W
iping the dust from my hands, I scramble up a few hundred feet until I gain a narrow ridgeline. Continuing on, I spot the low fence beneath the observatory’s copper dome. Like a thief I hop over the barrier, looking left and right to
make sure no one sees me enter. Kneeling by the fence, I pull a water bottle from my backpack, rinse the gravel from my hands, and wet my bandana to staunch the bleeding that stains the leg of my shorts. A group of schoolchildren laugh and chatter as they walk past me. Maybe they’re surprised to see a grown-up brush dirt from his knees—or per- haps they’re looking at something else. As I turn toward the Los Angeles basin I, too, marvel at the view of the city below. Through the haze I can make out broad patches of green and the occasional shimmer of flowing water. As I return down the mountain—this time on a marked trail—I see hundreds of people of every age and race on their way up. Mothers carry babies. Entire families pose for photographs. Elderly men walk slowly with canes. Joggers pass by, sweat gleaming on their skin. Every beat of their hearts expresses love for their park—and their city. I smile to myself. Before my eyes, the adventure gap is closing.
James Edward Mills is the author of The Adventure Gap and producer of The Joy Trip Project podcast.
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