Go ahead, give it a try. Smile.

Feeling upset? You may be surprised at just how good a smile will make you feel.

You might even be more surprised how contagious it is. In fact clinical studies have proven that smiling improves relaxation.

But smile at the wrong people, and they’ll wonder what you’re up to. I feel for these folks.

Going for an early morning run through industrial areas of Los Angeles, I would make it a point to smile and greet everyone I encountered. The majority of these people would just look at me funny. Some would scowl, others would grunt, and oftentimes someone would literally be quite startled. But every time, the eyes would quickly be divereted, if any eye contact was made at all. And while I did get a few responses en español, it wasn’t a language barrier thing. Take for instance the one older Asian gentleman walking briskly who replied with a big grin and resounding, albeit thickly accented, Good Morning!

More recently, as I was running along Mission Bay in San Diego, many people out for their morning stroll would reply with a smile or at least a nod. But still, the majority would still appear a bit taken aback.

Is it big city shitty life that makes one so jaded? I believe it has more to do with lifestyle. Take the old Asian guy. He was healthy, happy, and he knew it. The hungover lookin’ gangsta type at a bus stop appeared to be none of the above.

I realized something after comparing these runs over the past few weeks. Those who were up early and walking or riding bikes because they needed to be were not very happy campers. Those out enjoying the morning air because they wanted to be seemed much happier.

Where in this wonderful world of ours have you been where you noticed people to be exceptionally happy? Or rude for that matter?

I would have to say everyone we’ve ever met at Vickers Ranch has always worn a smile. And Luckenbach must be one of the happiest places in the universe. It is the center after all, according to Hondo.

I was recently interviewed on Trans Resister Radio by Aaron Franz who writes the Age of Transitions blog. I talked about our life on the road and we discussed things like biodiesel, workamping, and of course, three legged dogs.

The conversation eventually led me sharing my thoughts about life in the big city – specifically, Los Angeles – where we recently spent a month with la familia. Had I known Aaron lived there, I may not have bashed it so hard.

But now that we are once again isolated, somewhere in southern Arizona where it is always quiet and dark at night, I’ve been thinking about how unhealthy running is – at least in the big city.

This morning I ran on dirt roads again, without encountering a single soul. I quickly found my pace, and felt at peace. Nothing like those runs in L.A.

While I did run through a couple sketchy neighborhoods, I never actually felt in danger, because I’m smart. I was constantly aware of my surroundings, and most importantly, always making eye contact with drivers. The only time I actually felt threatened was when a guy leaving a McDonald’s drive thru proceeded to dip his french toast in syrup while he proceeded toward me without looking up!

So what was killing me? Besides all that concrete? The smell.

I don’t mean the incessant smell of automobile exhaust, spewing factories, steeping landfills and pollution in general either. I’m talking about chickens and horses. Running by any ranch back in Colorado, it’s easy to actually glamorize the smell of a working farm. There is something to be said about the smell of fresh manure in the morning. But not in L.A.

Running through a certain “equestrian district” of Los Angeles, I was overwhelmed by the stench. In a land of concrete, not designed for proper horse piss runoff the effluent is less than glamorous. But I survived. By holding my breath I was able to work up to seven miles, dodging traffic the whole way. Now, if only I can keep that up until we get back to altitude this Spring.

My friends and I used to tell this joke when we were kids:

“Why do Mexicans make tamales for Christmas?

So we can have something to unwrap!”

Ok, that’s not really true, we were spoiled brats and did have a lot besides tamales to unwrap. Regardless, my family has made tamales every year since Mom and Dad were married in 1954. This past Christmas, Jim and I got to participate in the annual tamalada at Mom and Dad’s house, something we never had time to do before we hit the road.

I’m trying to capture the Agredano recipe, and put one of my custom books together that shows how to make them. But getting the recipe from Mom is a little tough.

“Oh, just add a little of this, a little of that,” she says. She doesn’t measure anything. All I really know is that it’s the lard that gives them their flavor. But once a year, this vegetarian will look the other way, because these tamales are just so darn good!