A Walk in the Park (Cigar Smoke 11/22/07)

As a service to all you readers out there, I’m going to tell you about places to walk your dog, a different place for every day of the week. And there will be no charge. So, you’re reading the Pasadena Weekly, a free paper, and you’re getting priceless dog park info for free. Let’s face it: at best you’re cheapskates; at worst, you’re commies.

I’ve been taking Hadley, my Airedale, for a walk every day for over nine years. We basically go to these seven places: Brookside Park, Santa Anita Park, the Fly-Casting Pond, Victory Park, Farnsworth Park, Hahamonga Cayabonga Gungadin Fake Reservoir Wild-Ass Overgrown Pseudo Wetlands Equine Park and the Santa Fe Dam.

Usually, we get in the car, and I say, “Hadley, you weasel, where do you want to go today?” And Hadley says, “One of the seven damn places we always go.” So, when he’s like that, I take him to Brookside Park, by the Rose Bowl. Probably the best all around dog-walking spot. Hadley loves to stop and sniff. He doesn’t like to actually walk. He would rather stop and sniff anything all day than walk 50 straight-ass yards with his nice owner.

What you might see at Brookside is the Crazed Mothers Run-Pushing Their Babies in Strollers Club of Pasadena; old people (my age people) in the pool wearing bathing suits popular in 1945 doing water exercises in sync with a boom box version of Deep in the Heart of Texas; a hairy shirtless guy emerging from beneath a picnic table requesting a donation to his wine fund; or maybe three busloads of little darlings attacking the Children’s Museum. Hey, it’s better than a UCLA game.

Sometimes we go to Santa Anita Park over in Arcadia. Just take the 210 east to Santa Anita and hang a right. Go a few blocks. It’s just kitty-corner from the only Denny’s in the world that has a 1400-foot windmill on top of it. I think it fell from Denmark. The best part is that it’s right next to a golf course and you can brush up on new obscene phrases for a slice or a yank hook. If golf doesn’t float your putter (is that dirty?) then you can watch bad tennis players, or lawn bowlers. Or if you don’t like sports at all, you can watch the Chinese Red-and-White-Clad Chanters and Reachers to the Sky. Try not to go on a Saturday. They usually have some big dog show. Don’t tell Hadley.

Another really cool place is the Fly-Casting Pond on the Arroyo. It’s kind of hard to find, if you’re not, like me, a born finder. Just take the eastern side of the Arroyo under Suicide Bridge, swerve by the bodies, and it’s about a mile down the road. It’s combined with a pretty neat archery layout, too.

Great place to walk your dog. Yes, it’s right next to the flood control channel, but it also has a neat little stream and a wilderness-like area that makes you feel, maybe two percent of the way that guy in “Into the Wild” felt. Your dog will love it there. My dog doesn’t give a shit. Just kidding. He likes it there, too. Especially the actual fly-casting pond.
You’re not supposed to let your dogs off leash, but if conditions are right, I do it — I’m a rebel. If there are no fisherman trainees out there casting hooks into each other’s ears, I let Hadley off leash and he just goes into the pond. It’s about dog-chest deep, full of pollywog remains and mossy slime and other crud. But it’s fun. Hadley likes it, too.
If I need to pretend I’m a good master but all I want to do is get the chore of walking a four-legged Airedalian Weasel out of the way, I go to either Victory Park next to Pasadena High School or Farnsworth Park up on Lake in Altadena. I’ve picked these two parks because, well, they’re close to where I live. If you don’t live where I live, and let’s keep it that way, then forget I mentioned them.

Hahamongna Watershed Park, over in La Cañada Flintridge, right by JPL, is kind of another world. Really. This is a semi-spooky place, baby. I usually park on the top level and then walk Hadley down the dirt path of death to a dark and damp destination. In about 10 minutes you are in some pretty ugly country. Hadley and I go way back into the gnarly overgrown brush and rocky areas. There are bones out there and coyotes and snakes and raccoon guts and non-classifiable crap. I’m sure Jimmy Hoffa’s out there somewhere. And you can hear this little undercurrent of almost human humming when the rapists are arguing with the child molesters as to where to attack the homeless guys. And then some young thing will come riding along on a horse. Yes, an equestrian will emerge! I am not kidding. You want to make a movie of all this. But you don’t have the time, the funding, or the talent to do it. And your dog is peeing on your foot.

Finally, there’s Santa Fe Dam. A little jewel of unexpected urban paradise. Beautiful lake, terrific view of the mountains, swans and ducks swimming and waddling, and the place is empty most of the year. I’d tell you more, but I have run out of space. Due to poor planning. And wordiness earlier. It’s not really all that close to Pasadena anyway. It’s in Irwindale. Hell with it.

Oops, gotta go. I left Hadley back in Hahamonga-cowabunga. He told me he could find Hoffa. He better.