But it is important. Very important.

An old woman near me climbs up an impossibly narrow, rough-hewn ladder made of nothing more than branches. Still, she has the grace and nimbleness of a much younger person. As she moves, she doesn’t just teach us wisdom that reaches back to the ancients. She lives it.

Understand, this wise woman has weathered things far worse than the coronavirus. She has witnessed the rise and fall of nations, mass starvation, unspeakable violence. She lives in a world nearly always without, or with very meager, electricity, with no grocery stores or hospitals.

Yet she does more than endure. She finds joy.

At the same time and a half-world away, many of us allow ourselves to be ensnared in a never-ending flow of digitized coronavirus information, no matter how insignificant, no matter how repetitive.

We become obsessed with the most minor news as if our lives depended on it. We feed on repetitive and repackaged information like opioid addicts. Yet with each new iteration, we make our fear loom ever larger.

We (or people we know) hoard bread, milk, eggs. In just a matter of weeks, we have created a culture of, “I got mine and you’ll have to pry my cold dead fingers off my toilet paper before you’ll get it.”

Still, we seek no escape. After all, we tell ourselves, there’s a global pandemic.

But this woman who lives in a remote part of the planet known as the Mustang region in Nepal knows better.

Instead of worrying about hunkering down inside as California Gov. Gavin Newsom advises seniors – and more and more areas are in total lockdown mode and perhaps rightly so – the old woman focuses on what’s important.

I’ll point out that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, as of press time, doesn’t advise us to shutter inside unless sick or infirm. Instead, CDC tells people of all ages to avoid gatherings, maintain social distances of 6 feet and exercise. Me? I walked to the grocery store the other day, alone.

Nearly every day, the old woman climbs a series of stone steps, ascends the ladder and soaks in the breathtaking beauty that surrounds her. Sometimes she focuses on the flowing river below. Other times she watches the gossamer-like spindrift blowing off the world’s highest peaks. And on days like this one, she watches the curious people who come to her valley for spiritual nourishment.

My bones tell me that the old woman also delights in the tiny flowers that somehow manage to bloom between rocks, that she is filled with amazing memories while surrounded by friends and family. But to be sure, she knows that to live in the moment matters most.

After all, that’s when new memories are born and, hey, let’s agree it’s also the only way to safely get down a ladder.

As she heads down, she grips the ladder with strong, practiced hands and gazes at me with a steady eye.

We both know I’ll follow her with less grace.

 A special time

As awful as the coronavirus is – and yes, it may be a very long horror show – the disruption of our daily routines has another side. It offers a unique opportunity to reassess, to inject new vigor into our lives, to ponder the wonders of our planet, to think about our global connectedness.

Consider your recent visit to a grocery store. You already know that the virus prompts us to greet old friends as well as people we’ve never met.

The virus, too, humbles and reminds us that we humans share the same basic DNA. Whether we’re in Kathmandu, Kalamazoo or Kern County, we get sick the same; we die the same; we heal the same.

Instead of obsessing over every new scrap of news about the pandemic, this is a time in which we should gently remind ourselves just how short and precious life is. We can choose to shut down or we can choose to thrive.

Through adversity, even tragedy, we triumph together.

Before the old woman heads for the ladder, she turns toward a cold, stiff breeze and looks over the vast Mustang valley as if it’s her first time. Here, the term “Mustang” has nothing to do with fast Fords or wild horses. Instead, it is a word first spoken so long ago that it comes from a time when time didn’t matter.

A Tibetan word, “Mustang” translates to “Plain of Aspiration.”

In the midst of the global pandemic, the power of “Mustang” is especially fitting. Instead of facing the future with despair, we can gather ourselves and consider the virus with ambition, achievement and hope.

We face it with “Mustang.”

Sitting atop this woman’s roof, I look toward a giant massif known as Dhaulagiri. At 26,796 feet it is the seventh highest peak in the world. The meaning of its name? Beautiful, white, dazzling.

I suck in thin air and follow the old woman down the old ladder. The wood is knotted and gnarled. Yet it also is as smooth as polished brass.

Climbing ladders aren’t just good for wood. They’re good for humans, too.

Keeping perspective

I am in Nepal to mountain bike and after I say goodbye to the old woman, I attempt to pedal across a very long, very narrow and very high walking bridge made of nothing but cable and steel slates.

But the wind howls, the bridge sways and I walk my bike. Snow flurries whip past by the time a newfound friend and our guide arrive at our destination farther up the valley. Soon, there is a full-blown snowstorm. With zero heat, my room is freezing and icy drafts make the curtains flutter.

The accommodations aren’t what was planned or promised. Still, we have a choice. We can either be victims or we can be something else. So we laugh because, in truth, this is just nuts.

Early the next morning, villagers take to their roofs to scrape and shovel off 8 inches of heavy snow. Speed is critical because melting snow destroys their mud roofs. But instead of grumbling, gentle snowball fights and giggles ring out across the rooftops.

A shaved monk in maroon robes uses a circular rattan tray as a shovel. When he spots me, he comes over and presents me with a round cake of snow, grinning and joking, “Happy birthday!”

Of course, we’d all be way better off without the coronavirus. But that isn’t our new reality.

So let’s keep things in perspective. Go for a walk if you live in a non-lockdown area. And if you don’t, open a window and bask in a sunbeam. Listen to the birds. Look at the clouds, the moon, the stars. Feel the wind and think of the “Mustang” spirit.

We’ll get through this.

• 

  David Whiting competes during the 10th anniversary celebration of the Over the Hump Mountain Bike race series at Lakeview Park in Orange on Tuesday, August 13, 2019. (File photo by Kevin Sullivan, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  Allen S. Whiting and son David Whiting tour the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum in Yorba Linda. Allen Whiting was formerly the head of the Far East division in the State Department’s Intelligence and Research branch. (File photo by Cindy Yamanaka, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  The Rev. Mark Whitlock, left, makes a beeline to Orange County Register columnist David Whiting to give condolences on his dad’s passing. With his wife, Lindsay, by his side, Whiting was recognized for his work with the Martin Luther King Jr. Drum Major Award at Irvine’s Christ Our Redeemer AME church Sunday, Jan. 14, 2018. (File photo by Cindy Yamanaka, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  The Whitings, from left: Alice Whiting (mom), Jennifer Holcomb (sister), David Whiting, and Allen (father) in 2006 during the Boston Marathon. (File photo courtesy of David Whiting)

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  Lindsay Whiting, left, and columnist David Whiting take a break after completing a journey of more than 160 miles with more than 20,000 feet of elevation gain. (File photo courtesy David Whiting)

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  Orange County Register columnist David Whiting discusses teen suicide on the TBN program “Taking Care of Business.” (File photo courtesy of James Langteaux)

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  Columnist David Whiting partners with Santa Ana Police detective Duane Greaver to test out the department’s new virtual training system in Santa Ana on Monday, August 20, 2018. (File photo by Mindy Schauer, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  Orange County Register columnist David Whiting at the summit of Mt. McKinley in Alaska in 2006. (Photo by Max Bitner)

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  David Whiting, Orange County Register columnist, combs through the Big Bear cabin standoff spot where Christopher Dorner died in a fire after law enforcement chased him down. The columnist found a couple of melted items in the dirt Sunday, Feb. 4, 2018. (File photo by Cindy Yamanaka, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  David Whiting surveys the scene near where Monica Quan and her fianceŽ, Keith Lawrence, were found shot dead in Lawrence’s car outside their Irvine apartment complex five years ago, on February 2, 2013. Quan, a women’s basketball assistant coach at Cal State Fullerton, was the daughter of Randal Quan, a former Los Angeles Police Department captain and lawyer who formerly represented Christopher Dorner during Dorner’s dismissal hearing from the LAPD. Lawrence was a campus public safety officer. Photographed Wednesday, Jan. 31, 2018. (File photo by Kevin Sullivan, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  On Tuesday, Jan. 3, 2017 columnist David Whiting, left, visited with his father, Allen S. Whiting, 91, who was just diagnosed with the flu virus and discovered area hospitals were in the midst of a flu spike. His column was the first to alert the Southland about the issue. His father died days later. (File photo courtesy of David Whiting)

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  Lucas Oil’s Mike Wiskus flies his Pitts Special stunt plane with Orange County Register columnist David Whiting over Orange County, CA, on Wednesday, Oct 17, 2018. (File photo by Jeff Gritchen, Orange County Register/SCNG)

With this being my final column, it’s only proper to thank the people who made my 45 years of journalism possible and, sorry beloved colleagues, that would be you, our readers.

For the last three decades, I have had the honor to serve Orange County and more recently — thanks to the Southern California News Group — much of the Southland, and that has been both a joy and love.

But more than anything, it has been an opportunity to get to know an incredible range of people, often during one of the most incredible times in their lives. It also has allowed me to discover some amazing places.

I’ll share a few epic go-and-dos in a minute. But for now, allow me to share about my industry’s increasingly misunderstood mission.

As journalists, our job is to dig deep, do our research and ask anything that is on point. At the same time, the people we talk to can decide if they want to answer.

Along with reporting news, we serve as conduits for people’s hopes and dreams as well as their struggles. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, we are tasked with the sacred privilege of communicating the information without fear or favor.

As a boyhood hero of mine once sang, “It’s how you ride the trail that counts.”

Rather than being the enemy of the people, in truth we are the opposite. Our mission, when done right, is to provide information that allows people to make their own decisions. In turn, shared information helps connect community.

The only side for any honest reporter, photographer, graphic artist and editor is the reader’s side.

I’m sure that I sometimes failed you (John Wayne Airport anyone?). But as a columnist, I am paid to have a point of view. My friends on the hard news side do not have that luxury.

Unfortunately in these contentious times, some try to blur the line between fact and opinion. But they shouldn’t waste their time. Readers are too smart for that silliness.

Consider what reader “Richard Savy” shared online a few days ago: “David, I haven’t always agreed with your columns or point of view and at times I thought you were terribly misguided. However, you always wrote with passion and a firmness of conviction.

“Thanks for the years of dedicated hard work and best of luck in retirement, and it’s my guess that you’ll be back every so often.”

Thank you, Mr., um, Savy. And I will add that if someone agreed with all of the more than 1,000 columns I’ve written, they should be declared insane. Even Mom told me I sometimes blew it.

Additionally, I would be remiss if I didn’t call out the rumors that journalism is dying. Untrue. But it is changing and in many respects, it’s better than ever.

When I first got into the news biz, we published only on paper. Today, we report real news in real time and that matters.

As fires raged across the Golden State these last few weeks, people read the latest news online, examined ever-moving fire line maps and watched videos that helped save countless homes and lives.

As an editor once said, “We have more tools in our toolbox.”

OK, enough preaching. Let’s check out some of my favorite things to do.

‘Stupid stuff’

If you’ve read my columns for the last few decades, you know that I like to do what I call “stupid stuff.” So far, stupid has meant running six consecutive near-marathons across the Rocky Mountains, mountain biking with wild animals in Africa, climbing the close-to-vertical East Buttress on Mount Whitney and summiting in freezing temperatures and well after dark (seriously stupid).

Stupid means competing in Ironman triathlons, sailing Newport-Ensenada in a storm as waves sloshed into the cockpit, swimming with seals off Laguna Beach and forgetting the cute critters are shark food, crawling through narrow and watery slot canyons in Utah, climbing the highest mountains in Africa and North and South America, racing horses in the backcountry.

But there are cheaper and closer to home adventures that are as good or better.

Run for the Wall

This one is so amazingly awesome, I’ve been giving presentations to various groups ever since I made the run.

If you are a veteran and have a motorcycle, you are ready. If you don’t have a big boy bike, get one. And if you’re not a veteran, come along for the ride and support our veterans.

For nearly two weeks, you ride for freedom across this great nation with thousands of veterans on a mission to honor those who can’t ride.

But it’s not only about welcoming home veterans. The farther I traveled, the more I realized the ride unveils a country too many of us have forgotten yet is right here before us.

In scores of small towns, hundreds of people turned out, lining streets, saluting and waving the Stars and Stripes. Although often strapped for funds, they dug deep, paying for gasoline and cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner.

In the end, Run for the Wall is about patriotism and rediscovering what it means to be an American.

For more: RFTW.us

Mountain madness

Four mountain ranges — the San Bernardinos, San Gabriels, Santa Monicas and Santa Anas — grace Southern California and that means that no matter where you live, you can venture into the wild and be home by dinner.

If you’re already a hiker, go farther, try a new trail, hike a little higher. Better yet, invite someone who’s not a hiker to go with you. You will see new things with their fresh eyes and they will have a memory that will last a lifetime.

There are many online suggestions. For an easy-to-use site: SoCalHiker.net

Walk the block

I’ll admit I’m not much of a hiker. Heck, I’m not even much of a walker. But my wife and I have started walking the neighborhood and — guess what — walking isn’t just healthy. It’s fun and interesting. Who knew?

Driving, you miss the trees for the forest, the landscape and critters such as birds, squirrels and, hey now, coyotes.

Tip: Carry a bottle of water even if you don’t need it. You will.

Better tip: Hold hands.

By the time you read this, it’s likely my Southern California News Group email is canceled. If you feel like getting in touch, davidwhitingoc@gmail.com.

In parting, I’ll leave you with something that same boyhood hero of mine left me with: “Happy trails to you, until we meet again.”

Meet Jenny Lu, who literally vibrates with enthusiasm when she talks about things like service, paying it forward, building community.

On a deli owner’s income and without fanfare, Lu quietly donates dozens of fresh doughnuts to Marines at Camp Pendleton, feeds the homeless, treats hundreds of high school marching band and theater students to pastries every week and even matches the quarters that customers slip into her countertop “fight leukemia” collection card.

But spend time with Lu and little by little you discover that behind her infectious chatter and love for her customers, there is a dark past of unfathomable suffering, starvation and death.

The place where Lu came of age? Cambodia’s Killing Fields.

Building a business

Walk into the peculiarly named “Scott’s Donuts,” and you enter a place where new friends quickly grow into forever friends.

You see, when you are building something from nothing, you don’t shell out cash just to change a sign. You put everything you have — including your heart and soul — into earning a living, providing for your children, nurturing a clientele.

“I’d rather save money for my regular customers,” Lu explains, “than give money to some advertising company.”

Even after two decades in the same joint in Rancho Santa Margarita, Lu and her husband, Tony, work almost every day. In fact, until recently they only took two days off a year.

Now, they take three days off.

With an accounting background, Lu shares that after her husband was laid off despite having earned an engineering degree, she decided that the family should control their destiny by running their own business.

“I always had a vision in mind,” Lu explains. Fortunately, it never included pie in the sky.

“I’ve always been a hard worker,” she allows. “I like to be responsible. I never leave early.”

Tony, who came to Orange County as a child from Vietnam after the fall of Saigon, starts work at 4 a.m. On weekdays, Lu starts a little later so she can shepherd their children to school.

You see, the couple has four children and like many immigrant parents, their reward is ensuring the children will have more choices than to work in a deli.

So far, it’s working out. On a wall behind the counter, four photographs testify to that success.

Their eldest is in dental school in Portland, Ore., the second child is in pharmaceutical school at Chapman University, the third is in high school and the youngest — a boy I once knew as an understandably slightly nervous young lad when it came to dealing with strangers — is in middle school and now handles cash and customers with confidence.

But you don’t get to be on the deli wall on education alone.

Each child grew up behind the counter, slicing, dicing and mastering the very current digital tablet that handles everything from orders to swiping credit cards.

Lu loves her clientele so much, she is known to advise parents to talk to their children about the importance of education, the benefits of hard work — and to put down the smartphone and pick up a book.

“If teens don’t have jobs,” she shares, “they become lazy. They can clean the garage, mop the floor.”

Lu’s secret to creating a thriving business? According to customers, it’s all about the deli’s inexpensive yet truly awesome breakfasts and lunches.

Drop by any Saturday morning and be prepared to wait in line for a wee bit while the family prepares fresh food and fills a never-ending series of orders for takeout trays. But be forewarned: You will face a very tempting array of doughnuts, bear claws, coffee cake and cinnamon buns.

Fortunately, the rest of the menu is healthy and even includes boba smoothies. Paninis are popular, the bagels are exquisite and the baguettes are to die for.

But, in the end, it’s about community.

Building community

I will admit, I’m a frequent visitor to what most simply call “Jenny’s.” Her prices and quality are difficult to beat and I like the “Seinfeld” Soup Nazi vibe.

A tip: Don’t expect a giant free glass of ice cubes and water unless you buy. Yes, giant cups cost.

Lu and her husband, who is now 60, are whirling dervishes as they ready orders as quickly as possible and, no, special orders don’t upset. Still, in the hubbub there is the occasional mistake. If so, just chill.

“Every Sunday,” states a typical Google review, “my husband buys 1 dozen donuts for our church family in Living Water Community Church. The owner never fails to give us a big discount, every time! May God continue to prosper them for their kindness!”

But there are those oopsies.

“Countless times,” writes Ryan Vieth, “I’ve stopped coming here because they have screwed up or completely forgotten to make my order right after ordering.”

Perhaps the words to pay attention to, though, are “countless times.” No one can get enough of Lu and crew.

My favorite story is when a woman came in mid-Skype. Without looking at Lu and barely pausing to order, she continued to Skype with both hands while also juggling her coffee and sorting change.

You know what’s next. The woman spilled her entire cup of hot coffee across the counter and over Lu.

Lu, however, kept her cool, cleaned up the mess and served up a second cup without charge.

Wait, the best is yet to come.

Next, the woman — still Skyping — teetered over to the coffee bar and immediately spilled the second cup, ruining a vast array of sweeteners and salt and pepper packets.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask for a third cup. Instead, and I am not making this up, she climbed into her car still Skyping.

American dreams

It’s difficult to comprehend the differences in the world Lu lives in today and the one she grew up in.

Even her age, 50, remains murky.

But one thing is certain. Lu remembers exactly what it was like to grow up in a time and place when the Khmer Rouge executed some 1.4 million Cambodians.

And mind you, execution was only one way the Khmer Rouge killed humans. Another was starvation.

I ask what happened to her parents during those years, 1975 to 1979. Lu’s answer is as stark as it is horrifying. “They starved.”

I ask what happened to her brothers and sisters. “Two brothers died, starving.”

But Lu, at about age 10, and an older brother somehow survived and eventually made their way through jungles and over mountains until they found a refugee camp in Thailand.

“We knew we could die,” Lu recalls, “but we couldn’t think about that. We only knew we had to find food.”

I ask what inspired her to keep going at such a young age. “I was looking for freedom and education.”

With the help of a sponsor and after months of waiting, Lu found herself on a flight to Oregon and joined her new family. After learning English, she earned a two-year degree in accounting before coming to Southern California.

Before Lu gets back to business, she has one more thing to say.

“I told my son that after you become a dentist, there will be a day when you see someone who can’t afford what they need.

“You need to give them a major discount.”

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  Mary Rayner hits the first ball on the new pickleball courts during a ribbon cutting in Laguna Woods, CA on Wednesday, March 13, 2019. Rayner, along with her late husband Dale, were the first to bring pickleball to Laguna Woods in 2011. (File photo by Paul Bersebach, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  Pickleball players try out the new courts following a ribbon cutting in Laguna Woods, CA on Wednesday, March 13, 2019. (File photo by Paul Bersebach, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  Columnist David Whiting takes a break while mountain biking in Botswana. (Courtesy of Lindsay Whiting)

Mom always told me to thank the host before leaving, and since all of you allowed me into your homes either in print or online, this is an early good-bye.

Next week will mark my final two columns as I head off into what is officially called “retirement.”

Of course, for some, retirement is a dirty word. A hard-working nurse well into her 70s recently warned me I’ll die of boredom.

Don’t think so.

Still, the sheer number of aging Americans is worrisome.

Right now, the number of people turning 65 is climbing and over the next four years is expected to skyrocket. According to the Pew Research Center, a staggering 10,000 people, on average, will turn 65 every day for at least the next decade.

The California Department on Aging estimates that at this moment there is the highest percentage of people 60 and older in California than ever before. There also is the highest number.

Of people 60 and above, Los Angeles County estimates it has 1.3 million, Orange County about 675,000, Riverside County nearly a half-million and San Bernardino County 373,000.

If you take a look at the number of men and women 75 and older, the statistics are even more concerning since this age group faces more health challenges and requires more services.

Los Angeles has 386,429 people 75 years old and above, Orange County 211,390, Riverside County 158,624 and San Bernardino 100,649.

The question is, will California and the nation be prepared? But the bigger question is, will you be prepared?

Barring debilitating illness, each one of us is responsible for captaining our own ship.

Motion is lotion

In our teens and 20s, we are invincible — or at least we think we are.

I was 17 years old when I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris. That was one year after the 27-year-old singer’s death and to a teenager in the 1970s, it seemed that Morrison already had lived a legendary life in full.

“I wanna have my kicks,” he once yelled to a crowd, “before the whole (expletive) goes up in flames.”

If Morrison had lived, he’d be 75 years old today. But we can agree that unless the rock star made some drastic changes, he would have been lucky to make 50.

How we live life matters.

Consider that according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the number of adults with diabetes has tripled in the last two decades.

Eat right, exercise and, hopefully, you’ll be fine.

The other day I met a 77-year-old mountain biker and he wasn’t riding an e-bike. Instead, he was cranking up a steep hill near Ronald W. Caspers Wilderness Park on nothing but his own power.

The septuagenarian shared that the trick was to ride at least two days a week. It reminded me of something a very smart woman by the name of Sioix Dahlem once told me, “Motion is lotion.”

As Dahlem indicated, there are a slew of things you can do to stretch both your life and, perhaps more importantly, your quality of life.

Things like pickleball.

OK, it has a funny name. But pity the poor pickles. They’re stuck with the name for life.

Pickleball is similar to a slow version of tennis, and is far more kind on aging joints.

Swimming, bowling, walking also are on the list for keeping healthy.

My grandmother, Viola Suess Whiting, was a huge fan of lawn bowling when she lived at what was then Leisure World and is now Laguna Woods.

Grandma also had a morning routine of lifting light weights, stretching and doing sit-ups. That was before her regular lunch of fruit, vegetables, yogurt and wheat germ.

Grandma lived to be 88 and would have gone on much longer if it weren’t for crushing rheumatoid arthritis.

Shuffleboard is another low-impact sport recommended for seniors.

But many people old enough to qualify for AARP membership can push harder.

No limits

My mother began mountain biking, hiking, canyoneering, swimming and Jet Skiing at age 60, and continued most of those sports well into her mid-80s.

Some keep chugging even as they approach 100.

This past summer during the 30th anniversary of the National Senior Games — an event most call the “senior Olympics” — there were 20 separate sports in New Mexico ranging from archery to basketball to track and field.

How many medals did California residents win? An astounding 653.

Yes, there was pickleball and shuffleboard, too. But more than anything, the Senior Games remind us there are no limits.

Two former classmates from the San Francisco Bay Area, Bob Shannon and Jeff Johanson, ran into one another and talked for the first time in decades. Shannon, now 66, managed to beat his high school record in backstroke and Johanson, now 65, won a silver medal in breaststroke.

Yet they have nothing on Ernest Schillinger of Williamsburg, Va. He won his age division in the sprint triathlon at age 88.

I’ll admit, Schillinger also happened to be the only entry in his age group. But that just tells us to never give up.

Ethel Trimmer of New Mexico embodies that spirit. At the Senior Games, Tripper crushed the 100-freestyle in four minutes, 8 seconds. She was 98.

I don’t know if I’ll regrow my water wings. But I do know I’m not quite ready for shuffleboard.

If you venture into the outdoors, there’s a good chance you’ll see me flying down rocky and rutted trails on my mountain bike and doing a few other things that I like to call “stupid stuff.”

I may not hit my late-70s as gracefully as the 77-year-old mountain biker, also named David.

But I sure as heck will try.

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  A Costa Mesa Police police officer investigates the scene of car and bicycle accident Wednesday, May 22, 2019 on the northbound Newport Boulevard at Cecil Place in Costa Mesa. (Photo by Richard Koehler, Contributing Photographer)

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  With plenty of rush hour traffic to deal share the road with, a cyclist rides south along Pacific Coast Highway in the bike lane in Newport Beach in 2017. For the past five years, Orange County continues to kill an average of 16 cyclists a year despite a California law that requires vehicles to stay 3-feet from bicycles when passing. (Photo by Mark Rightmire,Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  A man, who came off the LA River Greenway, heads north as he gets on the new bike path on Winnetka Avenue in Woodland Hills on Friday, June 7, 2019. The Winnetka Avenue Street Improvements Project’s bike lane closes the gap in the bicycle network by connecting a bike lane to the LA River Greenway and Metro Orange Line. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Pasadena Star-News/SCNG)

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  There is a new bike lane on Winnetka Avenue in Woodland Hills on Friday, June 7, 2019 where a memorial ghost bike for Ignacio Sanchez Navarro, who was killed in a hit-and-run three years ago still rests. The bike path closes the gap in the bicycle network by connecting a bike lane to the LA River Greenway and Metro Orange Line. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Pasadena Star-News/SCNG)

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  Cyclists gather before the start of the Riverside Bicycle Club’s Ride of Silence in Riverside on Wednesday, May 15. The annual worldwide event honors cyclists who have been killed or injured while riding on public roadways. (Photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)

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  A bicyclist wears a black armband and a note that reads “Ride of Silence, This is a funeral procession. No words spoken. Honoring cyclists nationwide that have been killed by cars. Share the road.” The Riverside Bicycle Club hosted the Wednesday, May 15, event. (Photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)

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  Riverside Bicycle Club President John Hawksley, a Riverside resident, helps put a Ride of Silence sign on the back of Dr. Jim Watrous, of Riverside, as the Wednesday, May 15, ride begins. (Photo by Jennifer Cappuccio Maher, Inland Valley Daily Bulletin/SCNG)

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  A man rides on the new bike path on Winnetka Avenue in Woodland Hills on Friday, June 7, 2019. The Winnetka Avenue Street Improvements Project’s bike lane closes the gap in the bicycle network by connecting a bike lane to the LA River Greenway and Metro Orange Line. (Photo by Sarah Reingewirtz, Pasadena Star-News/SCNG)

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  Jake Nelson, 5, gets his bicycle helmet properly fitted by his mom during the Safety Training and Riding Skills class, (S.T.A.R.), at the Irvine Police Department on Saturday, June 29, 2019. (Photo by Mindy Schauer, Orange County Register/SCNG)

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  Ride yourself Fit volunteer Leo Garduno, helps Busheire Moazzam, 11, of Redlands, along a bicycle course during the annual “Back2School Jam and Community Resource Fair” at Sylvan Park in Redlands, Saturday, Aug. 3, 2019.(Photo by John Valenzuela, Contributing Photographer)

“Every bike ride begins with putting on a helmet.” — U.S. Department of Transportation

Simple enough, right? I wish.

Statistics show that more adults and children than ever before are injured or killed riding bicycles or other non-vehicular wheeled transportation such as scooters and skateboards.

Yet California looks the other way.

Call me “nanny” in a world of “nanny state” mentality. But I’d rather be called names than have one more adult or child hurt or dead.

California law allows adults without helmets to ride bicycles, a dumb and dangerous decision — unless you’re in need of a donated organ.

Children don’t fair much better.

Sure, the law requires minors 17 years old and younger to wear helmets when riding wheeled contraptions such as bicycles. But parents and far too many law enforcement officers look the other way.

In my neighborhood, for example, most evenings I’m treated to a display of derring-do or sheer idiocy, depending on your preference for safety or blood.

Two girls, one about eight, the other about six, rip along in the middle of streets on motorized scooters that — and I am not making this up — zoom along at a solid 10 miles an hour.

Now, 10 mph may not seem like a lot if you’re tucked safely in a car. But hitting the asphalt at 10 miles an hour can destroy flesh, bone and skull, especially if a child is struck by a vehicle.

Yet that’s not what terrifies me.

What terrifies me is that these kids don’t wear helmets, an occurrence I see more and more.

Over the weekend, I felt like I had gone back a half-century to when helmets weren’t readily available as I watched three boys zooming along on mountain bikes — sans helmets.

I don’t believe in chasing children any more than I believe in telling parents what to do. But I do believe in legislators and law enforcement doing their job.

If you don’t think this mayhem affects you, it does.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that bicycle injuries and deaths in a single year costs this nation as much as $10 billion.

Too many fatalities

“Bicycle helmet laws,” the CDC points out, “are effective for increasing helmet use and reducing crash-related injuries and deaths among children and adults.”

In some areas, deaths are ticking downward a bit. According to the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, for example, vehicle-related cycling deaths last year totaled 14, a drop from 16 deaths the previous year.

That’s a trend I hope will continue. But you are smart enough to know that the small decrease is as much — or more — about the miracles of modern medicine than careful cyclists and drivers.

Consider that as recently as Oct. 19, a cyclist was struck and killed by two cars in the North Hills neighborhood in Los Angeles.

According to the cycling advocacy group BikingInLA.com Southern California has witnessed more than 60 cycling deaths this year.

Between 2010 and 2017 (the latest year available), the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration reports cycling fatalities increased by a whopping 35%.

In 2017, nearly 800 people were killed riding bicycles. Not surprisingly, there has been a corresponding increase in bicycle injuries — many of which are never reported.

I’ll add that California has one of the highest death rates in the nation, and Los Angeles and San Francisco made the top 10 list for the most deadly cities.

Yet there is no helmet law for adult cyclists.

Share the road

To say vehicle and bicycle safety is a two-way street is both literally and figuratively true.

“A large percentage of crashes,” points out the NHTSA, “can be avoided if motorists and cyclists follow the rules of the road and watch out for each other.”

I know the idea of sharing the road drives some drivers crazy. A bicycle, some say, doesn’t have a chance against a car and shouldn’t be on the road.

But our tax dollars, common sense and our changing world argue otherwise. Instead of gobbling up more fossil fuels, the League of American Bicyclists tells us that more people are commuting by bike.

California law states that cyclists have the same rights to the road as drivers and — cyclists take note — drivers have the same rights as cyclists.

This means pelotons (large groups of cyclists drafting behind one another) can’t block access to side streets, blow traffic signals and, sorry guys, ignore stop signs.

At the same time, drivers shouldn’t speed ahead of cyclists and suddenly make a right turn. By law, drivers also must be sure to have a three-foot cushion of space before passing a bicycle.

I could go on. But let’s get back to why helmets matter and why we need an adult helmet law.

If you ride a bicycle at night, here’s what California requires: white front lamp, red rear reflector, white or yellow reflectors on the pedals, reflectors on each side of the bike’s front and rear.

After all this legislation, what’s missing? The same thing that motorcyclists are required to wear — a helmet.

Troublesome words

Rosenthal and Kreeger is a California law firm that specializes in injuries, but also does actual research that tilts toward actually saving lives.

“Since helmet laws have been instituted in the majority of states, at least for children the death rate for that age group has decreased,” the firm points out. “But research shows that over half of adult bicyclists still do not use a helmet at all.

“Since the most serious injuries in crashes for bicyclists are to the head, the death rate for adult riders is still too high.”

Troublesome words. But the firm’s very real and very scary research found something even more troublesome. “Only 48 percent of children wore helmets when riding their bikes.”

In a state that requires minors but not adults to wear helmets, that sad statistic is hardly surprising.

My grandmother had a saying that drove me nuts, but was true. “Monkey see, monkey do.”

With more adults on bikes, it’s time to have the same helmet law in California for all ages.

Unless you want your spouse or child to be an organ donor.

Too late for you to go, you say?

Fair enough, so before this column is over I will share some terrific upcoming events – including one with pimped-out classic cars.

But if it hadn’t been for my step-daughter, Scarlett Donigan, my journey to check out Day of the Dead altars, calavera (skull) face painting and other festivities would never have happened.

You see, Scarlett is an explorer.

Ancient traditions

As Scarlett leads my wife and me to the main event in Uptown Whittier, moms, dads, sons and daughters in colorful costumes, many with painted faces, follow along.

The closer we get, there are more people and less parking. Still, the vibe is mellow, friendly and gracious in a crowd estimated at more than 10,000.

No one pushes, no one shoves. And that makes sense.

Unofficially dubbed the Las Muertos Uptown Fest and officially named the 14th annual Día de los Muertos Art and Music Festival, the day is  all about family – both alive and dead.

If you haven’t been to a Day of the Dead celebration, don’t think Halloween. While the two are close in dates, they are very different in culture and sentiment. Halloween is spooky and dress-up is anything goes.

Day of the Dead is rooted in Mexican culture and it’s a time to celebrate and honor deceased relatives. Generally celebrated on Nov. 1 and 2, the occasion traces its roots to pre-Columbian culture when Aztecs honored their dead for an entire month.

As we round the corner and arrive on Whittier’s Greenleaf Avenue, the party already is in full swing.

A dozen Aztec dancers stomp in unison to a very real and very massive drum as they weave through the crowd. Feathers in their headdresses easily reach three feet or more. One energetic man even manages to dance while playing a flute, peering out from the mouth of a giant bird mask.

Other dancers wear skeleton bodices and swirling, twirling colorful skirts that dip and soar as onlookers snap photos.

A young boy poses with a woman in full Day of the Dead regalia, his shirt emblazoned with soldiers and the American flag.

Still, the best place for Day of the Dead costumes and body painting is at the Los Muertos Dress Up Contest. There are both kid and adult contests, and the detail is mind-blowing.

Costume contest

On a make-shift stage, a panel of judges eliminates contestants until only 10 are left.

But judging isn’t easy. All the outfits are exceptional. Handmade dresses feature intricate embroidery with yellow, green, orange, red and blue Aztec creatures marching across the material.

Finally, it’s down to three. One man in a black and silver mariachi outfit with a scary skull head receives third place. A couple wearing top hats and canes and decked out for a night on the town – except, of course, they are dead – wins second place.

The winner, however, kills it.

Her dress is black, gold and green. Her enormous feathered headdress is topped with both a small gold skull and a larger Aztec skull that appears to spit fire. And her upper torso and arms? Well, they appear to be painted directly onto her skin.

White ribs seem to jut out from a black void. Orange Monarch butterflies hover near her shoulders and appear to float above her chest in a folklorico trompe l’œil.

It is a stunning display. Still, it’s time to check out the lowrider cars.

Lowrider heaven

Let’s agree there are classic cars lovingly restored to their original condition, and there are classic cars which are restored and then turned into works of art.

The latter would be what some generally refer to as “lowrider classics.”

The vehicles – and there are dozens at the festival – don’t just gleam. They are occupied by, well, dead people.

Oh, and the cars dance.

That’s right. Dance.

Some are hydraulically jacked so the fronts go up and down. There’s also a series of small trucks with rear beds raised, yet each one is raised in a different way.

One truck has its bed raised and tilted left, another is tilted to the right, still another has only the rear of the bed jacked, yet another has the front of the bed up high.

The vehicles also feature family altars either inside an open rear trunk, inside the front engine block or next to the car.

One car has four skulls peering from under the hood along with three framed photographs of deceased family members. Another car has keepsakes and flowers. One altar even includes photos that date back to the beginning of the 20th Century.

Finally, it is time to leave, though I leave with one regret.

I failed to follow Scarlett’s advice and try the roasted corn on the cob rolled in cheese. My wife only agreed to share one bite – and it was delicious.

Fortunately, there’s next year.

Dia de los Muertos

Here are a few of the Dead celebrations coming up around our region:

Covina Hills, Forest Lawn Memorial Park

Oct. 27: 11 a.m.-4 p.m., free

Where: 21300 Via Verde Drive, Covina

What: Mariachi Divas, music, religious service, food, face painting. (I went last year and loved it.)

Information: 626-384-5340

Los Angeles, Dia de los Muertos at Olvera Street

Oct. 25-Nov. 2: Free

What: Novenario procession is at 7 p.m. nightly; festival days are 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. on Oct. 26 and 27 and Nov. 2, 3 to 8 p.m. on Nov. 1, and 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Nov. 3 (another favorite)

More: olveraevents.com

Riverside Day of the Dead

Nov. 2: 1-10 p.m., free

What: Food, art, music, dance, altars.

Where: White Park, 3936 Chestnut St., Riverside

More: riversidedayofthedead.com

Riverside Day of the Dead Car Show

Nov. 3: 9 a.m.-3 p.m., $5 per ticket

What: Awards, food, music and pre-1972 classic and custom built cars, trucks and motorcycles

Where: Glen Avon Heritage Park, 7701 Mission Blvd., Jurupa Valley

Anaheim, Dia de Los Muertos

Nov. 1, 5–9:30 p.m., free

What: Arts, music, culture

Where: Community center, 250 E. Center St., Anaheim

More: facebook.com/AnaheimPLAYS

And here are a few more planned in Southern California.

That, my friends, is magic.

Wearing a thick black leather glove, Jennifer Pearlstein grips a huge red-tailed hawk’s legs, sweeps her hand toward the heavens and lets go.

In seconds, the magnificent beast with a 4-foot wingspan soars above a small crowd invited by the Orange County Bird Of Prey Center and disappears over a hill.

The release is over almost before it begins. But make no mistake, the moment is forever in Pearlstein’s memory.

The Pilates instructor’s tears of joy are born from a unique bond between human and bird, and Pearlstein will always be the last person to touch the hawk.

Yet as awesome as the release was, the most amazing thing on this day is that Pearlstein is not alone and neither is the animal.

In total, 63 birds of prey that were injured and would be dead without the efforts of deeply committed volunteers are released before the day is over.

It is testimony to how relatively tame humans and very wild animals can live in harmony.

It also is one more step toward fulfilling a dream that has been incubating for years and only now is about to hatch.

Circle of life

Perhaps it is no surprise there are relatively few nonprofit centers in the nation dedicated to healing wild critters and releasing them into the wild.

But to think such action doesn’t pay would be wrong. If a price could be put on the happiness of saving nature’s creatures, then the work of the Orange County Bird of Prey Center would certainly be one heck of a bargain.

For some three decades, the center has scraped by on scraps and the kindness of strangers. Yet against all odds, volunteers have managed to return some 3,000 birds to the wild.

For years, the family who owns and operates Rancho Las Lomas in Santiago Canyon has provided space for a series of shacks for healing raptors. But now, thanks to a $1-a-year lease agreement with OC Parks, the Orange County Bird of Prey Center is finally preparing to move into permanent digs near the Upper Oso Reservoir.

Already, a series of cages are set up, more bird shelters are being added and an outdoor dirt amphitheater is in the works. For completion, the center only needs a few hundred-thousand dollars (hint, hint).

If you think, however, that saving birds of prey is nothing more than being nice, then you missed high school biology. There’s that circle of life thing and raptors don’t just dine on bird eggs. They help reduce pigeon and rat populations which, in turn, helps reduce disease.

And that’s only part of the payoff.

Michelle Claud-Clemente is animal services manager for the city of Mission Viejo, as well as a long-time volunteer for the Orange County Bird of Prey Center.

“From an ecological standpoint,” Claud-Clemente tells me, “every organism on this earth keeps all of our lives in balance.”

Claud-Clemente also points out that the wilderness and wild things enrich our lives.

“In our fast-paced, hectic world, when you see a soaring bird it helps you see your place in the world,” she explains. “Nature makes us all better.”

“You go for a walk in a park, and you feel better,” she offers, adding of the outdoors, “It makes my heart sing.”

With a day job caring for animals, I ask Claud-Clemente why she continues to help, even after hours.

Her answer is one we all can learn from: “I believe in volunteerism and working to make the community a better place.”

Dr. Doolittle

At the center of the Orange County Bird of Prey Center is a veterinarian named Dr. Scott Weldy.

I hung out with Weldy several years ago and learned that the California Veterinary Medical Association cited him for meritorious service, eloquently stating: “If Noah needed a veterinarian on board the ark, Dr. Weldy could have been that veterinarian.”

The association wasn’t kidding.

In addition to Weldy’s Orange County Bird of Prey Center, he also treats wild animals at the OC Zoo in Irvine Regional Park, the Santa Ana Zoo and the Exotic Feline Breeding Compound in Rosamond.

But his devotion isn’t limited to wild critters. He earns his bread and butter at his Serrano Animal and Bird Hospital in Lake Forest where he treats regular pets such as dogs and cats. Then he uses some of the profits to heal, house and feed injured wildlife.

When I asked the Mission Viejo native what drew him to veterinary medicine, Weldy joked, “I thought being a single-species doctor sounded kind of boring.”

On a more serious note, he offered, “There’s nothing better than rehabilitating an animal and releasing it into the wild.”

On the day of the raptor releases, Weldy stands in the middle of a circle of people first at a park in Lake Forest, then in Whiting Ranch Regional Park, next at the location of the budding new bird center and, lastly, on Santiago Canyon Road.

The reason for the different locations is that each spot fits the needs of the different species – big trees for kestrels, wide open land for hawks, hills and trees for owls.

As Weldy talks, he informs and entertains, explaining how raptors hunt by sight or sound depending on the species, how they are injured – often by vehicles – and the changes in bird populations over the years.

In the 1980s, for example, the veterinarian reports he usually saw three to five cooper hawks a year. Now, he sees that many in a single week.

The reason? With more development, there also are more trees and that allows for more cooper hawks.

Touching the divine

Jeff Eales is another long-time volunteer for the bird of prey center. He allows that late December and early January is an especially tough time for wild birds.

The reason? Christmas BB and pellet guns.

Eales explains that if someone finds an injured bird, the best thing to do is to contact animal control and let them handle the critter.

Hawks can injure people, he warns. But perhaps worse – at least for  birds – is they might “imprint” or bond with a human and decide people are their friends.

Human imprinting, however, usually ends in the bird’s quick and accidental death.

Even the center minimizes its interaction with wild animals. “We want birds to be scared of us,” Eales points out. “It helps them stay alive.”

While we talk, Weldy comes over carrying a great horned owl and offers me the opportunity to release the bird. After watching dozens of others do the same, I accept but figure it’s no big deal.

Dumb.

If you’ve ever looked into the bright gold eyes of a great horned owl at the end of your arm, you have looked directly into the wild.

Weldy hands me a thick leather glove and explains how to grasp the owl’s upper legs, putting two fingers between them and gripping gently, but firmly.

I step away holding my new feathered friend, swing my arm high and open my hand.

The great horned owl stretches it’s 5-foot wingspan and with a rush of feathers against air, vanishes over a vast valley.

My body can’t fly, but my heart can.

From Chinese students in Southern California, to tourists, to American diplomats and investors, what matters in the former British colony matters here.

Just ask the heads of Activision Blizzard, Apple and the NBA, all of whom this month immediately kowtowed to China when the government made clear it was upset with those organizations over what Beijing considered meddling in Hong Kong’s affairs.

They’re not alone. The president of the United States, too, reportedly agreed to China’s request to stay quiet about Hong Kong demonstrators’ quest for human rights.

But what some forget and should matter to any American who salutes the Stars and Stripes, is the protesters’ unquenched thirst for what the United States has always stood for — liberty, hope, freedom.

Heck, there’s even a Disneyland in Hong Kong. And don’t get me started on American military. Ah well, too late.

As a rather rambunctious kid who was born and partly raised in Hong Kong, I can personally attest to hanging out with sailors on leave from Vietnam who got tattooed in the colony and to this day (and night) wear Hong Kong ink.

Waffling CEOs

First, a little primer on what sometimes seems a complex issue, but really isn’t.

When Great Britain handed over Hong Kong to China in 1997, it didn’t just give away the colony. There were stipulations.

China agreed there would be “one country, two systems” and Hong Kong would be known as the “Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China,” or HKSAR.

The name is a mouthful. But, in essence, this “Basic Law” agreement meant that Hong Kong would remain essentially the same for at least 50 years, until 2047. It also would retain legislative, judicial and executive power.

And that is where things get sticky.

The latest uproar started in March when Hong Kong Chief Executive Carrie Lam pushed for a bill that many saw as allowing Hong Kong residents to be shipped to the mainland for judicial proceedings.

Over the summer, things escalated and protesters now have five demands:

One, retracting the term “riot” from what arguably have been passionate but rarely violent protests.

Two, exonerating and releasing arrested protesters.

Three, establishing an independent review of police conduct and use of force.

Four — and this is big — dump the extradition bill, which, though sidelined, remains on the table.

Five — and this is much bigger — Instead of having a committee choose the chief executive, citizens get to vote.

Oops, one more thing and it’s something several of our leaders in Washington, D.C., seem to have forgotten.

There’s an act that President George H. Bush signed called the United States-Hong Kong Policy Act. It allows the U.S. to treat Hong Kong separately from mainland China when it comes to trade and economic control.

It’s easy to be glib and say that the NBA, Apple and Activision Blizzard might want to take note.

But when it comes to a nation with the wealth, size and population of China, you can bet corporate heads already know about the act.

So what did these big boys end up doing this month?

The NBA apologized and waffled. Activision suspended a player. Apple killed an app that allowed protesters to track police.

Hong Kong ink

Remember the former colony’s new name? Meet one of its former members.

Christin Loh earned her law degree in England, teaches something called “non-market risks” at UCLA’s Anderson School of Management and until two years ago served as undersecretary in Hong Kong’s government.

Right now, Loh is back in Hong Kong as chief development strategist at Hong Kong University of Science and Technology.

We chatted by email the other day and I asked Loh if Hong Kong should matter to Americans. She chose her words carefully.

“My concern today,” Loh stressed, “is that U.S. interests and H.K.’s own interests — as a part of China — may not be the same.

“In my view, Hong Kong’s interest is to flourish as a special part of China and must not be seen to want to separate from China. Hong Kong has to navigate a careful path.”

Loh also addressed long-term relations between Hong Kong and the United States. “Hong Kong is a city that has many connections with the U.S. and has had these connections for a very long time,” Loh explained.

“These include U.S. citizens who are originally from Hong Kong and U.S. citizens currently living there (and) span across social, economic, financial, academic and family fields.”

Yes, I fall into one of those fields and along with my sailor buddies who got me into a ton of trouble when Mom spotted a tattoo on my leg at age 13, there are thousands of others who fall into those fields as well.

Consider that several months ago, a reported 800 members and supporters of an organization called “Hong Kong Forum, Los Angeles” hit the streets in downtown L.A. to support the protesters in Hong Kong.

“The Chinese Communist Party and Hong Kong government has done nothing but step on us like cockroaches,” forum leaders said. “They have shown no respect to the Sino–British Joint Declaration, Hong Kong’s ‘The Basic Law’ or ‘2 Systems, 1 Country.’”

Fists of fury

“Be water.”

The slogan may not sound like much, but consider its origin. It’s from “Fists of Fury” legend Bruce Lee.

Today, “be water” is a clarion call for Hong Kong protesters in the face of escalating adversity and Jeffery Wasserstrom, UC Irvine history professor, explains activists use the motto to ensure they are fluid enough to avoid getting arrested.

Wasserstrom, whose specialty is connecting China’s past and present, told me, “Hong Kong’s people are fighting for ideals that should resonate with Americans as they desire the ability to have a direct say in how they are governed.

“The current movement can be seen, in part, as driven by frustration that Beijing has been imposing a new sort of colonial rule on Hong Kong,” Wasserstrom continued. “Once again, people do not get to have a direct say in how the top leader in the city is chosen, and they want that.

“They also want the kind of rule of law and freedom of assembly they have had, which, for good reason, they feel is threatened.”

Gabriel Law, UCLA alumnus and spokesman for Hong Kong Forum, Los Angeles brought home Wasserstrom’s point after a recent protest.

“What is happening in Hong Kong is something that we never imagined would be happening,” Law said, “where we truly have to fear for our way of life (and) the imminent possibility of loss of freedom.”

Currently, there is a US. Congressional bill with bipartisan support that recently was sent to the House and Senate as a whole called the “Hong Kong Human Rights and Democracy Act of 2019.” It calls for annual reviews of the former colony.

“The report,” the bill declares, “shall assess whether China has eroded Hong Kong’s civil liberties and rule of law as protected by Hong Kong’s Basic Law.”

Lee, who was born in San Francisco and died in Hong Kong in 1973 at the age of 32, had another saying:

“Knowing is not enough, we must apply. Willing is not enough, we must do.”

The shuttered area includes more than 23,000 acres of charred mountains and canyons, as well as numerous dirt roads and trails. It reaches into both Orange and Riverside counties.

Flash flooding, debris flows, rolling trees and rocks, as well as unstable slopes, threaten buildings and people, warned Scott Tangenberg, supervisor for the Cleveland National Forest.

“The time frame of a closure normally includes the first season of precipitation,” Tangenberg acknowledged. But long-term drought coupled with extreme storms and denuded, steep slopes has left the large area especially fragile.

Massive debris flows

If you don’t recall much about the Holy Fire that straddled Orange and Riverside counties, here’s a quick primer from U.S. Forest Service officials:

“The Holy Fire was initially reported in Holy Jim Canyon on the west side of the Santa Ana Mountains in Orange County on Aug. 6, 2018 at 1:21 pm. After initial assessment, it was determined the fire was burning within Trabuco Canyon in an area with minimal fire history.

“Over 1,500 resources were dispatched to the fire, but due to high temperatures, steep rugged terrain, and very dry fuels, it ultimately consumed 23,025 acres by the time it reached full containment on Sept. 13, 2018. On Oct. 17, 2018, the Holy Fire was declared 100 percent controlled.”

Darrel Vance, head ranger for much of the Cleveland national forest in Riverside and Orange counties, this week said that debris flows – coupled with overflowing creeks and streams – were so damaging that for weeks there was a lengthy plume of ash in the ocean off Dana Point.

Closer to the fire, however, the destruction was far worse.

During a series of atmospheric rivers last winter, massive amounts of mud, boulders and broken trees cascaded into canyons and creeks. The remains of some cabins simply vanished. Other cabins are still visible, but destroyed.

In another area of Holy Jim, entire chunks of road were eaten away by rushing, debris-choked water.

“It was pretty spectacular,” Vance told me and, mind you, the ranger is a man not known for hyperbole. “The river completely changed course several times.”

And when it changed course, it carried tons more debris downstream.

“When people come back,” Vance said, “they will see things differently.”

Closure details

In both Orange and Riverside counties, Vance reported damage to wilderness areas was severe. But he also noted that combined efforts from scores of individuals, as well as governmental and volunteer agencies, helped mitigate problems.

Vance is not exaggerating. One year ago this month, I spent an evening in the community center in Silverado Canyon listening to experts discuss what loomed ahead.

I will add that in canyon country you learn fast or leave, and the term “experts” includes locals as well as officials.

Kevin McArthur, senior emergency management coordinator with the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, that night discussed plans for worst case scenarios. In 1998 and 2010, he reported, water channels overflowed.

“But a debris flow after a fire,” McArthur dryly noted, “is much more dangerous.”

Evacuate when warned, McArthur said, or prepare to be homebound.

“We’re taking this threat,” added Orange County Fire Authority Division Chief Rob Capobianco, “very seriously.”

Precautions were heeded, and Vance reports that while there were several evacuations, no lives were lost. He also points out that while many structures were lost, 28 cabins survived.

On the Riverside County side, closures include nearly all of North Main Divide Road high on Saddleback Mountain and – lower down – a big slice of El Cariso Road, Indian Truck Trail and a portion of Long Canyon Road.

In Orange County, closures include Los Pinos trail, east and west Horse Thief trails, Holy Jim and Trabuco trails, and Trabuco Creek Road past the county line.

To check, I pedaled my mountain bike up the open part of Trabuco Creek Road earlier this week and, I’ll confess, hoped the rest of the road leading to Holy Jim was open.

No such luck – in a good way.

A massive locked steel gate, and giant signs in both black and red, make it abundantly clear that it is illegal to go any farther.

Debris flows that spilled over the top of bridges left numerous hazards and continue to endanger human life, Vance explained.

If you are skeptical about the need for closures, check out the evidence in wilderness areas that remain open.

In Orange County, and six miles downstream from the epicenter, I found chunks of rocks and trees that lay scattered near a concrete bridge on Trabuco Canyon Road.

Farther downstream, the landscape was nearly unrecognizable from what it was a year ago. Where forests once stood, I saw nothing but vast stretches of sand. Elsewhere, trees are broken, twisted hulks of wood.

With a smaller watershed, Riverside County fared better. But even there, mud and debris crept close to homes.

“It literally came down to people’s backyards,” Vance said of the flows.

If experts hadn’t cleared catch basins, storm drains and pipes, before, during and after rains, the district ranger said the damage could have been far worse.

Vandals battle steel gates

As Vance emphasized, forest officials are eager to reopen the area – but not until it is safe for vegetation regrowth, as well as for people.

In the past year, scofflaws have used tools, vehicles, even guns to damage the steel gates that protect the zone.

So, yes, heavier gates are being installed.

Please keep in mind that the only people allowed in the closure zone are road repair workers and cabin dwellers who have permits that allow them to drop by for maintenance and to keep their cabin area fire safe.

“They’re not there to recreate,” Vance said, “but to secure the property.”

Vance also volunteered that it appears there may be less rain this season than last, and that may help to reopen the area. But only time will tell.

Oh, and the man who is believed to have started the fire? He reportedly remains in custody and awaits trial.

But this story isn’t only about little James Quinn, who patiently waits for a liver while a dedicated staff at UCLA Mattel Children’s Hospital nurtures him and keeps him alive.

At its heart, this column is about the tens of thousands of people in this nation who will die if they don’t receive a healthy organ from a donor.

That’s right, donor organs matter. In the starkest terms, they allow people to live. They also remind us to love.

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, more than 113,000 men, women and children are on the national transplant waiting list.

But many will die before they get off the list.

On average, 20 people die each day still hoping for a transplant.

Thankfully, baby James doesn’t know any of this.

He only knows about crying, cooing and being loved while he faces an uncertain future.

Overcoming challenges

With six children, including her twins, and limited help, some might say that James’ mother, Jacinda Quinn, at age 34, has made some questionable life decisions.

But instead of judging, let’s learn.

At age 22, Mom was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, an inflammation of the digestive tract. That was five years after her first child was born.

Later, she had a son, now 11 (the two oldest children live with their father), a daughter, age six, and a five-year-old girl whom Mom calls her “snugglebug.”

Today, she raises her children in a second-story, two-bedroom apartment in Whittier with no washer or dryer.

Her mother flies in from North Carolina when she can. Her father, Pastor Allen Quinn, who grew up in Huntington Beach, helps regularly and is organizing a fundraiser for baby James.

Yet this single mother doesn’t whine, doesn’t complain about the challenges. Instead, she simply gets on with life.

“I try to stay in the positive,” she shares after she gets her children off to school. “I love kids.”

With an eye on her healthy twin, Hendrix — now seven months old and 18 pounds — Jacinda explains she believes in God and what she calls “the sanctity of life.”

When her six-year-old girl was a baby and was diagnosed with something called “hydronephrosis,” a problem with the kidney, Jacinda rolled with the gut punch that required doctors at Children’s Hospital of Orange County to remove one of her daughter’s kidneys.

Difficult? To be sure, and Jacinda allows that she gets by with a philosophy of taking things one day at a time.

Still, when she thinks of baby James still in the hospital, she quietly admits, “I have my moments.”

Need for donors skyrockets

Since the early 1990s, UCLA Mattel Children’s Hospital has performed more than 1,000 liver transplants.

That is an impressive number. But what’s even more important for all of us to understand is where donor organs come from and it’s not just from, um, dead people.

A single deceased donor liver can save two children. But did you know that a living person can lead a healthy life even after donating part of his or her liver?

I’ve known about kidney donations for years. I even wrote about former Chapman University president Jim Doti’s decision to donate one of his kidneys to a guy who is now able to get around without ever-present dialysis.

But I’ll admit that I didn’t realize physicians could transfer part of a liver from a living donor.

When it comes to saving children “the surgery uses only a small part of an adult liver,” UCLA doctors explain. They also point out, “Leaving the bulk of the liver intact makes the risk lower, and recovery easier for the adult living donor.”

To be sure, transferring an organ or part of one is not without discomfort and there is always some risk with surgery. Still, there were more than 6,000 successful living organ donations last year.

Allowing your body to be harvested after death can also make a difference. But, again, there just aren’t enough donors.

In 1991, reports the Department of Health and Human Services, there were nearly 7,000 donors, close to 16,000 transplants and a waiting list of more than 23,000 people.

As recently as two years ago, however, there were some 16,500 donors, 34,770 transplants and a whopping 115,000 people on the waiting list (that number has declined slightly in the last two years).

The current breakdown for donor organs goes like this: other, 1.5 percent; lung, 1.2 percent; heart, 3.3 percent; liver, 11.6 percent; kidney, 83.7 percent.

Life-saving organs — and you may want to amend your driver’s license donor option as you read this — include lungs, kidneys, heart, pancreas, intestines, liver.

Understand, just one body can save up to eight lives.

Saving baby James

James and Hendrix came into this world last March. Both were a bit premature and in the four-pound range. But by the time they were released from the hospital, they appeared fine.

After a few months, though, it was clear something was wrong. While Hendrix gained weight, James’ growth slowed.

Jacinda took James to her pediatrician and the doctor immediately asked for a blood panel. As soon as the physician saw the results, she told Jacinda, “Take your baby to the emergency room right away.”

“My heart just fell to the floor,” Jacinda recalls. Soon, James was rushed to UCLA hospital.

It turned out that James had something called “atresia disease,” and it had damaged his liver and caused cirrhosis.

“Thank God for them,” Mom says of the doctors and nurses. “They are amazing.”

Today, James survives with one tube down his nose for feeding, another tube in his nose for oxygen and a line into his chest that serves as an IV and allows for medication.

The most important thing now, Mom explains, is for James to grow and gain weight as he waits for a new liver.

Mind you, little James is just one of 2,000 children nationwide on the transplant waiting list.