Get lost exploring; A conversation in Tilden Park

Trailblazing the meaning of life with an old-timer

Good things happen outdoors. On my bike ride this afternoon, I came to my usual spot in Tilden Park, on top of Berkeley looking East and in towards the mountains separating me from the Gold Country wilderness of the 1850´s.  And here was this old guy just sitting there on the bench I usually end up on after my bike ride up some fairly steep hills. He was wearing a cap, toting the slogan “Get lost exploring”.

This being America, we got into a conversation. Him being old, it was sort of hard to get out of it. He talked and talked, about his days in the Marine Corps during the Korean War (1950´s, mind you), and all the wild lefties who took over UC Berkeley some time later (the 1970´s), causing him to up and move from Berkeley to San Pablo. I believe that was in the 1980´s.

And yes, then there was that hat, with its slogan “Get lost exploring”. Pretty cool.

So we talked, or he did. About the weather, his disbelief in global warming (lying sons of bitches in the media), and the great vista views we had in front of us, from the bench which we now shared. He´d come in his car. I´d come on my bike, with my new outfit — a biker shorts padded to get me home without a sore butt. I can´t say it looked that cool, with my Oakley white glasses and all. Mostly, you feel like a wild turkey strutting around in that stuff. But the bike rides get better for it. And I now have a very, very nice bike — one that I dare let go of the brakes on going back down those steep hills. I love that part: Just let fly, and you have downtown San Francisco ahead of you and the Golden Gate to your right for about 15 minutes of scary downhill.

“And you know”, he said.

“Some years ago, I was over at the Carson Emigrant Trail”. 
I thought he meant “immigrant trail”, and so did he, probably. But I looked it up, and it´s actually called the Carson Emigrant Trail, which in turn is an interesting reminder of the US being a federation, and the trail reflecting on the Gold Rush – 1840´s, before California became a state in the union. I have to look that one up too, someday. But if its emigration, and not immigration, it means that trail was actually not one people followed to get into California – for the gold or whatever brought them in the mid-1800´s. It was a trail taking people out.

What, you´re saying? People actually leaving California — and all that gold? About as crazy as people deciding to move back to Lahore or Kristiansand, after having lived here. And that´s crazy, for sure. All those hopefuls digging for entrepreneurial gold and silver in Silicon Valley — hoping to strike it rich and be the next Mark Zuckerberg inventing Facebook. He´s worth billions, they say.

“And Kit Carson only got here 17 years after they named the trail for him”, my trailblazing oldtimer friend added. Lucky Carson. Must have been an important guy, that Kit.

“And it wasn´t used first to get t o  California”, he said.

“It was used to get a w a y “.

As it turns out, it was a Mormon regiment from the wars with Mexico that blazed that trail, taking a look at Sacramento to the North and deciding Utah straight ahead to the East was the better place to be. Consider it: Perhaps it was a democratic choice with the majority voting to go East. They may have thought the alternative West was no better or maybe worse? You know how group decisions go. They don´t always make sense. Or it may have been a very strong act of shared belief — the kind borne of conviction, if not simply homesickness. A sense of direction, to take you over the really long trails. Looking out over those rolling hills to the East, really makes one wonder….

And so they went home. Can´t say I blame them, considering the beauty of Utah. It´s a lovely place, most of it. Wide and open. But then again, this place is fairly awe-inspiring, too. Right here in Berkeley. It´s the kind of sight you can loose yourself in.

And think about it: All this from a conversation form an old man long since lost in his exploring. If you´re bored, I recommend a bike ride and a conversation with an oldtimer on a bench somewhere. Those lyin´sonsabitches in the media sure ain´t worth your time even half as much. My newfound friend said he came to sit at this bench every day, around 6 in the evening. Until he got cold.