One tradition when I come to Mammoth is to stop at Roberto's for Mexican food. I have the same thing every time: a duck taco with rice and beans, and one of their specialty margaritas. The one I like is called "Herra-the-dog" because it's made with silver tequila. So that's the way I ordered it the other night: "Herra-the-dog, rocks, salt."
The bartender did a double take and laughed. "Wow, you must have been coming here a long time. That's not even on the menu anymore."
Turns out he knew how to make it anyway. The tradition lives on.
The fact is, I have been coming here for forty years. I find inspiration in the trails. I don't make any pretense about being a local, just a guy that keeps coming up. Our family has a little rustic condo and this is a fine year-round getaway. I hung a new painting on the wall this trip but otherwise it's a time capsule from the 80's. The rest of the town is changing fast and the summer crowds get bigger every year. I'm ok with that, too, except when I can't get a table at my favorite restaurants.
I've been here since Friday. The team arrives in a few hours. I've enjoyed the solitude of long hikes and evenings spent on the porch reading, but I'm ready to start hanging around people again. My top girls will run about 50 this week. The boys will be a little higher. I just got back from a five-mile hike, looking for a new trail or two to inflict upon my runners. Hills and altitude are a sure prescription for fitness. It's worth noting that even the trails are changing, expensive new signage pointing the way and telling how far. I'm quite positive that several of my runners will still find a way to get lost. That's another Mammoth tradition.
Here in Mammoth I'm something of an oddity, sitting alone with a book while all around me vacationers hang out as families or in groups. I try not to take up a big table, just to be polite. I'll eat alone even when the team gets here, because the group dynamic is enhanced when a coach isn't watching over their every move. That's a tradition I've followed for a long time. I believe it has merit.
I'm happy to report that I'm starting to pay attention to women again. It's progress. Nothing weird. A supermodel could have shown up nude on my front porch these past five months and nothing would have stirred. But now I'm noticing the fair sex again. I don't think they're noticing me, and frankly I don't think I want them to — although just the other day a woman told me I have nice calves. That was a nice surprise.
The best news of the week, even more than the start of cross country season and the realization that I still have some semblance of pure animal instinct, is that the writing has been phenomenal. The condo is a great place to get lost in the written word. The ideas are firing. I'm on the comeback trail. Or perhaps just on a trail, trying to find my way back.