Take a hike - up and down ladders

Paul watching where he steps

My friend, Larry, asked if I had ever heard of the ladders. I thought that was a strange question, since I’ve been climbing up and down ladders all my life. I should have known better when Larry speaks, the question might require deeper thought.

“You mean, like when Laureen wants a different pair of shoes from the top of our closet? Sure, usually I need an extension ladder. It’s a very tall walk-in.”

“No, I mean the hike through the Painted Canyon Trail near Mecca.”

I shook my head. “Nope, that doesn’t ring a bell, and I’ve been on hikes that you can actually ring a bell at the top of the trail.” Admittedly, a cheap plug for an earlier article I wrote for the Daily Press, concerning Bell Mountain in Apple Valley.

“You need to go,” Larry responded.

No need to ask me twice, unless I wasn’t listening – like I do with our children. If Larry said to go hike this place outside of Mecca, then I would do it.”

“He didn’t mean Saudi Arabia,” Laureen stated. “He’s talking about the town of Mecca by Salton Sea. We’ve been there.”

 “I knew that,” I said, while secretly sticking my passport into my back pocket. 

Turns out, that the Ladder Canyon and Painted Canyon Trail is one of the most popular destinations for outdoorsy people in Southern California. 

According to Alltrails.com – ‘Ladder Canyon and Painted Canyon Trail is a 4.9 mile heavily trafficked loop trail located near Mecca, California that features a waterfall and is rated as moderate. The trail offers a number of activity options and is best used from October until April.’

The reason the trail should only be hiked until the end of April, is that after that – the sun happens to be about thirty yards off the ground in the low desert.

Yes, in April and possibly May, the hike near Salton Sea – which is minus two hundred and twenty-six feet below sea level – is doable. But, like most desert communities, come June – hiker beware.

Looking west from the rim toward Salton Sea

‘Hiker beware’ means that if you venture out into a furnace, and the only floor you have is radiating sand, then the sunscreen you lathered on only means it will take a bit longer for you to bake.

A serious note - always be aware of your surroundings when outdoors. Bring plenty of water, wear a hat, have sunscreen on exposed skin, and check the current weather in the area you are planning on hiking. Mother Nature can play dangerous games on those less observant of her rules. 

“It’s not that hot.”

“I can’t hear you, my ears just melted off my head.”

Be careful out there – sounded like a PSA, didn’t it.

Okay, do I ever take these precautions to heart? Of course not, my job is to go out and find places to visit and tell others about them.

I’m a professional – that usually means, I do stupid things to get published.

“So, when are you going to hike this trail?” Laureen asked.

“I was thinking mid-August, when the temperature would be equal to that on Venus.”

Then our friend, Paul and I decided the end of March would be a better time to hike the Ladders trail. 

The directions to reach the trailhead are easy. Drive south out of the city of Indio on Highway 111 (also known as Grapefruit Boulevard) for about sixteen miles, enter the small town of Mecca (not to be confused with the one is Saudi Arabia), take a left at 4th Street, turn right onto 66th Avenue and then just continue in an easterly direction until reaching Painted Canyon Road. Painted Canyon Road is a four mile dirt road that heads to the trailhead – well paved, and even though some sites state a four-wheel drive vehicle is best (and when aren’t they?) any mode of transportation, except a skateboard, should be able to make the passage. Though, about a quarter of a mile from the trailhead, there is a bit of deep sand, but the cautious driver should not have any issues – unless there are flashfloods, haboobs, earthquakes, or an asteroid strikes.

“It was easy getting here,” Paul stated, as I parked the truck.

I nodded. “I may just put in the blog how easy it was to get here.”

Donning our gear, mainly a water pack, we were ready to start hiking. Even though it was early on a Monday, the trailhead already had a dozen other vehicles parked. Another serious note, when hiking in the desert, no matter the time of year, always try to get an early start – just because the weather says the high will be seventy degrees doesn’t mean it will be a pleasant stroll through the landscape. If there’s no shade, seventy in full sun can be intense – thus, the reason for plenty of water and a hat.

At the trailhead, there was a map of the hike, I took a photo of it, but Alltrails.com had one that I also had downloaded.

“Let’s do this,” I stated, while starting down the sandy trail toward the narrowing canyon walls.

“We’re hiking, not robbing a bank,” Paul stated. “Let’s do this! OMG, we’re following a well-worn path.”

It’s best to ignore Paul early in the morning. He can be a little grumpy.

The first quarter of a mile is through a river bed with deep soft sand, before reaching a large arrow on the ground made out of river rocks pointing to the left. There, a large rock fall marks the first ladder to be used to clamber up through a narrow slot canyon.

Yes, real metal ladders are used to go from one section of the canyon to the next, along the trail as you gain about five hundred and sixty feet in elevation to the top of the rim.

John climbing on of the many ladders

The canyon trail meanders right to left and then left to right, and are tall and narrow. At some points, I had to turn sideways to make my way through, especially after climbing up a ladder and squeezing through the opening at the top.

Paul navigating one of the trickier sections with a ladder

According to hiking-in-ps.com, ‘The Mecca Hills (where Painted Canyon Trail is) were formed by the convergence of the North American Plate and the Pacific Plate along the San Andreas Fault. The geologic formations of Mecca Hills are among the most unusual of their kind in the world.

I determined that “some of the most unusual in the world” was a great description as we hiked through the multi-colored canyons with towering rock walls reaching upward to the blue sky. It was eerie to walk through this natural labyrinth. One moment the sun would be streaming down through the narrow slits above us and then it would be gone, leaving us in an almost twilight darkness.

The narrow canyons wind their way through the area

The shapes of the walls constantly twisted here and there. Various shades of earth greeted us at every step, as if an artist had spent time creating these colorful designs on the canvas of the walls.

Again, according to hiking-in-ps.com, ‘Layers of eroded rock, some over 600 million years old, have been pushed up and overturned by the activity of the San Andreas Fault system.’

It is awe inspiring to see how the violence of the early earth created such dramatic backgrounds for us to witness.

The Ladder Canyon and Painted Canyon Trail, is such a place.

Being a loop trail nearly five miles in length, gives the hiker a lot to view. Beautiful canyon walls, brilliant rock surfaces, tall Ironwood and Smoke trees, and one of the best views of the Salton Sea to the southwest from the top of the rim there could be.

The trail is rated as moderate, but with a steady gait, the hike can be completed in three hours. Of course, it may take longer when stopping to snap a photo of this and that – and there’s plenty of this and that to snap photos of along the way.

Hikers have claimed that Bighorn Sheep frequent the area, along with desert wildlife such as spotted bats, desert tortoises, and prairie falcons. 

We saw ravens.

Even though there seemed to be a lot of people hiking the day we made the trek, there were no lines at the nearly half a dozen ladders, but weekends can be crazily busy with long conga lines forming at the bottoms of the ladders.

If a person is not in a hurry, then what’s a little wait now and then? Relax, join the dance line and enjoy the wonders of Mother Nature.

Paul's arm shows it's not only the heat that can hurt you

Fairmount Park, Riverside, CA

The great American author, John Steinbeck once wrote – ‘You can’t go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.’ 

John Steinbeck - a great writer

When I had first read that in his non-fiction book, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, I didn’t completely comprehend what he had been trying to suggest.

Actually, it was more like - What, the heck was this guy thinking? You can’t go home? Home no longer exists? Memories of mothballs? And by the way, what is a mothball?

Decades after reading those words, it made sense. I was born and raised in Riverside, California before relocating to the High Desert. Yes, I would visit Riverside quite often when my parents were alive, but after they were gone – the visits pretty much stopped.

Oh, we would still drive down during the Christmas holidays to take in the Mission Inn’s Festival of Lights. Perhaps drive down Victoria Avenue to take in the beautiful rows of orange trees – and yes, once in a while drive down the street, and pass the house I had spent my childhood in.

The Mission Inn in Riverside during the Christmas Season

Pleasant memories. Those days when all I had to ponder was going to school, hanging out with friends, and doing some chores. It would be later in life that the reality of careers, parenting, mortgages, utilities, food, and all the rest of the grown-up responsibilities would make their presence known.

More like – geez, did I really sign up for all this adulthood drama?

Recently, I had to drive down the hill to Riverside to pick up a few items for a party one of our daughters was having. Of course, it was to be a COVID-19 compliant party – with the limit on guests to only six family members, and each guest would sequester into their own room. We would communicate with each other by means of a string attached to metal cans. 

I arrived a bit early to pick up the items and found there was about an hour to burn. Never let an hour to burn go to waste, is one of my mottos.

Heading west on Route 60 from the junction with Interstate 215, I exited on Market Street and found myself driving through a place that was full of recollections of my youth. 

Fairmount Park is an iconic place in the city of Riverside. Two hundred and fifty acres of relaxation.

In 1911, the city commissioned the nation’s first landscape architectural company to design an urban park. The company, first started by Frederick Law Olmsted, and later taken over by his sons John Charles Olmsted and Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. had a great amount of experience developing barren land into things of natural beauty.

Some of their most famous works were Yale University in New Haven, Stanford University in California, and Central Park in New York City, just to name a few. 

This talented group of landscaping architects was as busy as bees in spring. Just thought I’d throw that in – I’ve seen bees buzzing a lot in spring, and they seem pretty busy. Same with the folks from Olmsted and Olmsted.

With this incredible resume, the city of Riverside knew they had the best team on their side.

“Well, let’s grab some shovels and start planting trees!” one of the city planners gushed.

“Yes, some giant Redwoods would be nice, and perhaps a wading pool with duckies,” suggested a city engineer.

“Hmmm, I believe it may take some time to design the park before we start the actual process,” either John or Frederick Jr. replied.

“Oh,” said the city planner. “I’ll put the shovels back in the shed.”

It took nearly thirteen years to complete the project, but the time and effort were worth it. In those years, Olmsted and Olmsted turned vacant land into an inviting and restful respite for the city residents.

There were walking trails through lush green grass areas. With the completion of Lake Evans, there was plenty of space to fish and to use sailboats or rowboats. There were tall trees to lay beneath on hot summer days. A bandstand to listen to music by local bands. Eventually, tennis courts, lawn bowling areas, and a large rose garden complete with a gazebo were completed, making Fairmount Park something to be very proud of, in this city nestled beside the Santa Ana River.

Looks like a nice place to take a restful saunter

The rose garden with a beautiful gazebo

As I drove around the park, beneath trees with branches nearly covering the entire roadway, I recalled riding my bicycle to the park countless times with friends when I was young. It was the place to go. A few miles of peddling, and soon we would find ourselves at this beautiful oasis with so much to do.

No one was supposed to swim in Lake Evans. Signs were posted everywhere. But, and that’s the pivotal word ‘but’ after riding along the streets of Riverside, we were hot and sweaty.

My mother would ask, more than once, “Why is it that you get pink eye so often?”

Pink eye, again?

I had no answer, as most kids wouldn’t, knowing that swimming in a muddy, dirty, but inviting lake might be the reason.

Ancient thoughts of days spent at the lake ran through me as I continued my slow drift through the wonderfully green park. A tree inventory conducted in 1985, determined that many of the trees planted during the building of the park were still living. It made sense, as I walked around a bit and marveled at the size of some of the Montezuma Cypress trees – it looked as though it would take four or five adults linked together to wrap their arms around the trunks.

Another view of the lake at Fairmount Park

It was Olmsted’s idea that these trees would forever be home to many different species of birds. Listening to the chirping above me in the limbs, I knew these architects would be very happy with their choice of Taxodium mucronatum – that’s the botanical name for this tree. 

As I continued around the park, I saw a group of young ladies walking and chit-chatting with each other.

I wanted to get their take on the park. Why were they walking around it? How often did they do it? 

Slowing, I rolled my window down and proceeded with caution – I didn’t want to come across as a park creep and get sprayed with mace.

“Excuse me,” I said in my friendliest tone – maybe that did sound kind of creepy. “I’m a writer, and was wondering if I could ask you, ladies, a couple of questions?”

“What do you write?” asked one of the women.

“This and that, mainly about traveling to places worth visiting.”

“Sure, ask away,” Silvia said.

“Do you walk through the park often and why?”

Mary replied. “The park is near my house and it so beautiful and clean out here. Makes me feel great each morning as we take this mile walk.”

“I love it here,” Barbara stated. “I’ve been coming to this park since I was a child with my parents.

“It’s a piece of history for Riverside. Look around, it’s green, peaceful, and the rose garden is something no one would get tired of looking at.”

“My husband and I love hanging out in here in the summer. So relaxing,” finished Silvia.

In the summer, how couldn't this be relaxing

In full disclosure, the four women were speaking so quickly and my note-taking was so slow, that I’m not sure I got the correct quotes with the correct person. I don’t think they will mind though, the bottom line was they love Fairmount Park.

In fact, in 2011 the American Planning Association designated the park as a ‘Great Public Space.’ That same year, the City Parks Alliance out of Washington D.C., also designated Fairmount Park as a ‘Frontline Park’ – a jewel in the park system.

As I drove out of the park and headed toward my original destination, I thought back to what Steinbeck had written.

Memories of the past may not be allowed to exist in reality alongside the present, but that doesn’t mean new memories cannot be created.

And isn’t that what traveling is all about? 

Cadiz - it is there

Welcome to Cadiz

I often find myself on the road, which is a good thing, since I write a travel feature each week for the Daily Press.  But sometimes I have no idea where to go, or where I might end up. And, that is sometimes, the beauty of traveling.

Go west young man, Horace Greeley told Mark Twain, and though I ain’t that young anymore, I just head out in any direction to see what there is to see. And there’s a lot to see.

Recently, while driving Route 66 – yes, I like America’s road – I came across a road closure sign just a few miles east of Amboy. I don’t like road closures. It seems there’s a reason why that road is closed and I want to know why. Is it closed due to a government secret? Perhaps an alien ship crashed in the desert that the government is hiding it from the citizens.

Think that’s far-fetched? Think Roswell, New Mexico, my friends.

So, anyway, I came across that road closure sign but when I read the fine print – it clearly said the road was closed to through traffic east of Cadiz Road. Well, that made all the difference in the world to me. Perhaps, I didn’t want to be a through trafficker past this Cadiz Road. That meant I could drive down the road to Cadiz and turn around, if I wanted to.

We think it means you can't drive any further

What was a Cadiz anyway? Wasn’t sure but knew I had to go there. Turned out the true closed road was exactly at Cadiz Road. That’s where the government actually was stopping any traffic from traveling further east on Route 66.

Route 66 - the Mother Road

What were they hiding? After a bit of research, it turned out there were no alien crash sites but simply the road was closed due to multiple bridges being washed out after some pretty heavy desert flooding in 2014. This section of highway has been closed for many years – many, many years. How long does it take to rebuild a few bridges? Apparently six, and counting…

Hmmm, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, but I do believe in the occasional conspiracy. Maybe, just maybe, the Mojave Desert has a new Area 51.

I’ll check that out soon – I’m a professional explorer, so don’t try that on your own.

Back to Cadiz.

Turns out I had been to Cadiz. I had just forgotten momentarily, since it had been a bit over twenty years ago.

It happens to be one of the oldest constantly inhabited cities in Western Europe. This city, located on a piece of land jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea in Spain, is thought to have been founded in 1104 B.C. – oops, wait a moment. Wrong Cadiz.

Wrong Cadiz - nice looking though

Our Cadiz, the California one, was founded in 1883, by Lewis Kingman. He worked as a railroad engineer for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. This was the third railroad station located along this stretch of the Mojave Desert. Each station was alphabetical to its neighbor – Amboy, Bagdad, Cadiz, and so on. 

Driving into the area, the ruins of the Road Runners Retreat lines the south side of Route 66. This retreat was actually in what is now the ghost town of Chambliss – originally known as Chambliss Station. A water tower location for the railroads.

The buildings are boarded up. There’s no sign of life except for lizards, snakes, and possibly extraterrestrial life forms. I believe I saw a shadow run between two of the buildings. Can’t be certain, but the hair on my neck stood up. 

Not much left of Chambliss - a shame

However, this resort had plenty of life in the 1960’s, when Roy and Helen Tull built the comfortable and welcome resort for travelers along Route 66. But when Highway 40 was built miles away to the north, the business lost its customers and closed its doors in the mid 1970’s. The café struggled until the early 1990’s.

Once a bustling stop for travelers on Route 66

Chambliss, as with the resort, faded to obscurity with that darn highway that made traveling so much faster, but also so mundane. In fact, records indicate that in 2005, the population of Chambliss was six residents and a dog. I didn’t see a dog on my visit.

The sign for the resort is still standing tall. One can imagine the neon lights flickering in the clear night, beckoning road weary travelers for a bit of a respite from the dry desert.

Of course, there is the Bolo Station Bar/Grill and RV Park. It looked like life was percolating there. Well-kept buildings, tall trees, bushy bushes and plenty of space for RVs.  I drove in, asked a gentleman if I was in Cadiz, he pointed down the road and said three more miles.

Well, those three miles turned out to be quite interesting. As I thought I had been given erroneous information, suddenly there was the sign for Cadiz. There was no town. But, I did run across a smashed up vehicle on the east side of the asphalt. It looked like something out of Mad Max. Really cool.

This car has met Mad Max, and lost

Soon the asphalt ended and I was on dirt. I followed that dirt road to what appeared to be a large agricultural center. It should be noted that Cadiz actually sits atop one of the largest aquifers in Southern California. So much so, that it is listed as being able to supply water to Southern California for 400,000 residents with plenty to spare. The area is known for being in the forefront of water conservation and is earnestly working with the State of California, as well as the federal government for this very purpose.

As I drove into what was the labelled Cadiz Farm, I noticed what appeared to be a Christmas tree forest. But no, as I got closer and closer, the realization hit me that it was a gazillion acres of marijuana. 

Nope, not Christmas trees

I got out and walked through the fields for about ten minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, or a week. Wasn’t sure, but when I got back to my truck, Jimi Hendrix was standing there playing his Fender Stratocaster. We laughed, exchanged musical lyrics and far too soon, he faded away – but just before he was gone, he smiled as only Jimi could and stated, “Cadiz you later.”

Turns out the farm actually produces an array of other farm produce – it’s a huge agricultural business.

Is Cadiz worth visiting? I enjoyed my time there, but with all traveling, there are hits and misses. I’ll take the hit on this, and perhaps you can take the miss. But then again - - -