“Really?” Jake said, interested.
“There are a dozen or so other trails interspersed around here as well,” Tom said. “The canyon is a very popular hiking area. There’s Stevenson Trail, which leads down to the bottom of the canyon—that’s quite a hike, I’m here to tell you, especially coming back up—and then there’s the Cross Circuit trail, which comes off the Northwestern and leads to a really steep granite cliff that drops all the way down to the river level.”
“And you’re familiar with all these trails?” Jake asked him.
“I’m getting there,” Tom told him. “I have a USGS map of the area. It shows all the trails and the elevations. I’ve marked up all the trails your mother and I have hiked. You’ll really have to give some of them a try sometime.”
“That’s actually why I was asking,” Jake said. “I want to get up early tomorrow and take a run before breakfast. Are those trails suitable for running, or are they just for hiking?”
“The main trails like the Northwestern and the Cross Circuit are good for running,” he said. “I see people doing it all the time. It is pretty hilly though, and the terrain can be uneven. You’ll have to take care not to break an ankle down there.”
Celia suddenly perked up a bit. “Trail running, huh?” she said. “That sounds like a good workout.”
“That’s why I do it,” Jake said. “Running in Griffith Park is great cardio—and it’s up above the worst of the smog. I thought I’d try Dad’s trails and push myself a bit.”
“Can I come along?” Celia asked him.
Jake gave her an amused look. “Are you sure you’re going to feel up to a six-thirty run after drinking all that wine?”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “But I should do it anyway. I need to burn off all the calories that wine provided me.”
“It is actually safer not to go alone,” Tom told them. “The trails can be dangerous. They’re very remote for California. There are cliffs, rattlesnakes, mountain lions, and ankle breaking terrain. It’s best to have a buddy who can go for help if something bad happens.”
“All right then,” Jake said. “I guess it’s a date. You want to join us, Dad?”
He laughed. “When you want to hike in that canyon on a day when I haven’t spent the previous one smoking weed with my daughter and drinking beer and wine with everyone else, I’ll take you up on it. As for running there, you’re on your own under all circumstances. I’m too old for that shit.”
“Wimp,” Jake said, not unkindly.
“Guilty as charged,” Tom said.
“You think I could take a look at that map of yours though?” Jake asked him. “It’s probably a good idea for us to know where we’re going, right?”
“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “That would be a really good idea. Hang tight for a second. I’ll go get it.”
He disappeared down the hallway for several minutes. When he returned, he held a folded paper map with the logo of the United States Geological Survey on it. He sat down on the couch between Celia and Jake and unfolded the map on the coffee table before them. The map was an extremely detailed snapshot of the surrounding three hundred square miles of terrain. Just off to the right from the center was the region around the property they now sat upon. The area to the right of the property was marked up with highlighter ink on many of the trails. Most of the highlights were yellow. A few were red. Fewer more were blue. Tom put his finger on the lines and explained his color-coding scheme.
“Blue are the main trails,” he said. “This one here is the Northwestern and here is the Cross Circuit. The yellow ones are side trails that we’ve explored and are familiar with. Look right here.” He tapped one of the yellow ones. “This one is the trail you can pick up just a quarter mile north of here on the canyon ledge, just a bit off our property. It leads down to the Northwestern...” He trailed his finger along it until it intersected with a blue squiggle, “ ... right here. You hang a left there and you can go for about a mile and then pick up another upward trail to get back to the canyon ledge and the main road back here. Or, you can hang a right, or a downhill, if you prefer, and it will take you down to the Cross Circuit about three hundred vertical feet further down into the canyon. If you hang a right there, it will take you along a reasonably horizontal stretch for about a mile and a half or so, and then you’ll start to climb back up to a high ridge on the canyon wall just to the south of us. That’s where that cliff I was talking about is—very majestic scenery there, though you have to be careful. Anyway, from there, you can continue along the Cross Circuit until you get to this trail here...” He tapped another yellow squiggle, “ ... which will take you back up the main Northwestern, at which point you can hang a right and come back to the main access trail to the north of us.”
Jake followed all of this quite easily. He was a good map reader. Celia, however, looked confused.
“Are these trail intersections marked with signs or anything?” she asked.
“They are not,” Tom told her, “but the trails themselves are fairly prominent. It’s hard to mistake them for something else.”
“If you insist,” she said doubtfully. She pointed to one of the red squiggles. “What are the red ones?” she asked.
He gave her a smile. “Trails that are too steep or too dangerous for Mary and I,” he explained. “You two might want to avoid them as well.”
Jake slept well in his parents’ guest bedroom, despite the fact that it was an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place. The life of a traveling musician had adapted him well to grabbing sleep anytime, anywhere that opportunity presented itself. He was awakened at 6:15 by the alarm clock radio’s insistent beeping. He shut it off and then, as had become his habit, got immediately out of bed. Experience had taught him that failing to do this would often result in a drift back into slumber and the missing of the workout.
He stretched out a bit, shaking off the sleep, and then opened his suitcase and pulled out his running clothes. He donned them and then put on his battered running shoes and grabbed his water bottle. Only then did he emerge from the bedroom and into the bathroom to take care of a few morning necessities.
It was 6:25 when he walked into the kitchen. He more than half expected Celia to be a no-show, but there she was, filling up a water bottle of her own in the sink. She was dressed in a loose white T-shirt and a pair of baggy red shorts that fell to mid-thigh. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Though it was not the most alluring outfit Jake had ever seen, she still managed to look good in it. Her legs were a sight to behold, long and tanned and well-muscled. Her breasts were confined in a black sports brassiere that could be plainly seen beneath the white of her shirt, but they still retained their basic aesthetically pleasing shape and bounce. Jake felt his usual tug of frustrated attraction as he took her in.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
“Is it?” she asked, looking at him and giving him her smile.
“Well, it’s certainly morning anyway,” he said. “You ready to do this thing?”
“I suppose,” she said. “Are you sure we won’t get lost out there?”
“Not at all,” he admitted. “I do want to take another look at my dad’s map before we head out.”
“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” she said.
Jake filled his water bottle up and then they both went over to the kitchen nook table, where Tom had left the map for them. They spread it open and Jake began to peruse it, quickly orienting himself to their present location and then looking to see where they wanted to go and how he should get them there.
“How energetic are you feeling?” he asked.