Romancing Near Home
Three exotic getaways only minutes from your home that you might never have known existed.

BY RICHARD ROOT

As my final student filters out the door, I peel the horn-rimmed glasses from my eyes, fingers darting to my throbbing temples. Friday. The weekend is mine. Mexico flashes within my mind. I said goodbye to that adventureland only a month ago, yet daily, sometimes hourly, I’m haunted by its Aztec ruins, its dark and weaving jungles, its chalk-white deserted beaches, its utter and unabashed romance.
Romance. What romance could be offered here to a teacher tethered to Claremont? How many more are there like me? Those thousands who drag themselves home each Friday night with just enough energy reserved to slide a DVD into their DVD players, passive observers of someone else’s romantic quest.
Are we merely lost souls, we who live on the outskirts of “the city,” a dozen traffic jams away from any California beach or the throb of LA’s mysterious nooks and crannies? Are we forever banished to a heartless land of duplicate Denny’s and AMC’s? Should our thirst for romance and authenticity remain parched as we wait for that elusive one-week-a-year vacation to Hawaii, or that twice yearly three-day-weekend road trip?
I shove the last paper into my bulging briefcase and slam its latches shut. No. I refuse to surrender. This weekend I will discover the Inland Cities’ secret places, lands where the exotic and the elusive bloom. True, it was exhilarating in Mexico “Romancing the Stone.” But let me now share with you the sequel, a sequence of adventures quite within your grasp. And, soon, you too can touch the unique and untamed, an adventureland in your own back yard. This here is Part II, “Romancing Near Home.”

Mt. Baldy

            We wake with the first slanting rays of Saturday’s winter sun. The blue jays begin to swoop and bicker through the palms sprouting in our front yard. The Odyssey is packed with all the essentials.
Turning left on Mountain Avenue, the white-capped peak of Mt. Baldy and the entire San Gabriel Mountain range fills our windshield. No matter where you start, Mountain Avenue is your gateway to winter’s closest romantic wonderland.
Winding through corridors of granite and sandstone, you will be amazed at how rapidly you arrive at Mt. Baldy Village, ten minutes from the mountain’s base. Dipping into a valley of elegant pines and redwoods, you enter upon Vermont revisted. Not a remnant of the city below remains, as climbing peaks cradle all sides of the village. Riverbed stone is the natural architectural source here. Everything is constructed of it: the low walls that line the road; the bases of the buildings, finished off with forest timber stained mahogany.
From this entry point, take a right into one of the few village side streets that weave between trees and boulders to peruse a collection of quaint Mt. Baldy cottages. Take your first left and you climb to lookout points that gaze out over the vast city below and the immense valley watershed and endless snow strewn peaks westward.
We venture onward, questing for snow. Climbing passed the trout fishing pond and A-framed chalets, the trek upward is half the fun. Turning one more corner the snow appears in sheets running to the road. Children and adults bound down the slopes on toboggans, sleds, and cardboard boxes.
Mt. Baldy Ski Resort, however, is the romance-seekers’ final destination. The resort’s initial chair lift is designed to accommodate foot passengers as well as skiers. We board.
The wind blows hard and we pull on our woolen hats, a drastic change in weather from down below. Mountain streams trickle gaily beneath the snow. If dangling on a cable fifty feet high won’t instigate snuggling, a few chill mountain gusts will have you wrapped rapturously together.
The chair touches down at 7800 feet, adjacent to “The Notch,” the resort’s restaurant and bar. Here you stand at the pinnacle of Southern California, overlooking vistas of the Pacific Ocean, Catalina Island, the Santa Barbara Islands, Long Beach, the Queen Mary, and beyond. The sun looks like a jewel cast down into an ocean turned salmon beneath its glow. Off the back side of the mountain the high desert glistens in golden hues.
The joy of this ski resort is its smallness. This is not a ski-market, but a ski-home. You can feel it in the air. Workers casually converse with browsers and skiers alike. From the many smiles and hellos that echo all around, we immediately feel as if we belong.
Food is cooked to order and always fresh. Amazing!
We sit at the large pane-glass windows, watching the snow swirl outside, sampling “Rick’s Famous Chili,” a restaurant favorite. My fiancé gives it a nod of approval.
For those who want to add more excitement to their romance, Mt. Baldy slopes are an undiscovered treasure. Having recently invested vast sums of money on snow-making and snow-grooming capabilities, Mt. Baldy should no longer be bypassed for lack of consistent favorable ski conditions. The resort sports the largest skiable acreage and vertical drop in Southern California, and has almost no chair lift lines.
As the sun sets and you meander homeward, hold off those “back to civilization blues.” Your adventure has just begun. What’s a day in the snow without a night by the fire? Closest to the ski area, is the Snow Crest Lodge. Though appearing puzzling from the outside, inside the lodge is warm and inviting, with an immense fireplace consuming one wall of the bar, surrounded by couches. A wood motif restaurant welcomes the snow-weary in the adjoining room.

Mt. Baldy Lodge

            However, the mountain’s favorite retreat, Mt. Baldy Lodge, lies back in the village. Arriving before five, you are almost guaranteed a fireside seat in their warm wood-beamed restaurant.
Here, too, everyone’s a friend, and the lodge’s primary customers are mountain people, not tourists, only adding to the “foreign to LA” ambiance.
Ron and Missy Ellison run this restaurant in the same “family way” as the ski lodge, chatting freely with customers about their houses, their children, their businesses, their skiing. The food here is excellent, and portions are mountainous. I especially recommend the New York steak and barbecued chicken.
For an extended experience, the Ellisons rent a set of cabins behind the lodge that are tastefully decorated,  complete with private fireplaces, circling a full-sized volleyball court and a sparkling swimming pool.
Arriving home in twenty minutes from our winter lodge, our Upland house feels somehow changed. We almost expect to see the gleam of moonlit snow out our windows as we flick off the lights.

Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden

            Sunday. Another full agenda. “Warmth” is the theme of the day. Our first stop: Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden, another undiscovered wonderland. No, you don’t need to drive to Orange County. In 1951, the Garden was relocated to Claremont from their original site at historic Rancho Santa Ana.
Situated just above the cross-section of College Avenue and Foothill Blvd., the Garden offers over eighty acres of the finest collection of California flora. The Garden is heralded as a super hero project in the fight against the rapid extinction of many of California’s natural plants. Here you will peruse some specimens that cannot even be found in the wild.
The Garden’s pebbled paths wind you from re-creations of the coast to memories of the mountain tops, from the desert to the rain-soaked northern region. The Coastal Garden contains a collection of plants from the entire stretch of California’s 845 mile coastline, including species that occur in fragile dune and island habitats.
From the adjoining Desert Garden sprouts nearly every cactus specie known to occur in the state, including a mesmerizing authentically re-created oasis that separates the desert from the coast. Staring through the palms into the sandy water beds that encircle them, visions of Arabian nights straddling loping camels gallop through my mind.
As we meander to the back of the Gardens, the plants grow and transform to towering pines and majestic oaks. The sun dapples the leafy beds below.
“The Majestic Oaks are a popular lovers’ rendezvous,” says one helpful volunteer. “And, of course, we also host a number of weddings here each year.”
The Garden Association has also strategically planted a number of benches near trickling streams, beneath the swaying trees, and overlooking vistas of the lower gardens and Mt. Baldy.
Don’t neglect the California Plants Community Section that begins after the Woodland Trail. Although not outlined on the Garden’s map, this area actually comprises half the Garden’s acreage. Here you’ll stroll through such regions as the Yellow Pine Forest, Southern Chaparral, and Northern California stands. Tending to be less populated, in this area you’ll observe a vaster array of birds, rabbits, and squirrels darting and scurrying through the greenery.
Scents in this garden abound, and California’s prime blooming season has just commenced. The stage is set for you.
Though no picnicking is allowed at Rancho Santa Ana, just a few blocks below the Garden (on 4th and College) lies Clarence T. Stover Memorial Walk, a miniature botanic garden on the outskirts of the Claremont Colleges. This lush stretch of lawn beckons romancers to spread out a blanket and bathe in California’s soothing winter sun. Here the calls of birds echo off the grandiose façade of Bridges Auditorium and the ivy-laced walls of brother buildings that circle the park. The ancient oaks that line College Avenue buffer the rumble of the village’s vehicles, making the mechanized world sound like a far off dream.
As the white sun sets, winter’s chill descends. My fiancé and I pack up our scattered grape stems, and remnants of bread and brie, and we’re off.

Puddingstone Resort Hot Tubs

            If your satiated picnickers’ stomach hasn’t lulled you into serenity, then this final romancer’s resting point surely will. Located within the idyllic tranquility of Frank G. Bonelli Park, Puddingstone Hot Tubs Resort is an elusive gold mine. A quick jaunt down the San Bernardino freeway, then north on Fairplex leads you straight to the eastern entrance of the park.
You are alone here after dark, and can almost hear your own breath mingling with the breeze in the trees. Skirting past white and dappled horses corralled for the night, the resort appears like a welcoming inn high up on the hill. Walking through fragrant purple flowers and rustling eucalyptus leaves, the office gazebo is your first on the left.
Most likely you’ll be warmly welcomed by one of the Swann family. This resort is a masterful conception. Stepping on to the upper lawn, we are bathed in the glow of gold and white valley lights stretching endlessly below. The night is full-mooned (what luck!), transforming the surprisingly expansive Puddingstone Lake into a purple glass palate.
Tiny gazebos, fifteen in all, dot the hillside, nestled between the trees. Each one houses a private hot tub, spaced generously apart to afford maximum privacy. Visitors have a choice of either an opened or closed-ceiling tub.
At the front desk you are offered towels, snacks, and drinks before being whisked away to your private steaming paradise. Don’t forget to light the furnished candle before you submerge. Once in the tub, you are alone with your love, the stars, the moon, and the city lights below. Each gazebo is constructed with an open fourth wall facing westward, maximizing visibility and your oneness with the lush environment. If you tire of listening to the croak of frogs and the rustling of the eucalyptus leaves, each tub comes equipped with a CD player.
The resort has also housed many a garden wedding, from a vantage point that offers a 360 degree view of the surrounding valley and mountain ranges.
One heavenly hour later, my fiancé and I are toweling ourselves dry. Fully-satiated and relaxed beyond belief, we crawl into the Odyssey. Driving home through the starlit night towards a steadily rising blue moon, I obey the freeway’s speed limit perhaps for the first time in my life. What’s the rush? Our Inland Empire existence has been wholly transformed. My fiancé nestles in the crook of my arm dreaming of my future assignment, “Romancing Near Home, The Summer Sequel.”