Little Enough to be Exotic

October 13, 2022

Little Enough to be Exotic

Let's see now, where can I go? What trail do I ride infrequently enough that it will seem kind of exotic, possess an air of mystery, as in I wonder how it has changed from the last time I rode it? Yet it also had to be close enough that I wouldn't spend a lot of time getting there.

The valley was a kettle of thick grey gruel when I rolled my wheels from pavement to dirt and, as far as I could tell, the stuff had seeped into the mountains' every nook and cranny. I knew that somewhere up ahead I would reach a shear plane separating soup from sky and pass from dim to bright. Just how far ahead, though, I could not guess. I suppose I was most of the way to Mystic before the first hazy shards of blue began to appear up above. The lower portion of the trail was quiet, fitting I suppose, for this muted morning; the only creatures stirring were a handful of trail runners, and lizards which scurried out of my way. I would have to go a long way beyond the Mystic turn off before crossing paths with any other souls - in this case a group of hikers taking a mid-morning break in a shady spot of trail. The varied scents that make up a bowl of ramen filled the air as I rode through the group, exchanging greetings and good mornings. It was tempting, and I was tempted to turn around claiming to be fatigued and maybe if they shared just a little I could make it the rest of the way up the relentless climb. Ego said "No!"

A little further along, I rubbed elbows and forearms, and probably knees, with poison oak which thought nothing about growing out across my path, that thin v-shaped ribbon of dirt and rock winding up the sides of the mountains. I remembered the sprawling patches of itch weed, I remembered the swarms of gnats, I remembered the little alcove, far up the trail, where Baldy first comes into view. What I did not remember was just how spectacular and wide the views at the top are, in fact I am not sure any place affords a more grand panoramic view of the San Gabriel Mountains' highest peaks than from the vantage of this trail.

Back down and at the end, I couldn't recall exactly where the crash occurred that last time I rode the MTT, and the wrist with bone still somewhat protruding didn't see fit to remind me as we passed the spot. It wouldn't have mattered, the Monroe Truck Trail is still, as it has always been, a little bit exotic, a little bit mysterious, a little bit challenging, a little bit thrill, and all right!