[sic]

(click to twoandahalfiply)

As part of Blogging.la’s “The $20 Project,” which began yesterday and in which various contributors see how far a Jackson can be stretched, I opted to get on my bike and the Gold Line Sunday and get on out to the L.A. County Arboretum in Arcadia. The resulting post is scheduled to go live about 1 p.m. today so I won’t redundate here what you can read there then, but if you want to tour through the 103 pictures taken during the excursion those are already up on Flickr, here.

Instead, the point of this post is to give props to the remarkable arboretum, not just for being a fabulous place to visit (and one I’ve been wanting to go to since I first learned about it on my way to nearby Santa Anita Racetrack waaaaaay back in like 1987), but also for helping to put a slow-simmering cactus dispute to rest while also solving an ongoing tree mystery.

I believe I’ve carped on this exchange before… the one that grew from my YouTube post of that cactus bloom timelapse, in which a commenter was absofuckinglute in saying I was wrong to identify the succulent as a member of the San Pedro cactus family (despite the fact that several sources listed it as just that).

The person wrote: “That cactus is not an Echinopsis or Trichocereus species, it is a Cereus specie. Tricho means hairy and cereus means candle, all Trichocereus flowers have hairy flower stalks, that is a way to ID them. That plant cannot be San Pedro.”

Well guess what Cactus Expert Person, while in the arboretum I just happened to pass the very same plant that was the subject of my video and will you lookee here, there’s an ID tag in the ground next to it. Let’s read it, shall we?

“Not an echinopsis,” you say?  “Cannot be San Pedro,” you assert? Well here’s what I retort: ppfppfppfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfpfffffff!

Moving on to the decidedly less combative arbor enigma. There are a number of the same tree species growing along both sides of our street, including one  in the next door neighbor’s front yard that extends across ours. It’s a wonderful tree, neverminding that there isn’t much of the year when it isn’t shedding leaves or seed pods.

In my ignorance I figured it was an elm of some sort. An ignorance that the arboretum abated when the same species of tree presented itself to me. The first thing I noticed was the similar leaf structure and the copious number of green berries, some of which had ripened to a black color:

Next I examined the bark, which was also the same in texture and look. And attached to the trunk was signage that finally put the three-year-old mystery to rest:

About a month and a half ago Susan put on her team captain hat and straightened my depressed and frightened unenemployed self out by shooting straight and telling me that by combining my present and continuing state of joblessness with her current rate of income we just didn’t have very much longer — a couple/three months — to continue at our present lifestyle before having to reign it in hard.

Though not an extravagent lifestyle in the slightest, I knew drastic if somewhat small make-every-dollar-count changes were looming if I didn’t get my ass in gear. Our Netflix subscription would be cancelled. So would they YMCA gym membership along with newspaper and magazines. I’d have to go to a prepaid cellphone plan. And our traditional Sunday steaks-on-the-grill would stop.

I won’t get too turgid in the background melodrama, other than to say that not long after coming back from our marvelous dream European vacation in May I turned 43 and there was something about that milestone and being 18 months out of full-time work (give or take the occasional freelance assignment or temp agency gig) that sent me on a downhill spiral where what I did best was a lot of wallowing in the deep end of the pity pond fueled by the frustration that despite some solid and continuing efforts sending out resumes and seeking jobs I wasn’t getting hardly a nibble of interest in return.

That can be hard on a fella. And his wife.

So after that last intervention I did two things. I fought the heavyweight sadness and feelings of failure off and got down to the business of finding a job, and through Flexcar I reserved a Honda Element for a quick Veterans Day weekend trip to Death Valley’s Eureka Dunes, a glorious place I affectionally call “Yoo Dee.”

When I told Susan this the surprised look in her wide open eyes said “I told you we had to save money, not spend more of it!” And I assured her that I did it as an incentive and that should I still be jobless come the beginning of November I could cancel the reservation without penalty. She was warily OK with that and I got busy.

It’s not like with my renewed and redoubled job searching the rejections quit hurting. Hell, worse then ever. When all I could get was summarily ignored by the executive editor at Los Angeles Downtown News when I applied for a bottom-rung staff writer position I came *this* fucking close to calling Yellow Cab and seeing if they had any openings. Hell, if I’d had the $150 that Los Angeles Fire Department applicants are required to pay up front out of their own pocket for the mandatory physical fitness testing I’m pretty sure I’d be somewhere along in that limbo/process right now. And there was always the threat of me submitting to become a bus driver for the MTA.

But instead I just kept catapulting my resume toward editorial opportunities keeping the perspective that it’s a numbers game and sooner or later someone had to see that my skills, experience and enthusiasm could be put to good use. Thankfully that happened sooner and I start my new trade magazine editor job September 4.

As to Yoo Dee, there is significance to that place beyond how much its vast isolation and beauty speaks to my soul. The first and only time Susan and I went there was for a few hours on our last day in Death Valley in November 2005, where she took this pictureof me taking a picture a couple hundred feet up from the valley floor on the huge dunes (click to quadruplify):

After such a wonderous exploratory weekend at one of my favorite places on earth, my first day back at work at the zoo proved also to be my last, and that has since shadowed such a marvelous experience. It’s tough to feel on top of the world one day when you’re thrown to the bottom of it the next. And it was too easy to let the dark color the light.

As someone who prides himself on landing on his feet it took way too long to find them after being knocked over. Not only is it nice that I don’t have to cancel the Flexcar reservation, but it will be equally sweet to return to a physical place where mentally my head is the highest its been held in the two years since.

A small photoset from our Death Valley 2005 trip can be viewed here.

When I went out in the backyard I was so enamored with the big dipper sitting on top of the house’s roof line that even though it was bed time I went to the trouble to set up the camera for the purpose of capturing that scene. And after failing to do that to any satisfaction I then pointed the camera  straight up between our two palms and left the shutter open for several minutes hoping an errant Perseid meteor might wander across the frame (click to quadrify):

As you can see, none showed up. And that’s because had I checked with Clifford first I would’ve learned I was a little too early in that the next shower is scheduled  for pre-dawn Monday.

click to quadruplify 

Tonight’s sunset over the Micheltorena ridge.

If we keep to the plan at hand Susan and I are set for a pre-sunset excursion with cameras to walk along the L.A. River between the Fletcher and Hyperion bridges before visiting the Pierce Brothers Valhalla Memorial Park in North Hollywood to take in the traveling replica of the Vietnam Memorial that’ll be there until tomorrow afternoon.

Should be pix a plenty.

In the meantime, if anybody needs me until grill duties call I’ll be in the backyard hammock reading and relaxing.

Update: River pix are here; Vietnam Memorial here.

Visually, the L.A. River between Fletcher Avenue and Los Feliz Boulevard is in the zone right now. The sweet spot. Especially in the later afternoon hours.  I love the river 365 days a year but there’s just something about these days before and after the summer solstice (today) where the setting sun’s situation in the sky couples with a certain clarity of the visibility that makes the place uniquely beautiful. As if in this brief period , she’s neither under- nor over-exposed. Just right. The greens are greener, the sunshine reflects off the water wonderfully and everything’s bathed in a beautiful golden sheen, making even the concrete compelling.

You should go now if you get the chance.

After helping hang route signage between Boyle Heights and Vernon for tomorrow’s annual L.A. River Ride I got back to the L.A. River Center & Gardens and reacquainted myself with what a marvelous oasis it is — made even moreso by the discovery that there’s a permanently installed bike repair stand on the premises.

Small photoset of the morning can be viewed here on Flickr.

Barring significant and steady rainfall tomorrow and looking for one last looooong pre-marathon conditioning walk, I’m seriously considering setting out super early and making Wednesday’s morning commute from Silver lake to El Segundo entirely on foot.

Should it not be raining and I somehow keep common sense at bay I expect I’ll be following alongside the tire treads of my established bike route, the distance of which totals 15.6 miles. Hoping for a pace maintained in the 3.5 mph range, I should be on the road about five hours… which means I’ll need to have feet on the pavement by 4 a.m. if I’m going to get to work on time.

And I thought the 110 was slow?

UPDATE (7:26p.m.): I got home a few minutes ago and reports of my motivation for this endeavor have been greatly exaggerated. I’m bushed at the present and the thought of getting up at 3 a.m. to walk five hours and then work eight hours and then mass-transit it home… in  a word (or two): ain’t happening.

The day after Christmas I posted that one of my 2007 To-Dos was to finally end my lifetime delay of traversing on foot the length of Sunset Boulevard from Union Station downtown all the way to its end at Pacific Coast Highway.

Well she’s definitely happening, although the date has changed. Originally I’d slated it for February 4, but that was before I knew the march to the sea would be conflicting with an event known as The Super Bowl and as such I’ve bumped it back to the following Saturday, February 10 with breakfast at nearby Philippe’s at 6 a.m. and the departure scheduled for 7 a.m.

This will be an unpaced journey. By that I mean I’m not attempting to do it either in a specific timeframe or at the 4-mph pace I plan/hope to attempt/maintain during the L.A. Marathon in March. At the same time this isn’t going to be a tangent-rich trek. In other words, beyond three or four scheduled breaks (for lunch/snacks) my goal is to reach the beach, not to deviate into any excessive explorations along the way. As such, given the 8.5 hours it took Franklin Avenue’s Mike and Maria and crew to go the 16 mile distance from one end of Wilshire Boulevard to the other last November I’m estimating this could very well take upwards of 12 hours or even more to cross the finish line and get celebaratory drinks at Gladstones.

Bottom line, this will be as much an ordeal as it will be a unique opportunity to get up close and personal with one of this city’s greatest thoroughfares.

A charting of the course can be viewed here, and I’ve put a call out on Blogging.la to anyone who’d be crazy enough to care to join me. In the meantime under the assumption that I’ll be joined by someone/anyone (for all or even just part of the trek) I’m going to be logisticating in terms of potential coffee/lunch/rest breaks. Transportation back to civilization will be either at each individual’s chosing or you can make the return trip to civilization with me via the No. 2 MTA bus which runs the length of Sunset Boulevard.

So if having said all that you are still interested in joining me (and my wife who’s thinking about walking the first three miles back to Silver Lake), post a comment with your email address or just email me directly at wildbell@gmail.com.