Posted: February 24, 2021
I emerged out of the Las Pulgas underground bike tunnel and suddenly there were about ten United States soldiers, all donned in camouflage and intense gear like they were ready for war. One of the men gave a heads-up to his fellow comrades that a biker was approaching, like a well-worn routine. I mustered a “Hello!” Military helicopters hovered above.
I wasn’t in a warzone, though. Quite the contrary. I was in my new home, one that I hope will be a forever home for my family. Oceanside, California. Located in northern San Diego County, Oceanside is a pleasant beach town that happens to also be home to Camp Pendleton, a United States Marine base. So the presence of soldiers isn’t out of the ordinary.
My family moved here from Phoenix. In the desert, we believed that it would be our forever family home. After all, southern Arizona offered affordable living, temperatures that rarely dove under freezing point, and outdoor adventures aplenty.
But in six years’ time, we realized we were wrong. It wasn’t our forever home.
The air pollution in the greater Phoenix area caused respiratory issues for my parents. Even I felt an invisible drain of energy throughout the day. As I breathed, the rush of air brushed by the sticky snot in my nose and throat.
As the gunk in my respiratory passages lingered, I stayed in the funk of my bear cave — my house. My internal summertime hibernation mode seemed to drag on through the mild temperatures of winter. While I emerged more often during the winter for outdoor activities such as biking and hiking, there was something in the air — maybe it was the desert dust and car pollution clouding my enthusiasm.
Plus, I lived in the urban center of the city without a driver’s license. I could easily bike a short distance to the grocery store or my community college, but not to the hiking areas and other outdoor recreation sites on the city’s outskirts. Plus, there weren’t dedicated biking lanes taking me straight to them.
Without a car, the urban life sucked me into a spinning quicksand of pavement.
My parents had additional reasons for moving out of Arizona. They saw themselves spending their final years elsewhere. And my mother longed to live closer to her siblings. In other words, she wanted to return to the first state she lived in as an immigrant in 1991 — California.
And so began our new life in Oceanside. I have to admit, I was skeptical at first, mostly because town of 175,000 denizens lacked familiarity to me. It wasn’t desert. But it didn’t take long for its healthy air quality, small-town vibe, and close proximity to our immediate family to start winning us over.
After all, here my body stopped feeling like a shriveled-up banana peel. I felt more alive each waking moment.
When the breeze wafted through our home, it was almost as if it had arms pulling me outside, inviting me to explore the outdoors.
Could Oceanside snap me out of my hibernation spell? It could and it did. Especially when I was on my bike. I took to the many cycling trails around town, especially the ones that hugged the coastline or along the San Luis Rey River Trail.
One day, an orange fox with a white belly patch emerged from thick grass and set its paw on the pavement of the San Luis Rey. See what treasures the river trail hold for you, it seemed to tell me.
And so I sought out those treasures, the river trail being my passage. As I biked eastward, I pretended that I was a professional road cycler beginning the first leg of the annual Race Across America, an extremely difficult endurance race from Oceanside to Annapolis, Maryland.
I arrived not in Annapolis but the eastern end of the San Luis Rey. There, hikers and bikers can tackle the dirt trails of Guajome Regional Park. I’ve had a so-so mountain bike for years, but didn’t try mountain biking until Guajome came into my life. I maintained a steely focus on the terrain, whether it be loose rocks or uphill climbs on dirt. The constant shaking of my bike and body excited me. It made me wonder why I didn’t try this sport earlier!
Guajome also beckoned lone runners, entire families on bikes, and hikers on their cell phone. We came from different walks of life, but held in common our longing for the outdoors.
From Guajome, I could bike westward on the San Luis Rey until land’s end — Harbor Beach and the Oceanside Pier, where people watching was a nonstop performance.
Surfers ripped through the waves like elegant penguins. Somebody added soundtrack by playing the ukulele from the driver seat of their car.
I even had a chance encounter with a black vagabond musician from Kentucky traveling through Southern California, named the Kowboy Rasta. He was singing and playing his acoustic guitar on the pier in harmony with the crashes of waves underneath.
Below the pier, yellow surfboard-laden Toyota Tacoma trucks pulled out of a lifeguard’s garage. The remaining lifeguards chitchatted among racks of swimming flippers, bench press gym equipment, and a jet ski.
And all this time, I pushed my bike along to my side, as inseparable as dear friends.
As I started to bike inland and return to the San Luis Rey, a lone jet ski sped away from the shore. I’ll never know, but maybe it was one of the lifeguards on their rounds.
In the middle of the bike trail, different waves were ridden. Skaters of all ages zoomed through the paved grooves of the Prince Park/Alex Road Skatepark. But I would never forget to look to the sky, where helicopters and small airplanes soared overhead from the Oceanside Regional Airport. Sometimes, skydivers peppered the air with their orange parachutes and swayed around until they met the ground.
I wanted to continue being one with the San Luis Rey trail. One day, I went as far as hosting an Instagram Live interview with a superstar YouTuber and musician, Charlie Green, from the trail.
My peak Oceanside moment could have been taken from a children’s picture book illustration. While I was biking the Las Pulgas Route, an Amtrak Surfliner passenger train from Los Angeles headed down to San Diego. Rolling alongside the click-clacking train with my humble bike at about the same speed, I never felt more alive. The air rushed by the both of us, reminding me that I’m not in the train — I’m with it.
Outdoor recreation is all the hype in Oceanside. Its varied people, including but not limited to Marine solders, traveling musicians, skaters, bikers, and surfers, characterize its outdoor spaces.
Best of all, my bike could take me to them, no driver’s license necessary. Oceanside doesn’t kid around when they self-claim themselves as a bike-friendly city.
My parents and I believe that Oceanside is our family’s forever home. I’ll bet you that in six years’ time, that prophecy won’t fade. It will only be reinforced.
Because when it comes to outdoor recreation in this city, there’s always something. What that something is, I wouldn’t know until I headed out the door into the fresh ocean breeze.
As I pedal along the coastline regularly, I take in a deep breath of fresh, life-giving air and thoughts of Phoenix fade from my mind. And even the faint sound of bombs and rapid gunfire from Camp Pendleton — as incongruent as it is mixed with the crashing of waves — has become familiar. I’m home.
Share this on Pinterest, you savvy traveler.
How Gratefulness Helped Me Move Across the Country