Fit for a King

If you've ever shaved, you've heard of King Gillette. Well, at least Gillette. And if you haven't heard of Gillette—or ever shaved—you can skip the rest.

The King Gillette Ranch in Calabasas is a little known secret parkland that bikers tend to roar by on their way to the Rock Store.  I know this because my ex and I did so on a thousand occasions.  "What's that?" I would mumble though helmets.  "GggGGGrrrrrooom," the Harley responded as the non-descript entrance zipped past.

My passion for L.A.'s architectural treasures is really what prompted this visit. Knowing that a Wallace Neff-designed manse awaited encouraged me to hit Mulholland and head west. A left turn into the gates marked the beginning of a long alley of eucalyptus trees leading past a sparkling pond to the  Spanish Colonial Revival structure where The Biggest Loser is currently being filmed.  Wait... let's go back to the landscape before the gratuitious commercialism mention.

So, 588 acres embracing majestic oaks roll up and along the Santa Monica mountain range.  Taking a nature walk with the photography docent seemed like a benign enough idea until the trail started to pitch at a 45 degree angle.

Interestingly, there were several Europeans in our photo safari group—whose grasp of English, by the way, was far superior to mine—who chugged along marveling at the plethora of ubiquitous lizards and house wrens darting about. Not unlike, I suspect, the way I would gaze at the Ikeas anchoring every Swedish street corner.

Starting to become dewey, I gauged my discomfort on the adorable docent's. Bad idea. Well over 50 and, well, overweight, both she and her husband were masking deep lung expansions to reach the trail's summit.

Now is a good time to point out that no one else noticed this but me.  Granted, no one else was sucking for air besides me, but that's besides the point.

"Creek monkey flower is blooming on the right." ... "After we clear this ridge, the ocean is on the left."

Great. After I remove my oxygen mask I'll let you know what I think of the view. To say I am out of shape is redundant.

In all honesty, the path (once headed downhill) is charmingly filled with unexpected delights. Late afternoon light brings dramatic shadows that conjure mystical daydreaming and offer idiot-proof photo ops.

As I headed back to the main dwellings, several abundantly-sized walkers crossed my path and I concluded that indeed a TV production was entrenched on the site.  Granted, the T-shirts emblazoned with the show's logo were a bit of a tip-off, but still.  The 5 p.m. glow is very flattering to beast and human alike and regardless of my calf cramp (or perhaps because of my calf cramp), I was feeling warm and fuzzy from the experience.  

I will say that the question of a public bathroom crossed my mind at this juncture, however, I did not allow that thought to be a subterfuge to my general positive experience. Seriously, my best shots came from the moments before hopping in my car and tooling back to Topanga.

The space is a secret haven just waiting to be embraced—free to enjoy (after the $7 to park) and photograph and remind us that we are mere stewards of the region's beauty.  Just bring a water bottle.