from two hundred feet on your noggin, you'd be pushing up Miss Daisy. The trees were magnificent and massive. Those reaching 150' high were common. It would take four people linking arms to encircle some of the largest ones. They were wicked pillars holding up the few clouds wisping by in an otherwise blue sky. Hundreds of years they've stood here. Living history. If only they could talk. Actually, if they did I'd be totally freaked out and flee screaming into the nearest strip mall. Like I did when that Aunt Jemima bottle came to life. There were a variety of trees that made up the woods, like oaks and fragrant incense cedars. But the pines reigned supreme: lodgepole, Jeffrey, ponderosa, pinyon and Coulter pines (Also known as the Bigcone tree. Not to be confused with the Ann Coulter pine, which is also known as the Bigcunt tree.). We didn't see many people, but those coming the opposite way told us the trail was clear. One couple waved at us as they approached. "You must be Scott and Katie." said the woman in a pronounced English accent with an unfortunately matching English smile. Before I could scream out "She's a tree witch! Run!" she explained they had met Father of Goodtush a little way back on the trail and he asked them to keep an eye out for us. We met up with her dad and Sky not long afterwards. It was near where the trees pulled away like a curtain to give us an unobstructed view of Suicide Rock. It looked so stunning in the bright sun that I couldn't imagine seeing the view from up there and ever wanting to commit suicide. I was told it got its name because people thought it was suicide to try and climb it. Its stern face contained several routes of the 5.13 variety. Suicide rock indeed. We were headed down now however, the trail becoming wider and more worn. People trudged by us hauling large packs up the mountain, clearly intent on some long-term wilderness stay. One was a beautiful blonde woman with a pack almost as big as her six-foot frame. Toned and tanned muscles flexed as she climbed. "Hello." she said in a purr that was shot through with an Australian accent. After she passed, Ms. Goodtush looked at me with a knowing smirk. "Should I be jealous?" "If I wasn't already dating a wonderful woman..."I trailed off. "But, hey, you know it doesn't matter to me what size a woman's backpack is." While we were laughing I glanced down at my watch. I'd just be touching down in Kathmandu right now. To the minute. I sighed sadly for a second. And then the second passed. 5:56:45 PM    Say it don't spray it... []

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