California is Dangerous

Most notably, Southern California is dangerous. I say that because I don't really know much about the middle or northern parts of this state, but I will tell you this: the state is tricky. It lures you out here with sensuously beautiful weather reports, and shimmering seas with diamond-capped waves that sparkle in the afternoon sun. Any street worth it's name is silhouetted in perfectly manicured palm trees. If all of this isn't enough for you, Southern California keeps a warm desert snuggled within its bosom. The desert is covered in an intricate system of trails all crocheted together so that you can enter a trail in one spot, bike for 3 hours, and finish your ride at the same place you started without ever passing the same speck of sand twice.
Or, if you're like me, you can try for something a little more complex. Be careful though, California doesn't like to be taken lightly.
And so I find myself pulling up to the Rancho Bernardo Senior Center with my bike strapped to the back of my car, and a big grin glued on my face. I am meeting 2 other bikers for a ride coordinated by me (through meetup.com). To be fair, I did disclosed to the other 2 that I have never ridden this trail before. Did I mention though that it has been 8 months since I've ridden? Hmmmm....
As I am unstrapping my bike from my car, I notice an intense burning sensation on the back of my head. Curious, I turn around to see 3 rather elderly gentlemen pausing from their tennis game to watch me unload my bike. I smile and nod (as I am currently lugging 30 lbs of unbalanced metal off the rack), but my smile and nod are unrequited. Ah well. I guess smiles aren't for everyone.
I then put the front wheel on my bike, and notice that the sun is suddenly blocked out by some massive object, perhaps the moon during a spontaneous eclipse. No such phenomenon though, it is just Ricky (one of my fellow riders) pulling up in his enormous F150 on lifts. Why anyone needs a truck that big is beyond me, but I can tell you that all the plants beside his truck were happily shaded for the morning! The plants were the only happy things at that Senior Center though, as the 3 gentlemen, joined now by their 4th, were in a huddle and casting unhappy glances our way. It was about that time that Tonya pulled up and unloaded her bike. Now we were ready to go.
As we started out, Ricky was kind enough to inform Tonya and myself that, "Not to scare you, but this is where Chelsea King was abducted and murdered". Now I ask you, reader: HOW DID I NOT SEE THAT WHEN PLANNING THIS RIDE?! There are literally hundreds of trails in SoCal, and I managed to pick the one blackened by kidnapping and murder. Not a single website review of the trail mentioned, "Hey guys, word of caution..." It's o.k. though. I'm a duck, and this is water off my back. Just like the angry old tennis men.
So again, we're off! We have a lot of happy chatter getting to know each other, and we're happy to discover that we're all about the same ability level. Sure, it's been a long time since I've ridden, but I'm like an elephant, right? I remember everything.
Our first technical area is about a quarter of the way into the ride when we need to jump a log to get onto a bridge. Luckily, I'm in the back of the pack, so no one sees my concern. "Be the rabbit, be the rabbit. Front, then back, weight in the back, smile, and land." It's so easy in my head. Actual series of events: "Front then back, weight in the back, smile, and then WHAM!" I managed the rabbit part, but then slammed into the side of the bridge. Apparently, this rabbit was a little tipsy before making her jumping debut.
No worries though. One minor setback, and no one saw because I was so far behind. I pedal fast to catch up, and even exchange pleasantries while laughing off the dirt residue on my leg, "Haha, I made such a dust cloud from pedaling so fast that some of it must have stuck to me" I may be in the back, but I can always have good humor about things.
The next leg of the ride takes us down along the lake. It is strange to see a lake tossed out into the middle of a desert, but it sure is pretty. There is a lot of green lushness around the lake, and then a lot of sandy sparsity in the surrounding desert. Add to this the regrowth from the forest fires 7 years ago, and you have enough scenery to get distracted. And I think I mentioned, California doesn't like to be taken lightly.
So here we go dropping in on a hill that runs right along the lake. The path is overgrown so that we are being kissed by branches with mustard-colored flowers, and occasionally there is a rocky outgrowth that snaps us back to attention: "Watch out" it says, "or I will pitch you into the water faster than you can admire that flower." So we get to the end of the trail. I am quite proud of myself for keeping up and not letting the rocks get the best of me. I dreamily announce that this trail is beautiful and I love riding through the flowery bushes. It is at this point that Ricky tells me that the overgrowth is a perfect place for rattlesnakes to be hiding out. Ricky seems to be the bearer of bad news, and I wonder to myself why Ricky didn't mention this earlier. I keep the thought to myself though, as he is a new friend.
We are officially halfway now, and the next leg of the trailwork is closed for conservation. I imagine that they are de-rattlering the next bit of the trail, and I think for a second that maybe I can just hitch a ride back with the conservationists. The thought passes, and I reconcile myself to the fact that we are now doing an out-and-back.
Ricky dives happily into the bushes on his way back towards the cranky old men and his behemouth truck awaiting us at the end of the trail. I am less enthusiastic about the newly revealed rattler's lair that we will be riding through.
"Be the lion, Jenny. You are brave like lion" So I plunge into the overgrowth, suddenly seeing every flowered branch as a snake lunging out to bite me. This view of California's botanics proves to be more dangerous that my previous admiration, as the rocks got the better of me on the way back. When I approached the first rocky hill, I managed to slam on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting the tree that marked the turn in the trail.
*I fear that I am not properly describing the situation. I remain shrouded in bushes, on a singletrack trail, with a slight hill-into-lake on my right side, and uphill on my left side. So the only way to go if I stumble is down*
Anyway, I caught myself before the tree got me on this turn. Unfortunately, Tonya, who was behind me, did not. She hit the tree and then me. Luckily (using this term loosely) her bike became entangled with mine, and she was saved (at the expense of a chunk of my leg) from a splash in the lake. I am willing to sacrifice this leg chunk for my new mountain biking friend. Female mountain bikers are few and far between. We ride on. For some reason, I'm still in front.
I pedal harder, deciding that if I pedal fast enough, I can be past the rattlesnake before it decides to strike. Too bad for Tonya behind me, but she doesn't seem worried.
As I am thinking of this, I hear all too late the sinister cry of the rocks, "Watch out, or we will pitch you into the water." Before I have even told my fingers to squeeze my brakes, I hit the rocks and am tumbling off the path, through a bush, and into the water. It takes a minute to register what just happened. This is about enough time for a nearby man, who was throwing a ball for his dog, to come help me lug my bike out of the water. I can't get out of the lake fast enough, as I am now in a near frenzy over the threat of snakes. He takes the bike, and I get myself out, using a lush-leaved, reddish-green flowering bush to heft myself back onto the path. Tonya sees that I am o.k. and rides on. I thank the man, who then politely points out that I have just fallen into a poison oak bush, which I then used to pull myself out of the lake.
I give up, California. You win.
I quickly realize that I am not the duck, the elephant, the lion, or (most certainly) the rabbit. I am, in fact, the snake. Just trying to find a safe route through and clearly toxic to everything in my path. Oh, the irony.
I take a quick assessment, note that my ankle is sore but that is all, and get back on the trail. Weirdly, I am back at the Senior Center in about 5 minutes. It doesn't take long to feel completely cut off from civilization around here!
The men are playing their game of doubles now, but of course they take a quick break to scowl at us. This time, I look right at them and scowl back which makes one of them smile and wave. I don't understand anything anymore.
We all load our bikes up, and I announce what the man told me about the poison oak bush. "Oh yeah." says Ricky, "It makes a thick line along the coast of the lake almost the whole way around." I start to think that Ricky is intentionally trying to hurt me, but I still have some good humor and manners left, so I keep this thought to myself. Again.
Five days later, I am covered in poison oak from head to ankle. This includes my face as well as all areas covered by my shirt, shorts, and sports bra. I don't know how it managed it, but the poison oak actually got through my clothes. Each day I have found a fun, new area that itches, and I have blistering welts all over.
Well played, California. But you haven't seen the last of me.