18 PUNCHMAGAZINE.COM {sloane citron} the parking lot, almost empty because of the inclement weather. We were both bundled into raincoats with the hoods tied tightly, our faces the only unprotected areas of our bodies. The rain was intense and at times there were tiny ice pellets smacking against our raincoats, then bouncing to the ground. The wind tore ferociously against us and often we were forced to look down at the path and follow its edge. But to us, it was a perfect day. We pushed forward, hiking the mostly empty trail. We still were able to have good conversation, much of it about the Dish itself. Josh would see the remnant of a dirt path and recall how he had run down it as a child. Like playing golf, hiking allows for real conversations and strengthening connections. When we reached a high point, we looked up and there was the most perfect, beautiful double rainbow that either of us had ever seen. It stretched from one end of the valley to the other, and it was easy to imagine a gold pot at either end. The intense rain and winds created a different Dish, with downed trees, thousands of wild mushrooms and stunning cloud formations. By the end of the trail, returning to the guard station and reality, our jeans, shoes and socks were completely soaked through. Perfect. It was special doing this hike with Josh. Hearing his memories of the place—and creating new ones together in memorable conditions—confirmed the Dish as a place where magic happens—forging bonds, refreshing our souls and, as always, coming out ahead, mentally and physically, from when we started a short hour before. My family has been doing the Dish for as long as I can remember. For those who don’t know, the Dish is a beautiful piece of rolling hills owned by Stanford University and named for the huge radio telescope on its upper area. While Stanford uses it for many purposes, most of us enjoy it for the superb hiking opportunities it affords. From the top, you can literally see the entire Bay. Depending on the weather, it’s an excellent way to gain a sense of where we live and how all the towns and roads intersect. When we first discovered this treasure while my children were small, it was wild and free with no gates, no pavement, no rules or regulations. We would go up it and walk any which way we liked, exploring and discovering along the way. The kids would hunt for small animals—lizards and rabbits and toads—and find plants that they had never seen. Stanford eventually saw that hikers were taking over the place and that they were losing control. My kids were probably to blame. Finally, much like the Joni Mitchell song, they “paved paradise and put up a parking lot” (literally). Today, there is a peculiar parking area that requires you to back into the spots, inevitably causing traffic jams as you find a space and then clumsily pull forward and then backwards into it. On a warm spring day, finding a spot can be challenging and you have to wander around the neighborhoods to find a “legal” place to leave your car. While I do understand that it is Stanford’s property (and I am an alumnus), I’m always sad to see the free and fun experiences in our lives disappear. Today, there is a paved path through the Dish with the understanding that you will stay on it. There is an entrance gate with a little house for a guard to sit in, to make sure dogs and bikes don’t wander through. The place is now tame, like a lion in a zoo. Still wonderful and exotic, but caged, nonetheless. Even so, I and thousands of others are grateful to Stanford for allowing us to use this wonderful area to get some exercise, experience nature and improve our attitudes. One good loop and whatever your problems are, they become less. The dish is not so much a walk as a hike. It’s not terribly challenging but you don’t see a lot of out-of-shape people on the paths. Last year, we tried to do it with a double stroller with two of my grandkids inside, and it was rough going. Pushing the stroller up some of the rather steep hills is a burn not easily forgotten. Finally, we had to take the kids out of the stroller and carry them as we pushed upward. It was clumsy but successful, though we did not try that again. Recently, on one of our marvelous rainy days (atmospheric rivers, as they now call them), my son Josh, who has done the dish since he could walk, called me at work and asked me if I wanted to join him for a hike. I like being out in the elements and with my son, so I quickly said yes and an hour later we were backing into the rain dish
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