An Evening at John's Place

I was going to post this as a Random Shot of Beauty a couple of weeks ago, except for the fact that I felt nearly overcome with dread while taking it:

The National Steinbeck Center in downtown Salinas, where my friend Mike and I were scheduled for a “Meet the Authors” presentation for our Running Life book on a recent Friday evening. We were invited to talk a little bit about our book, read a few excerpts, and explain how the natural beauty of Monterey County helps inspire both our running and our writing.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m much more comfortable as a writer than as a promoter, and this night was no exception. Of course, I might not have felt nearly so self-conscious if we hadn’t been speaking just below the brooding visage of Steinbeck himself, looming over us as if waiting to pass judgment. You know … no pressure or anything.

Our warm up act – I swear I’m not making this up - was a class of mariachi guitarists. It was one of those “Only in Salinas” scenes, and helped to lighten the atmosphere a bit before Mike and I took the stage.

It wasn't competely empty ... it just seemed that way sometimes.

Attendance for our presentation was less than what we hoped for; check that – it was WAY less - although I guess if you count the mariachi players you could say we had a decent showing. However, for as anxious as I was beforehand, once we started talking about the book and running, the whole experience was actually more enjoyable than I had anticipated.

I presented a slideshow of images - most of them taken directly from this website – called “Running in Steinbeck Country.” As I began to describe the timeless beauty of this area, the stories that took place here long before my arrival, and the appreciation I have both for this land and the people who occupy it, I settled into something approaching comfort. (Although considering the circumstances, that’s still a pretty strong word; perhaps “I no longer wanted to crawl under the table” is more accurate.)

Obviously the two of us don’t measure up to Steinbeck any more than we do to Olympic-caliber runners – however, in both cases, lack of world-class talent doesn’t diminish our enjoyment of either activity. I enjoy writing, I love running, and as long as I can continue to do both of them in some form or another, I’ll consider it one of life’s greatest blessings.

*The Running Life is now available for $16 from our dedicated book webpage.




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Fools in the Ra ... What?!

Actual conversation between a running partner and me that took place in pitch darkness shortly after 5:30AM yesterday, on the first major climb of our weekly 12-mile trail run:


Me: Hey – does this rain seem strange to you?

Him: What do you mean?

Me: Well, I can tell that it’s hitting me, but it feels different than usual. It has a different impact when it lands or something.

Him: I hadn’t noticed.

Me: And I know we’re getting wet, but there’s kind of a delay to it. There’s definitely something weird about this.

Him: Hard to tell – it all looks the same in the headlamps.


The confusion was ultimately set aside - to my partner’s relief, I’m sure – and we soon found ourselves at the top of the climb.

About 45 minutes and 700 feet of descent later, daybreak arrived with an easily recognizable rainstorm, soaking and chilling us for the last few miles of our run. We hit the parking lot, and only paused for a quick fist bump before jumping into the shelter of our cars and heading off our respective ways.

It wasn’t until later in the day that I looked back towards the hills we had run on that morning – and this was the sight I saw:


That would be snow, on the slopes of Mount Toro, rising above Steinbeck’s Pastures of Heaven. Our run was on the opposite side of the valley, and at a lower elevation - but suddenly the oddity of the morning’s precipitation became clear: we had been running through a snow flurry! It wasn't quite cold enough to stick to the ground where we were - although at 30 degrees, it was plenty cold for me - but the flakes were definitely falling on us while the storm headed toward the top of the mountain.

Monterey County typically gets snow about once or twice per year, but sometimes several winters will pass without the necessary ingredients converging at the right time to create measurable snowfall. Last Monday night and Tuesday morning, all the conditions came together for one of the earliest snow storms that most people around here can ever recall.

And I can say that I was running in it. How awesome is that?

However, lest you get the wrong idea about any of this, let me be clear: running in the snow isn’t something I want make a habit of. Prior to yesterday, it’s been more than ten years since I’ve done it – and while the memories are vivid, I’m not exactly nostalgic for the ghost of cold, snowy winters past. So I’m hoping to chalk this up as a very cool fluke of circumstance, then return to the regular 65-degree December days that are the reason I live here.

In other words: Welcome, Winter. Please go away soon.

**

Finally, since I’ve been musing about John Steinbeck lately, here’s another snow picture I took yesterday, featuring one of his favorite spots. In Travels with Charley in Search of America, he described Fremont Peak this way:

“This solitary stone peak overlooks the whole of my childhood and youth, the great Salinas Valley stretching south for nearly a hundred miles, the town of Salinas where I was born now spreading like a crab grass toward the foothills.”


And there you have it - Steinbeck Country under snow. Here's hoping this is the last time I have to write about this.

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December Ramblings

Actually, these aren’t so much ramblings as they are follow-up notes from previous posts – but for some reason, “December Follow-ups” didn’t have as catchy a ring to it. So to stay true to the rambling spirit, I’ll throw in a new item at the end of this post.

OK then. On with the updates …

* Last week, during a water break on our weekly bike ride, my son and I got to see a coyote. It spotted us from about 50 yards away, but didn’t show any apprehension about our proximity – in fact, he stared at us for a minute, and came as close as about 25 yards before he disappeared into the brush.

Here’s the take-home lesson I learned that day: if you ever want to get a 10-year-old boy excited about mountain biking, you should arrange to have a coyote walk up to you during a water break someday. My son was already scheduling our next ride before we even reached the car.

And before you ask … no, I didn’t get a picture of the coyote – but here’s a shot of the area we ride in, with my son doing his best Lance Armstrong at Leadville impersonation:

Not a bad place to spend a weekday evening, huh?

* Remember how I set a goal to swim 25 yards of underwater dolphin kick after watching Michael Phelps do it against Anderson Cooper? Well, last week I got 'er done. On a degree of difficulty scale, I’d say the challenge ranks higher than the “25 underwater - single breath - 25 freestyle breath holder”, but not as tough as a straight underwater 50.

Actually, I was kind of disappointed that the feat wasn’t a bit more difficult to accomplish. Instead of feeling proud of myself, I couldn’t help but wonder: if I could do 25 yards after practicing for just a couple of weeks, how far do you think a guy like Phelps could go? 50 yards seems like a slam dunk. How about 75? 90? I wouldn’t even think that 100 yards is out of the question for him. It’s simply mind-boggling how much talent that guy has, and how hard he works to optimize it.

* The article about running on the Pebble Beach golf course was something of a tempest in a teapot around the Monterey Peninsula. I was still receiving e-mail about it several days afterwards – far past the usual 24-hour shelf life my column enjoys before becoming a bird cage liner somewhere. It was the top-viewed story on the newspaper website for more than 48 hours (ahead of things like gang shootings and public layoff notices), and was also picked up by a couple of golfing websites. Sometimes it stuns me how much publicity you can get by stirring up a little controversy.

Sure, the attention was nice for a while – but after it was all said and done, you know what I felt best about? Getting to know Mark, the Executive VP at the Pebble Beach Company. He turned out to be a completely stand-up guy, and I really enjoyed talking and exchanging e-mails with him. In fact, we've kept in touch since the article came out, and realized that we share several mutual acquaintances, and our kids will attend the same school next year. Since our paths will inevitably cross one day, I’m especially glad I decided not to do a hatchet job on him in the paper.


* In regards to the Steinbeck items, and the possibility of a series of blog posts about him: that might not happen for a while. I meant what I said about feeling woefully inadequate to do the whole story justice; it’s something that I would want to devote some time and research to, and I’ve just got too much on my plate to attempt that right now. However, the Salinas Valley – in particular, one novel mentioned below - has been at the forefront of my thoughts lately, so it’s probably inevitable that I’ll try to illustrate it in small doses on this site after the first of the year.

Salinas Valley sunrise, last week

In the meantime, my recommendation for anyone who has a thirst for Steinbeck and Salinas is to do what I did this fall: read his epic novel East of Eden. It’s a complete tour de force, as significant a monument to the author’s collective work as any statue or library can ever symbolize. In fact, Steinbeck himself once said of the book, "I think everything else I have written has been, in a sense, practice for this."

And if for some reason you thought I was exaggerating the conflicted emotions between city and author, consider the following two historical footnotes to East of Eden:

1) Its working title was The Salinas Valley, and Steinbeck often referred to it as his “love letter” to the region he called home, but …

2) When he first imagined writing the “novel of Salinas” in 1930, he said “It should be left for a few years yet, because I hate too many people there.” It took him 21 more years to make his peace with the community and begin writing the masterpiece. Lucky for us that he finally did.

That’s all for the updates. And now for something completely different …

**

It seems somehow curious that a band made up entirely of blind men would invest time in making a music video. On the other hand, the Blind Boys of Alabama have been defying conventional standards for nearly seventy years.

Among their landmark albums is 2003’s Go Tell It on the Mountain, a Grammy-winning collection of holiday songs in their typical soulful, majestic style. The album is equal parts classics that you know and love, and renditions that are like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

In that latter group is a song called “Last Month of the Year,” which kicks off the holiday album. It’s become our kids’ favorite holiday song, and it’s always the first song that pops out from the CD player once the boxes of Christmas decorations are brought down from the attic.

As you can imagine, I was pleasantly stunned to learn that a video for the song exists; it’s embedded below for you to enjoy. You have to wait about 45 seconds (and through a 30-second ad - sorry) to get to the good stuff – but trust me, it’s worth the wait.

*
Blind Boys of Alabama – “Last Month of the Year” (click to play):

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Salinas Stories

Well, that was easy.

It was only a matter of hours before the statue in yesterday’s post was correctly identified as John Steinbeck; what will take substantially longer is for me to describe its significance – about both the man, and to the city that shaped him.


To say that the relationship between Steinbeck and the city of Salinas is troubled is an understatement of the highest order. He has been equal parts reviled and praised, hated and adored. Although the pendulum has swung in recent years towards positive regard, a large percentage of locals still feel disdain for the town’s most famous native son.

In fact, it’s no coincidence that people’s comments after the last post suggested that the statue looks like either 1) a notorious dictator, or 2) a grouchy old guy; local legend has it that the sculptors purposely made him look wrinkled and ornery, to reflect the animosity between the writer and the town. (In the sculptors’ defense – have you ever seen a picture of Steinbeck with a carefree smile? By nearly all accounts, the man was definitely a brooder.)

Perhaps it’s fitting, then, that the city of Salinas has struggled with its own legacy ever since the days of Steinbeck. There’s no better example of the troubles the town has faced, or the difficulty it has encountered in the shadow of its literary giant, than the building that frames his statue: the John Steinbeck Public Library. That’s just part of the tale I hope to tell someday – but honestly, it’s a bigger story than I’m currently equipped to take on.


The saga of Steinbeck and Salinas is one that should be told in books, not blog posts. The author was far and away the city’s most outspoken critic – but he always saw the possibilities amidst the problems; the beauty obscured by the grime. Many of those issues – as well as plenty of new ones - persist today, just as they did when the author walked its streets.

Salinas remains a city that inspires mixed emotions. It’s also the city where I’ve spent the majority of my adult years. It’s where I work, and where I train, and where I ponder the larger meaning of my life in relation to the world around me.

This town has inspired me and infuriated me; it attracts me and it breaks my heart. It has provided for me and left me longing. I’ve spent many years wishing I didn’t have to be a part of Salinas - but when I look back now after more than a decade, I realize that it has shaped me much in the same way it influenced one of my favorite authors.

That’s the story I hope to write someday - that is, if I ever summon up the courage to take the whole thing on.

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Name That Dude

Earlier this week, I was tagged by Pamela to take the sixth picture from my Flickr account and use it as a post. Since I don’t have a Flickr account – and since I’m always so delinquent in responding to tags – I figured I had an easy way out of this one: no account, no tag.

I told Pamela as much, and she sent me this reply:

“Then pick a picture - any picture. I know you have them and it gives you a free blog day - no thinking required!”

In her typical common sense way, she was absolutely right – so I’m playing along in a modified fashion. In the absence of a Flickr account, I plugged my camera’s memory card into the computer, and picked the sixth picture from a series of shots I’ve been taking recently:


It actually works out pretty well, in that I was intending to use this picture for a post - or, more likely, a series - that has been a long time in developing (which should surprise nobody). And sure – I could just tell you who the sculpture depicts, but that would be too easy.

So it’s audience participation time: identify the person in the sculpture, and I’ll write more about it at some point in the future. Actually, I’m planning to write about it anyway, but I’m curious to see how obvious the answer is.

It seems like a no-brainer to me – but I’m not always the most perceptive person when it comes to these things. If the first commenter could guess correctly, that would be remarkably reassuring.

No pressure or anything. And … go!

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