The Gravel Whisper

There was plenty of work Monday through Wednesday this week - details of the city entry signs had been updated, same for that big open space park way out in Banning, and the new city hall project was not quite on line yet. So, by late Thursday morning the need to sit in front of the computer had fizzled out. More often than not, lately, that has meant walking time. This day, though, I couldn't resist that Siren song - the Hakkalugi called out from the other side of the door: "Mike. Gravel." That's all, two words and, technically, it was really just one word since the first was only my name.

Usually I require a little more explanation - a reason to change a normal routine, a what's in it for me, will I like it, will it improve me in some way? I didn't really think about it for long because of that one word - gravel - it whispered through my head, and I immediately repeated it like that weird kid in that old television show The Middle - gravel. You all get it, I know; you know how much meaning is packed into that single word, so I don't need to drone on and on. 

The main roads in this place tend to be kept clear of encroaching plants by passers-by and the occasional grading and scraping activity. Others, however, get almost no attention. It was to these other routes, these roads less traveled that I turned my wheels. In doing so I was led to some "undiscovered" water control structures, including a new "earliest" dated to 15 March 1928. Nineteen twenty-eight was a busy year for water control in this area. While checking out one such headwall and gate I spied, off in the distance, what appeared to be a much larger structure and bushwhacked my way over to it; though clearly unused in a long time I am guessing the gate, in its heyday, was a primary one - the levees are well more than head-height, and from the bottom of the basin they are probably double that. 

Between the various hike-a-bike, cross-country treks, unsuccessful attempts at photographing native and immigrant bees, and stops for other photos, an easy one-hour spin had turned into more than two, and the time to head back had arrived. That is the best thing about these gravel-dirt "adventures" - your only limit is time, there is no rule that says you must stick to the old tried and true; find a new route, veer over onto that side road you've been meaning to check out. Remember, where the sidewalk ends, adventure begins.