Pilgramage to labyrinth falls short of a-mazing

It sounded worthy of a pilgrimage: A labyrinth!

Since Mrs. Brad and I moved from Suisun City to our new home last summer, we've explored the region. Not only have we visited nearby cities and attractions (anything with the word "reservoir" in it has been hiked), but we've looked around the community immediately surrounding our home.

We like to walk, so we've visited hiking trails. We like to read, so we've visited the library. I love to play basketball, so I've gone to the gym. We've checked out the golf courses and the swimming pools.

But a mysterious labyrinth kept cropping up in the community newspaper, with directions  ("To get to the labyrinth . . .").

It had to be cool, right? Maybe mystical? The fact that the directions weren't simple (they involved a few turns and several estimated distances you needed to traverse between them) made it even better. If you went 0.2 miles past a sign and turned on a fire road? Awesome.

I envisioned something like the Cool Patch Pumpkins  maze in Dixon. Except this was a labyrinth, which seemed more . . . zenlike . . . than a simple maze. There would be something spiritual about it, something otherworldly.

The difficulty to reach it made that more likely, right?

On a recent Saturday, we decided to check it out. We knew it wasn't too long a hike and I took a photograph of the directions from the newspaper, so we'd have in my phone. We headed up the hill across the valley from our home.

The walk wasn't too steep and we pushed on. Our excitement built. We were going to see the labyrinth!

Twenty minutes, 30 minutes. Not bad.

We walked through neighborhoods we didn't know existed . . . the mystery was deepening. This was like a hike to another world! I checked my directions.

"It says in two-tenths of a mile, there's a sign on the right," I told Mrs. Brad. "The sign says . . . 'labyrinth.' "

We pushed forward, up the hill and saw the sign. "Labyrinth." Almost there!

We walked on the fire road. We could feel the pull. "A sign!" I shouted. "It says labyrinth, 240 feet."

The labyrinth was just up the hill.

Excited, we headed up the hill, looked under the trees and saw it.

A labyrinth.

Of small rocks.

On the ground.

It was a maze laid out on the ground, with large gravel. You could walk through it, I guess, although it would be easier to just step over the rocks.

It was a labyrinth, but it was a labyrinth in the same way that the puzzles in the "Highlights" magazine for kids are a labyrinth.

I felt like Ralphie  in the "A Christmas Story" movie, when he drinks gallons of Ovaltine to get his Orphan Annie Secret Society decoder pin in the mail. Excitedly, he works to break the code . . . and it turns out that the "secret message" is to drink more Ovaltine. "A crummy commercial?" he asks.

A crummy labyrinth?

There's nothing wrong with the labyrinth. It's a perfectly fine layout of rocks. I'm sure people took plenty of time to get the rocks to the area and to create the design. I'm even sure the labyrinth has some spiritual meaning for someone (the person who sells rocks?).

But one of the mysteries of where we live is no longer a mystery. Our community labyrinth, the subject of frequent newspaper articles and discussion between Mrs. Brad and I, isn't that special.

The views from the labyrinth area are great. The hike was a challenge.

The labyrinth? It was like a commercial to drink more Ovaltine.

Time to head out to hike around a reservoir.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.