PALMDALE — Buried beneath the tracts of desert-colored homes with shingled roofs, wide streets and big yards, rests the mighty San Andreas fault, a geological menace responsible for two of the greatest earthquakes in California history.
For Karmen Garcia and her two dogs, Dino and Sparky, this is home.
"You can't see it here, but I know it's there," said Garcia, 45, as she walked her dogs along Bayberry Street. I think about it every day."
Garcia laughed at the irony. After the 1994 Northridge quake, which trashed her North Hollywood apartment, she considered returning to the East Coast. "Now here I am, on top of the San Andreas fault," she said, shrugging. "I guess every place has its problems."
I considered Garcia brave. A daredevil for living above "the single-most-active fault," the one most likely to produce a Southern California quake in the magnitude-8 range, according to seismologist Kate Hutton of Caltech.
Never, ever, never could I live directly above the San Andreas. That would be like an acrophobe washing windows on high rises, an agoraphobic attending a packed rally, an arachnophobic playing with spiders.
Simply put, I have earthquake phobia. A native of Los Angeles, I have feared the rumbling and shaking for as long as I can remember.
As a girl walking to school, every morning I would ask my friend if she thought there would be an earthquake that day. As a teenager, I tacked to my bulletin board a map of the faults ripping through the region. As an adult, I've become an armchair seismologist who devours information about quakes and frequently calls Caltech's hotline to monitor geological activity.
Maybe my fear stems from missing all the big quakes of recent years, including the '94 Northridge shaker. A lot of people who have been through quakes don't seem nearly as nervous about them, so perhaps a big factor is fear of the unknown.
Then again, maybe I'm afraid because I'm a planner and organizer, and temblors come without warning, threatening death and destruction. Or maybe I'm just a big baby.
I came to this desert community of 121,653 to face the beast, the big bully of faults, the one my elementary school teacher warned would one day--sooner rather than later--drop us crazy Californians into the Pacific Ocean.
I hoped my fears would be soothed.
The San Andreas fault extends more than 650 miles across the state, is more than a mile wide in some locations and runs between 20 to 30 miles deep, according to a plaque at the Lamont Odett Vista Point, which overlooks Palmdale just off the northbound Antelope Valley Freeway.
It also caused the 8.3 San Francisco quake in 1906 and the 8.3 Fort Tejon quake in 1857.
From the vista point on a recent windy afternoon, Palmdale appeared calm and pleasant, with its smogless skies, glittering blue lake and sandy lots of cactus--features that make it one of the fastest-growing cities in the region.
I had expected the San Andreas fault to be obvious for all to see. A behemoth breaking through the earth, perhaps with a sign declaring it the Big One.
Had it not been for a map and a helpful stranger, I would have overlooked the upthrusted ridge of the fault slicing through the Antelope Valley Freeway, between Avenue S and the Palmdale Boulevard exits. Driving along, you can even see the fault's swirls in the sandstone and shale.
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Edwin Clark, 57, a 10-year resident of the Palmdale area and a survivor of several major quakes, shrugged. "I don't pay much attention to it," he said. "It doesn't bother me."
Then he looked at me and smirked. Detecting my phobia, he decided to have some fun by regaling me with stories about how, during the magnitude 5.9 Whittier quake in 1987, part of his office building near the epicenter collapsed. And how, during the 6.7 Northridge quake, he saw the Antelope Valley Freeway overpass collapse onto the Golden State Freeway.
"I think we're standing on [the San Andreas] right now," Clark said, casually dismissing the fault with a shrug.
Like most longtime Palmdale residents, Gil Lee, 79, believes in fate. "When it's my time, it's my time," he said.
Worrying about temblors is a waste of energy, he said, because beyond bolting furniture, securing breakables and preparing an emergency kit, there's not much one can do. Besides, Lee added: "I fought in two wars. I'm not afraid of earthquakes. I am fortunate to be on this earth."
Although Ralph Wilkinson, 49, has only lived in Palmdale for about two years, he never once worried about being near the fault. The Wisconsin native, like so many others in earthquake country, says other natural disasters such as hurricanes, blizzards, flooding and tornadoes are far worse.
"I saw a barn lifted and swirled around," Wilkinson said. "Earthquakes don't bother me."
Many Palmdale residents also believe that living on or very close to the San Andreas is safer than being several miles away--a notion Caltech's Kate Hutton refuted. "The closer to the fault," she said, "the stronger the shaking."
