Trip to Billings Part 1

Road trippin'. Bottle sippin'. Joints achin'. Lots of pissin'. We left on a brisk and bright Friday afternoon. 5:30pm to be exact. Caffeine shots, bananas, local citrus, a bag of popcorn, kettle cooked sea salt chips, seven rice krispie marshmallow bars, granola bars, apple sauce, blankets, extra shoes, extra clothes, chains, jumper cables, and tools. Benny's tools. Don't know what they were. Benny knew. We brought 'em. Just in case of a major mechanical error. You never know if you're gonna have to pull an engine on a cross country road trip to the wilds of Montana. Gotta be prepared you know?

The weather was balmy. The lighting ochre. Early Mediterranean spring in full swing. You could't tell it, but soon the trees and the bushes and the grass and the weeds on the sides of the road would produce that brilliant bright beautiful springtime green that only happens once for a few weeks of the year. From 12:30pm to about 2:00, the sun at its zenith washes the landscape with its brilliant light, highlighting the tremendous color of the surrounding scenery. The rays of the sun act as a highlighter, revealing the dazzling colors of life as they are meant to be seen. Vivid purples and scintillating yellows and gleaming blues. Splendiferous Springtime. We hoped to see it again soon.

We drove from chaparral to desert. It was getting dark. The sun dipped below the horizon. Civil twilight ensued. We took the back roads, dodging traffic. A warped and windy backcountry road took us through canyons and hills and sleepy little towns and a little French restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Civil twilight turned to nautical, then nautical to astronomical, then, finally—night. Strange shadows and the occasional passing headlights became our only reality.

Then—the interstate. Smooth and boring sailing. Very tedious. As the hours ticked by less and less vehicles occupied the road. Even driving through Vegas was mundane. In Mesquite, today became tomorrow and the long drive continued. 1:00am, 2:00am, 3:00am, 4:00am. Every twenty minutes or so we'd pass a semitruck. Truckin' along. The night shift. An edifying time of night. Or morning. Whatever you call it. 

Sometimes there'd be a van or a car or a motorcyclist. Some had their GPS displayed on the dash. Others had windows that were far too tinted to reveal anything interesting. Some were bobbing their heads. Most were gripping the steering wheel. Who were these people? And where were they going? What were they doing at this time of night, driving alone on Interstate 15, 95mph, in the middle of Utah? Were they going to Billings like us? Probably not.

Fillmore, Provo, Slat Lake City, Ogden and then Idaho. The sun rose. It revealed a cold and quiet land. Nineteen degrees Fahrenheit, snow on the mountains, ice on the road. It was still winter here. No brilliant colors. No greens or blues or yellows. Definitely no Mediterranean climate here. 

It was something else. Something different. A different kind of beauty. Instead off the glistening and golden and glittering colors of spring here was a place defined by cool, calm, tranquil colors. Soft white. Soft blue. Soft grey. Serene. Placid. Cozy. Despite the obvious cold, something about this landscape made me feel warm inside. I didn't know what it was; I only knew how it made me feel. 

Rexburg, Rigby, West Yellowstone. We stopped there for breakfast. McDonald's. Spent $28 there. Pancake breakfast, two sausage mcmuffins, two hash browns, two orange juices, and a sausage egg and cheese mcgriddles. We were hungry. And we gormandized. And we were happy.

North to Bozeman then east to Billings. We got there after driving 21 hours straight. I don't recommend this type of travel. Lots of white lines dashing across your closed eyelids when you're tryna get some sleep. If you get any at all. We both got a good 40 minutes each. 

Daniel gave us a tour of his abode. He showed us the TV, the homemade tiki bar. The bathroom and the kitchen and the two bedrooms were thoroughly looked upon, Daniel leading us through the house as if it were Hearst Castle. Then came the tour of the college. The the tour of the town. There was an early St Patrick's Day celebration going on in downtown but we missed out on it. Showed up too late. Oh well. No drinkin' today.

Or not. We were then taken to a place of pure hedonism. A front lawn covered with empty cans, their sweet nectar rumbling in the stomachs of those who were standing around them. Interesting folks there. Very tough, very open, very honest people. Each one of them living their lives in the present moment. I looked at them. I looked at their eyes, their actions, their words. I saw in them the conscious universe looking back at itself. They spoke to me. The universe spoke to me. And you know what? The universe said it had been drinkin' since 9am that morning. 

Off an away we went to a national championship basketball game, cause you know, why not? The stadium was small, not much bigger than a high school gymnaseim. It was a bizarre scene. Students yellin'. Alarms buzzin'. Popcorn poppin'. Here for a moment, in this small stadium, packed to the brim with heated hordes of people and banners and cameras and food and noise, I was able to forget everything that had happened in the world. As far as I knew, the whole world existed right there in that little stadium. Right there. Right then. Every time the home team scored a point the crowd erupted into a roar. The roar would build and morph and contort until it reached its apex, a jarring and screeching and poignant and beautiful sound. It sounded like pebbles scraping against one another, bumping into one another, falling into my brain. It was remarkable. Divine. The game kept going and the crowd kept roaring and the ball kept moving and coaches kept yelling and the people in the stands were eating popcorn or talking or sitting silently by themselves. People came and left and sat down and stood up, switching seats, moving above the court, getting a better view, getting more popcorn. It was like a living organism, this stadium, and we were the blood keeping it alive. An extraordinary moment. Transcendental. I was very drunk.

From there we moved on to a small get together with one of Daniel's close friends. It was a modest gathering, no more than seven people in the paltry dorm room. We talked and drank and danced and talked some more. We were going with the flow, our brains wracked with exhaustion. We were in Daniel's hands now. He would be our guiding light.

We made it back to his abode. We sat down on the couch. I tilted my head back and immediately fell asleep. We were spent. Pooped. Exhausted. It wasn't even 8:00pm. But our journey had just began. Our trip to Billings. In the coming days we were going to absorb the vibe of the town. The aura of the surrounding countryside. We really wished to get a feel of what it was like out there. But first: some sleep. We needed it. 

Downtown Billings

Flashback: Cedar Peak

03/30/21

Mountains. Why do we climb them? There's nothing beneficial that comes out of climbing a mountain. There's no reward at the summit. You won't find a lake or a pond or a stream at the tippy top of a mountain. Those things are found much further down. Stop at the lake. Take a refreshing dip. Forget the mountain! There's nothing refreshing up there!

The barren summit of a mountain has no food. No 5-star meal. No all-you-can-eat buffet. Nothing to replenish your strength and refuel your energy tubes. There's no money at the top either. No 5 million dollars. No nothing. Just dirt, rocks and a view. A view, mind you, that you see the entire way up. Same view, different angle. Climbing a mountain for a view? Seriously? You can see better views from places that require way less time and energy. An airplane window. A turnout up a really curvy mountain road. Sitting on the beach and watching the sunset. Even at the top of a really large parking structure. A view is a view. "But the view is something that few people have seen." So? it's just a view. It's just pleasing to the eye. Just a sensation.

It's like smelling something really good. Like catching a whiff of fresh baked cookies after destroying your nostrils with the smells of car exhaust, urine and B.O. all day. You don't climb mountains for the view. Sure, don't get me wrong, the view is definitely a plus. It's definitely a part of the reason. But it ain't the sole reason. No. What is the reason? I haven't a clue. People are weird. No other animal will go out of its way to spend precious calories climbing a mountain just for the sake of climbing it. Only humans do that. Weird stuff. Perhaps it's the endorphin rush triggered by strenuous exercise that drives us to climb mountains. Maybe it's the clout. Maybe it's because we have nothing better to do. For me, I climb mountains for one reason: to be humbled.

Masochism plays a big role as well, but seriously—mountains really put you in your place. Some more than others. There exist a handful of peaks in the Los Padres that only a few dare to summit. These are the "SVS" peaks, peaks that are only known by few, incredibly isolated, and extremely difficult to climb. No trail leads you to the summits of these things. It's just you, the map, and grit that takes you to the top. The journey to the summit of one of these peaks is a truly humbling experience. The legend himself, David Stillman, once wrote "SVS stands for 'Seldom Visited Summit,' and when you see these letters on a summit register in the Southern Los Padres it means you worked your ass off to get there." And boy he wasn't kidding. 

Last March I decided to tackle one of these "SVS" peaks. Cedar Peak lies north of Piedra Blanca in between Reyes Peak and Thorn Point. It isn't labeled on any map, but at 6,794ft it can clearly be seen from the parking lot at the Sespe River trailhead. I began the easy part of the hike in the early dawn light. The nice jaunt from the parking lot to the Twin Forks campground was a perfect warmup for what was to come. Easy miles of undulating hills and minor creek crossings helped warm up the leg muscles before the punishing grade up and out of the valley into the distant mountains.

Piedra Blanca Creek

                                         

Twin Forks Campground 

The few miles between Twin Forks and the next checkpoint, Pine Mountain Lodge, are interesting to say the least. I don't know for sure how much elevation is gained in these miles, but my legs tell me that it is quite significant. Up and up and up you go, some switchbacks here, an arduous straightaway there, all of it done without a smack of shade. That's right. Pretty much all of this climb is in direct sunlight. Better to get at it early while the sun is still forgiving. 

To distract myself from my screaming legs I decided to keep track of how many ticks I was brushing off of my clothing. One tick here, two ticks there, five on my shirt, three on my hat. Who knows how many were hiding in my socks. In the end I managed to pick up 63 unwanted hitchhikers. After that I stopped counting. It was getting too tedious, you know?

Up and out

As I was making my way to the next checkpoint I immediately became fascinated by the abrupt change in scenery. Once you complete the laborious climb and gain the ridge of these mountains you almost immediately transition from prickly chaparral and scrub oak to an alpine paradise. Ok...not exactly alpine. But cedars and pines and the occasional manzanita overwhelm this new and magical environment. It is quite jarring. In one moment you are in the blazing sun, busting through thorny chaparral, and then suddenly you find yourself walking on top of thousands of pine needles in the cool shade of ancient pines. This mystical world of pine and stone continues to grow as you continue along the trail. With astonishing sandstone formations that are interspersed throughout the pines this place is just begging to be explored. It would take more than a lifetime to explore every nook and cranny, cave and crevice, drainage and ditch in this place. It's that huge. It's that fantastic. These mountains are truly something spectacular. A true paradise. A little slice of heaven. One of the few places where one can disassociate and revel in the sublime. 

Pine Mountain Lodge

At Pine Mountain Lodge I took a small breather before the even more punishing climb up to the take-off point where I would leave the trail in search of Cedar Peak. There's no lodge at Pine Mountain Lodge, but three lovely campsites and a good-looking stove make it a worthy destination. Plus the location, as I previously mentioned, is utterly magnificent. Definitely a great spot to camp. If you manage to find the "secret" original camp location you're in for a prettier location and total solitude.

Trail Out of PML

                                                   

Reyes Peak in the distance

Because I hardly ever use a GPS when I venture out into the woods I spend a lot of time looking at maps n' stuff. Spending hours and hours pouring over contour lines and 3D google earth satellite imagery really ingrains the imagined route in your mind. This method of route-finding (straight up memorization) is all well and good until it isn't. When you're tired you tend to make mistakes. And when you make mistakes you wish you had a GPS. Long story short I left the trail wayyy too early. I was getting tired of climbing and climbing and climbing so I left the trail, half hoping that I would just walk the ridge to the summit of Cedar Peak. I was wrong. 

After busting my way through manzanita and mountain whitethorn, climbing up and down and up again through several small valleys, and cursing my energy-costing impatience, I finally caught my fist glimpse of this elusive mountain.

Cedar Peak to the immediate right

By golly I was almost there! Now that I could actually see the damn thing I stopped and took a short break before tackling the summit. From my vantage point, it didn't look like too hard of a climb. But in the mountains, looks are almost always deceiving. This was no different. It sucked.

As I approached the base of the mountain I was greeted with a ghastly sight. A good 150 meter stretch of the saddle was choked with Ceonothus Cordulatus. Ugly, pokey, spiky abomination. Lucky for me, the previous dude to summit this thing had actually cut a faint trail through this hellish section of mountain whitethorn. Had it not been for this trail, I may have turned around. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt at the time and had already been torn to shreds during my adventurous, energy sapping mistake. Busting through this nonsense would not have been the best idea. Even with the faint path I still got sliced pretty damn bad, but it was better than nothing. That path was a godsend. 

After this small brush battle the real challenge ensued. In hindsight, I probably should have dipped down on the shaded, less steep, less brushy northern side of the mountain. But in my fatigued mind, I figured that climbing straight up the exposed and rocky ridge would be easier. An amusing scramble ensued. I jumped over crevices. Slid on icy patches. Lost my footing a few times and fell face first in manzanita. Good times. About halfway up the mountain I noticed that I had lost my brand new pocket knife. I had it strapped to my pants (not exactly the ideal place for a god damn pocket knife) and I guess that in the wacky scramble it flew off somewhere. Most likely in the bushes...never to be seen again. Oh well. It was my gift to the mountain. 

After what seemed like years I finally topped out on the bald summit. The views on this day were good. No clouds. No fog. Nice visibility. A good view. But I didn't climb it for the view. I climbed it to be humbled. With aching legs and torn skin and ripped clothing and knife lost and head spinning I definitely got what I wished for. 

View East. Thorn Point in the immediate foreground 

Piedra Blanca is wayyy down there 

View West

Not too many people have signed that recherché register. A lot of them consisted of repeat ascenders. The last guy to summit had done so just 24 days before me. I guess that's why the faint trail through the brush was in such great condition. Before that, the last visit took place in 2019. Before that was 2016 and before that 2013. Not a very popular destination this one. Seldom visited indeed. 

The Cedar Peak Register

After soaking in the moment for a few minutes I began the sketchy decent back down to Pine Mountain Lodge. The search for my lost knife on the way back down was unsuccessful. Finding that thing would be next to impossible. It could literally be anywhere. A genuine needle in a haystack scenario. 

Some of the cool rock formations near PML

Back at Pine Mountain Lodge I conked out underneath a pine tree and took my first long break of the day. I was beat. I had also grossly underestimated how much water I needed for a trip such as this. I drank the last few drops sitting under that tree, hoping that the punishing downhill would spare me from dehydration. There is a creek that flows through the campground, but I didn't wanna risk gettin' no stomach bug. I probably would've been fine, but with my luck, better safe than sorry you know?

Next time: Pants

After relaxing in the shade for a bit I finally willed myself to get up and get trucking. After poking my head around here and there I stumbled upon another amazing find: a hidden geocache. It was full of stickers and a pocket sized wine tasting guidebook. This was unexpected. I had absolutely no clue that this thing was up here and stumbled upon it by pure chance. There were even less signatures in this thing than the summit register for Cedar Peak, which was surprising given that it wasn't in a super hidden location.

After signing my name in this delightful find I languidly made my way back down to the parking lot. By now the sun was full and bright, laying waste to the arid country below. Even though it was all downhill, I was exasperated, the trail seemingly going on and on and on forever and ever. I just never seemed to get any closer to that damn parking lot. But I new it wasn't that far so I just kept movin' along, putting one foot in front of the other, humming indiscriminate tunes and taking photos to pass the time. 

A long way for a moisterless soul 

I stopped a few times to soak in the creek. As much as I wanted to drink that crisp, cool and clear water I resisted, knowing that with my luck I'd probably end up bedridden with giardiasis. But it was refreshing so I counted my blessings and kept moving' forward. Once I made it to the Piedra Blanca rock formations I knew I was in the home stretch. I trotted the rest of the way out, tripping on a root near the junction to the Sespe River trailhead. That was the fourth time that day that my face ate the ground. But I didn't care. I was almost there! Back at the parking lot I finally relaxed, knowing that the ordeal was over. I had spent pretty much the entire day completely alone; only seeing four people on my way back down the mountain. Some were heading to the rock formations while the others moved down the Sespe. It was a great day in the mountains. A little bit of joy, a good amount of pain, and a whole lot of peace and quiet. A marvelous day. One for the memory books.

As for my knife, well...last month me and a friend went back to go looking for it. It had almost been a year since I lost it and well...that's a story for another time :)

Why Shirt and Tie?

So why the shirt and tie? What does a shirt and tie have to do with anything? You don't see too many folks dressed in them these days. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of someone wearing them here and there. Walkin' on the street with a bluetooth in their ears. Drivin' in a Mercedes with two fingers on the wheel. Talkin' on the television with their hands gripping the podium. You know the type. The ones whose desired occupation in life requires them to look formal at every waking moment of the day. I personally don't see what's so formal about sitting in a cubicle all day, but hey, maybe cubicles are fancy places. What do I know. I ain't never been to one. 

For most of the population a shirt and tie is simply not all that necessary. If you're a regular chump like myself you probably only have one shirt and tie that you use for the very rare formal occasion. Prom, graduation, job interview, that one fancy dinner that you saved up for where they give you a super tiny cut of filet mignon and you end up not satisfied so you go to McDonald's afterwards but then you remember the old adage, "why eat with a clown when you can dine with a king" so you drive to the local Burger King that's open 24/7 and you walk inside and the graveyard staff are staring at you because seriously, who eats at a Burger King at 3:00am in a shirt and tie? 

Since these formal moments are few and fare between a shirt and tie is simply not required for daily use. Especially in the outdoors. Wool, nylon, polyester, t-shirts, tank tops, booty shorts, trail runners, yoga pants, sunglasses, synthetic hat, fanny pack, and some big ol' boots seem to be the chosen garments when trekking through the wilds. 

However, there is a moment that requires special attention. When embarking upon a momentous journey—one that will inspire future endeavors, one that demands respect, one that commands a certain type of attitude in order to pursue it—a shirt and tie is the necessary attire. No matter the journey, urban or rural, indoors or out, if its special then you just gotta wear that dang shirt and tie. You could be climbing a mountain. Walking through the woods. Visiting a waterfall. Wandering through the desert. Performing a one time show with your good buddies under the moniker "The Step-Dads" where one raps until he is out of breath, the other plays the didgeridoo, and the rest dance until they can dance no more. A shirt and tie adventure, much like the wearing of a shirt and tie, is a rare occasion that occurs once in a blue moon. When it does happen, the memories are sure to last. Plus we look good while doin' it!

Two years and one month ago marked the first occasion where I decided to pursue a shirt and tie adventure in the outdoors. I had heard about a place where there existed many small talus caves. Hardly knowing anything about the area, I called up a friend to join me for this historic experience.  

I will not give away the exact location of these caves. They are not labeled on any map or named on any website. All I will say is that they are located somewhere in Ventura County on a fairly popular trail. If you do a little digging I'm sure you'll be able to figure out where they are. We began early on the morning of February 3rd, 2020, climbing up to the summit of a blustery mountain. Hardly anyone was on the trail at this time of day. After hiking about four miles we finally made it to the location of the caves.

Shirt and Tie. The classiest hiking attire.

After maneuvering our way through some chest high brush we entered into the first cave. With walls 20ft high and multiple openings that let in the morning light this first cave was absolutely gorgeous. Our footsteps echoed off the walls of the massive room, guarded from the outside by gargantuan stones resting on top and beside one another. From the main chamber were several offshoots, some big, some small, and some only passable to small rodents and bats. Our day was set. We decided we would explore every nook and cranny that this area had to offer.

Inside the luminous main chamber

One of the sky lights of main chamber

After discovering that many of the offshoots led to dead ends or back to the outside world we finally found one that only went in one direction: down. This was going to be fun. We brought out the headlamps and began crawling our way down the increasingly constricting passage. Once we reached the end of the passage we noticed a small opening at the bottom of the left wall. It was probably 3ft long and less than a 1ft tall. Curious, I squeezed on through it to see if there was anything of interest in the other side. Thank God there was. We discovered a whole new chamber, albeit smaller and darker, just waiting to be explored.

Entrance to the second chamber

After following this chamber for about 30ft it finally spit us back out into the open air. From here travel became much more spontaneous. Caves and gullies and slots and crevices galore. We just pointed and went, jumping from one cool spot to the next. We scrambled up over boulders. We down climbed into narrow slot canyons. We were just like two kids on a new playground trying out every play structure we could find. The place was a scramblers paradise. Imagine Piedra Blanca, but with grittier rock and ubiquitous caves. It's a remarkable place. Truly worth the visit if you can find it. 

A hole in the rocks usually led to more caves

Slot Canyon

A small cave. Where could it go?

We killed a good 2 hours or so just exploring the general vicinity. The day so far had been absolutely spectacular. Little did we know that it would reach legendary status. All of the caves that we had explored so far had been fairly small, extending horizontally for 40ft at the most. None of them had descended into the earth a considerable ways. That was expected. Talus caves are formed by rocks just stacked on one another. Here in Ventura County, at least to my knowledge, we don't have any caves that extend for hundreds of feet into the ground. We've got nothing like Crystal Cave up in Sequoia National Park or Mammoth Cave out in Kentucky or the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. The caves here are either talus or windblown, usually existing only on the surface. 

So when we stumbled upon a small entrance to another little cave we thought nothing of it. We were expecting it to peter out into a dead end like all the others. Boy were we wrong. This thing kept on going. And going. And going. It never seemed to end. Once we made our way through the main entrance we noticed that this thing instantly descended a good 15 to 20ft. Holy cow! It couldn't possibly get deeper than that could it?

The cave drops down 15-20ft just left of where I'm crouching

Venturing into the abyss

After reaching the bottom of this first descent we noticed a tiny entrance to the right that led into a 2nd chamber. This was a tight little chamber, no more than 4ft tall and 5ft wide. It split off in two directions, one to the right and the other straight ahead. The path to the right led to a good sized chamber that was home to one very fuzzy bat. The other led to another small drop off, that led to, you guessed it, another chamber. How was this even possible? By now we were a good 40ft below ground. We imagined it couldn't possibly go any further.  But no, sure enough, at the center of this 4th chamber, was a small hole that dropped down into yet another chamber. 

The hole that leads to the 5th chamber

The entrance to this 5th chamber is the tightest in the entire cave. Once you squeeze through the hole you must then shimmy down two vertical 8ft slabs of rock before you reach the bottom. If you are claustrophobic in the slightest then this is the endpoint for your adventure. It's tight. Really tight.

"The Shimmy"

After braving our way through "The Shimmy" we followed our way down the narrow slot of the 5th chamber until we finally reached the bottom. Wow. What a remarkable find. It was hard to tell exactly, but we were definitely more than 60ft down in the depths of this cave. Maybe even 100ft. In this final 6th chamber was a damp little register filled with the entries of  people who were insane enough to venture that far into the cave. The first entries go back to the early 2000's. Some had signed the register more than eight times. Some were from Kentucky. Others from Texas. One entry was written by an 11 year old. Crazy.

The Bottom of the Cave, taken on my 3rd visit 03/14/2021

The bottom of this cave is only about 3.5 ft tall. The coloration of the rocks on some of the walls and the ceiling made it look like someones graffiti art. Inside the register was a small electric lantern that, to our surprise, sill worked. It cast a haunting greenish glow as we sat and enjoyed the deafening silence of the chamber. 

Transfixed by the light 

The Greatest Man Alive

Our entry was the first one of that year. And it appeared that we were the only ones that went down there in shirts and ties. Go figure. We turned off our lights, enjoying the sublime experience of sitting in total darkness and complete silence. Time seemed to stop down there. No light, no sound. It was like being dead. 

Climbing back out

This cave is really something special. And we had absolutely no idea that it was there. We stumbled upon it by pure chance. Gotta love it when that happens. It's also amazing to think that it was formed not by wind or water, but by rocks stacked on top of one another. It was a little unnerving knowing that information as we stared at the ceiling that was held in place by the rocks on the sides. But you know, this thing had probably survived thousands of earthquakes in its time. We were safe. Maybe. Best we get out of there while we're still lucky. 

The climb back out was considerably more difficult than the climb back in. Especially figuring out how to climb back through "The Shimmy." That was interesting. Once we made it back to the outside world we reveled in the spaces wide and fresh air. After crouching for a good hour it was nice to finally stretch our legs for a little bit.

Climbing up from the 4th Chamber

Keep in mind that this is a tight cave. If you happen to find it and choose to enter know that you will be crawling and sliding and scooting and crouching for most of the way down. But boy is it worth it. 

From that day forward there have been only a handful of moments that I deemed necessary to don the ceremonial shirt and tie. But seriously, in all honesty, who cares what you wear and why you wear it and where you wear it. Wear whatever you want. Whatever floats your boat. Tickles your fancy. The important thing is to get out there and experience the world! To have a good time, make new friends, share new experiences. You never know what you'll find. It may surprise you.