It's true, I might be going way out on a limb here. Right when I'm reaching the end of the beginning of Slowtwitch, what I'm writing today might be the beginning of the end. The deep end, some of you might think. But something happened to me about four years ago. I was running along, minding my own business, and I noticed a tree. I happened to be running in the forests just south of Lake Tahoe, in Hope Valley, and I was about 7000' above sea level. So there were a lot of trees there. But I just couldn't get over this one.

I drove into town and bought a book about trees, as I was curious to know what kind of tree this was. It went on from there. I got more books, and went up to the mountains every chance I could. Any mountains. West coast, east coast, rockies, northwest, Great Basin. Then I went into the deserts to find them. Got more books. I became a tree hugger. Really. I actually once did hug a tree. I was in Sequoia National Park--where I must go every year just to get my fix--and I did get this overwhelming urge to lay flat up against one of those quiet behemoths with my arms outspread. So it's out now. I feel much better not having to carry this dark secret around anymore. I'm a tree-hugging wimp.

Then I had another one of those epiphanies. My wife, our dogs, and I do our running on trails that lead from behind our house in North San Diego County. You can run 20 miles there and never see a car. (Running this good is rare, even in the rural part of the county in which we live. We looked a long time for a place like this before we rooted ourselves here). I'm running one day, and I notice a bush. Keep in mind that I've never particularly liked bushes, I run among these same bushes every day, and have for a half-dozen years, and couldn't describe them if you paid me. But I noticed this one, and the whole thing started again. This was about two years ago.

Fair warning, you can scroll down this page as far as you want, and you're going to see a description of where I run, with pictures and stuff like that. That's all. Nothing on training techniques or equipment. These are my "home movies," web-style.

Why am I subjecting you to this? I'm keenly aware that multisport is individual- in every sense of the word. My experience is not yours. The quality of my experience is only--ultimately--important to me. So I can only speak for myself when I say that the observance of what's around me when I run and ride has added substantial pleasure to my athletic experience. It may not speak to you in the least, and it's your prerogative to take away from multisport that which suits you. It is neither my right nor my responsiblity to share with you my experience. But it is my pleasure.

I have another friend who's this way, and I didn't even know about it until we, by chance, stumbled on each other's secret. Although I am now out of the closet, he is not, so I'll conceal his name until he is strong enough to "be true to his nature." Our bike rides do test the patience of the others who ride with us: "Did you notice the White Sage?" "Yeah, right in front of the Century Plant [below, in violet], did you see the Coulter Pine on the road back there?" "Yeah, heavy cones, almost as long as a Sugar Pine, and as fat as a Torrey." Blah blah.

Slowman's Trail

The indicator species of the area in which you train might be Concretus Asphastus, in which case you're probably not very motivated to hear about any of this. But you might consider traveling a little to do some of your training. Me, I'm always a pain in the arse to those with whom I train, since I'm always driving somewhere to ride or run. I pile my friends in the car and off we go to one place or another. I guess I must drive an hour each way at least once a week to go on a ride, because I like to ride in interesting places among unique scenery. But we are lucky as hell to live where we do. I'm not complaining.

Our trail is in a transition zone. We are in North San Diego County, at about 500' in elevation and about 10 miles inland. We are just high enough to be leaving the Coastal Scrub community, and we are reaching into what is sometimes called "Warm Chaparral," as opposed to "Cold Chapparal," which would be found higher, say, up to 5000'.

Our trail climbs, though, and we can go all the way to 2000' in elevation running from the house, and we'll cross from wet areas to dry, south facing slopes to north, and so the plants and trees change as we poke along. We start out in a small ravine that follows a creek, and so we have some fun species that aren't very common: Bush Mallow [second photo from top, lavender color], Heart-leaved Penstemon, and Fuschia Flowering Gooseberry [below left]; along with some more common wildflowers like Monkeyflower [below right, in red], and some trashy introduced plants like Tree Tobacco, Sweet Fennel, and Castor Bean.

After a quarter-mile we climb onto a flat for about a half-mile more, and on the flat we see fields of Black Mustard. Dominent are Chamise--also called Greasewood (found all over the mountains and deserts as well)-- and Ceanothus, also called California Lilac [below left]. I really like these, because the white ones start blooming early, around February, and the blue ones fire up about a month or so later, and keep on until the summer. Lilacs color entire hillsides where we live.

Lilacs are as much the archetypal species of Warm Chapparal as anything, and we even have a residential community we ride through called "Lilac" in honor of their beauty and abundance. One of the great cycling roads in the area is, yes, Lilac Road. This is a big-ring climb if you are very, very good. I am not quite there yet, but aspire to be.

We've got Manzanitas where we live, and for years I never knew it. I was much more familiar with the Manzanitas that grow high in the mountains, up to 8000' and more, truly magnificent species of small trees (often considered big shrubs instead of trees). As it turns out, for years I've been running through Mission Manzanitas unaware. They have the same familiar hard, smooth, deep red wood. But their leaves are less round, thinner and sharp-ended, and the berries are not so large and deep red. But their flowers are the same droopy pink, just as abundant, and just as fragrant. I can't believe I missed noticing these all these years.

As you continue along the flat you find Black Sage, and a little White Sage if you look for it in shaded spots, and Horehound, all in the mint family. You also find a lot of California Sagebrush, which is not in the mint family (confusing). It is also known as Artemisia, and species of Artemisia are found in the deserts, the mountains, pretty much all over SoCal. You'll also run into poison oak at this point in the trail.

After the flat, in which there are also a lot of Coast Live Oak (large oak trees with evergreen leaves) you start to climb again. By the way, we also have, I think, Engelmann Oak on our trail. I'm not sure about this, this is a rarer tree and harder to identify, but I'll bet anybody a nickle they're here (me, big spender).

Climbing a gentle 4 or 5%, we're now on a well-drained north facing slope, filled with Lilacs and Mission Manzanitas. This part of the trail becomes a laneway filled with wildflowers on both sides for about half a mile during the spring and summer. Centauries, Monkeyflowers, Lilacs, Indian Pinks, Mariposa Lilies [below left], and flowering Lemonadeberries, Sugar Bushes, and Spice Bushes, are the ones I can spot. Then there are the dozen or so species I can't identify yet.

Our trail travels about a mile and a half to a saddle that sits about 350' higher than the beginning elevation of the trail. From this saddle you can see two 10,000' peaks some distance away, the top of Mt. Palomar, closer and lower at 6000' (a road-rideable peak from our house, if you've got a few hours and good legs), and looking toward the coast you can see Catalina Island on a very clear day. But traveling eastward the trail descends from the saddle, down the other side to further regions.

What is the point of all this? Simply that I never saw any of it for years. Our trail is thick with Monkeyflowers in the spring, just like the beautiful red one above. How could I have run by hordes of flowers like these for three previous springs and never notice them?

Multisport is now four activities for me: swim, bike, run, and observe. It's very easy to master that fourth event.