Day 41 through 46: Grand Tetons National Park (Part 1)

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We have been living in Grand Teton National Park now for a couple of days.  I like it.  We have some great neighbors, lots of hiking and swimming options, and good mountain views in every direction at every time.  The town of Jackson (better known as Jackson Hole) is just a short drive away and that is where we went last night to fill up the tank, eat some Thai, and get new wedding bands.

After a couple of false starts that included a very handy salesperson who tried pushing 70s disco era stuff, we found our rings.  Sterling silver, they did not fit us exactly right but after some hammering they were ours.  We celebrated with some Thai food.

All was well at the restaurant until the gun shots started.  First it was one pop (maybe a car backfiring?), then a few more, and then finally a steady barrage of bangs that appeared to be occurring less than fifty yards from where we were dining.  No one else at the place seemed to mind so we did not panic.  Later I found out it was the nightly shoot out staged on Maine Street twice a day.  Funny, some people drive all the way to Wyoming to escape their urban woes.  Those same people then ooh and ah over a recreated shooting.  Maybe the nightly news should take Jackson’s cue and, instead of merely telling the news, use actors to recreate the daily mayhem.  It still might be depressing, but at least it would be more entertaining.

Before heading into town we made some friends and I picked up a nemesis.  I will tell you about the friends first.  A few sites down from us live Mike and Nicole who hail from Pomona, IL (the heart of one of my favorite places in the world, Southern Illinois).  Father and daughter they are the advance team for an adventure oriented co-ed youth group that plans on camping a couple of weeks in the Tetons (co-ed teens camping together for an extended period of time, what could go wrong?).  Mike has been here before and knows the park well.  He also knows quite a bit about camping in general and has the easy going knowledgeable manner that makes for a great neighbor.  His daughter is headed to Chicago in the fall with her husband with a theatre background and a desire to make it in the big city.  As cool and friendly as her father we hope she makes it big (and ultimately invites Corey, Henna, and I to NYC to watch her perform on SNL).  Mike and Nicole shared a few huckleberries with us and, more importantly, shared where they picked them.  Henna was enthralled and the hunt was on.

On the way to the huckleberry patch I met my foe.  She was walking alongside a trail with her young son and seemed sweet enough at first.  We asked her directions to the String Lake Picnic Ground area (an essential first step in our search for the elusive berry).  Her response, “you don’t want to go there.”  I did want to go there.  “Well, you can swim right here, I mean it is the same lake.  Over there it is just crowds.”  I felt a little defensive and told her about the huckleberries.  She did not respond to my excuse (and does anyone really need an excuse to go to a popular tourist destination?)  but instead added “I mean some people like that sort of thing especially if you have never been here before.”  “I like huckleberries,” was my response.   She again ignored my reason for searching out what to her must seem like the worst excesses of a National Park loving society.  What got me going was how defensive and competitive I became.  I suppressed it well, but in my head I was listing all the hikes, roads, and parks we have been just this summer where people were few and the views many.  But the thing is there is always someone who can trump us.  Mike for example has out camped and hiked us many, many times over.  Later on the trail we bumped into a family living out of a tent for a month (like us) but (unlike us) have three small children with the youngest about a year old.  We also have met people cycling, hitchhiking, and walking the same terrain we have driven.   And all the people just mentioned have grace.  They live the way they do not to gloat but to more fully enjoy life.  “Love the life you live, live the life you love” is on every e-mail Corey sends out.  That should be enough.

Day 40: Ontario, OR to Arco, ID

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Pushing 6 weeks here and the last few days were wearing me down.  Yesterday revived me greatly though and ended around a gas fed fireplace with new friends playing tunes at our request.  Leading the group was a camper with a lot of guitar and vocal talent.  Joining him were the campground owners (who also had a lot of musical talents that included song writing) and a local Arco resident on keyboard.  Sherri (the matriach of the campground owners) not only warmly invited us into the circle, but also let Henna drum along on a hybrid tambourine/ bongo instrument.  Their daughter joined us too and spending the night at the KOA in Arco, ID felt almost as good as hanging out at Dan’s house in Santa Cruz.  While the sun set over the mountains I shut my eyes and felt the temperature dropping as my spirits rose.

Sherri and Neil were the last of several very cool people met yesterday while driving to Craters of the Moon National Monument.  We did not know what to expect both in terms of landscape and people and were pleasantly surprised by both.  First down the line was another Aussie (they are everywhere!).  It was off the interstate on HWY 20 with a lot of empty spaces in all direction.  At the Hill Saloon, the only business in town, there was a small general store, dusty pots with cold coffee, a former post office, and an old fashion bar in back with wooden floors.   All this was in a building smaller than a convenience store.  Tending bar (and the only person in the store other than us) was the aforementioned Aussie.  Unlike most Australians she was rather shy and volunteered little information.  When I asked how she ended up there, she stated that the owner had to go into the city for business.  I then asked how long she had been in Hill and she replied one month.  I felt like she left the best part of the story out.

At the National Monument we were treated to endless cooled lava fields than spewed some 2000 years ago.  Like much of Idaho and Wyoming and, for that matter, the entire west, the land beneath is a seismic mess and continues to pull, raise, and drop the land in sudden spurts.  The last big movement occurred in 1983 with an earthquake that saw the valley drop eight feet and a mountain rising a foot.  Every 2000 years ago lava flows freely.  The last time this happened was 2000 years ago.  Better see it quick.

Craters of the Moon has a wonderful 7 mile loop with several short hikes that take you into the landscape.  We climbed a cinder cone, walked among the lava rocks, and explored a lava tube.  We also met a couple cycling from Michigan to the coast.  Teachers, they were doing this partly as a way to raise money for their school.  Talking with them we realized that they had been to many of the same places we have, but on bike.  While at the visitor’s center the supervisor of the park approached them, introduced himself as an avid cyclist, and invited them to crash at his house for the night.  He also had let them borrow a car to drive into town.  Later at the campground I met other educators, this time from the Netherlands.  Hank teaches students with Autism (age 15 to 22) and his wife (Katharina) is a counselor.  While their English was very good, they had trouble answering my questions related to what special education looks like in Europe.

My coffee is percolating, the ladies are sleeping, and we are headed to the Grand Tetons (Uncle Mike from Klamath said that name always cracks him up) today.  We might spend up to five nights there; we might not.  Either way we are going to enjoy our last week and change on the road as much as we can.  Talk to you all soon.

Day 37 through 39: Shasta Mountain, CA to Klamath Falls, OR to Ontario, OR

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Day 35:  Shasta Mountain, CA

The one guy looked like Charles Manson.  He just seemed to stare off into space in a psychotic kind of way.  The other ones, mostly men, had a friendly easy way about them.  They weren’t all camping next to us; some of them were just visiting friends.  I had met one of them, maybe the ring leader of the group while checking in.  He was in his mi- 50s, wore a fedora and a dirty shirt and told me a little bit about the area trails.  He later told me he was from Wisconsin, had driven up here with his kids, and now his wife, daughter, brother in law and a niece have been living at campsite 74 for about two months.  We ended up in campsite 73.  While setting up I talked to one of the visitors.  He had lived in Mount Shasta as a kid, then Florida with his wife, and now, with his marriage “tanked”, with a bunch of people in campsite 74 for an extended period of time.  He was maybe in his mid-40s, had a worn face, and talked to me with a rolled up something or other in his fingers.

Going through Humboldt County we passed through no less than three reggae festivals.  We also saw more people in dreads than I had ever thought possible.  Corey today asked someone what that was all about.  The lady laughed and said it went along with their number one cash crop.  While Southern California is often in touch with their feelings, Northern California is just stoned.

Anyways day 35 was a lot of driving.  We saw Mount Shasta and that was pretty cool.  At any time other than end of the trip, we would have spent a few days here.  It has that earthy and genuine feel we dig.  As our friends at aMaceing Life might say, we could live here.  But my day job starts in two weeks and we are still hoping to spend a few days in the Tetons.  So we bargained with ourselves and decided to do some hiking in the morning and drive a little less tomorrow.  5 weeks out and we are glad you are still with us.  Safe travels every one.

Day 36:  Mount Shasta, CA to Klamath Falls, OR

Today started in circles and ended with laundry.  We headed out of town, but not before stopping at the rangers station for hiking information.  The volunteer working there offered two good choices; hiking on Mount Shasta or great falls in the national forest (but away from the mountain).  After deliberating with my family we chose falls.  Got on Interstate 5 heading south, guided Corey into a truck weighing station and then was reprimanded by a highway patrolman for going too fast (in our defense we thought we were on HWY 87).  After getting to the correct road Corey and I both were bummed not to be going on the mountain so we u-turned and drove past the original ranger station in order to drive up Mount Shasta.  We ended up hiking 1000’ up over 1.7 miles to the base camp for summiting the mountain (the Bunny Flat trail; no we did not see any bunnies).  At base camp is a Sierra Club stone hut from the 1920s, a friendly volunteer who was tenting at base camp for the summer (and was probably in her mid 60s), and a great spring for the drinking.  After good conversations with an assorted group of serious mountain climbers, hikers, and others from the U.S. as well as Germany, we departed ready for the drive north.  A couple of hours later we were setting up camp at the KOA in Klamath and meeting new neighbors.  Yesterday it was harmless hippies, today was a large extended and unregulated family drama (not our family).  Corey struck up a conversation in order to gauge their intentions, and within a few minutes found out mom was on disability, she has three kids and is in the process of moving herself and kids to Alaska via Arkansas, is estranged with her own mother, and her current husband has some kind of recurrent stomach ailment.  Uncle Mike was the best.  Me:  “Do you know anything about HWY 140.”  Him:  “I took it twice but both times I did so in a back of a van.”  A little later:  “Both times I was headed to prison.”  Later Grandma showed up and this resulted in a very loud yelling match and someone driving off.  Corey did want me to add that although she was overflowing with drama, mom and teenage daughter were both quite nice.  One more thing; this KOA also doubles as a liquor store so people come from all over town seeking out King Cobra and the other fine liquors stocked by this establishment.      Another couple more weeks out and I will be blogging about sleeping on park benches.  Anyways, enjoy the pictures from our hike.

Day 37: Klamath, OR to Ontario, OR

Today was a lot of numbers; we drove our 5,000th mile of the trip (and about 375 for the day), had our second oil change, and spent our sixth night at a hotel.  Last night was our 30th night camping so we are one hotel and one campground away from a week and month at both.  In the process we drove through rolling grassy valley (no irrigation needed along most of 140), high dessert scenery, through tight canyons, alongside rives, and past alkaline lakes.  Lunch was an informal thing on a gravel bed looking over Lake Albert (which to us greatly resembled Mono Lake).  Ice cream was another necessary break at a DQ in Vale (the same DQ we stopped at last year on our way to the Tetons).  But the theme of the day was getting somewhere and while we enjoyed the ride, there was not a lot of genuine exploring today.  One nice moment; while eating out for dinner we dined next to a large extended family gathering.  It was a little girl’s birthday and us observing her being fitted with an oversized sombrero while being sung Feliz Cumpleanos was the sweetest family moment that did not belong to us in the longest time.  Tomorrow is probably another long driving day that may end in the Tetons.   Keep in touch.

Day 35 and 36: Humboldt Redwood State Park, CA

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Leaving the coast, Highway 1 headed east with a sharp kick to the stomach putting the ocean and fog behind us while entering a place in which summer had yet to come.  This road makes this dramatic turn due to the Kings Mountain Range that hug the coast so perfectly no road ever was made to follow alongside it, leaving  this stretch of California beaches known as “The lost coast”.  These mountains not only keep the coast isolated but also keep the beautiful redwood trees to their east sheltered from the intense fog giving them time to soak up the sun to become the tall behemoth’s that they are.  It is in the midst of these beauties that we called home for the last two days in Hidden Springs Campground, with our tent also hidden among trees.  We had to walk a steep path to get to our tent, with no neighbor visible to either side.  This state park followed alongside highway 101 on a smaller road known as The Avenue of The Giants from Phillipsville up past Pepperwood, with various ancient groves to either side.  The history of these trees is legendary, and the fact that they are still standing left us all in awe each time we walked among them.  Along this route, towns seemed left behind also, boasting of a special redwood on their property.  The Eternal Tree House, the Drive Through Tree, just to name a few.  As we explored this area, it seemed to stop time for us as we pondered the 1500 years some of these trees have stood.  It makes one feel a bit small when you wonder what your place in this world should be.  On a lighter side though, we began our 5th week on the road refreshed and giddy.  While being here, I found myself not thinking much about anything.  A calmness settled in while listening to the wind rustle high above us, and as total darkness encompassed us at night while no moon appeared to pull us back to real time.

During these walks Henna would describe in full detail her plans for her future.  She has decided to become a traveling writer, being gone for years at a time, writing about her adventures on paper only to come home to transcribe them.  One such trip entails a boat to China, replete with many pencils and paper, water, and all other necessities she might need.  Her fear was only that she would forget this dream, because being a kid she assumed she would abandon or forget it and never complete it; therefore, every now and again she would remind us very enthusiastically that she remembered her boat trip. Her excitement for all the possibilities in life, the adventures, the stories she wants to tell was infectious.  I want her to remember.  I want her to always look for the possibilities.   During another walk among The Giants, Henna declared that she wanted to walk barefoot.  She has been expressing this desire stating that she loves to feel things beneath her feet as she walks.  Stones, sticks, dirt, you name it.  So I let her.  Shet walked along a soft path laden with dirt and dry red wood pines.  She never relented, and stated how much she loved this connection with the ground.  She continued to ask if she could go barefoot the whole rest of the day.  Our discussion took us into the depths of civilized behavior and how people do things, to which she gloriously declared, “when I get older I’m going to walk barefoot everywhere”.  Again I loved this moment in which I could let her have her way, the possibilities of walking barefoot entrancing her.  I did not want to be the harbinger of bad news on how some day she would actually enjoy shoes and that she may or then again maybe not come to this realization.

Our neighbors on our last night here were a young couple travelling north to visit friends in San Francisco.  Cameron, who took off a year after high school, had travelled extensively through South America.  His sweet companion, Griffin had also traveled to faraway places such as Thailand, Australia and Toronto. It’s in these stories that I find the possibilities too. “There are as many ways to live in this world as there are people in it, and each on deserves a closer look” taken eloquently from Harriet the Spy.  By stopping time for a moment, I get so excited for the possibilities in life.

We are heading east today, and our slow decent home will begin.  As we leave this place, I know that the calmness here will be found again but may take some real stopping to catch it.  While thinking about home, I get excited for the familiar there, the people we love there.  But I know that I am going to make sure that Henna remembers her dream and is aware of the calmness and always of the possibilities.

Day 34: Mancester to Westpoint, CA

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The odometer said we only did 64 miles yesterday.  We sure did get our moneys’ worth from those miles.

Mendocino, CA

Mendocino is an artist colony, an expensive weekend destination (rooms with a shared bath start at $165), a hippie commune (the local grocery store is an organic only co-op; when we pulled in to town a group of men varying in ages from late teens to middle age where “making music” with their hands and an odd assortment of musical instruments and they did not look out of place), an artist colony, and a nature lovers paradise as the whole place seems to melt into the surrounding cliffs.  All these different directions seem to pull the town a bit and not all the residents were welcoming to visitors.  Besides the various store signs prohibiting cell phone usage, a shop keeper was visibly annoyed when I asked directions, another shop (a cute wine store) closed for a lunch break (with the shop keeper munching on a sandwich at the counter), and everyone there, visitor and resident alike, seemed to take pride in not being of or at somewhere else.  But it made for a wonderful visit complete with book shopping (for Henna) and cliff strolling.

Russian River Gulch State Park

A mile or so north of Mendocino is the Russian River Gulch State Park.  The park advertises 12 miles of hiking trails with the most popular of those miles leading to a waterfall.  Our last serious hike was up Mt. Hoffman in Yosemite so we were pretty excited to take on the challenge.  The trail meandered on a slight but steady incline past a few redwood stumps, at least one whole redwood, and into a fern lined jungle.  It reminded us a lot of being on Washington’s coast.  Henna loved the banana slugs and especially enjoyed stroking their tops so that their antennas withdrew.  A good time was held by all.

Glass Beach at Fort Bragg

Three years ago we combed the beach for washed up and polished glass (the beach is covered with this beautiful garbage) only for me to accidentally throw it all out the next day (Corey never should of stored all the glass in a used Styrofoam coffee cup).  This was Henna’s chance to replenish.  While Corey and Henna picked through the garbage I wandered the cliffs and saw many sea lions.  I also talked to a young couple from Sacramento who were incredulous that I considered them to be close to home.  I later told them I was maybe 800 miles from home.  Like almost everyone I have met in California, they showed no interest in how it is was I ended up talking to them.  In Nebraska (a mere two states away) people asked my route, my impression of their state, and possibly my political orientation (religious and sexual orientation however were off the table).  Here in the Bear Republic people just assumed we dropped in from the sky. They also maybe felt a little sorry for us that we were from somewhere else.  They never seemed interested in any way in how we got there, what we were doing close to their home, and what we might think of their state.  (note:  a little after writing this a neighbor at Humbolt Redwood State Park on a road trip that started in Central California approached us, along with his dairy dog, to ask us about our trip).

Westpoint KOA

It was a fitting end to our journey up the coast.  It was my favorite and least favorite campground of the trip.  It was dirty, disorganized and a free for all.  Music blared all night and, mixed in among the usual types (older RVers, European travelers, and families seeing the country) where locals looking to party.  But, for $5 extra, you could camp on the beach.  The surf proved louder than the party goers and the sand made for an excellent bed.  We had space, privacy (and it was the darkest night of the trip), a good fire, and one of the few remaining picnic tables.  The tables were rare because a few nights ago men came in the middle of the night and stole them right off the beach (this was probably a prank as the tables were found at a nearby beach- the owners had not bothered to pick them up yet).  Before sun set Henna and I explored the beach and she twirled to her hearts content (and lost most of the glass she had picked up earlier).  It never actually rained, but all night the mist came from the sea and soaked everything.  And Corey and I laughed while sipping expensive wine.

Day 32 and 33: Petaluma to Mancester, CA

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After the hectic urban ways of San Fran and the surrounding area, it felt good to head north of the city.  Only about 70 miles away, but with roads that do not allow speeds of more than 40 MPH (fog, curves, and drop offs) we feel much further away.  Revisted a KOA from three years back and were happy to see it has not changed at all.  Uncrowded, close to the beach (we hear the waves at night), and a nice pool.  We were so happy to be back we decided to stay for two nights.  On the way here we shopped for wine, hung out at a beach, and held our breath for part of the drive (some people leave their heart in SF, we left our stomachs on HWY 1).  Anyways, here are a few pictures from our last two days.  Hope you enjoy.

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Day 31: San Francisco to Petaluma, CA

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Can you go back again?  We pondered that question as our route after visiting Dan and family took us through some rather familiar area.  Our first time through San Fran with Henna we stayed in Berkley and explored the city via the BART.  Unencumbered by a car, we hopped every transit system known to man and in the process had some whirlwind days.  Through these rose colored glasses we were awed and craved more of it as we left.   This probably makes you wonder what this go around proved…I’m not sure it proved anything except that traveling is often more about the place you are in at that particular time of life.  This time we noticed the garbage a little more than last time, we were overwhelmed with the homeless on the street and we found the sparkle a little less than shiny.  We still love this city and its hilly terrain as well as the multi-colored houses and the fog that envelopes the city slowly as you watch.

I find going back captivating because I find myself constantly looking for those moments experienced before; but we are different and therefore are experiences change as well.  We also were in search of new experiences so we made for a foggy and misty Saulsalito.  The town was like most tourist towns, pretty and crowded.  The Marine Mammal Center, which lies a tad west of the city center, is one of a kind.  This center, which is run simply on donations, helps injured marine mammals return back to the sea.  The residents, mostly sea lions, elephant seals, and harbor seals are most often harmed by toxins, plastics, and, as incredibly hard as it is to believe, gun shots and arrows intentionally aimed at them.  The center takes them in, does the necessary things, and then releases them back into the ocean.  A simply amazing place.  We were able to see animals in their hospital rooms (fenced in pools) being fed through tubes into their stomachs, watch vets around a table discussing the details of the 38 patients which called their hospital their home.  They even treated the animals that did not have medical insurance!  Henna’s heart grew bigger with the idea that people give their money to assist these animals; well it could have also been the very adorable harbor seal photo on the wall featuring all face and whiskers.  We contrasted how these creatures here are given cute human relating names, like Meghan to make our hearts break for them, while back in Yosemite the bears they try daily to keep alive by educating campers to the dangers of food are given names like KY Yellow.  In Yosemite you do not want tourists connecting with a cute 400 lb bear named Jenny which would probably lure you to feeding it your scraps. But I digress.   The fog and mist drove us to seek refuge east in a town called Petaluma.  We have been here before too, and our memories were good with only one incident of Noel and the hot tub.  I will spare you details.

Another highlight of the day was the fresh organic farm stand we came across.  Yummy.   Like every other destination this summer, getting there involved a windy road seemingly leading nowhere.  City folks that we are, we joked that we were going to run into rough cows with knives around the bend.  Not at all the truth, but we did find a lovely scene of glorious displayed fruits, vegetables, eggs and packaged grass fed beef.  It was glorious.  We then learned that this fruit stand ran on the honor system, replete with weighing scale and a tool box turned cash register.  Another sign that trusting and glorious deeds do exist.  Again for the second time today I saw the wonder in Henna’s eyes as she soaked up this fact.  By the way, the tool register was full of money.  We talked about this for a while and again I saw Henna’s world expand.   I love that so much.

So today I learned that you can’t go back, and would I want to?  It would mean for me that in the time between leaving not much growth happened.  Travelling is about growth and thinking outside the things we know at home.  I think from now on I will not expect to see the same things as I once did, but instead try seeing places and things the way I witnessed Henna seeing them today and watching myself grow.

Day 29 and 30: Monterey to Santa Cruz to San Francisco

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We woke up in Monterey and did a little sight seeing before continuing north on Hwy 1.  I think it is safe to say that Steinbeck could not afford Monterey today.  This of course does not stop the town from trading on his reputation.  They also spend a lot of time celebrating their rich cannery history.  Unfortuantly the fishing industry did not police themselves (no industry ever polices themselves) and there are no fishing fleets leaving Monterey.  All that are left are refurbished buildings, a bunch of Starbucks, and some cool sidewalk markers.

 

 

Monterey also has a nifty aquarium but Henna chose to hang out at the beach instead.  Unlike the day before we knew where we were staying which allowed for a more relaxed vibe.  I was, however, very excited to see an old friend, Dan, and meet his family for the first time.  I first met Dan while studying in London my senior year of college and then stayed friends with him up to about the time Corey and I got married.  Dan married shortly after I did and now has three wonderful kids (2 boys and a girl).  He also has a super cool wife named Caroline.  While watching Corey buy sandals at a Payless (the second pair of sandals purchased by her this trip) I texted Dan for beach suggestions and he recommended Sea Cliff.

Sea Cliff State Park is a fun beach to hang out at.  What really makes it memorable is this giant ship tethered to the end of a pier.  Is it a shipwreck?  No.  Built of concrete (it seemed a good idea at the time) it was intentionally beached and a pier was built in order to create a nightclub.  The business lasted two years before going bankrupt and eventually the state purchased it for $1.  Now a million birds nest and poop on it while a lot of people play in the waves below.

After making some feeble attempts at body surfing while Henna picked up sticks, rocks and shells (and Corey worked on her tan) we made it to Dan’s house.  We talked my favorite subjects (politics and religion) and I got a real kick out of his kids.  Caroline was more than gracious as a hostess and really made us feel at home.  It is hard to describe exactly how good it felt to be so welcomed into someone elses home.  Anywhere else I might have felt homesick, there I felt at home.  Thank you.

For the next beach we called home and got Mor Mor’s input.  A few years back her and Corey’s Dad hung out at Pescadero Beach.  Corey’s dad was stationed near San Francisco for about 18 months.  Pescadero Beach was a fun place to be then and it still is.  Henna built small driftwood house and searched for shells.  In addition to some sand dollars, her and Corey found one large star fish.  It felt good hanging at the beach.  I also greatly enjoyed the stretch of Hwy 1 from Santa Cruz to the beach.  Although not as dramatic as by Big Sur, the road offered plenty of fruit stands and many views of the ocean.  All in all it felt more accessible and friendly than the big drop offs of Big Sur.

 After the beach we drove into the city (San Fran).  This is my second (Corey’s third) time in the city on the bay.  Having checked off a lot of the obvious tourist destinations we felt OK with just one night.  Our sole goal in the city was China Town and we had a slightly over priced but delicious meal.  For me the city felt more downtrodden than the last time I visited.  Maybe it was the cold (last time it was mostly sunny).  I write to you now from a fancy hotel room homesick for our tent.  Tomorrow we ride north.

 

 

Day 27 and 28: Coarsegold, CA to San Simeon State Park to Monterey, CA

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There is nothing romantic about raisins.  That is what I thought as we drove down 41 through Fresno.  Earlier we had stopped at a picture perfect fruit stand in Madera, California.  I tasted some wine (so-so) while Corey and Henna stocked up on strawberries, apricots, and dried vegetables.   Just a little bit past there it was raison country and we spied field after field of raisins (we knew they were growing raisins by the Sun Kissed raison lady sign).  The mostly Hispanic crews working those fields looked hot.  There were no raison ranch tours, raison tastings, or other raison related goods.  Why?  Who deemed the grape cool but its cousin lame?  These were the thoughts I had while moving through the dusty and flat scenery of the greater Fresno area.  Oh and it was hot too, mid 100s for most of the trip.  After a while we reached the endless brown hills that separate the valley from the coast.  More twist and turns and suddenly the temperature plunged and the ocean was ahead of us.  We had made it to Moro Bay.

The night before our dash to the coast found us camping in the low Sierra foot hills.  Our neighbors were some sort of travelling teen camp from Holland.  There were maybe 25 kids and two counselors; the counselors looked to be in their early 20s.  Most of them smoked; counselors and campers together bumming smokes from each other.  And they were not very friendly.  Corey was weirded out by the many holes in the ground by our tent so at night we drank our wine in the middle of the dirt road.  We would smile and say hi each time a camper walked by but they never returned our greeting.  Weird.

Our first neighbors on the coast were not any friendlier.  Although their kids played with Henna, the parents ignored our smiles and good intentions.  Later that night the dad took out a remote control brightly colored flying object that involved a serious green laser being shone into the sky.  Up until around midnight he fiddled with his toy while his kids walked around with glow in the dark hats.  It was like camping next to Blue Man Group.

But we do enjoy the coast.  So far we have combed a beach for smooth and colored rocks, enjoyed the cool temperature, and saw a colony of Elephant Seals.  We also toured the Hearst Castle.  After seeing Monticello last year it was interesting to compare and contrast the two dwellings.  Both were built by prominent Americans but Jefferson actually designed his house (WRH necessitated an architect).  Jefferson also filled his house with his own inventions and created a space uniquely his own.  One gets the sense from Hearst’s mansion that he was more of a collector; of celebrities like Charlie Chaplin as well as French tapestries and sarcophagus.  At the same time both President Jefferson and W.R. Hearst fancied themselves gentleman farmers or ranchers.  The president was content to oversee slaves growing traditional crops, Hearst preferred zebras and kangaroos grazing alongside his cattle.

Going up Hwy 1 we also spent some time at the Henry Miller Library.  After shelling out big bucks to sit on another crowded bus in order to reach a walking tour, I enjoyed the calm and peacefulness of this coastal refuge.  There was no admission, coffee and tea were free, and the curator allowed me to charge my camera.  Most of the “library” was outside and a group of quasi-hippies were weaving something in an outdoor courtyard.  Vintage posters of Miller were everywhere and featured him at all stages of his life.  There were some tents clustered in the corner of the yard and I made a half-hearted attempt at joining the campground (they never really said yes or no).  There also was a poster advertising an all kid production of Robin Hood for later that night.

For the first time this trip, however, our lack of reservations seemed to be working against us.  Unlike in other western areas, national forest campgrounds were few and small.   They, as well as all the state parks, were also completely filled up.  As HWY 1 moved into more spectacular and soaring scenery, we felt a considerably amount of anxiety over where to stay.  Corey called a KOA near Santa Cruz only to find out that a tent site was $90.  Thirty minutes later I called again and there were no sites left at all.  It looked like we were going to have to hotel it.

In Monterey we found a nice, not too overly priced hotel.  We ordered pizza and swam in the indoor pool until almost ten.  It felt good to be clean, fed, and halfway up the Californian coast.  I also reconnected over the phone with an old friend in Santa Cruz and hope to see and stay with him and his family tomorrow.  Life is good on the coast.

Day 25 and 26: Yosemite National Park and drive to Coarsegold, CA

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Following our own path.  On our last full day in Yosemite, we awoke without any real plan….should we head back to the valley to view the amazing always talked about Yosemite falls while battling heat and crowds?  Well, we opted for hiking in the high sierra’s, which I’m glad we did. We took advice from our trusted and favorite ranger, Jeff and walked to May Lake.  This hike took us back east on the road we came in to the park, then two miles on a rough road into the wilderness just to pick up the hike.  Awesome.  The road was desolate and we thought a bear was going to jump out at any moment…which one never did.  But as we came upon the trail head to our hike, we were met with a group of cars…..we guessed that this hike was not a well kept secret.  This did not matter, the hike followed for over one mile over granite rock leading into a beautiful meadow lake…lovely.  This lake hosts many backpacker tents and the high mountain sierra mountain club tents…we talked to the guy working the sierra club tent and he recommended continuing the hike up mount Hoffman to the spot in which john Muir himself was quoted as saying, “It’s at this spot that I tend to linger than any other point”.  This was enough to make us continue, and I’m glad we did.  The hike that followed was such a highlight, it wound up and around, through meadows and marshy land, and then up switch back after switch back of scrabble rock, in which one step forward often resulted in two steps back.  But what an amazing view when you stopped the push forward and turned around at the view of the mountains and of half dome in the distance….it was breathtaking.  Henna and I stopped right before the top of the mountain and let Noel continue on so he saw the top, some snow, and the valley behind Mt. Hoffman.  In my later years, being that high on a mountain can sometimes give me vertigo and Henna  and I were content to wait Noel’s return.  We were happy watching marmots play atop their high sierra abode.  We came down tired and happy with our dinner back at our campsite.  We chatted with our wonderful neighbors who gave us four of their fresh chicken eggs…that made the most yummy scrambled eggs ever, went on  nature hike with Jeff, then returned to an uneventful bear night.

We awoke early today, packed up our camp and heading into the valley to say goodbye and to search for the beauty that our ranger told us bout…….we somehow missed it our first go round.  We had breakfast at a semi deserted beach and swam for a bit.  We ran into friend from the beginning of our trip who is staying at the park doing research.  Ellen is her name and she is from Crystal Lake.  We chatted for a bit, and then we were off….we found more water holes to swim in, lovely meadows and we made peace with the valley, although the temperature was teetering on one hundred.

We left the park, through the famous tunnel view, and made a stop at Mariposa Grove to see a magnificent fifteen year old sequoia…..we were hot and the hybrid shuttle bus entailed long lines…but we found ourselves at a not so nice KOA off 41. Henna and I talked about how not everything can work out perfectly on a trip, that there always is a low point.   The pool was crowded, we have not figured out what lives in the two inch holes the inhabit the ground….but the food was yummy, the stars are bright and we have kept the rain flap off for tonight, yep that’s following our own path.