Publisher’s Note: April 2022

It’s a harrowing drive to get to the Draper family’s house, and I’m not sure my Toyota Corolla will make it. I watch the RPMs rev as the little car pushes up a long, steep and twisty driveway, which actually feels more like a bobsled track.

But at the top, a breathtaking view. The Draper family—Mark, Sarah, and their two young children—live on a peak that overlooks the Dehesa Valley, a rural area nestled deep in East County San Diego. From their house, they can see for miles. For a family that loves nature, solitude and privacy, the location is perfect; but for a skateboarder…not so much. The nearest skate park—or even skateable road—is a far drive, and that twisty strip of pavement that serves as their driveway is a one-way ticket to Valhalla for anyone who chooses to skate it.

This lack of skateboard opportunities didn’t sit well with Mark Draper, who fell in love with skateboarding in college after years of playing traditional sports in high school.

“I always wanted a skateboard ramp growing up, but my dad said, ‘You’re not touching a skateboard.’ Wrestling, football, and baseball were all full-time jobs, but when I got into college, I didn’t have those sports anymore, so I picked up a skateboard.”

Mark has been infatuated with skateboarding since and was stoked when his kids immediately took to the sport as well. However, he needed an environment where both he and his kids could practice safely.

“My daughter has so much character: It was either she’s gonna go down that driveway within the next couple years, or we build something to keep her contained.”

“We wanted a safe space for them to be crazy,” Sarah adds.

The Drapers got in touch with Jim Bell, the longtime veteran ramp builder behind Jim Bell Skate Ramps. Bell has built ramps and backyard skateparks for novices and pros around the world. He’s built ramps for Tony Hawk, 2021 Olympic skateboarder Bryce Wettstein, as well as an in-ground halfpipe for Mitt Romney’s kids. Bell was especially taken with the Drapers’ enthusiasm—not to mention their unique location—and together they designed a half bowl that custom fit their backyard.

The popularity of backyard skateparks has grown steadily since Bell first started building ramps. In the early-late ‘90s and early ‘00s, the rise of pro skaters like Tony Hawk did a lot to destigmatize the sport, and municipal skateparks became regular features nationwide, but finicky neighbors and draconian HOA regulations remained a hurdle for backyard ramps, pipes and bowls. But Bell says this is quickly changing. “90 percent of neighborhoods right now know what a ramp is,” Bell says. “HOAs now are [made up of ] people who’ve skated. Twenty years ago, they were like, ‘What is this thing?’ Ten years ago, it was like, ‘Oh, we kind of know what it is.’ But now, it’s cool.”

It certainly doesn’t hurt that skateboarding was further legitimized by becoming an official Olympic sport in the 2021 Tokyo Summer Games, which featured Vista native Bryce Wettstein, the top rated women’s park rider in the country. Wettstein credits her backyard bowl (dubbed the “Iguana Bowl” [search #iguanabowl on Instagram]) with helping her hone new tricks.

“It’s almost like having your own home,” Wettstein says. “The more you’re familiar with something, the more you feel accustomed to take more risks. There’s always this little firework of magic that happens, where you always end up wanting to try a new trick.” While San Diego companies like Jim Bell Skateboard Ramps, Front Rock Inc. and Kanten Russell will build you a custom backyard skatepark, some people have opted for more of a DIY approach, including musician and graphic designer, Demetrius Antuña.

“Covid kind of put this off,” Antuña says while showing off “The Unicorn Lair,” his family’s massive backyard halfpipe. “I got more into skating because we didn’t have anything else to do. So me and my kids would just go out skating.” The more Antuña skated, the more he wanted to revisit the ramps of his youth. “My favorite thing was skating mini-ramps, and they’re impossible to find anymore. All the skateparks are concrete. I was craving a mini-ramp so that I could learn my old stuff again without the fear of totally destroying myself.”

Although Antuña handled a lot of the construction (“I watched a lot of Youtube videos”), he is quick to admit that he had tons of help from friends and family (nearly half the $3K cost was raised through GoFundMe). He’s also found that The Unicorn Lair is creating a community entirely unto itself by becoming a destination for neighborhood skaters.

“My favorite thing about having ramps growing up was people would just show up,” Antuña says. You’d meet new people, but I feel like my kids never really had that. You don’t really meet people at skateparks now—they all have their ear buds in and are minding their own business. So here, they’re learning that whole backyard camaraderie thing.”

At more than 8,000 acres and 2 million annual visitors, Mission Trails Regional Park is one of the largest urban parks in the US. It spans five peaks (one of which, Cowles Mountain, is the highest point in the city of San Diego), 65 miles of trails, Lake Murray and Kumeyaay Lake, a campground, the San Diego River, and Old Mission Dam, a national historic landmark.

The nonprofit Mission Trails Regional Park Foundation supports the city Parks & Rec trail guides, who lead walks on Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays from the Visitor Center.

Here, we catch up with trail guide Phil Hwang. By day, he’s a software engineer; in his spare time, he’s leading visitors through Mission Trails Regional Park’s rugged terrain, sharing the region’s rich history, and keeping an eye out for wildlife (including tarantula hawks, which are just as scary as their name suggests).

San Diego Magazine: Why did you want to become a trail guide? How did you learn about the program?

Phil Hwang: The park’s 5-Peak Challenge was one of the first hikes I completed moving to San Diego over a decade ago. I learned about the trail guide program while looking up other hiking things to do, I emailed them about taking the class, and after successfully completing the course, I’m now a trail guide!

What training is required to be a Mission Trails Regional Park Trail Guide?

The annual training is pretty extensive and involved. There’s a weekly course lecture and a weekly field lab. There are tons of awesome guests: San Diego rangers, geologists, botanists, members of the scientific community. The program covers way more than the simplified “walk a trail,” as we are trained to be aware of all aspects of life sciences, native uses, modern history, and the park itself. I especially love stories and lore and legends, and there’s plenty of those, too! The park is alive and changing with us, so we’re always learning.

What’s something surprising you learned about the park?

The history. There’s deeply rooted history with the Kumeyaay, with the military, and with the surrounding neighborhoods. What I find fascinating is how the park evolves throughout all time. Who knows how it will look in the future?

What’s your favorite animal in the park?

At Mission Trails I love seeing the graceful northern harrier. At Lake Murray I always make it a point to see the osprey. For the pure horror story of it all, I love the tarantula hawk and the nightmarish hell the prey goes through: paralyzed, buried alive, eaten from the inside out for weeks on end until the wasp larva pupates and bursts out an adult. What a growth spurt!

Tell us more about those volunteer opportunities.

As trail guides, we lead tracking walks, bird walks, and all sorts of school and scouting field trips. There’s also trail maintenance, habitat restoration and beautification, and volunteering at the visitor center front desk. Groups are encouraged to work with us to organize a half day of volunteer service for their company or community.

Besides volunteering, how can people support Mission Trails Regional Park?

Enjoy it! Make a donation to support the park through the MTRP Foundation, shop the park’s gift shop, book an event at the visitor center, and more! It’s fun to see Mission Trails hats and 5-Peak Challenge shirts outside the park. I’m always amazed at how many people tell me they grew up in San Diego or lived here for 50 years and never knew this place existed. Spread the word and bring others!

Plan your visit to Mission Trails here.

Lesford Duncan is no stranger to the power of the outdoors. Before he joined the team at Outdoor Outreach, he had his own memorable experiences reconnecting with himself out among nature. Whether it was hitting the trail, climbing big peaks (like Mount Kilimanjaro), or simply taking a moment to step outside—it was transformative. And he knew he wanted to share it with others.

“I’ve experienced a tremendous amount of resilience and healing just by being outdoors,” says Duncan, who is the senior director of programs at the organization. “I wanted to spark that interest in discovery and exploration in youth and help them also experience their own healing and resilience.”

That led him to Outdoor Outreach, which launched in 2001 to connect San Diego’s underserved youth to the outdoors. They do this through a wide range of activities such as hiking, rock climbing, surfing, and biking—but the impact goes beyond an extra dose of energy and exercise. Their programs foster unique opportunities for kids to reconnect with themselves, learn leadership skills and teamwork skills, and even learn about environmental stewardship, all by spending time outside.

Those lessons are integrated into all of their programs, Duncan says. While each one is tied to an activity like rock climbing or kayaking, the programs are really centered on the outcome they’re hoping to achieve with the kids—building trust, confidence, communication, or even healing from traumatic events. Duncan notes that over 91 percent of the youth they work with later say that getting outdoors helped them overcome some of the trauma brought on by the pandemic.

The organization reaches youth from all over San Diego County, but mainly focuses on communities that typically do not have easy access to outdoor spaces. Duncan says: “We see that youth coming from low-income communities, especially youth of color, often have less access due to a number of factors, so it’s important for us to try and bridge that gap.”

He explains that the accessibility gap is twofold. For many families there are physical barriers, like a lack of parks or recreational spaces within their community. In some cases, the local parks that do exist are either poorly maintained or are crime-heavy and discourage youth and their families from spending time there. On top of that, some families don’t have easy or immediate access to transportation to take them to recreational spaces outside their neighborhood.

Duncan also says the lack of representation can be a major factor: “A lot of youth don’t see themselves represented in a lot of outdoor activities like climbing or surfing. Part of what we do here is strive to increase that representation—not only by creating those initial experiences, but to also introduce them to our leadership programs, where they can help the next wave of youth have that same experience.”

Outdoor Outreach works with over 50 community-based partners and partner schools all over San Diego County. They also work closely with San Diego County Probation, engaging youth who are currently in custody, and in the psychiatric services department at Rady’s Children’s Hospital. In partnership with The San Diego Foundation and four other organizations, Outdoor Outreach is also part of Thrive Outside. This initiative constantly works together to create new outdoor opportunities for families.

Engaging the community, and the state, is part of Ben McCue’s role as executive director, which he took over in 2013. McCue says that beyond these local partnerships, they’re also pushing for policy change at higher levels with legislation like California Senate Bill 624, which would increase environmental equity and outdoor access.

The biggest hurdle, he says, is changing perception: “There’s this idea that outdoor engagement is a luxury. Specifically during the pandemic, we’ve seen that the ability to have access to safe outdoor spaces is a necessity for our mental and physical health.”

Prior to joining the organization, McCue was in coastal conservation work. But just like Duncan, he had his own personal connection to the outdoors and saw firsthand just how impactful it could be. That takeaway, and the impact of the pandemic, have led him to develop specific family engagement programs, where family members could come together to share these experiences.

“To be able to develop and run that program was so meaningful because it connected me back to the whole purpose of this work,” says McCue. “To hear parents tell me how meaningful these moments are, that for the first time in a whole year they were able to go outside and spend time together, is really powerful.”

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Many of Outdoor Outreach’s Adventure Club and Family Engagement programs are available for open enrollment this spring. Or, learn more about their leadership or summer programs to know when and how to enroll.

Walking into a room full of strangers isn’t high on the fun index for most. It’s inherently awkward: Everyone’s standing in closed-loop clusters, deep in conversation, and, depending on your social aptitude, the feeling is somewhere between light apprehension and burning alive from the inside out. The pull to retreat or reflexively look busy on your phone is stronger than the drink you now deeply crave. Having friends is nice, but making friends can be brutal.

There’s plenty of commentary on the loneliness epidemic. Last year, the American Psychiatric Association reported that one in three adults feel lonely at least once a week; those aged 18 to 34 are more likely to feel isolated and even more likely to turn to social media as a result. Dr. Vivek Murthy’s “My Parting Prescription for America” cautioned that “being socially disconnected increases our risk of heart disease, dementia, depression, anxiety, and premature death.” So it’s not just an emotional need; it’s nearly nutritional—chit-chat and the occasional wine-fueled, emotional deep-dive are just as important as Pilates and a reasonable amount of kale.

Finding social connections in any city is hard, but San Diego has very specific challenges. This is largely a transient population that acts as a temporary hotspot for many and a permanent home for few. Pick your reason: high rent, surreal gas prices, housing shortage, meh job opportunities (ranked 71st in the country in 2025), or the fact that active military is a sizable chunk of us (110,000-ish)—stationed here for a stretch, then gone. This constant flow of departees sucks out the potential for deeply established families and friend groups, leaving a good share of nomads, searchers, and plenty of people feeling socially awkward.

“There’s an underlying loneliness in all of us,” says Ramel Wallace, the host of monthly meetup CreativeMornings. “There are not a lot of San Diegans who are born and raised here, so [even those] San Diegans end up being just as lonely as the person who just got here.”

Every month, in local libraries, breweries, and small businesses, there are ambitious social architects who have made a career out of undoing social sads. Extroverted champions of the awkward and searching, they’ve struck gold on in-person connection.

The first moments in a social situation are crucial. Sets the tone and cools the nerves.

At Pitch-A-Friend, singles recruit their close friends to present a slideshow of their dating green flags. The entry points for connection at Pitch-A-Friend are simple, old tech: stickers. Each colored sticker indicates if the wearer is single or taken, queer or straight, or practicing ethical non-monogamy (in a partnership but open to others under a mutual understanding).

At the helm of each showcase is Arielle Fuller, aka Chief Wingwoman, who is making dating hopeful again. As Fuller explains, this takes some of the fear of rejection out of a first interaction. “Putting a sticker on immediately means, ‘I wanted to leave my house and talk to someone, and I am a safe space to come and speak to me,’” she says.

Of course, not all of San Diego’s events designed to make connections are romantic. On the last Friday of every month, hundreds gather at San Diego Central Library for the local chapter of CreativeMornings—an org formed to unite creatives in various cities across the world (designers, artists, writers, producers, performers, architects, etc.).

These aren’t your standard business card swaps, though. Coming from a hip-hop background, host Wallace uses call-and-response to break the fourth wall. “This is not my stage at all, this is our stage,” he says.

In your standard lecture-based meetup, the crowd silently faces the host and acknowledges nobody except those they came with. At CreativeMornings, everyone is encouraged to look around, pay attention to the strangers in the audience—not just the host. Wallace will pull volunteers to read the CM manifesto aloud, and he passes the mic to creatives, who make 30-second pitches to the community about projects they’re working on—and there’s always an invitation to connect and collaborate with the presenters whose ideas struck a chord.

The U.S. Chamber of Connection (yes it exists) says people experience life transitions nearly every year, and in these stretches are more open to forming new habits, relationships, and communities. In a revolving-door city like ours, the transition often comes when someone moves away. In 2023, the Census Bureau reported San Diego had the ninth-highest rates of domestic out-migration in the US.

This poses an issue for friendships that IRL SD addresses in monthly friend-making events called 619 Night.

“San Diego isn’t a place a lot of people stay forever,” says Alex Hunter, the creator of IRL SD. “They leave, and people [who stay] lose that community, so they’re hungry for community again.”

Their website describes the vibe as “backyard party meets college fair meets networking event meets happy hour.” Each follows a theme—wellness, sports, refresh and reset, etc.—with related community groups joining as well.

“The people I encounter are trying to get a fresh start in some capacity, so they’re more open, receptive, and ready to meet new friends,” Hunter says. “They need the circle.”

Another way adults can break out of this disconnection is to revert in unison, says artist Elisa Summiel-Bey. The 2015-ish adult coloring book moment in the US was based on some real science, with multiple studies finding coloring has a noticeable meditative and stress-release effect by taking the brain away from anxieties and mental inventories, and focusing it on a simple, easy art. Summiel-Bey’s company Illustrated Melanin throws “Color & Chill” events, turning that trend into a group exercise, along with live DJ sets, wellness experts doing sound baths, and food and drink from BIPOC-owned local businesses. “I tend to think of coloring as your way to tap back into your childlike play,” she says. “As adults, I think we’re almost scared to let loose and have that unabashed joy.”

All of these social meetups attract crowds of likeminded connection-seekers, but high attendance is not the only thing that matters. Metrics nuts can track RSVPs, but spreadsheets can’t capture intangible wins: friendships made, innovative ideas sparked, collaborations kicked off. At CreativeMornings, Wallace redefines ROI as Return On Imagination. Resounding success means thoughtful inquiries over coffee, curiosity about the monthly meeting themes, and requests to take the microphone.

A simple, observable ROI is an increased number of window shoppers to the experience—on the periphery, watching from afar, looking for the right way in. Hunter from IRL SD sees the anxiety in her DMs. “The scariest part for you right now is not meeting new friends: It’s the unknown,” she says. “It’s the gap between ‘I’m here’ and ‘That’s where I need to be.’ If I can help you understand, or get a little bit of a shape around that unknown, it’s much more approachable.”

Being able to bridge that gap, however, depends on your ability to step out of your own mind. “It’s not a connection crisis; it’s a courage and confidence crisis,” says Fuller. The first hello could be as easy as, “Hey, cool shirt.” These are the types of things she includes in her confidence lab reels on Instagram and weekly newsletters.

Ever left a social event and shot straight into a spiral? Was I being weird? Why did I tell that story? I hope that person moves to another state very soon.

The experts say that post-event self-interrogation is a standard-issue part of being alive.

“I love awkward people, and I love being awkward myself,” says Wallace. “It’s humbling to experience: ‘I’m not alone. Finally someone is not put together.’ So give yourself that grace.”

Ray’s Tennis doesn’t look like much from the outside. Never has. It’s just a green box with cloudy windows in Hillcrest, just steps away from a McDonald’s on University Avenue. But for nearly 60 years, this place has been the genesis for three generations of San Diego tennis dreams. Head inside, and you enter one of the tennis world’s great cornucopias.

For years, there was a tennis court behind the store, where owner Bob Ray gave countless lessons. It was like a racket-sport speakeasy; most customers didn’t realize the court existed unless Bob or his wife, Hiroko, guided them through the back door of the shop. Eventually they converted it into a half-court indoors—where a patron might take a racket for a few trial thwacks, trying to avoid rounders of tennis clothes that shared the space.

The shop is an abridged living history. Relics hang from the ceiling: a model of an old metal racket used by fiery lefthander Jimmy Connors in his heyday, and a version of the wooden Donnay that Björn Borg wielded on his way to five consecutive Wimbledon championships from 1976 to 1980.

And just inside the front door is Hiroko eternally stringing new rackets, carefully threading and adjusting the tension of the polyester strings, back and forth, until she has the entire racket head strung.

“I worked seven days a week—five days off in the year,” she says. “My hearing is still good. Physically, I’m as good as I was. Working seven days a week, standing all day. I’m mentally healthier than most people.”

The racket stringing is an operation she does up to 20 times a day—and one that, in some ways, resembles the thread work done by her father decades ago, when he ran a tailor’s shop in Japan.

Hiroko, now 81, was born in the city of Yokosuka at the tail end of the WWII. Her family evacuated to the countryside to escape the bombing raids, and she remembers growing up surrounded by rice fields and mountains. It was in Japan that Hiroko met Bob, a third-generation San Diegan, in the late 1960s, when he was stationed there with the Navy.

Among his possessions at the time was a tennis racket. Inherited from his father, who died when Bob was 11, this racket changed the trajectory of his life: He played constantly, filling up his school days, afternoons, and evenings on the tennis court. He was one of the highest-ranked teen players in the state, and he dreamed of joining the international tournament circuit after his stint in the Navy. But—speaking plainly—he acknowledges that he wasn’t quite good enough to compete with the best of the best. So, instead, he modified his dreams. He and Hiroko returned to San Diego in 1968, and he took a job as the club pro at Morley Field. By their mid-20s, in lieu of touring the world on the tennis circuit, the couple was running the club’s tennis store.

They spent 11 years at Morley Field, which at the time was one of the city’s tennis epicenters, hosting major tournaments for juniors. When the city handed over the store lease to a wealthier applicant, the Rays took over the property on University Avenue and moved in their tennis gear. They have been there ever since—through the McEnroe and Navratilova and Evert eras; the rise of Agassi and Sampras and Graf; the reign of the Williams sisters; the Federer-Nadal-Djokovic rivalry; and into the Alcaraz era. In the near-half century they have sold tennis gear in Hillcrest, the Rays became beloved anchors of the neighborhood’s business community, symbols of stability in an ever-changing environment.

At 84, Bob is still lean and, in his Lacoste tracksuit and Adidas cap, remains every bit the club pro. Like Hiroko, he comes to the store every day—though sometimes, if he is playing tennis in the morning, he might arrive a little later.

But time has started to take its toll. His hearing isn’t what it used to be, and the aging process is revealing itself to be true. And much to the disappointment of their loyal clientele, San Diego’s “First Couple of Tennis” is retiring, a milestone that marks the end of an extraordinarily long chapter in the city’s tennis history.

But Ray and Hiroko didn’t sell the building to a developer for condos or to a big-box retailer looking to open a boutique outpost. Determined that Ray’s should remain a tennis temple, they have negotiated a sale to a former employee who wants to continue the Rays’ legacy.

As of this writing, Hiroko and Bob remain in charge, Hiroko stringing rackets, Bob sharing his expertise about new gear. As much as they love what they’ve built, their hope is to move on soon.

For Hiroko, the prospect of retirement is bittersweet. “What am I going to do?” she asks. “Am I going to be ok? I never had a boring life. Always busy. Business first. I’m so involved in the business—because I didn’t want to fail.”

She looks around her store as she continues stringing. For her, the gladiatorial nature of tennis has always been a metaphor for how to succeed in life. “People have to have a drive,” she says. “You can’t just quit because you lose to so-and-so. Tennis players have that mindset.”

She pauses to talk about all the people who have come through the store’s door over the decades, and the relationships she has built with them. “It’s wonderful to have a great customer. That’s probably the reason I lasted this long.”