black chevrolet

The Angeles Forest lies along a spiny ridge defending the LA basin like a curled alligator. There is a road that snakes along this ridge, originating from the basin. Hy. 2, the Angeles Crest Highway, is its name. On this road there is a little blue speck crawling, all alone, from the heights of La Canada toward the crest. The speck travels around curve after curve until it becomes lost, with the road, in the trees and canyons.

The speck emerges finally at a junction. The Forest sweeps away and below to the left of it into an enormous valley, walled on the far side by blue mountains speckled with naked rock. Up and to the right, the Crest is only a few thousand feet away. The sign points to the right: Wilson Observatory. The speck dodges right and disappears again into the curves.

We see the speck again, parked and still, at the peak of a ridge with lots of buzzing electronic equipment and sundry domes of an astronomical observatory. There is a 75-foot tower tearing into the belly of the cumulus cloud that looked so fat and white from below.

Mist swirls about the tower and the surrounding trees. There is nothing to see. Below the flat parking area there is a milky abyss. I had hoped to get a view of the city; the air below was clear as a bell. But just my luck to have the mountaintop enveloped in the guts of some cloud. I sit down on a large rock and stare upwards at the roiling cotton fleece curling and boiling upon itself.

It was surreal, sitting there watching ridge turbulence rage just a few feet above my head. It was a sight fit for those Weather Channel fast-frame tornado shots, or for special effects in some movie. Special effects...that was it - I was sitting here in God's own special-effects studio watching the sky tear itself to pieces....crazy, absolutely crazy....