The Cactus Eater offers this irresistible enticement.

Sometimes you forget you’re near Santa Cruz until you see or hear the signs: fat-tire unicyclists on an illegal trail ride deep in the park’s interior, someone lost in the sounds of his own bongos, a musician blowing out a melody on the digeridu while sitting cross-legged on a folding chair, and a couple having exhibitionist sex in a Range Rover with the windows down on the fire road, paying zero attention to the small army of moms pushing babystrollers right past them. There are few people here, even on a nice day. Get there early in the morning and watch the steam rising off the redwoods.

Stuff like that never happened back in Peoria.