On the other hand...

Okay, so I've got why solo is good. Now here's my yays and nays about with someone else.

Pros:
-Extra Input. There is a slim possibility that I could overlook something, or not think of something that might be cool to do.
-Extra driver (hopefully). This would make the trip out and back a whole lot quicker, leaving pretty much two extra days to do stuff.
-Keeping me in check. As briefly mentioned earlier, having someone else along makes me factor safety issues in to a much greater degree.
-Cheaper (?). Splitting gas on this trip would have saved me albout $200. Note- this only saves me money if my travel companion(s) won't need to sleep in a hotel. Or, if there's a few, as long as we don't spend many nights in hotels.
-The biggest pro by far is having someone to share the experience and the memories with. It's great to be able to think back on all the sweet stuff I did/got into, but it's even better when you can do it with someone else who was there.

Cons:
-It ain't easy for people to put up with me, and vice versa.
-Junk in the trunk. As it was, space was limited in my car. Granted, I could have packed significantly more efficiently, but it's nice being able to chuck whatever you think you might want in the trunk and go. In addition, if you sleep in the car it's a lot harder to do with other people.
-Music selection could be a point of contention.
-Planning. If there are gonna be other people, I might actually have to plan the trip, unlike this last one. This also means waiting for everyone else to get their crap together and figure out when they could go.

Final verdict? It depends. If I go on a easy trip (like this last one), other people would be awesome. If I'm going to do a hardcore trip (15 mile hiking days, multiple consecutive nights, etc.), I'll go solo- supposing I don't suddenly come across someone who's into real camping.

Thoughts: A.K.A Brain Hassles

As one might expect, when you drive 5300 miles in a week and a half, you end up having a lot of time to yourself to think. Now, the sad part was that on the way out I was so out of practice at introspection that I really didn't do much of it. I tried to distract myself with the radio instead. Luckily, on the way back I was much more mentally active.

One of the big topics of mental digestion was the issue of "solo trip" versus "group trip." Now, on this trip I wasn't given a choice- the flakes, I mean friends, who were gonna go with me backed out. My choices were to fly solo or to take the week and a half off of work and throw myself into some sort of solo bachannalia, the likes of which would forever stain my soul. Redwoods sounded better.

But really, which would I prefer? Let's break down the pros and cons of each:

Solo Pros:
-I decide everything. If I want to do something, I do it, and don't have to worry about compromising on anything.
-I go at my own pace. If I'm getting killed on trail, I can rest as much (or little) as I want. Also, if I feel like driving for fourteen hours, I can. I can go 400 miles without having to pee, and that makes the drive faster.
-I only need be concerned with my own safety. This means I can driving "exciting" and not worry about going deaf from screaming passengers, or having to clean a seat where someone wet themselves.
-I get time to be introspective without seeming anti-social.
-I can really, for lack of a better term, commune with the land as I'm hiking.
-I don't have to be "courteous." Now, I'm not gonna go into details, but if you know me you can probably figure out that my car needed a good airing out at the end of the trip.
-I can pack whatever the heck I want. Considering how I ended up packing , this wouldn't have left much room for anyone else.

Solo Cons:
-Slightly to greatly more expensive, depending on what my other traveler(s) wanted. Splitting gas would have saved me about $150-$200. Granted, I saved a lot of that not ever sleeping in a hotel. Considering that would get split up anyway, it's still cheaper with another person or two.
-The drive from Iowa to the Rocky Mountains is extremely boring. Someone to chat with/bug the hell out of.
-I take short cuts and follow a somewhat impetuos nature. This, long story short, means that I'm not as safe I would be if another person's safety was at issue. I made it out okay, but ya never know.

I'll have to get to the other half tomorrow...

Homeward Bound

Leaving Moab, I figure that after having hiked from sun-up to sun-down I should at least try to make it into Colorado before stopping for the night. After all, it's still a two day drive from Utah to Minnesota, and I wanted to be able to get a decent night's sleep before being to work at 4:30 am on Monday.

The drive is pretty uneventful through the rest of Utah and the first part of Colorado. The most intersting part is how military the town names sound (Rifle, Parachute, Battlesomethingorother, etc.). I'm part way through the mountains when I see the first clouds coming over the moon. I'd heard on the radio that more snow was expected, and I really hoped that I could make it through the Rockies before it hit. I don't.

The first snow starts just past Glenwood Springs. By the time I reach Vail Pass commercial vehicles are lined up for miles along the shoulder putting on snow chains. I'm already further than I'd planned to go (thought I'd be bushed around Grand Junction), but I do not want to get stuck up here in a snow storm. I'm driving close to the speed limit. As the storm gets worse, this means that I'm going progressively faster and faster than everyone else. By the time I get to the next pass (Loderman Pass or some such), there's a couple of inches on the ground, and driving is getting interesting- though nowhere near as bad as Nebraska/Wyoming had been. Coming down the mountains into Denver I'm dodging out of the teeth of the storm, and I'm into the clear. I hear about the avalanche the next day. While it was twelve hours after I'd passed, and not on the interstate but on a state highway, I did drive right past the area. Interesting...

I gas up outside Denver. Now that I'm already through the mountains, and the latter part of the driving got the adrenaline flowing, I figure that I might as well keep going. The rest of the drive is pretty uneventful, except for the part where I hit a blown out tire at 85 mph. Again, adrenaline, and more driving. I'm almost to Kearny, Nebraska, before I'm tired enough to pull off. I rearrange the junk in my car before going to bed, and pull out the cooler. I realize that I'd forgotten about the second package of venison burger in there. I'm not going into details, but I've decided to throw the cooler away...

I wake up in the morning, and keep going. I'm somewhat chagrined that I could've stayed out another day- I'll be back Saturday night instead of Sunday. I coudn't have expected to be up for hiking for ten hours and then driving for ten more, though, and it will just give me a day to relax. The rest of the trip is uneventful, though listening to some talk radio show I do hear about a book that I decide to pick-up and read. It's about reconciling science with God, which happened to be one of the many topics I mulled over while driving. Impeccable timing, though the book is proving less aligned to my thoughts than the author had made it sound in the interview.

I'm back in Minnesota by sunset, and back to the cities a little before seven o' clock. I grab some of my stuff, head up, and begin The Task. You see, having flown solo the whole time, I hadn't really seen the need to shower. After all, there's no one else to be bothered by my funk, my nose doesn't hardly work in the best of circumstances, and just finding a place to shower would've cost money and been a huge pain in the rear. So guess what? My hair is one giant mess of tangles. It takes me an hour in the shower to get them all out, and I end up pulling out no small amount of hair. If I ever go that long again, my hair's going into a pony tail day one and not coming back out.

And that's the trip. Of course, there's gonna be at least one post of reminisces and ruminations, but for what I actually did, and for the pictures that actually turned out, that's it. Oh, and here's one last picture of me from that last night of driving. 2 AM in Nebraska (I think I'm driving past a turkey factory at the time, or at least that's what it smelled like). I swear, there should be a law against being this sexy....

The Final Arch

When I get off the trail I’m starving. I mean, c’mon, beef jerky isn’t the most filling of breakfasts. That, combined with the hike not having been the easiest, has my stomach roaring for food. I was thinking that I’d do up some soup, but the thought of how long that’s gonna take me- combined with the likelihood that I’d run out of fuel before it boils- has me opt for plan B. I swing over to the "Fiery Furnace" overlook for lunch, open up the vacuum pack of tuna fish, squirt in some mayo packets, and get the spoon out.

Oh, you think that’s bad? I swing down to the Delicate Arch parking lot and wash it down with a few swigs of 12 year old Jameson. In retrospect, it was a bad combination. Hell, at the time it was a bad combination. But, I figured that I’d made enough foolish decisions so far that one more seemed appropriate. My stomach stopped liking me.

Delicate Arch is the one that you always see in pictures of the park. It’s a mile and half hike, all uphill one way and downhill the other. The bottom of the trail has this old homestead and a few petroglyphs. The farmstead is some old Civil War vet who moved out to get to a climate better for his aches- until one of his daughters comes and bitches about the conditions and makes him return to Ohio. The glyphs had my hopes up, but it turns out that they’re only from the early 1800's. Yeah, that’s a lot older than me, but the one’s I’d seen in Death Valley were considerably older, more interesting, and rewarding. After all, it was an eight mile hike to get to those ones...

I start hiking up. The first part is pretty easy dirt trail. Then you get to this big ol’ sandstone dome that you have to walk up, the only trail being denote by small stone cairns. On the way down I could see where a trail was slowly being worn in the stone, but on the way up there was too much glare. I pass some people going down, and a few going up. I pass this couple of gorgeous asian chicks who I’d seen on the Devil’s Garden trail. The reason I mention this is because while they were gorgeous, all I could think about was how frickin’ stupid they had to be to wear high heeled boots hiking. It just ruins it to see such a pretty picture and then be forced to factor in that they’re really dumb. Sigh...

Towards the end I start coming upon these giant half-bowl shaped areas that the wind has carved out of the stone. It was almost like the wind was trying to make a skate park. After those, I get to the thin ledge that winds around the top of the stone. With the wind and the snow, I feel like I’m making my pilgrimage to see the wise man on the mountain up in Shangri-La. I get to the post, hop the small ridge that separates the trail, and I’m there.

This place is hard to comprehend for me. It’s another of the wind half-bowls, but huge- football field sized, and probably at least 50 feet from bottom to the lip. It’s also kinda steep, but with my boots I make it alright. Delicate Arch is off to the southeast part, right on the edge of a drop off. It’s really steep and wet on either side of the arch, so it’s a while before I work up the guts to try it.

Another part of the hard to comprehend part is the vibe- with the half dozen other people up there just chillin’, it was like some weird picnic. There were some people getting into the arch when I showed up, including this one chick who was freaking out so bad that she started that maniacal giggle you see right before people start crying and screaming. She made it, though, so I give her credit. I check out some of the edges of the bowl, and give myself some serious jitters (remember, vertigo and acrophobia). There’s some steep canyon around that place. Either way, it was good vibe, and I hang out there for about an hour. I’d have taken more pictures of the arch, but the dinks who were there when I got there didn’t leave the entire time.

I head back down, and the sun is getting low, so I figure that I have just enough time to hit the one mile trail around the Window Arches and snap some sweet sunset photos. These are some really big arches, but they’re just not as impressive to me as the other ones were. I don’t know if it was that I was desensitized after the other arches, if the proportions somehow made them seem lesser, or I was just suffering from having tuna fish and whiskey for lunch. Either way, I finish up the hike and get in the car to find a good pull of to catch the sun set.

Well, it figures, by the time I find any pull out the sun has set. This kinda sucks, because I think it would have made for some sweet photos. I do look east, though, and I see a mountain range away off. The sun is still setting on them, and they’re turning this pale shade of purple. With the snow on them, they’re beautiful- but foreboding. You see, I can almost feel the wind on them from where I am. The snow on the most northerly mountain is being blown almost straight across to the next one south. It’s eerie know that those winds must be incredibly strong, and thinking that I’m looking real-time at an incredibly inhospitable environment.

I watch the mountains until the sun has completely set, and head into Moab for a post-trail dinner. Though I hadn’t really hit the hiking all that hard, at best making 30 miles the whole trip, I figure that I’m hungry and it’s tradition to gorge when the trips done. I was thinking asian (fried rice sounded so damned good), but can’t find anything that doesn’t look fancy and settle for Pizza Hut. Whatever I didn’t finish would just go in a box and be grub for the way back, keeping me from needing to stop for food. Appetite satisfied, I gas up and head back to the interstate. End of Friday, January 7th.

Next time, The Drive Home and The Last Day.

Arches National Park. I think this was my favorite part of the trip. I’d slept pretty warm, what with having a sleeping pad and two sleeping bags to keep me warm. I had woken up a few times during the night to what sounded like someone sliding their hand alongside my tent. I figured that it was the wind and just kept sleeping.

I wake up and discover the true culprit. 4" of snow. The roof of my tent is sagging, and while I’d slept on a slight incline there was still water pooled where in the vestibule where I’d put my sandals. The sound I’d been hearing all night was sheets of snow sliding off the side of the rain fly. As I get up and start breaking camp, the people in the site next to me ask how I’d slept. They’re amazed I slept well, and ask if my tent is a winter tent. They’re even more shocked to find out that it’s a three season because the weight of the snow had collapsed their tent. Poor bastards slept in the car and froze for most of the night. Of course, they were from southern California, so who’s really surprised?

Pack up, have some jerky and water for breakfast, and notice the continued trend in the bathrooms- from Death Valley through Utah I had not yet stopped at a bathroom that had both soap and something to dry your hands with. I grumble a bit about this, but the sun’s up now so it’s time to get trail bound. I fill up my water and drive to the parking lot for the "Devil’s Garden" trailhead. Grab my stuff and head out.

The first thing I notice is that it’s freakin’ windy! I make it about two hundred feet down the trail, and the canyon walls are funneling the wind so badly I head back to the car to toss on an extra layer. At no point do I end up regretting this. I’d hoped to take the longer primitive trail loop, but they say to stay off it after rain or snow. I figure that I’ll just head to the "Double O" arch, a couple mile out, and see how that goes. If it goes well, I’ll give the primitive loop (which meets there and an earlier point on the trail) a shot. If not, I’ll have to get it next time.

Now, to do this justice I need to tell you that I am committing just about every camping sin there is. I brought no extra food, no light, no way to start a fire, no emergency gear period. I brought no extra clothing. I have no map or compass. I’ve never hiked this area before, and have no idea what I’m getting into. And best of all, I’ve given no one any reason to even think that I’m here, much less left any sort of route plan. It just makes it all the more fun that way.

Once I get past the first part of the trail the wind dies down considerably, and I can really take in how beautiful it is. I’m surrounded by massive red sandstone walls that are draped in a deep, soft looking blanket of snow. I’m the first one out, so the only tracks I see are my own.

The first arch I come across is the Landscape Arch, which had a huge chunk fall off in 1991. It’s a huge arch, and I’m really impressed by the scope of this place. I have to chuckle, because it warns that the most likely time for chunks to fall off is during the winter after rain or snow, since the precipitation gets into cracks and freezes. It’s nifty, because you can see the cracks and where the chunks are going to eventually come from. I did not, however, get the chance to see anything fall.

I start from that trail branch towards to "Double O" arch, and start to get my first inkling that this is going to be very interesting. The main trail goes up this gully, and almost immediately I come upon a slickrock "step" about four feet high. With the slick snow on it there’s now way I’m actually going up it. I find my way to the end and get on there, but I’m still being very careful. There’s then a steep grade, but at least there’s plenty of spots to put my feet. I take the spur to check out the Navajo and Partition Arches. The trail is beautiful, with snow dozing junipers scattered about. There's even a section of wall on the way to Navajo Arch that looks like it was made just for bouldering, and when I got back I'm going to give it a go. I take it in and hop back towards the main trail.

Here’s where it get really interesting. At one point the trail starts across a sandstone fin. Now, if you’ve never been across one, it’s like a giant round topped sandstone wall. You start up at one point where it’s low and walk across to another low point. It’s not too bad, because it’s only about 10' high- on the one side. It’s gotta be 30'+ on the other side, though, and as I said before- it’s freakin’ windy. Oh, and I’m also mildly acrophobic (pretty much in direct proportion to the height I’m at) and get vertigo. Not the greatest combo, but damn does it make this fun.

I finish getting across there without any problems, and I’m almost to the end of the trail. But here comes the problem. Before you get to the Double "O" Arch, the trail stops being anything like flat. It goes for about fifty feet along this sloped slickrock covered in loose snow over a very long, if steeply sloped (as opposed to sheer) drop off to the right. If there are any real footholds, they’re covered up by the snow. And it’s still windy.

I stop. If I slip up here, I’m screwed. It’s possible I could take the fall without major injury, but not very likely. That would be bad. But it’s really frustrating, because the arch I’m going to is quite literally around the bend here, and after that there’s only 1/4 mile of trail to the Dark Angel monolith. If I give up now, I won’t die, but I’ll be pissed at myself forever.

So I keep going. I get to the top of this slope okay, but that’s just the first 10-15 feet or so. The rest is down, which is much harder. Luckily, there’s a crack in the ridge, and while it ain’t the comfiest thing I’ve ever done, I slide down along it. I figure that a sore as is better than a broken neck. That takes me most of the way down, and I scramble the last few feet alright.
I check out the arch, and head over to Dark Angel. The desert is simply stunning here, because I can see forever off to the west, and the east is a field of steep snow covered sandstone fissures. I’m alone out here, except for snow, stone, and coyote tracks. It’s cathartic.

I head back, grateful I made the choice I did. Of course the way back up that damned slope isn’t easier. You see, it’s pretty easy to jump down four feet, but to hop back up is much trickier. So I have to start further down the slope, which means it’s longer to get to the fissure. And once there I see that what I’d started up before was the steepest part. I slip a couple times. Luckily, the wind dies off, and I can stand up and actually walk a littl- GUST OF WIND! It doesn’t blow me back, but it' strong enough to straighten me up and takes a few years off my life. If I hadn’t been close enough to the fissure to grab it’s lip, I would’ve gone down. Backwards. That would have sucked.

A couple more slips, some quick pondering whether or not prayers are gonna do me any good now, and I make it down. I start back, and soon see another couple coming up the rock fin I’d crossed earlier. They’re having a bit of trouble getting down. They’re either less sure-footed than I am or less reckless- or both. It doesn’t take me too long to reach them.

We chat for a bit when I get there. They’re from Colorado, and they’ve been here a few times before. They ask how the rest of the trail is. I’m honest- I would not recommend it, but hey, I did it. Considering the trouble they’re having on the fin, I’m glad they chose to turn back. I ask them how the primitive loop compares to the slope before Double O. They tell me that the slope is definitely the trickiest part, but that depending on how snow conditions were further along there could be a few areas that just aren’t passable. So I know that I made the right decision not going the primitive loop, but I’m always gonna wonder what the conditions really were.

I head back down the trail, check out a couple of arches closer to the parking lot. A lot more people are on the trail now, and I don’t spend a whole lot of time here. I head back to my car and after driving the wrong way down the road (the snow had covered the "one way" sign when I came in), head to my next destination.

Next up- Delicate Arches, bad lunches, and the Teeth of the Storm.

The Road Willies

Death Valley’s behind me, and now it’s time to get some road behind there too. I gas up in Beatty, Nevada. Time to reapply the duct tape. You see, I had to have my windshield replaced a few months ago after it was cracked by a rock kicked up by a semi. Well, the bastards who did the repairs apparently didn’t do a very good job of sealing the damned thing, and as I was driving the rubber seal began to peel out. Being from northern Minnesota, the appropriate solution (lacking the ability to return it at the time) is to throw down a swath of duct tape. I’d done this at the Iowa/Nebraska border on the way out, and it was time to re-apply. The other thing I remember about this stop (in Beatty) was the cashier- I’ve never seen someone I’ve been so sure was a meth addict. She looked really, really rough. Maybe it wasn’t meth, but there was something really screwin’ her life up. Bit of a downer to start the drive.

The drive is more interesting that I’d expected- not that that’s saying much. As I’m driving by one of the test ranges I see the sign saying that there are military exercises in progress, and I watch the UAV that they’ve got up flying around.. I also get a kick out of one of the many areas with this "Prison area ahead- do not pick up hitch hikers" sign. What makes this one special is that at the road to turn to the prison there’s also a sign that informs me that there is a wildlife viewing area down there too. I drive through Vegas, don’t bother to stop ‘cause flying solo it holds no interest to me. And that’s all for Nevada.

It gets a little more interesting come Utah. First off, the cops are out in force. This is bad for me, since I’m usually one of, if not the, fastest drivers out there. At one point the car about three vehicles ahead of me gets pulled over. I’d have passed it in about two minutes. I turn off I-15 and onto I-70. I’d filled up in Beaver, Utah, so when I turn on to 70 and see the sign saying "next services 110 miles" I know that I’m okay. It’s still uncomfortable. That’s one of the longest "unserviced" stretches in the country. It is a pretty drive before the sun sets, going through canyons and passes, and at one point I even pass a whole herd of wild elk off to the shoulder.

Then things get weird for me. You see, it’s big country out there, and it made me feel like big things could go on out there. Now, I don’t mean military engagements or mining operations or stuff like that. I mean physically oversized things could be living out there and be right at home. I kept picturing these giant devil rabbits hopping around, and coming across monstrous footprints hiking. I also got something of the same vibe you get when you watch "Yellow Submarine" when they’re being chased by the boots and vacuum critter and all that stuff- the idea that there’s a bunch of big, weird critters out there in some weird food chain.

At this point I’ve creeped myself out. I kept on getting this feeling that there was something out there pulling at me, like it wanted to suck me into the desert and not let me leave. I began to really pay attention to my driving, ‘cause I sure as hell didn’t want to slide into the ditch. It was spooky, and felt like the earth was just so old here that the spirit of the land itself was leaching out into the "real" world. I dunno. It was like the earth was desperate for life, and didn’t want me to get away. Needless to say, I felt really out of place and really uncomfortable.

I finish my drive, pulling into Arches National Park just after eight o’ clock. I head up to the Devil’s Garden campground. I throw out my sleeping bag and do some reading. The heebie-jeebies have passed by now, so I’m good. I’d planned on sleeping under the stars, but when I finished reading I noticed that there weren’t any- there was a snow storm moving in. I pitch the tent and hit the hay. Tomorrow- snow, arches, hiking, more snow, and adrenaline being better than coffee.

Oh, and sorry about no pics on this one. Spent the whole day driving, and what pics I did take I threw on the last post. But rest assured that there's gonna be a bunch tomorrow, and they'll be some of my favorite pics of the whole trip. In all likelihood I'll need to split it into a couple posts again.

Detours, Desolation, and Death Valley Pics

After returning the bear-proof container to the ranger station, I start back down the mountain. I decide to take Highway 245, since it’s gonna save me about 20 miles. Of course, I soon learn that the average posted speed here is about 20 mph. Granted, I’m going 35-40 for most of it, but it’s definitely a slow drive. Better yet, about 10 minutes into it I realize that I really have to pee.

I have an hour drive in front of me. And anywhere I pull off I’m gonna be peeing in someone’s yard. It’s a long drive.

.

.

Damn I'm sexy. Grrrr...

I make it to Porterville without wetting myself. Barely. Either way, I pull into a Starbucks, get a fix, and thrown down a quick post. I want some quick grub, and I figure that some McDon’s dollar menu will do alright to tide me over. What’s weird is that their dollar menu is completely different from ours. I end up getting a regular burger, and soon regret it. My stomach just wasn’t ready for fast food. I gas up and head west.

I take 190 west, figuring that I can cut through the mountains over to Death Valley and spend the rest of the afternoon popping around there. It takes me back through the Sequoia National Forest, goes through the mountains, and keeps me from having to detour a hundred miles or so out of my way through Bakersfield. It also goes through Success, California, one of the most inappropriately named places I’ve ever seen. It’s a dried up reservoir with a dam. Woot. Success! Anyhow, 190 is just like 245, but worse (or better, if you like to drive like I do). Some dude actually passes me in an old Datsun, and I’ve gotta give him credit for some grande cojones. I mean, I’m squealing around corners barely keeping all four on the road, and this dude blows by me. Props, dude.

I’m on the road for about 45 minutes when I see the first "Road Closed Ahead" sign. Of course, while it tells me how many miles until it closes, it doesn’t tell me where that is. I’m trying to get to J14, and it’s pretty close as to whether or not that’s going to be before or after the closure. I stop into a diner and ask the waitress if she knows, and she says that the whole Great Western Divide Highway is closed. Well, that’s 190, but still doesn’t tell me if it’s before or after my turn off. I keep going. Half an hour later I get to where it’s closed, in front of some lodge/resort. I haven’t made it to J14, but it’s another one of those "it’s not plowed, but people have still been driving on it" deals. I think about giving it a shot, but something in my gut tells me that’s a really bad idea. When your gut’s as big as mine is, you listen to it. I’m on vacation, so screw the rush.

Of course, this means back tracking. I’ve now gone over two hours out of my way for nothing (other than some fun, if questionable, driving). I head back through Porterville, and start truckin’ to Bakersfield. While I don’t "walk the streets of Bakersfield" in homage to an old country song none of you have ever heard of, I am impressed by the eternal wall of orange groves and oil fields. I’m tempted to pull off and do a quick orange raid, but I figure that it’s gonna be more trouble than it’s worth. I also notice that, while some of these stations have oil rigs damned near in their parking lots, gas here is as expensive as I’ve seen.
.

Drive, drive, drive. I get passed in the mountains by a couple people driving hell bent for election. I pick up speed to keep pace with them, and then end up passing them because after riding my ass for a few miles they drop back to the speed I had been going. One of my many driving pet peeves- if you’re gonna pass someone, you’d better keep going faster than them. Gas up in some town, and keep going through the lower Sierra Nevadas. I get on to I-395 at Inyokern, driving past the China Lake Naval Proving Grounds. My mind runs wild at the things that could be going on out there. Terrible, devastating things. Really, really cool things.
.

While I don’t see any nuclear weaponry being tested, as I approach the turn off to get back onto 190 I am privileged to a very impressive moon rising over the mountains. Stop in for some "Dang Good Jerky" near Olancha. It’s a pretty cool little shop, just some 15X15 hut with wall to wall dried jerky and fruit and such. The outside is just covered in decals, everything from bands to brands to rodeo stickers. Made me think of "Killroy’s Skate ‘n’ Bait." I head west to Death Valley.

I shut the radio off. There aren’t any stations that really come in anyway, and heading away from town I can almost imagine that I’m the only person on the planet. No music, no light other than my car, and a massive moon rising over my shoulder. I spook a coyote off the road, but other than that I’m totally alone. God, it felt good.

I pull into Death Valley shortly after 8. The ranger stations are closed, and I’m not paying over $3 a gallon to fill up here, so I pay my entrance fee at a kiosk. On an trip I’d taken a few years back we’d camped overnight in the dunes, and I figure on doing the same. As long as you were over a mile off the road you were good. I grab my gear and head to the dunes, still wondering at the moon.

I pick a spot and lay my gear down. The stars are out, but the moon is so bright that they aren’t as striking as they could be. It’s nice either way. Unfortunately, there’s a crew of people who are out wandering around the dunes being noisy as all get out, and I find that, especially after my little "alone in the world" drive, it makes for a rather unpleasant experience. It takes me quite a while to fall asleep. On the upside, unlike the last time I slept in the Dunes, there was no kit fox to eat my boot laces.

I wake up cold, despite being in a bag rated to 15 degrees and having slept on a winter weight sleeping pad. It’s before sunrise, and the moon is still up. I pack up, climb a dune, and stand there watching the sun rise. I still wanted to be alone, or at least quiet, and the same people ruin it again. Luckily, though, they’re soon out of earshot before the sun rises. It was very relaxing. Well, for the most part.

There were jets doing maneuvers over the valley. I hadn’t realized this last time, but the valley acts as a natural amplifier for the sound of the jets. When they’d pull a sharp turn and really kick the jets on it almost shook you where you stood. It was incredibly impressive, and strangely enough bothered me far less than the people wandering around. Once the moon sets, I pick up and head out.

The day’s early enough that I figure I can go check out a few sights I hadn’t seen last time. My foot gets the best of me on the flats again. There’s no one out there, and it’s a straight shot. I get it up to 115 mph before I go over a mound and land hard enough to pop the button on my shorts. I figure it’s time to cut it back. I head up to the ranger station, realize that I had actually gone up here before, and head to Nevada. But more on that next time.

Tomorrow- Las Vegas, prisons, spooky deserts, and Arches National Park.

Getting Ditched

So, to continue, I'm still on trail in Redwood Canyon. The topo map I have doesn't show the trails on it, and the trail map I have doesn't have any topo info. In addition, the trail intersection isn't marked. If I miss the turn, the trial continues for another 10 miles or so. This would have been the one time it would have been nice to have tracks to follow. As it was, I managed to read the topo well enough (considering I didn't have a compass- one of my many camping sins this trip) that I didn't miss it.

It was a couple miles down into the valley, but it was a gorgeous walk. The snow wasn't as deep in most spots since the sun had melted much of it, most of that was crusted enough I was able to walk on it even with the pack (300+ pounds of weight). The best part, by far was the smell. Now, my nose barely functions. Sometimes I can breath through it, and only rarely can I smell anything but the strongest smells- perfume and cleaning agents being the most common. But in the spots where the sun was hitting the pine needles, you could feel the pine and juniper scents coming off the ground to greet you. It was one of the many things that by themselves would have made the trip worthwhile.

At one point I come across a deer that had bedded down. I thought that maybe I'd accidentally snuck up and spooked it, sicne it was in a small copse of trees a few feet off the trail. I did the standard talking to it in an even voice (if you're calm and non aggressive they'll often stop and look at you wodering what they heck you're doing), and it kept trying to get up. The trail took me close enough to touch it, but on closer inspection it was obviously sick and dying. It looked my like a deer skin over a deer skeleton, it was so skinny. I can't imagine it was starving (they'd only received about a foot of snow to date, compared to an average annual around four feet), but it didn't have long to go. I didn't feel that it would be appropriate to intervene, that that there was really anything to do, so I kept going.

I reach the valley floor around noon. Since I'd expected to get there mid-afternoon, and was looking for a camp site, I decided to grab a quick lunch and keep going. Here they have signs where the trails meet. They don't, however, have any bridges over the creek. It's pretty ambiguous with snow cover, and this is another spot where if I pick the wrong trail I could go many miles out of my way. I manage to cross and find the trail again, and continue on my way.

I go past the "Fallen Goliath," a freakin' huge sequoia that must have fallen at least a century ago. It's still amazing to see how large they are, eveny lying down. I keep walking, now on the second have of the loop (the "Hart Tree" trail). I cross some small streams, and even on small waterfall. Kinda bummed that the waterfall picture didn't turn out too well, but it was a nice little spot.

I figure that I could camp at Hart Meadows. It's near the end of the trial, but I figure that it's gonna take me long enough to get there that it'll be worth stopping there. When I arrive, not only is it only about 1:30, but it's definitely not a good spot. It's marshy ground in the meadow itself, and the surrounding hillside appears to have had a recent fire. The topsoil is all ash with a thin covering of needles- a messy, messy area to camp. At this point I figure I might as well just make a day of it and head back to the car. Follow some elk tracks along the trail, check out some more gorgeous views, and get back to the car. All in all, it's taken me 8 hours. That's not fast for a 10 mile trip, but considering the snow, elevation changes, and me being out of shape, I'm quite happy with it.

I meet a guy in the parking lot who works at a Christian camp a few miles away, and we chat for a bit before I head back towards the ranger station. Or I try to. You see, on the way down I'd made sure I'd be able to get back up. Indeed, just to find out, I actually backed up the worst section on the way down without a problem. Unfortunately, since it had been so warm all day, all that hard packed snow I'd driven down on had thawed. This made it much more difficult.

Finally, I get to the spot. It's not the steepest. It's not the snowiest. But it is the worst combination of the two, and it's been in the sun all day. I've been doing fine so far, keeping my speed up and gunning through the soft spots. Here, that's not gonna happen. I can get most of the way up, but the snow just breaks up beneath me, I lose speed, and then traction. I decide "fine, I'll just back down, park off to the side, and wait for it to freeze up." I figure if I sleep here overnight it'll be fine come morning. What I don't see is that my turn-out has a culvurt in the middle of it.

Shit.

My left rear tire is in the ditch, and while I have front wheel drive it's a soft shoulder, and I'm stuck. Since I drive a manual, there's no us trying to push and gas at the same time. I try just pushing, and while at one point I manage to almost lift the side of the car off the ground, I hear a lot of stuff crack (luckily all on the car) and have no way to give forward momentum so I stop. I try rocking back and forth in gear, but nothing's working and I'm just digging myself deeper. I'm tired from the trail and kinda peeved at myself at this point, so I decide to give it up and try in the morning. I switch into my long johns and get ready for bed.

Well, I read for a while, and sure enough someone comes by. Turns out it's some guys from Visalia out gathering wood or some such. They've got 4x4's, tow straps, and soon enough they've got me out of the ditch. This is a huge relief, but the snow's still too soft to make it up the hill. I revert to plan A, this time avoiding the damned culvert.

During the night, I almost sleep well. Now, during the hike, I'd felt fine. I'm always somewhat worried about my knee (I'd broken my knee cap into three piece about two and half years ago), especially when I do something involving "heavy" walking. But like I said, I had no problems on the trail. When I woke up the first time, I couldn't believe it. I was actually worried that I unkowingly worked my knee to the point of a stress fracture- that's how bad it hurt. I couldn't move the leg without extreme pain, and when I had to move for sleeping purposes I actually had to put my other leg under it and lift-and-shift that way. Of course, had I broken my knee, there's not a whole lot I could've done. It turns out I've just been favoring that knee to the point of atrophy. Something I need to work on there, 'cause that's a good way to get another bad injury on trail.

Anyhow, I get through the night, and in the morning the road has set again. It does take me a couple tries, but I get momentum and blow back up the hill. I was about 300 yards from the main road. Return to the station, and begin the next stage. Tonight, Death Valley!

Big Ol' Trunks

I wake up to a gorgeous morning. Since the ranger station won’t open until 9, and I got up around 6:30, I’m able to enjoy the sunrise from my spot. It was a cold morning, and it took me a while to defrost the condensation from the inside of my car. In the meantime, I just pulled out the ol’ sleeping bag, drape it over myself, and stand on a rock watching the sun come up over Mount Baldy.

I’d slept great, since the spot I was in was perfectly hidden- bushes blocking the view of/from oncoming traffic in either direction except for one spot in the center where they would have already be turned sideways to me. Combine that with the fact that there wasn’t any traffic overnight and I was uninterrupted.

I head to the ranger station, get my pack and gear ready, and wait for them to open. I grab my back country permit, the obligatory bear container (for the food, not actually for the bear) and a topo map, and I’m off to the trail. I’m not sure what condition it will be in, and the rangers said that the road to the trail head likely hasn’t been plowed. If it’s not, that’s gonna add three miles overall to my trip. I’m hoping it’s plowed.

It’s not. It’s a back mountain road, hasn’t been plowed but people have been driving on it. I check it out. It looks like some 4x4's have been down it, but there’s still a lot of deep snow troughs. The roads steep- in spots I’m sure the grade was well of 8%, and it’s icy. I’m driving a little Kia Spectra, and I don’t even have snow tires- just all season tires well rated for snow and ice, and I don’t know what condition the rest of the road is in. It would be foolish, to say the least, of me to try this.

It takes me about five minutes to get to the trail head. The parking lot is in even worse condition than the road had been, but I find a high spot where the sun has melted the snow down. Slorp some canned venison , toss the pack on, and put food to trail.

The route I was taking was overall a 10 mile loop encircling Redwood Canyon. I plan to camp at the bottom of the valley among the sequoia grove by the river. The trail info sign says that you can do it as two shorter loops, or one long one. If you choose the latter, expect to be in for a long day hike. Since I’m short on daylight, it being January and all, I figure that the midway point will be a good goal.

About a hundred yards in I’m convinced I’m going to die. It’s not too steep uphill, but I am walking through a foot of snow with no broken trail to follow (though it was quite nice being the only footprints on the trail). I’m huffing and puffing and sweating, and chiding myself for having done nothing to physically prep for the trip. Nonetheless, I’m a creature of inertia, and once I was on trail I just kept moving. Fortunately, there were enough spots I wanted pictures that I usually didn’t need to stop just to catch my breath.

Giant sequoias are HUGE. They’re not as tall a redwoods, but seem so much more impressive. I mean, it kinda tough to really notice the difference between a 280' tall tree and a 310' tree, but it’s really easy to notice the difference between a 10' diameter tree and a 20' diameter tree.

I tried, but I just couldn’t get a picture to do any justice to the size of these trees. Needless to say, I was just in a daze wondering at these trees. I did notice, however, that unlike in the redwoods I wasn’t having the same fantastical images popping into my mind- no dinosaurs, elves, or ewoks this time. Maybe it was just because I was winding down, but I really think it was because the trees were just so impressive to me in their own right.

Well, I hate to cut if off here, but this is gonna be a loooong post if I don’t wrap it up. I’ll finish day seven tomorrow.

Backlog

Hey y'all. I just added some photos to some of the older posts. Check 'em out. But trust me, there's better yet to come.

Highlights in Low Light

Day six begins at the beach, as I wake up and decide to get movin’. I figure that it should take me about three hours or so to get to Sequoia. I grab 198 from 101, and figure that there should be some gas nearby since I’m getting low. Nope. I turn onto 198 and see the "No services next 53 miles" sign just as my "low fuel" light goes on. But if I turn back, it’s going to add at least half an hour onto my trip. And there’s a real good chance that there’s enough left in my tank to go 53 miles (I mean, that’s less than 2 gallons even in the worst of driving). As I begin my trek to Coalinga, California I slowly begin to realize how much of the drive will be up the mountains. Well, I’d committed, so away I went.

It ended up fine, though I’m sure it was somewhat close. The first place I go to turns out to be this type of fueling station that’s new to me. It appears that you need to be a member of this "fuel club" in order to get gas. Apparently just having money isn’t enough for them, though at least it was one of those automatic places, so there wasn’t any attendant to laugh and point at me. I find a place just down the road, grab coffee at one of the only Starbuck’s in the nation that doesn’t have wi-fi (the whole reason I’d stopped), and carry on.

I stay on 198, stopping in Visalia to find a slightly more modern Starbie’s so I could drop a post and read about the Pack crappin’ on the Bears (which just seemed to make my new year all the better). As I’m driving through central Cali I’m amazed by how dense the fog is. Or smog. It’s really disgusting. The worst part was that having spent so much time earlier in a coastal rainforest, it didn’t immediately register that this wasn’t fog anymore. When you drive for two hours, and it’s so dense that you need your headlights on, it’s depressing.

Anyhow, I pull into Sequoia around one o’ clock. Pulling out my map and the trail info for where I was planning to hike, I realize that I’ve entered the park from the completely wrong end. Now, I’m not in a rush- after all, where do I need to be? Wherever the hell I want. It is a minor bummer, though, since it means I won’t be able to get any hiking in during the daylight. Of course, if I’d only know how much of a pain in the ass it would turn out to be...

General’s Highway, the main route through the park, is under construction. It’s already one lane in each direction, and between a couple of switch-backs it reduces to one lane period. Because of this they have a traffic light that stops traffic in each direction for 15 minute periods, allowing traffic to switch through. This already slows everything down, but to make things even better, the day before there had been a snow storm. This meant slick conditions higher in the mountains, and vehicles were expected to have either chains or snow tires. Minnesota being a little light on the mountains front, I don’t have chains but I do have all season tires that are well rated for snow and ice.

As it turns out, it was having a half functioning brain and a basic understanding of how to drive that made the difference. It appears that most people in California do not have these advantages. There were cars (even one with chains) stuck all over the place, with particularly wonderful concentrations in the really popular areas where dealing with oncoming traffic was even more pleasant. At this point I’m very frustrated, my anger tempered only by how awed I am by the massive trees around me (you don’t see them until you’re most of the way up the mountain). It takes me two hours to go just under 30 miles.

I stop at a viewpoint and make myself some venison minestrone, since I’m so freakin’ hungry (that's me bein' all sexy in front of my dinner >>) that I’m getting the jitters. I enjoy a nice view and the sun is starting to go down. Clean some of the garbage out of the car and enjoy my dinner. I finish and pull out, and only make it about another mile before the next pull out. I swing in on a whim and check it out. One of the best decisions of the trip.

It was an overlook of Redwood Canyon (the valley I had come to hike, no less), though I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that I was witnessing the single most beautiful sunset I have seen in my life. Layers of glowing orange, soft indigo, and warm red poured themselves over the landscape. To the north a ridge of sequoias were silhouetted, giant black fronds emphasizing the light behind them. It was silent, too. The road bent away in either direction, and the sound of oncoming vehicles was muted until they were right there, and then they were gone (what few there were).

The pictures don’t do it justice. First, I didn’t think to grab the camera at first- I was too awed by what I was seeing. I just stood there, watching the shades of color grow darker. It was a moment where I was seeing something so beautiful that couldn’t help but be joyful. It doesn’t fit with my feeling on the "Greater Scheme," but for lack of a better term, I felt closer to God.

When the sun had finally set, I headed over to the ranger station. Unfortunately, I’d missed their hours of operation and would have to wait until 9 am the next morning to get my backcountry camping permit. Now, you can only camp in designated sites in the national parks, but they’re situated amongst the national forest, where as long as you’re off the road you’re okay. Since the overlook was in the forest, I decide to head back there (it’s only a 10 minute drive). It’s a gorgeous spot, even in the dark, and I settle down for some sleep. Come morning, it's off to the ranger station and the trial...

...and then there's me getting ready to sleep in my car (again)...

...and me getting ready to go to bed- but happy because I'm on vacation.

New Year's Eve

At the Redwood National Park visitor station the guy working there told me that there were some good tidal pools to look at on Agate Beach, which was down at Peterson Point. Having never been to a tidal pool, and always having been fascinated by the prospect of seeing all that ocean life close up, I’m quite excited.

As per usual, something’s wrong, but this time I’m skeptical enough to catch it. See, while he’d told me Peterson Point (I’d written it down and all), it was actually part of Palmer’s Point State Park. The fact that it was a state park was another point he left out, and while having to pay a few buck didn’t make the difference between me going or not, it would’ve made it easier to know what to look for. As it was, what I was really looking for was alliteration with "P," so it all worked out.

When I get the Agate Beach, the first thing I’m impressed by is the nearly sheer drop the trail to the beach follows. It’s almost a cliff, and though the trail is only about 1/4 mile long it’s pretty much straight up and down. In fact, the steps at the end of the trial had been washed out, making it something more akin to a ladder than steps.

The pools themselves were a series of rough, rocky outcrops. There was definitely an abundance of life- mussels, clams, crabs, kelp, small fish, etc. Much of the time it was difficult to really see, though, as the water was pretty murky. I was also somewhat bummed that I never saw a single starfish or urchin, things I’d really hoped to take a look at. Unexpectedly, I did see a half dozen harbor seals that had some up and were sunning themselves on some rocks mid-way out. I never got close enough to get any real good pics of them, but it was pretty neat seeing them in the wild.

Leaving there just after one, my next goal was San Francisco. After all, it was New Year’s Eve, and I wanted to be on a beach down in that area. Flying down Highway 101, I continued to drive through redwoods for a good portion of the drive. And yes, I did drive my car through the redwood that has the road cut through it. And let me tell you, that’s $5 I’m never spending again. You see, it’s a private deal, and there’s really nothing else there except a gift shop. Combine that with the geriatric s.o.b’s in front of me, who I truly believe had put their vehicle in neutral and were moving forward solely under the power of my focused will, and it wasn’t impressive. I mean, c’mon, if you’re going to go 2 MPH (not exaggerating- I didn’t go over 5 mph the entire time I was behind them), get out of your damned car and WALK! Anyhow...

The drive down is uneventful, and I get into San Fran just after dark. I cross the Golden Gate Bridge (paying the $5 toll), and tool around downtown looking for a place to grab some dinner. Long story short- I don’t want to be in the city. I turn around and grab Hwy 1, say "later" to the city by the bay, and decide that the high concentration of beaches near Santa Cruz make that my next stop.

I get there a little before nine, and stop at the "Santa Cruz Diner" for a bite. There weren’t a whole lot of places open, and this looked as likely as any to have some form of decent seafood. It also looked about as nice as I could justify eating at, not having showered since I left. As it turns out, their food sucked, and the service was even worse. I grab a seat at the counter and wait over five minutes for one of the lazy bastards to greet me. And it’s not like they had anything going on- they just didn’t seem to give a damn. Yeah, I know it New Year’s Even, and you’re bitter about having to work, but ignoring customer’s isn’t getting you out any quicker.

After that, I head down the coast looking for a beach to bring in the New Year on. After having to pass on a couple that are closed, I find South Bend Beach and pay the $25 it costs to camp there overnight (the one time I almost thought a hotel would’ve been worth it). I make a few calls to wish people back in the good ol’ CST, and decide to catch some sleep before the New Year. After all, it’d been a long day after one of the worst nights of sleep in my life, and I was pretty dead. As it turns out, that was a fatal mistake. I wake up for my alarm, keep my eyes open long enough to wish myself "Happy New Year," and head back to sleep. Considering New Year’s really isn’t the greatest holiday for me, in retrospect I suppose that was as good as anything. Sleep (well) in the car, and start the next day hell bent for sequoias!

Leaving The Reds

After setting up the tent, with a mildly obstructed view of the ocean, I decide that dinner on the beach is in order. I grab my gear and head down to the sand. I’d thought about using ocean water to cook with, give some salty tang. Then I thought about how much sandy tang that would likely add, not to mention that I’d be dancing around 6' plus waves, I decided against it. Luckily they had water spigots, so that was not an issues. What was the issue was me not knowing whether I was near high or low tide, and deciding to play it safe and set up fifty feet up from where the waves were. That gives me time to move if I notice the tide’s going up and not out.

Now, let me tell you about rogue waves. A rogue wave is an uncharacteristically large wave that comes in much further that other waves. This is not tsunami level, though some are very large. Indeed, unbeknownst to me, relatively small rogues happen regularly. And easily go, say sixty feet further than the tide.

Now, there I am, fat, dumb, and happy, setting up my cookstove on the beach, listening to the surf, getting ready to cook some Italian Minestrone with garlic summer sausage. I have all my food in my day pack, which is, of course, open. I have my cook gear set about me, pot on stove, water in pot. Suddenly, I and all my belongings, are in six inches of water. Really, really, sandy water.

Everything is soaked. Sand is everywhere. My lighter is doused. I have sand in a multi-tool, and if you’ve every had that problem you can sympathize. Mentally cursing, I grab everything and head up well beyond the tide- 200' or so. I figure anything that comes in that far’s gonna get me either way and at least this way the sand under my ass is dry. I then spend nearly half an hour blowing/wiping sand off/out of everything, as I was luckily able to reclaim it all. It’s another half hour or so before I manage to get the lighter to work again. Dinner cooks, I eat, then clean everything and head back to camp.

I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m not tired. But the sun is setting, and I packed no entertainment, and was too wet and cold to feel "imaginative." I decide that after the driving an early night won’t hurt. I get into the tent, and into my bag, and within two minutes I know the ground’s too cold for me to sleep on. I had figured that in a bag rated to 15 degrees, I’d be good in 40-50 degree temps, but I was very wrong. And the brand new sleeping pad I’d purchased was six miles away in my car. Good spot for it. Luckily, there are picnic tables at the sites, and I figure that it can’t be any colder, and I at least have a chance of warming it up.

Of course, I hadn’t counted on how uncomfortable sleeping on a picnic table is. I lay down and endured one of the worst, most uncomfortable, coldest, painful nights of sleep I’ve ever had. The only thing keeping me in the bag was the knowledge that the only way it was going to get better was after six miles of hiking, and that was not happening in the dark.

Needless to say I was up with the dawn, and oh so excited that (and this was no big surprise, but it was disappointing) none of my sweat-soaked clothes were even marginally dry. Nothing like starting the morning by putting on wet, cold clothing. Either way, I begin the hike back.
This time, "bridge out" be damned. I’m taking the shorter route (now that I know where it is), and if I have to swim across an ice floe, so be it. It’s damned near at the visitor center anyway.

As it turns out, Mineral Ridge was breathtaking. And not just because I’m fat and it was uphill.

Whereas Fern Canyon was full of, well, ferns and such, Mineral Ridge was almost somber. The massive trunks weren’t interrupted by as much undergrowth, and as such seemed even more massive. I would have taken many more pictures here, but is seems that my camera was starting to fog. The trip was easier, too, with only one tree downed the entire way.

Load the gear, hit the toothbrush, etc., chat with the ranger about trail conditions, and ask the guy at the visitor center where a guy can find some good tidal pools. Turns out that low tide’s in an hour and a half, and there’s some good pools about half an hour south. Ondole!
Next up: Tidal pools, San Fran, Santa Cruz, and the Beach.

Pictures!!

Yay! I'm back, so I'm going to start tossing out some photos. Here's one for what I written so far.

The Hike to Miners Ridge

Glorious. Simply glorious. If you want to know more about redwoods, check this out. Since I was getting a late start (I wouldn’t get on trail until just after 11:30), I opted for the trail to Miner’s Ridge, and the short trail there. Or so I thought. I cheaped out (and committed a cardinal camping sin) and didn’t pick up a trail map. After all, in Minnesota you don’t need them other than to plan a route- almost every juncture has a map. Not so in California.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Recently the appears to have been a rather significant wind storm in the area that knocked many trees down. This seriously impeded many of the trails, and closed some roads. Speaking to the guy at the visitor center, he gave me instructions for just take Mineral Ridge Trail, but it would start out as John Irvine Trail. Otherwise I could take the Fern Canyon Trail to the Catalinia Trail to Mineral Ridge. Again, late start so I opt for the shorter route. Seeing a "bridge out" sign early on, I continue assume that particular trail can’t be Mineral Ridge, and continue the John Irvine route. Which is Fern Canyon. And almost two miles longer than I thought.

Now, before I go to much further, I figure I will likely end up with a trail speed of about 1 mph. I’m sickeningly out of shape (indeed, as out of shape as I’ve ever been- illness aside), and expect to be crawling over trees, possible needing to bushwack to find trail, all along with unknown levels of elevation change. If I take the long route, that means six hours of hiking, which puts me setting up camp in the dark. This I do not want to do.

Early on I can tell that it’s going to be interesting. Less than a half mile into it, there’s a downed redwood. I highly doubt that anyone reading this has ever seen a freshly downed redwood. Something you must know about them- they don’t land, they EXPLODE! If I remember correctly, that was a problem that early loggers had with them to an extent, and even more so with sequoias. The reason this is important to me is because when you have that much biomass covering a trail, it is obliterated. Utterly. Being in a coastal rainforest, there’s no "oh, I see the path over there" at this point. So, I follow the path I see other people have taken. Forgetting my own understanding that people are idiots.

I eventually find the trail again, after discovering that what looks like a solid patch of this or that is often the deceptive covering to a three foot drop. I continue, amazed by the massive trees around me, and the lush ferns. My imagination goes wild, and I’m envisioning dinosaurs grazing. I’m picturing indians on the look-out. I’m picturing druids (D&D ones) on the look-out. I’m picturing elves. And yes, damnit, I’m picturing Ewoks. They’re not on the look-out. They’re just being Ewoks.

Yub yub.

I continue walking, climbing here, descending there, scrambling over destroyed redwood every fraction of a mile. At one point a particularly large tree has fallen over two separate sections of trail, and this is easily the most difficult passage. Considering the massive jumble of branches, chunks of trunk, and slick mud, I’m really happy I didn’t twist an ankle.

As I reach the Miner’s Ridge camp, I encounter my last down tree- lengthwise down the trail to the camp. Either way, I’m glad I can make camp. I check the time. Just after 2.
WHAT! I’m out of shape, went the long way, climbed up, down, and around fallen redwoods, and still managed almost 3 mph! Granted, that's pretty much par for the course, but considering what I was expecting to do, I was quite happy. What irks me is that I could have taken a much longer route, seen more, and still set up in daylight.

This is getting long, so I’ll cut it off here. More later.

Da Redwoods

Typing this I bring to an end Day 5 of my little escapade. It’s been quite the trip, though so far I’ve only posted about the first two days. We’ll why don’t I change that.
Day three began at a little after 4 am in a rest stop just down hill from the California/Nevada border. Despite having a ICM (ice caramel machiatto) with some extra shottage in Reno, there was no way I was going to make it to the coast. This meant that to be to the Redwoods National Park early enough get camping I would have to leave much earlier than hoped (hence the 4 am). Most of the drive was uneventful, though I have found that California could do better about marking where the highway goes. A sign saying "Highway X" is great, but if it’s at a "T" intersection and doesn’t give an arrow for which way it continues, it doesn’t do you a whole lot of good.

I digress. A few hours later I have passed through Redding, and am heading through the Shasta Mountain area. Now ,before I go further, understand that I am a giant nerd. It makes the rest of this much more understandable.

Anyhow, in "Shadowrun" the role-playing games (groans from the audience), this area is controlled by a powerful dragon named Hestaby. So here I am, watching the sun come up over Lake Shasta, and I can vividly picture some massive wyrm swooping along the canyon walls. Between the gorgeous mountain backdrop and the swerves around ear switchback, I could almost feel a dragon careening through.

After filling up in some mountain town where the window squeegees were frozen tight, I carried on. Let me tell you, I love driving in the mountains. If you do it like I do, which I don’t recommend, you almost get a workout, between your heart pumping and leaning your body into curves- because every bit counts when you hit a switchback 25mph over the speed limit. And let me tell you, they mean "limit." Sometimes I think that I’m screaming down like a mountain banshee only to realize that I’m doing the posted speeds. Of course, some times I’m also well over that.

Anyhow, I reach the coast around 10 am. It’s taken me 50 hours to reach. Figuring in the eight hour layover in Cheyenne, and the six hours of sleep I pulled at the rest stop, I came just about right on the drive time I figured. Of course, had I gone straight to San Fran it would have gone much quicker, but alas...

I pull into Trinidad for some quick grub, and have blueberry pancakes at the Trinidad Café. Good stuff. Around 11 I arrive at my destination. Redwoods. Since I’ve blabbed so much here, I’ll reduce eye-strain for ya and post that separately.

Our Story So Far...

Some of this I've just done as I go. Right now I'm in Visalia, CA, about an hour out of Sequioa National park. You'll all get photos eventually, but right now I'm just gettin' around to throwing a quick post out. More to come- fer damn sure (sorry, been listening to a lot of country music).

Mmmmmmmm, drivin'....
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Well, it’s now officially the end of day one. I’m parked on Rountop Road just outside of Cheyenne, and I’m not going anywhere until they reopen the interstate. The funny thing is, they’ve closed it now that the wind’s died down and the conditions are far better what I’ve spent the last two hours driving though. Let’s just say that my sphincter’s gonna be able to go Ironman after some of the puckering that I did on the way in here. Near whiteout conditions and following (and passing) semis at 70 mph. I’d really hoped that I’d be able to get past the front before the brunt of it formed, but no such luck. I started catching snow mid-Nebraska (thank God I made it through that Hell-hole), and it really hit just before wyoming. Anyhow, about 850 miles, which is a lot less than I’d hoped, but c’est la vie.

Nebraska was better than usual, however, since the high humidity made this really pretty fog around the lights. Also, the snow was rough. Even the state troopers are ending up in the ditch. Up-side is that means that I don’t have to worry about being pulled over.

So, the Cheyenne rest stop’s where I’ve been for the past five hours, most of it kinda sleeping(you know how it is trying to sleep in a car). There’s no way out of town- everything’s shut down. It’s a lot better than it was a few hours ago, but they’ve still got everything closed. This really sucks because I could be getting some good miles in right now. Since it’s nigh on 6 am back home and normally I’d be about mid shift. Oh well, the truck stop had Superman on the tube, so I was able to catch the last 20 minutes of that. Now it’s time to try to grab a few more hours of sleep in the parking lot and hope this shit clears up.
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I woke up in Cheyenne a touch after 8 am to a snowblower nailing my window in the "Loves Road Stop" parking lot. A gentle hint I’m assuming. Now, 13 hours and a thousand miles later, I’m on the border and grabbing the IHOP stuffed french toast that I’ve been craving for, oh, 13 hours and a thousand miles. Not kidding. Saw it on a billboard into Cheyenne last night and got a hankering. Of course, I figured that this could wait until I had to stop for gas, since there’d been IHOPS in every town up to now. As it is, luck put me into it as I stopped for gas and coffee and lo and behold there’s and IHOP tucked behind the gas station.

Notes of the day- I found it nearly impossible to not drive 100 mph through Utah. Not that is sucks that much more than say, Nebraska, but it’s all flat and straight. It just begs you to floor it.

Ah, that tasted as good as I thought it would.

NPR is my hero, since their "Science Friday" flew me through two hours of driving.

My cd player is not meant to be used continuosly for 10+ hours- the discs heat to the point that they smell like they’re on the verge of melting.

I’m listening to someone who’s obviously an RA bitch about resident lock-outs.

Salt Lake basin has a lot of possible campfire ring rock formations and this one giant solar system type partially broken monument.

Tonight I sleep in my car- tommorrow I sleep beneath redwoods.

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Well, that brings me through the drive to California. I'll letcha'll know more later, but I wanna hit the road again, and I'm getting tired of everyone who walks by ogling my computer. I put my headphones on just so they would stop bugging me. You'd think that they'd have seen a laptop in California before, even if it's only Visalia. Anywhoo, back to this weird fog/smoke/smog, whatever the hell it is I've been driving through. Next stop Sequioas! Wishing you all a Happy New Year!

Ps. If I spoke spanish my radio options would quadruple.

A nice little scene from Wyoming on Friday. Someone's house is on fire. Or maybe a garage or a barn. Bad day for them.

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Utah the flat. It was an excercise in self control to not go 100mph since it's all flat and straight. I settled for 95.