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On several occasions, I’ve steered my old knobby-tired Fuji off the dirt tracks and onto the pavement to explore the base. It’s a strange experience. Everyone who lives around here has heard Fort Ord described as a “ghost town,” and we see the old barracks every time we drive past on the roads that border the place. But on the gated streets that lead to the interior of the fort, it is a bit of a shock to come across entire abandoned neighborhoods.

There is something troubling about finding a cul-de-sac surrounded by modern-looking houses—some with solar panels on their roofs—all sitting empty. It’s bizarre to cruise through block after block of comfy-looking empty cottages with cypress trees standing in weedy yards and swing-sets rusting in parks perched on hills that look out over the ocean—all wasted.

On the dirt, Fort Ord is nothing but fun. But to anyone who is pained by the fact that affordable housing has become so scarce around here, a bike ride through the empty streets of old Fort Ord can be sad and frustrating.

I suppose it is naïve to wish that this enormous resource, this huge and rare piece of property, could somehow be used to ease our crippling housing shortage. I understand that there are complicated reasons why these neighborhoods must be left to decay while thousands of our neighbors struggle every month to make rent. Still, I can’t help but feel that there’s something too cold-hearted about ignoring this bitter irony.