Surfing L.A County on weekends gives me facial tics. No big deal until a cop mistakes you for a meth fiend and busts out the mace, only to exacerbate the problem.
Hiking allows me to feel better about excusing myself from the dawn patrol. The mountains surrounding this much maligned city force Angelenos to inhale healthy doses of our own pollution, while providing ample hiking opportunities.
I stick to the trailheads requiring a drive up the PCH in order to gauge the mood of the mighty Pacific. This way I also get to check the surf at some of the more infamous spots in the area. Today I’m happy to report that while I saw a few corners, nothing made me regret leaving the board behind.
Hiked Sandstone Peak, just over the Ventura line, down Yerba Buena. Less than 7 miles and never climbing higher than 3300 ft., the trail is taxing without being overwhelming. This is not to say that my unusually tight hamstrings, which have served my surfing so dutifully, were not screaming from the first incline.There seems to be a direct correlation between sucking wind, a burning sensation in my legs, and overactive face muscles. Do serious mountain climbers risk permanent paddleface from prolonged adventure?
Completion had me feeling my age. Nothing a couple of beers at the Dume Room couldn’t remedy. Oh yeah, one of the last places in Malibu with any real character has been closed for a couple of years. It still sucks.
