A Run in Newport Beach

On Saturday morning, when New Yorkers hunkered down indoors to escape a chilly, wet day, I awoke to the glow of a fabulous California sunshine. Having a few hours to kill, I hopped into my rented wheels (a Chevy Cobalt...brought back warm and fuzzy memories of the Cavi) and took off to Newport Beach. To reach the Pacific Ocean in just 20 minutes was a blissful experience and I took full advantage of the delightful weather by going on a 50-minute run...

A gorgeous morning, just like one would imagine April in Southern California to be. Surfers dot the steel blue water, some gliding along small swells while others bob in the placid surf. My legs carry me past houses hugging the coast, their patios filled with wicker furniture; yesterday's towels lazily draped over the arms of Adirondack chairs. I focus on the smokestack, an onminous landmark before me and a jarring sight in this otherwise pristine beach town.

As I intersect streets called Seashore and Laguna, I pass fellow runners and bikers in tight packs and even tighter shirts. I cross a bridge and am surrounded by water: the ocean to my left and an inlet to my right. Signs point to Huntington Beach as the smoke stack draws closer. In Huntington, I make a left and run along the inlet, past mudflats hiding colonies of cockles and claims. Tiny birds--the size of a car key--sing from their perch atop anemic trees (does the salty air prevent trees from growing around here?) and their song keeps me going...and going...