On a recent trip home to Nashville, we got up-and-out before dawn to cruise Nashville’s Lower Broad. I wanted to see the neon and what had become of my favorite old buildings along this four-block stretch that is the nation’s newest hotspot.
Hub of Nashville
This stretch of Broadway, down by the Cumberland River docks, used to be all about the business of living. Throughout the 1800s, grand bank buildings, hardware stores, grocers, clothing shops, and warehouses went up on Broadway to serve the boomtown. Ornate churches, Union Station, and Hume-Fogg High School came up too. And in the Great Depression, Federal assistance programs built the Post Office. For many years, Broadway was a hub of Nashville.
Then came music
The Grand Ole Opry moved into the Ryman Auditorium in 1943. The country music radio shows still broadcast nationwide every Friday and Saturday on WSM 650. Lower Broadway filled with honky tonks. Tootsies Orchid Lounge harbored country music legends who’d just finished performing at the Ryman and slipped through the alley into the bar’s backdoor for a night cap. Record stores, boot companies, sequined clothing shops, poster printers, restaurants, and tourist trinket shops popped up in Lower Broad’s empty warehouses and shuttered bank buildings. Music-star wannabes wandered over from the Greyhound station with their guitars to busk and be discovered along the busy Lower Broad sidewalks.
Demise: Abandoned to “Urban Renewal”
In 1974, the Grand Ole Opry moved out of the Ryman and Lower Broad began her descent. A fight raged over whether to demolish the Ryman Auditorium. Adult bookstores, smoke shops, and liquor stores filled the growing number of abandoned buildings. Lower Broad became a dirty, dangerous place to be. I remember riding with my grandfather to pick up my aunt from work at the South Central Bell building around the corner on Second Avenue. The area was creepy, dark and cave-like between the big buildings. We’d wait with the doors locked and the windows barely cracked. I wish now that I’d asked him about his memories of the area and made some photographs. It’s just vague memories now.
In the 1990s, Lower Broad began to turn around. People began to recognize the value of the area’s history. Some buildings were saved. Many were not…destroyed in fires or “urban renewal” projects. Here’s hoping their pre-country-music neon histories are remembered.
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Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted, Nashville born-and-raised photographer living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
On a spring day in 2017, I stood in my closet and counted my shoes. When did I accumulate so many shoes? I was getting ready for work and it was way past time to go. My mind was elsewhere. I’d just read an email that a website where we’d parked our travel diaries for 10+ years was closing shop. It was going to be a lot of work—in not-a-lot of time—to move the entries before the site closed. I had thumbed through our posts, like pages of a magazine. There we were in Iceland, in Portugal, Jerusalem, Cuba, Antarctica, in Easter Island ten years ago. There I was in front of the moai—camera in hand, hair blowing, eyes closed, and a beaming smile. Where had the time gone?
A lot had changed in 10 years, yet the days and weeks never really varied. Work, eat, clean, TV, sleep, and talk-talk-talk about traveling the world. I had sat there staring, turning off the computer in a numb daze. Now I stood staring at shoes. Would we ever go on the trip we’d saved for, dreamed of, talked about?
Portents
Not long after, I had a vivid nightmare. In it, I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t listen to my head. I was trapped listening to some banal TV show and was too far from the room’s small window to even look outside. My time for walking in the big, wide, wild world had passed. I was bored. Claustrophobic. Angry. I awoke—scared and sad and anxious.
One morning a month later, I was sitting in my kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when we learned yet another in our circle had died. He was only a few years older than us. And on this summer morning, he had dropped dead in his kitchen while drinking a cup of coffee.
Chilling. My stomach soured and my nerves tightened. Gripping fear. We had to go. GO NOW. ASAP. We’d talked about going for years, saved for it, dreamed of it. Why were we waiting? What were we waiting for? We’re healthy. Our families are healthy and independent. How much longer would we have the time and the vigor to go?
And that was that.
We made the decision that morning to go, to quit our jobs, to take a break. Pent-up dreams of places far away starting spilling out. We jotted down cities, countries, rough plans to hit the road for an extended period of time. Travel light. Sleep cheap.
My mother was supportive. She told me that she and and my step-father had always wanted to travel around the USA, yet never made the move to go. He passed away two years ago. “You should go while you can,” she said. Light bulb. It took a month or two, but we convinced her to go with me on a long road trip before Bryan and I left for the around-the-world trip.
People said, “How brave!” when we told them about our plans. “You’re quitting your jobs?” “What about health insurance?” “What will you do when you get back?” We tripped through the answers. We secretly grilled ourselves on these same dead-weight questions and still had no real answers. It felt beyond irresponsible. In the weeks leading up to the gap, we bounced between thrilled, terrified, tingling, sleepless, and frantic—but always with giddy smiles, pounding hearts, and no regrets.
We’ve been on the move—living in the moment. Now, I’ll share some of the memories. Also, please note, that I’ve backdated the blog posts for when they were happening and drafted).
And then?
Well, we’re still figuring that out.
We are going old. But life is too short not to GO. One day, when we become lost in our heads and/or trapped in our bodies, we’ll have our memories to go on—even if they play as random as a box of VCR tapes with the labels worn off.
So here’s to going—and going until we run out of road!
December 6: Santa Fe, NM to Shawnee, OK. Starting mileage: 40,219.
After seven weeks on the road, today we started two long days of driving East. We were heading home. First, we’d go from Santa Fe southeast to meet I-40, and then turn left on the road home to Nashville, some 1,200 miles away.
Leaving New Mexico
The wind was screaming–ushering in a change, a more biting cold, the turning of the seasons, and for us, the ending of the trip. Tumbleweeds blew across the road, reminding us of the day more than a month ago when we’d zoomed across Kansas and Colorado–dodging tumbleweeds–-to get an oil change before the Chevy dealer’s closing time.
At the junction of I-40, we tumbled into Clines Corners for a fill-up. In the 1930s, this pit-stop “town” was moved and moved, and moved again, by its tenacious owner, Roy Cline, to keep up with the rerouting of main travel roads and Route 66. Lucky for him, when the interstate system assumed a portion of Route 66, Clines Corners was finally in the perfect place.
Divination
It was still early, and I was already tired for the coming long days of driving. Our epic road trip was nearly over. I smiled in the Clines Corner bathroom mirror. What an odyssey life is. I wondered about my wandering, about the restlessness, about the future, the aging, the what’s-next worries so very close to the surface these days. And then, I put it all away–like Scarlett, with a “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
I walked out of the bathroom, dodging a cowboy headed for the ladies bathroom, and came face-to-face with Zoltar and the Medicine Man. If I put a coin in these fortune-telling machines what would they tell me? Would I want to know? Or dear God, would I grow up (or grow old!) in a blink like Tom Hanks in Big? I photographed them both, tapped each with two fingers for peace, for luck, and for a show of respect, and walked back to the car. Time to go.
Progress
The Interstates may be great for moving quickly around the USA, but they are not ideal for scenery. “Progress” litters the view with houses, strip malls, industry, and warehouses. On this stretch, billboards were planted one after another, after another, for miles and miles and miles. We saw a tiny house with one giant cottonwood tree in the backyard and no other trees in sight, a reminder that nature once reigned. Massive flocks of birds flew over, melding and dividing, like moving designs of black clouds. Herds of birds!
Herds
We crossed into the Texas panhandle, land of Annie Proulx’s “That old Ace in the Hole”. I told Mama the story of the character researching locations for pig farms and instead finding happiness in the panhandle community. As is Annie’s specialty, the landscape and the old ways come alive in her writing, and I imagined Ace climbing high to fix one of these rickety windmills. We saw a few cows grouped around the base of one. They drank from the trough of water brought to the surface by the windmill. Maybe they were talking about the last night’s pretty moon at their water cooler.
Later, near Wildorado, we passed the biggest modern wind turbine farm we’d ever seen. These were for electricity, not pulling water from the earth. There were acres of cotton fields, and another cloud of black birds. Then, we saw cows–hundreds, maybe thousands of cows crammed into muddy pens close to the road. They were crowded, standing knee-deep in the mud, without enough room to even turn around. Sadder still, vast empty fields were visible for miles behind the pens. Fields that those cows must have stared at with longing when they were rounded up and herded onto cattle cars.
Cadillac Ranch
Near Amarillo, I saw cars parked and people walking into a field. “What’s that?” I pointed and asked Mama. But only a second later, I knew. “OMG! It’s CADILLAC RANCH!” I had not anticipated seeing this famous art installation–ten classic Cadillacs buried up to their steering wheels. We took the next exit and drove back on the frontage road and parked. It was a short walk out to the “sculptures” amid the smell of cow manure and fresh spray paint. The Cadillacs are graffiti covered and spray paint cans litter the bare ground all around.
Oklahoma!
The landscape didn’t change at the border. More windmills. More cows, with the occasional long-horned steer. And more billboard farms, with one sign cautioning: “hitchhikers may be escaping prisoners”.
We passed through the Cheyenne and Arapaho Reservation, then Oklahoma City, and arrived into Shawnee around 7:30 p.m. We were dead tired. It still felt like we were rolling, even when we fell into our beds that night.
December 7: Shawnee, OK to Nashville, TN. Starting mileage: 40,799.
It seemed as if we’d just laid down. And then I was awake in the almost quiet. I laid there listening to Mama Lucy breathing in her bed, to the constant sound of cars on a highway not too far away. One more load up. One more day of driving. And one more load out. And our amazing trip would be over. The trip would situate itself in our memories. I laid there for a few minutes–thanking the universe for my mother, for the time to do this together, for the trip itself.
It was a cold morning. Condensation covered the window at sunrise. We showered, packed up, and after a free breakfast at the hotel, we started the car, scraped a light frost from the window, and loaded up.
Another day on I-40
We drove past exits with names like Big Skin Bayou, followed by Little Skin Bayou. Mid-morning, we crossed into Arkansas. Around lunchtime, we stopped in Conway for gas and a big Cracker Barrel lunch. Mama told me that Conway Twitty got his name from this town. And hey, hadn’t we passed a Twitty in Texas yesterday? Yep, turns out country-music legend, Harold Lloyd Jenkins chose his stage name after studying a road map: Conway, AR and Twitty, TX.
We passed Toad Suck Park, AR. and saw more large flocks of birds. And naturally, there was more road. We listened to our favorite XM-Sirius stations and stopped for gas, coffee, stretches, and bathroom breaks.
Sometime in the mid-to-late afternoon, we passed over the Mississippi River into Memphis, Tennessee. We celebrated our home state with a DQ ice cream dinner and got back on the road. This was the same rough-road stretch of I-40 we’d traveled going to Memphis six weeks ago. Now, we drove this stretch heading home, through the sunset, twilight, and dark.
HOME! Ending mileage: 41,461.
At long last, we pulled into my mom’s driveway at 7:22 p.m. Tired, relieved, and happy. We unloaded the car...like for bears…EVERYTHING OUT. We were home!
Some stats:
Total miles driven: 11,511.
49 Days + 12 hours.
27 States + D.C.
30 different hotels.
2 Oil changes.
8 National Parks
16 pressed pennies each.
And a million memories!
Lessons learned:
The Road is the trip too.
Look for luggage carts and give thanks for wheels.
Sit for a spell. Observe.
Life is short. Cram it in. Go!
Trust Siri.
Eat at local diners.
Always stop at the penny press.
Take care of your ride.
Changes happen. Don’t stress. Adjust and go.
Get a good playlist.
Pack snacks and water.
Cranky happens. Be nice to each other and pull over for good stretches.
December 4: Telluride, CO to Santa Fe, NM. Starting mileage: 39,891.
It was a cold day when we left Telluride. But still, no snow. Three snow machines were on full blast, blowing man-made snow on to the ski run right outside the Peaks when we left. Goodbye Telluride. I hope to pass this way again. Today, we were driving to another favorite place, Santa Fe (I’ve done this drive before, going the other way).
The Drive
It’s about a six hour drive to Santa Fe from Telluride. There’s one road out of the canyon and then one south going around the San Juan Mountains. We saw a few deer grazing along the way, and signs that there were many more were nearby, actual signs said, “Begin Wildlife Fencing”, “End Wildlife Fencing”, and “End Wildlife Detection Zone.”
And then the land changes. The trees stay behind. The colors change back to red and pink exposed rock mountains, rust and sage high desert open landscapes. We drove by the mesas and rocks near Georgia O’Keefe’s Ghost Ranch and the town of Abiquiu, crossed the Rio Grande River, and drove into Santa Fe.
Santa Fe’s Inn of the Governors and Del Charro
We checked in to our colorful hotel room at the Inn of the Governors. In most hotel rooms, you’d have to look out the window to even have a chance of identifying what city you were in. But not here. The room was pure New Mexico. Decorated with colorful baskets, blankets, tiles, metal-worked mirrors, and stocked with soaps and shampoos scented with sage, lavender, lemon, and rosemary. We loved our gorgeous and cozy room, so centrally located.
We walked through the hotel courtyard during Tea and Sherry hour, sampling cookies, lemon tea, and the refreshing cucumber water. After a brief walk, we found a table in Del Charro, a favorite haunt for me in Santa Fe. The margaritas are generously served in martini shakers and the portions are hearty. And there’s a fireplace. Bonus, it was lit!
Santa Fe Days
There’s a distinct smell of Santa Fe…of juniper, piñon pine, sage, of desert air. In the early early mornings and twilights, I fill my lungs with the fresh air, trying to memorize and keep the scent of Santa Fe. I love it.
And at this time of year, add to that the smell of burning logs–maybe piñon pine, juniper, a little sage. Everywhere we went, little fires were lit in the kivas–corner fireplaces made of adobe and lifted a couple of feet off the ground. Mama and I gravitated towards these fireplaces like moths to their flames. At the hotel’s breakfast buffet, we practically sat in the fireplace–delighting in the blazing warmth while sipping coffee. Yum.
Later, we joined friends for lunch at La Choza, and gorged on Mexican entrees and the still-hot-from-the-kitchen sopapillas with honey.
Nearing the End of the Trip
We walked around the square, stopping in the Five and Dime and other shops around the plaza for postcards, and a few souvenirs–including our last pressed penny of the trip. The trip was winding down and we were getting sentimental about souvenirs. So, we bought a few little things for gifts and momentos.
Last, but not least, I made a pilgrimage to Keshi. This small little shop is the place to go for hand-carved Indian fetishes. The fetishes represent the spirits of animals and each animal possesses traits and abilities in its relationship with nature. Animals are honored by Native Americans for their different “medicines” and are believed to hold the power to protect the owner from various problems of mind or body. I have a small collection, each purchased because of the meaning it spoke to me at the time. Each brings back memories and seems to hold my sentiments and worries from that time for me. One always travels with me.
On this day, I bought two fetishes. Both were two bonded bears bound together. “Bear fetishes are used for healing, protection, strength, journeying, mothering, hunting and gathering. Bear’s hibernation reminds us of the value of going within”, according to Keshi. The first was a simple carving by Wilson Romero from the Cochiti Pueblo: two bears of found stones, one black and one white. The second pair was a shiny white marble carving with the two bears tied together in opposing directions. One for her, one for me. Representing the paradox of mothers and daughters everywhere. Contradictory. Independent. And always bound together, no matter what.
December 1: Kayenta to Telluride. Starting mileage: 39,700.
We left from Kayenta, Arizona. Today, we’d stop to walk through four states (!) and then go on our way to Telluride, Colorado. After lunch at a diner in Dolores, our road wound up into the San Juan Mountains. Finally, we started to see trees again.
Peace in Telluride
I first came to Telluride in 1999, still mourning the recent loss of my grandmother. It was a work-related trip, and in between trying to learn to ski and spending time with colleagues, I found an incredible peace and comfort among those mountains. To this day, I return to Telluride for quiet, for contemplation, for solitude, for communion. Telluride is my version of heaven-on-earth.
The Dogs of Telluride
It’s fair to say that one reason I love Telluride so much is the gondola. It glides from Mountain Village, up and over San Sophia, and down into Telluride. Free, easy, convenient, and gorgeous. I could ride the gondola morning, noon, and night. Another reason I love Telluride, equally justified, is that there are so many dogs and dog-loving people. Combine these two, and you get Gondogola (you’re going to want to look that up)! Yes, dogs are allowed on the gondolas–Telluride is highly civilized after all. And oh my, there is no better ride than to share a gondola with a Telluride pup or two (or five). Once again, Telluride = Heaven.
This trip, we met Sparky, a red merle cattle dog/husky mix, who lives with his people at the Peaks. So handsome, and calm and delightful every time we saw him.
Pray for Snow
It was December, the opening weekend for skiers in fact. But snow had yet to reach Telluride’s slopes. It was causing anxiety. Everywhere we went, people talked about how this was the worst they’d seen in 30 years–a snow drought. Signs all over town said “Pray for Snow”. Machines ran night and day spraying ski runs with man-made powder.
It isn’t just skiers losing vacations when there is no snow. When the skiers don’t come, ski resorts, retail shops, and restaurants reduce hours and lay off employees. Working people lose their housing because they can’t work without snow. Every night, we watched the weather report with hope. Every morning, we checked the slopes for snow. And the entire time we were there, the snow-making machines ran, and ran, and ran.
Spa and Fireside
We spent a few glorious days in Telluride. During the days, we had spa treatments at The Peaks, sitting in the deserted kiva hot tub and sauna afterwards staring at the mountains. We rode the gondola–back and forth, sometimes just to ride. We petted every dog who smiled at us, stopped in most of the shops, and walked all around the back streets admiring the history and the architecture–especially the old, the tiny, and the colorful places. There were tasty, filling comfort food meals at Brown Dog Pizza, The Butcher and The Baker, and Altezza. We had coffee at Baked in Telluride and The Coffee Cowboy. And we sat for hours in front of the massive wood-burning fireplace in the lobby of the Peaks, reading, relaxing, and talking.
Our trip was soon coming to an end. This was our time to reflect, to relax, and to begin remembering all that we’d seen in our time on the road. As we took our final ride over the mountain the last night, I smiled at the moon and the lights of Telluride, nestled down there in its box canyon. I’ll be back again one of these days.
November 30: Mt. Carmel Junction, UT to Kayenta, AZ. Starting mileage: 39,425.
The day started with breakfast at our favorite diner, Golden Hills Restaurant. Then, we loaded up the car and headed southeast past the Vermillion Cliffs towards Kanab, Kayenta, Monument Valley, and Four Corners.
Best Friends Animal Society
If you are near Kanab, Utah, stop at Best Friends Animal Society. Best Friend’s mission is to end animal homelessness and stop the killing in U.S. shelters. More than 4,000 dogs and cats are euthanized EVERY DAY in shelters around the country and Best Friends is doing everything they can to achieve “No Kill by 2025”. In addition to collaborating with animal shelters to make that goal a reality, Best Friends houses more than 1,500 dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, horses, pigs, and other animals in their Kanab sanctuary. These animals may simply be between homes, or may have special needs that require longer–or permanent–stays. Twenty-two of the “Vicktory” dogs came here to heal after Michael Vick was convicted of animal abuse and dog fighting. Consider sponsoring an animal,or if you’re in the area–sign up to volunteer in the sanctuary or make a quick stop at the Visitor Center.
Into Arizona
We traveled back into Arizona over some of the roads we’d come in on, over Glen Canyon Dam and through Page before turning left onto 98. In the far distance, we could see white smoke rising and making clouds. This was the Navajo Generating Station, a power plant that serves electricity to the area. Shocking height and a powerful reminder of the impact humans have on the natural landscape.
Monument Valley
We drove on, continuing down this 2-lane highway, a grey-brown road with veins of black tar spreading like stitches or electrical tape to hold it together. The land was red and orange, and flat. Sometimes, mesas stood tall on this pancaked land–like some giant hand had sat a big slab of butter down. We passed through Kaibito (elevation 6,687 ft), before turning left on 160 and another left on 163 in Kayenta.
This was THAT road. Now, this road has been forever burned in my mind from a cartoon. You know it too, right? But what a delight to see that view in real life! And yes, we looked for roadrunners, and coyotes with Acme suitcases. Nothing. Beep! Beep!
Kayenta
We checked in to the Hampton Inn around sundown. After getting situated, we went down to the restaurant and sat right in front of a lit fireplace for a delicious dinner. Mama Lucy visited the gift shop for ghost beads and we slept like babies that night in Navajo Nation.
December 1: Kayenta, AZ to Four Corners. Starting mileage: 39,700.
This land is unique in that it’s flat for miles, and then a formation becomes visible on the horizon. They are surprising, immense, sometimes awkward–sitting there keeping watch over the land and surely helping travelers navigate. Agathla Peak is one of those formations. A jutting rock, a natural watchtower, a regal mountain, it is sacred to the Navajos and can be seen from miles around.
Another Photo Not Taken
We continued on 160, heading mostly east with a northerly tilt, through communities like Red Mesa Trading Post (and, yes, there is a red mesa), Dennehotso, and Mexican Water. We saw a long line of horses–brown ones, appaloosas, beige and black ones–slow walking almost single file along a narrow dirt trail, a red mesa behind them. I didn’t stop for that photograph, but I see it clearly still. I hope I’ll always have that image in my mind. Calm, fated and timeless, horse manes blowing in the wind.
Four Corners
Next, we headed for the famous Four Corners Monument–a place where you can stand in four states simultaneously…Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico. We drove through Arizona, crossed into New Mexico, and parked. Four Corners is a big, concreted area, with a small medallion in the middle marking the spot, and surrounded by flags of the states and tribes. We walked across four states, and stood on the medallion straddling all four of them for the obligatory photo.
Into Colorado
Not long after we returned to the road, we passed into Colorado and the Ute Lands. The colors seemed to change from reds and oranges to golden yellows. Later, we passed Towaoc and Cortez, before stopping for lunch at a cute little diner called The Depot in Dolores, Colorado.
Our road was headed up, up, up. Past Rico (elevation 8,827 ft), through the San Juan National Forest and the San Juan Mountains, and into my version of heaven-on-earth–Telluride.
November 29: Bryce Canyon National Park. Starting mileage: 39,261.
Likely, you’ve seen photos of the pointed pink and white rock pinnacles–thousands of them in a valley of trails and trees. Bryce Canyon has been on my travel wish list for many years. And today would be the day!
Through Red Canyon and Dixie National Forest
After a wonderful breakfast at our favorite little diner, Golden Hills in Mt. Carmel Junction, we headed to Bryce Canyon, just 50 miles northeast of Zion National Park. This was high desert land is mostly barren but with a few scrubby bushes and trees sprinkled here and there. Along the road, we saw a horse rolling on his back in the dirt, mane tossing and feet peddling in the air–a dust cloud rising around him. We were driving on twisting roads, up, and passed into a land of red rocks. Red Canyon, elevation 7,777 feet, was our first sighting of the formations called “hoodoos”.
Bryce Canyon
While hoodoos can be found in Cappadocia Turkey, France, Japan, Serbia, and Canada, Bryce Canyon has the mother lode of them–more than any other place in the world. In 1923, Bryce Canyon was declared a national monument, and made a national park in February 1928.
Bryce Canyon is really a series of canyons, or natural amphitheaters, carved on the edge of a high plateau. From viewpoints along the 18-mile rim road, visitors can see formations exposed in the valley below. These formations are part of the Grand Staircase–and related to the Grand Canyon and Zion National Park. The youngest parts of the rock layers are exposed in the Bryce Canyon area.
Sunset Point
Our first stop in Bryce Canyon was Sunset Point. It was early and as we walked to the lip of the canyon–the sun was just reaching in. Wow! Just wow. The spires–thousands of them–gleamed in pinks, reds, corals, whites. Layers and layers of stone towered over tiny trails in the valley. We were the only ones there for a few minutes and walked carefully, down a little way into the valley.
Inspiration Point: 8,100 elevation
Our next stop was at Inspiration Point, and Upper Inspiration Point. Again, it was deserted, just us and two other girls. “The cliffs of Inspiration Point are exceptionally dangerous as they are formed of crumbly rock, slippery slopes, and sheer drop-offs. All visitors are strongly cautioned to remain on trails and behind railings,” warned the National Park brochure. What an extraordinary view, an eerie silence, and just a breath of whistling wind. Gnarly Bristlecone Pines hung on to the dirt and rustled in the breeze.
Bryce Point: 8,300 ft elevation
We stood for a while at Bryce Point, admiring the plants we could see way down in the valley. It smelled good up there, a faint scent of the piñon pine and juniper. Trees stood tall, and yet looked so tiny far below. We saw rocks with windows and natural arches, in the slow process of eroding into hoodoos.
Fairview and Ponderosa Points
We stopped at Fairview Point (8,819 ft elevation) and Ponderosa Point (8,904 ft). Each had a view of the valley of hoodoos, windows, arches, and so many beautiful trees and birds.
There are more than 400 native plant species in Bryce Canyon. The brochure said there were piñon pines, junipers, manzanitas, serviceberry bushes, antelope bitterbrush, aspens, cottonwoods, birches, and willows growing along streams in the park. Also, ponderosa pine forests with blue spruce, Douglas fir, white fir, Engelmann spruce, and ancient Great Basin bristlecone pines (some more than 1,600 years old).
Rainbow Point: 9,115 ft. elevation
At the highest point in the park, we could see for miles. The rock layers along the Grand Staircase have sections of pink, vermillion, grey, red, chocolate, and white. In the distance horizon, a tree-covered hill is at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. After this viewpoint, we headed back to the General Store for our pressed pennies and postcards.
After Bryce Canyon
On the drive back to Mt. Carmel Junction, we saw a pink sunset over red hills and the moon rising bright white. We saw deer eating in a field, and later, a cow pushed his face and neck into the dirt before rolling over to scratch his back in the dusty field.
We returned for the soup and salad bar buffet dinner at Golden Hills, and tucked in tired!
November 28: Grand Canyon to Zion National Park. Starting mileage: 38,969.
This morning, we drove out of the Grand Canyon area, back through the South Rim road and by the Desert View Watchtower. Of course, we stopped again and again–enjoying the light, the sun, the colors, and the fresh air. Today, we were headed for Zion National Park in Utah. Despite the fact that Zion is less than 100 miles away if you were a flying crow, today would be about a four hour ride because the roads have to go around the Grand Canyon, then north to Utah, before jogging back west.
Through Navajo Nation
This land was high desert land, and Navajo Nation land. To the left, was sand and rock with bits of small green bushes. There, we saw what looked like giant ant hills piled among the sage bushes. To the right, were red clay mountains, with foothills that looked wrinkled, like elephant ankles. Along the way, there were stalls for Navajo people to sell their wares along the road side. And we passed through small villages–maybe just a house or two. Spread-out communities with six-sided houses and small buildings dotted the desert. Somewhere near Hidden Springs, we saw a lone man, sitting at the very peak of a small mountain–arms wrapped around bent knees and face to the sun. A tan dog crossed the road.
Marble Canyon
Eventually, we’d drive up, up, up. The road took us to the shelf of a mountain, a vast valley to our left. We stopped on a curve, with a road crew holding signs directing us to follow a pilot car around a rock slide repair area. Up, up, up. And then, on the crest of the mountain shelf, there was a viewpoint. The valley below ran for miles–cars like ants in the distance. We walked a bit in the sun, the breeze, surrounded by red rocks, before getting in the car and driving through the small gap in the mountain.
Desert Landscape
We entered another desert scrub landscape–this one higher. Miles and miles of dirt and sage bushes. And then came rocks, and canyons hidden in the rocks. The rocks looked like stacks of red mud pies. And as we passed hills, we’d see deep clefts in the land revealed. Just after Glen Canyon Dam in Page, Arizona, we crossed into Utah.
A yellow caution sign had the added benefit of red lights zooming around the edges. The sign alerted us there might be deer in the area. And we laughed to see a deer standing right behind the sign pole, chewing and staring at us as we slowed down. Later, we pulled over to see a herd of Buffalo, scuffling along in the dust of a field.
Zion National Park
We were entering Zion from the East on the the Zion-Mount Carmel Highway. Some of the dollops of rocks looked like they were melting–like chunks of caramel or white chocolate drops. It was a clear blue sky and the yellow leaves seemed to glow against the rock backgrounds.
The Tunnel
Imagine our amazement when suddenly a very large, red mountain with a mouse hole appeared on the road ahead of us. Another car was stopped in front of us waiting to enter this mouse hole. Signs all around warned us to turn on headlights, and “DO NOT STOP!” in the tunnel.
We entered slowly. It was the most narrow tunnel I’ve ever seen, I wondered if the top of the car would scrape. And oh so dark. And it went on, and on, and on. Every now and again, we’d pass an opening in the rock and see a valley far far down. It was a terrifying surprise. Finally, we exited the tunnel and I had to stop for a minute.
This Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel is 1.1 miles long, was completed in 1930, and is basically the same as it was upon completion nearly 90 years ago. However, because of the softness of the sandstone mountain through which it passes, concrete ribs now reinforce the entire tunnel. After a pillar collapsed in 1958, the tunnel is now electronically monitored twenty-four hours a day to warn park officials if there is danger of cracks or movement.
The Scenic Zion Canyon
After I’d had a few minutes to get over that tunnel, we continued on–driving carefully through the switchback roads down to the Zion Canyon floor. We stopped for the bighorn sheep standing on the red-layered hills and road shoulders all around us. One stood beside the stopped car, and we played that game “no, you go first. Oh, ok, I’ll go. Oh, ok you go.” Every time he was still and I let the car roll, he’d make a step. I stopped, he stopped, and we stared at each other. Please don’t ram the car Mr. Bighorn Sheep.
Usually, the scenic drive in Zion Canyon is closed to private vehicles from April through October, and all visitors have to ride shuttle buses to the valley. But it was November, and we got to drive on the flat valley floor. We studied the National Park map and info and saw that the peak to our left, “the Sentinel” had collapsed some 4,800 years ago. The giant landslide covered this canyon floor with rock debris for two miles. At the time, my first thought was about our need to exit the park through that crazy narrow sandstone tunnel.
Beginning in the 1860s, the floor of Zion Canyon was used by European settlers who farmed corn, tobacco, and fruit trees. Settlers in the area also took trees and used the valley for grazing farm animals. Finally, in 1909, the area was recognized as the Mukuntuweap National Monument, and established as Zion National Park in 1919.
Zion Details
Zion’s canyon walls are Navajo Sandstone eroded by the North Fork of the Virgin River. Not surprising, there is such beauty in these tortured, twisted, melted rocks–the colors, the shapes, the layers, and how the mountains and their trees jut up to the sky. As we drove along the valley floor, we stopped often–sometimes in sun, sometimes in shade–to admire the sheer red rock walls, the sheer white rock walls, the trees hanging on and reaching high, the yellow leaves of autumn, and the birds singing through the canyon.
Good people
Later, we made our way to the Zion Lodge to see about pressing our pennies and mailing postcards. We purchased a few postcards and as we were preparing to sit in the lobby and write greetings to drop in the Lodge mailbox, we inquired about a penny press machine. Yes! They had one! Alas, it was locked in the cafe–which was closed for the season. Maybe they could see our utter disappointment, or maybe they were just sweet people…but while we sat in the lobby working on our postcards, those guys MOVED that big old penny machine to an accessible area for us. We must have looked like kids at Christmas when they came to the lobby to tell us: “M’ams, the PENNY MACHINE is ready in the gift shop now if you still want to make your pennies.”
Afterwards, we drove out of Zion, safely passing through that tunnel. We checked in to our hotel in Mt. Carmel Junction a perfect location between Zion and Bryce National Parks. We were starving. Thankfully, the Golden Hills diner was close…and surprise…they had a salad bar! We had the place pretty much to ourselves and filled up on a delicious salad and soup. The people were friendly, the menu had lots of options, the food was good, and the prices very reasonable. It became kind of like our Zion-Bryce kitchen while we were in Mt. Carmel Junction, as we ate all our meals in their cozy diner.
November 26: Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon. Starting mileage: 38,616.
We were up early again in this desert city that rarely sleeps. Today, we were driving out of the Nevada’s desert mirage to the Grand Canyon. Las Vegas loses a little sparkle in the daylight, though the bright sun does glint off sidewalks littered with feathers and the ubiquitous stripper business cards. We stretched our legs walking to breakfast and looking for a post office box, before loading the car and leaving Las Vegas. We crossed into Arizona over that titanic Hoover Dam bypass bridge.
Route 66
After Kingman, we decided to take the old Route 66. Out in this empty land, away from busy Interstate 40, was a old-timey USA. What fun! But, I don’t know which is sadder, to see so many places shuttered and run down, or to see those that have had to become tourist traps to survive. It’s as if they are living ghosts. For the thousandth time on this trip, I wished I could have seen this land before….before interstates, and before “civilization”.
Mama and I got into a conversation about road trips of years ago. She mentioned Burma Shave signs. I didn’t know what that was, and just as she was describing them, we saw a small red sign with white writing, very close to the road, that simply said:
If you don’t know
And then a second sign, about a football field away, said: whose signs these are
Then a third, equally spaced from the second: you haven’t driven
And a fourth, very far
We erupted into claps and laugher at the final one! Burma Shave
Burma-Shave was a brand of shaving cream famous for this fun advertising gimmick in the 1930s-1960s. We were thrilled to see several more of these sign sets:
Thirty days … hath September … April and June … and the speed offender … Burma Shave
Slow down … Sparky … Ma missed … signs four and five … Burma Shave
Don’t lose your head … to save a minute … you need it … because your brains are in it … Burma Shave
Grand Canyon
Sometime later, we made a left turn to head north. And we arrived into the Grand Canyon area around sunset. We snacked from our food stash and tucked in early. Tomorrow would be a grand, canyon day!
November 27: The Grand Canyon!
The Grand Canyon is 277 miles long, about 18 miles wide, and over a mile deep. It was carved by the Colorado River and erosion over millions of years and is truly a wonder of the world. Early explorers called it “profound” and an “astonishing natural curiosity”. Of course, like many of nature’s wonders, there are no words to define the scale, the beauty, and the happiness in the heart to stand before it. We were at the South Rim and our first view today was at Mather Point. We stared, smiling.
Along the edge
Through the day, we made our way to several viewpoints along the South Rim, either by the convenient shuttles or the car.
As we stood at various views, we noticed tiny little people off in the distance, standing on ledges over the great precipice. One of the shuttle drivers told us that the Grand Canyon has several deaths every year, lately from people who were taking selfies. There is a book that morbidly documents all the canyon deaths: “Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon” by Thomas Myers. There are fatalities from falling, drowning, crashing in airplanes or helicopters, flash flooding, rocks falling, suicides, homicides and freak accidents.
Shuttles in the Grand Canyon
GIDDY UP!
We decided to ride up to Hermit’s Rest on the red shuttle. We had a delightful driver guide who told jokes, explained what we saw, and slowed down (or stopped for a 30 second pop out….shhhh don’t tell anyone!) for photos on the seven-mile ride to Hermit’s Rest. Every time he started the shuttle, he said, “Say Giddy-up!”
Hermit’s Rest, originally constructed in 1914 as a rest stop for the Fred Harvey Company coach, now has a gift shop and a tiny little snack shop. As it was a cool, blustery day, I got the Hermit’s Mocha–hot coffee with chocolate. What delicious moments sitting there admiring that view and sipping hot drinks!
Desert View
Later in the afternoon, we found the car and drove about 25 miles out to the Desert View Watchtower on the eastern end of Grand Canyon National Park. The wind was whipping now. Along the road, we saw warning signs for…what is that?…a MOUNTAIN LION?!? Every time we stopped, we watched carefully for any wild cats, and we held on tight to fencing and trees. From this vantage point, we could see the Colorado River, a mile down in the canyon, snaking along.
We finished this grand day getting our pressed pennies, writing postcards, and finding a mailbox to drop them in before getting pizza and settling in for the night.
November 28: Leaving the Grand Canyon. Starting mileage: 38,969.
Our road out of the Canyon was the road to Desert View. And we stopped again, many times. It’s stunning how morning light changes the colors and the mood of the canyon. I would have liked to sit there on the ledge in that soft, clear morning light, sipping a hot Hermit’s Mocha, and listening to the sounds of the canyon.
November 24: Death Valley to Audacious Nevada. Starting mileage: 38,354.
We woke up early, intent on seeing another desert sunrise. And of course, coffee was the first thing on the agenda. Today, we’d go from Death Valley to the bright lights of Las Vegas, Nevada. We’d pass through Nevada’s desert landscape of ghost towns, old towns, and vast empty spaces where it is hard to imagine the gambles that people took to make homes and a living here.
Desert Accident
I went to the reception area to get a cup of the always-on brewed coffee, as an incident was unfolding in the lobby. A woman and man talked quietly to the manager, while another man sat dazed in a chair. The couple had found him in his upside-down car on the side of the road about an hour from here. There was no cell phone service to call 911. So, they revived him, got him out of his wrecked car, into their warm car and now were here to get him help. He sat in a chair staring into space, blinking slow, mouth agape, and his hands reaching up to hold his head like he was checking to see if it was still there. With his mussed-up bed-head hair, motorcycle boots, leather jacket, and jeans he looked like a musician, except for the leather briefcase at his feet.
As I refilled my coffee cup, an ambulance and a park service ranger arrived. The couple repeated their story, left their contact information, got some coffee, said goodbye to the wrecked guy, and left. He was waving off an EMT when I went out to take photos before sunrise.
About an hour later when I returned to the lobby for another cup of coffee, the accident guy was still there. Now he sat outside by the fire-pit, briefcase heeling close to his boots, smoking a cigarette, and staring out at the desert. His bewildered expression was a reminder to drive carefully on these roads. The number one cause of death in Death Valley is not the heat–it is the single-car rollover. He was lucky to be alive.
Daylight Pass
We filled up before leaving Stovepipe Wells and pulled out on CA-190 going northeast to Nevada. The road took us past the Devil’s Cornfield, and then up to Daylight Pass in the Amargosa Mountains. We went from zero elevation to 4,316 feet above sea level in about 15 miles.
The Ghost town of Rhyolite
A ghost town was near our route. Rhyolite was established in 1905 after gold was discovered in nearby mountains. After big investment in infrastructure, by 1907 Rhyolite had a railroad station, electric lights, water pipes, telephones, newspapers, a hospital, a school, an opera house, and a stock exchange. The town’s population hit about 5,000 in 1907–08. Imagine the pluck it took to turn a tent city of miners into a cultured town in just three years.
Alas, Rhyolite crashed fast too. First, the gold ore was exhausted, then financial panic. All three banks closed by March 1910. By the end of 1910, the mine was operating at a loss, and closed in 1911. Out-of-work miners moved elsewhere. According to Wikipedia, “All the newspapers shut down by June 1912. The post office closed in November 1913; the last train left Rhyolite Station in July 1914, and the Nevada-California Power Company turned off the electricity and removed its lines in 1916. Within a year the town was ‘all but abandoned’, and the 1920 census reported a population of only 14. A 1922 motor tour by the Los Angeles Times found only one remaining resident, a 92-year-old man who died in 1924″.
Beatty and Amargosa Valley
Shortly after Rhyolite, we came into the little town of Beatty. These desert towns all seemed to have a wild west, devil-may-care feel–heroically or recklessly navigating the boom and bust. Maybe it was the number of faded hotels, or the aging industrial elements, or the needy houses, or the general emptiness of the place. I wondered about the people who lived in this harsh desert environment, the few residents who live with so many strangers passing through.
Hoover Dam
It was early afternoon when we drove into Las Vegas, so we decided to drive on to Hoover Dam before checking in and relaxing.
Wow! Hoover Dam is famous for its scale, and the ingenuity of the people who imagined and built it during the Great Depression. And I’m here to tell you, it’s big! Its base is 660 feet thick–wider than two football fields are long. It goes more than 700 feet down into the canyon–about the size of a 60-story building. It holds back the Colorado River, and created Lake Mead in the Black Canyon. Until the bypass bridge was built over the canyon in 2012, US-93 passed across the top of the dam, carrying traffic between Arizona and Nevada.
We drove over the dam looking for parking. And I have to say, the closeness of a very big Lake Mead on the one side and the empty air above the Black Canyon on the other side gave me a fright. Its a little terrifying to think that we are confident enough of having tamed nature to drive over the concrete holding all that water back! We crossed back over quickly, and parked in the garage. At a safe distance, we gawked at this amendment to the land. I tried to keep an eye on the dam, and the giant bridge that throws a shadow on it, as we got our pressed pennies and ice cream cones.
Las Vegas!
We followed the power lines into Las Vegas, listening carefully to Siri as she directed us to the correct turn lanes, and the legal U-Turn spots so that we could get to our hotel. I’d found a place in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip that had a reasonable price for us and the car.
After check-in, we took a walk as the sun went down.
The sidewalks were unbelievably crowded. It was Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. Everyone must have come here for the holiday weekend. And everyone must have been completely starstruck by the bright lights. No one watched where they were going. Groups of people walked 5 across, taking the entire width of the sidewalk. After a few minutes of getting hit and jostled, we walked arm-in-arm, with me closer to the oncoming people so that Mama Lucy didn’t get pummeled by the crowds. I stiffened my shoulder and gave as good as I got.
We walked through the Venetian, enjoying the lights, the gondolas, and the sights and sounds of this crazy, audacious desert city.
November 25: Las Vegas. Starting mileage: 38,580.
We may have been the only early risers in Las Vegas. I think the other people out and about at breakfast were the people who’d been out all night.
It was once again, time for laundry and another oil change, and we’d decided this Saturday morning would be “chores” time. First, we found a 24-hour laundromat not far from the hotel. It was a quiet, friendly place and our three loads were done lickety-split.
Next, we found another Bozarth Chevy dealer. They’d been good to us in Denver, and so, we’d made an appointment for the second oil change of our trip. Turns out, this establishment also found a few things wrong with the car–and took a couple of hours to put in brake fluid and a new filter. By the time we were turned loose, our chores finished, it was almost time for dinner and the nighttime show that is the Las Vegas Strip.
Show girls
Did I mention the show girls who also parked at our hotel? We’d been seeing tell-tale signs–a yellow boa in our parking spot, feathers in the elevator, and glitter on the buttons. And today, we saw scantily-clad girls arriving to do their thing on the Strip tonight. Two girls were changing into pink outfits in the parking garage. Two other girls were in the elevator when it opened on our floor. They had their hair tied in tight buns covered in silver glitter. They wore silver bikini bottoms, silver knee-high boots, and the rest was a combination of smartly-placed pasties, white feathers, and silver beads. As we’d seen last night, the girls work in pairs, charging for photographs with tourists on the streets. We smiled and made chit-chat with them about the cool weather that was expected tonight as the elevator slowly made its way to the ground floor. Brrr.
Las Vegas Gambling
We walked over to watch the Dancing Waters at the Bellagio. And then had a a wonderful dinner at Mon Ami Gabi, right across the street. Later, we sat in “Paris” watching a group of young men sing Motown and songs from the 50s/60s. And of course, we gambled. I’m a reluctant gambler and only risked $20–it was all too quickly gone. My Las Vegas souvenir was a ticket to claim my remaining $0.40 in “winnings”. Mama Lucy had better luck at the slots and played for a little longer, but never heard the bells and whistles indicating a million dollar win.
I still felt lucky. My big win was going on this trip. And that night, I felt so lucky to get Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and take a seat with my mother on the Las Vegas Strip to just watch the crowd and the lights. What a place! Who had the idea to build THIS in the desert? What audacity…to even exist…a mirage, an oasis in this empty desert land.
November 22: The Sequoias to Death Valley. Starting mileage: 37,914.
We woke up among the Sequoias and the crisp, mountain-morning air. Like the size of the trees, there are no words to describe the fresh scents of the surrounding pines, cedars, and sequoias. Do the woods always smell so calm? It was cold, and had it not been a brilliantly clear sky, we might have worried about snow. From the looks of it, Sequoia National Park gets a lot of snow: there are 12+ feet tall red poles along the roads so drivers can FIND the road in heavy snow. Funny to think we’d be out of the woods and into the Death Valley desert by nightfall.
Coming down the mountain
Although Death Valley was only 100 miles due East as the crow flies, there are no open roads over the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Our route would take us in a big, 320-mile U, out of the Sequoias, around the Sierra Nevadas via Bakersfield and Mojave, and north to Death Valley.
First, we took the rural road California 245 south through the foothills. It was very curvy, with many hairpin turns over bulges and bumps in the road. We saw a dog, sunbathing in the road. He stared at the car, stretched, and instead of moving, laid back down in the road with his head on a paw. Guess they don’t see much traffic up here! So, we carefully drove around him on the narrow shoulder.
Not long after, we starting seeing roadrunners (or quails?) flit across the road. They ran so fast on stretching, knobby thin legs and seemed to make a game of how close they could be to the car. Mama Lucy got a little queasy from the twisting, up and down road, and the braking for the birds, so we pulled over for a few minutes to ease her stomach. It was much warmer now. In the end, the temperature went from 39 to 73 as we went down the mountain.
Urban deserts
After the winding road, we passed through Exeter, Bakersfield, and Mojave. We saw most of the energy forms–shiny solar panels hidden among vineyards, oil derricks en masse pumping and bleeding the land like a swarm of needled mosquitos, and wind turbines punctuating cliff tops near Mojave. Later, we drove through a small town, where the houses looked brittle and worn…doors hanging off, old toys scattered among cars in the yards. Also, a smell of chemicals permeated the air, likely from the factory with chipping white paint, sitting amidst the houses. The only person we saw was a man walking by the railroad tracks. Were the people all working today in the plant? The place gave me an eerie feeling, like we were passing through a living ghost town.
Into Death Valley
We drove and drove. More than six hours on some of the most remote, endless roads I’ve ever seen. And then, we were going up again–to 4,000 feet elevation. And at last, down, down, down into Death Valley as the sun was setting. As I drove–carefully–into that strange environment, I remembered this from the National Park website:
Many of Death Valley’s roads were built in the 1930s. They are narrow and serpentine and cannot be driven at high speed. The most dangerous thing in Death Valley is not the heat. It is the “single car rollover.” Cell phones do not work in Death Valley! Do not depend on them. Dependence on a cell phone in an emergency situation can be fatal.
Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley
At last, we arrived into Stovepipe Wells Village at dusk. This way-station has been an oasis since the early 1900s. There is a ranger station, gas station, general store , and Stovepipe Wells, a small hotel with the Badwater Saloon and Toll Road Restaurant. We backed into a parking space about 3 feet from our hotel room door. Our little room was welcoming–decorated in red, and a back door! Later, we wandered back over to the lobby to sit at the fire-pit in the rocking chairs and contemplate the autumn desert. Stars. A satisfying quiet. After dinner, we sat watching car headlights drive into the valley. The cars were miles away–but their lights burned like pinholes in this landscape. Many cars pulled into the 24-hour gas station across the street, refueling at a very reasonable $3.09, and then we watched their red taillights drive away into the vast dark.
November 23: Sunrise on Thanksgiving Day in Death Valley
Once upon a time, I spent Thanksgiving Day on Easter Island. Today, we were in Death Valley. I thanked my lucky stars that we were here, now, and went out into the darkness for photos at sunrise.
The quiet. The immense quiet. Only the sound of gravel under my feet. And then came the colors. A line of pink. Dust in the distance. I heard birds, smelled sage, and watched for the sun. I walked about 50 yards, to the end of Stovepipe Wells, by the ranger station. Death Valley is a National Park and the park is “open” 24 hours a day, every day. There is an automated fee machine at the station for those who are honest to stop and pay. There was enough light now and I could see a giant crow sitting on the pay box, watching me and waiting for sunrise.
Thanksgiving site-seeing
After breakfast in the Toll Road Restaurant, we drove over to the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes.
Next, we visited the Harmony Borax Works, where the famous 20 Mule Teams hauled mined borax out of Death Valley. What the heck is borax? Mama Lucy knew–it was a powdery mineral used in detergent. In addition, she remembered the brand, 20 Mule Team Borax, sponsoring Death Valley Days radio programs when she was a kid.
Badwater Basin
After a walk around Harmony Borax Works, we continued on to Furnace Creek, an oasis about 24 miles from our hotel. This is where the Furnace Creek Visitor Center is located, and where the highest temperature ever in North America was recorded. 134 degrees. Uff!
We were on our way to see Badwater Basin, the lowest point in North America–at 282 feet below sea level. This bowl in Death Valley gets less than 2 inches of rain a year. This little bit of rain floods the basin, but it is so quickly evaporated–leaving behind miles of salt flats. In addition to driving hazards, heat and flash floods can kill here too…and rattlesnakes, scorpions, and black widow spiders.
On the way back to the hotel–and Thanksgiving Dinner!–we drove through the Artists Palette. This is an area of colored rock hills, and a narrow circular drive that escorts you through.
Giving Thanks
We got back to our hotel in time for a late afternoon Thanksgiving buffet. They rolled out all kinds of vegetables, salads, desserts, and of course, the turkey and ham. We rolled out almost two hours later–stuffed. At last, we rested–sitting in rocking chairs until the sun went down. “Beautiful and peaceful,” Mama Lucy wrote in the travel log. Thank you for all that we have, all that we are, all that we see, all that we are able to do.
November 20: Merced to Sequoia National Park. Starting mileage: 37,769.
We woke up early in Merced, ready for a few hours drive southeast through California to Sequoia National Park. Lucky us! Yesterday, Yosemite and, today the Giant Sequoia trees!
You can tell a lot about a region by its signs: “Pray for rain” on the side of a packed truck in a field, and “Water 500 ft. DO NOT DRINK. For radiators only,” along the dusty road. In this arid landscape, we saw rows and rows of fruit and nut trees: oranges, pomegranates, peaches, avocados, grapes, almonds, and pistachios. Melt water from the nearby Sierra Nevada mountains is used to irrigate these thirsty plants, providing produce and jobs for many.
King’s Canyon and Sequoia National Park
Eventually, the road went up, up, up and the temperature went down, down, down. We lost about 10 degrees of warmth in +3,000 feet of elevation. And then, there they were! Giant Sequoias lined the road to greet us as we entered the nation’s second national park.
Giant Sequoias
The Sequoiadendron Giganteum is related to the Coastal Redwood(Sequoia Sempervirens), but the Giant Sequoias are generally shorter, fatter, and older than the Redwoods. They, like Redwoods, have tiny seed cones and are resistant to fire. But the Giant Sequoia trees benefit from fires that clear the undergrowth for sprouting. They grow in a much smaller region, getting water from the Sierra Nevada’s snow and rain. The Giant Sequoia trees are soft and brittle, often shattering when they fall. As a result, their wood is not as valued for construction…what should have been a saving grace.
Their grandeur alone should have saved them
Like the Redwoods, no words can really describe the Giant Sequoias–no adjectives are big enough, no sentiments are poetic enough. They are too big to photograph. To stand before them is to look at primordial beings, at least 2,000-3,000 years old. It’s too much to comprehend with logic alone.
Native Americans lived among the forests of Giant Sequoias for ages. Migrant Europeans first noted the giants in Calaveras Grove in 1833. Because it was not publicized, the trees escaped for another 20 years. But, around 1850-52, the trees were “discovered” by Augustus Dowd.
Despite their otherworldly beauty, ancient age, and being impractical for use, greedy settlers still chopped the old giants down in the 1800-1900s. Unbelievably, these majestic old souls were logged mainly for shingles, fence posts, and matchsticks. Even the “Discovery tree” found by Dowd was felled in 1853. One illustrated postcard from the period shows a cotillion of 32 people dancing on a massive stump, it’s severed trunk laying beside it. The lack of respect for these ancient trees is appalling.
The fate of trees and our national parks
Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed, — chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got out of their bark hides, branching horns, or magnificent bole backbones…. Through all the wonderful, eventful centuries since Christ’s time — and long before that — God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand straining, leveling tempests and floods; but he cannot save them from fools, — only Uncle Sam can do that.
John Muir, “The American Forests,” August 1897
Today, the trees are threatened by a warming environment, drought, and less mountain meltwater. And in 2017, Trump suggested he’d open some national lands to logging, grazing, drilling, and/or mining. Thankfully, better people prevailed–and the Sequoia National Park area was spared from a size reduction like Bears Ears (which lost 85% of its land) and Grand Staircase-Escalante (-46%).
Wuksachi Lodge and the Bears
We splurged to stay at the remote Wuksachi Lodge in Sequoia National Park. We arrived too early for the very official check-in time, but sat cozy in front of the cast-iron wood-burning stove, mesmerized by the surrounding Sequoia and Pine woods. The staff warned us to take *everything* out of the car. Everything. Don’t leave jackets, which might have the smell of lotion or perfumes. Don’t leave hand sanitizers or chapsticks. Remove all trash, tissues, and papers. Don’t leave bottles, even if they are empty. Don’t leave coolers. And for goodness sake, don’t leave a morsel of food. Why? BEARS!
Bears have been known to break car windows for a water bottle, a mint, or a coat that maybe they think hides a tasty human. It took us an hour to unload, and tidy up the car. Sorry bears, nothing to see here. Of course, after dinner, when we walked back to the room from the lodge in the pitch-black night, I did worry that we were moving meal options. It made us walk a little faster!
November 21: Sequoia National Park
We explored the forests and wandered reverently around the giant tree groves. Sometimes, we’d just sit and take it all in…the fresh air of the mountains and these moments in the cathedral of the giants.
Bad behavior
In the evenings, we planted ourselves by the fireplace, tired from walking, and happy to be in such a peaceful place. One night as we waited for our reservation in the lodge restaurant, I read about the area’s logging history. I sat worrying about the greed that takes so many resources from the earth, and the selfish laziness that leaves so much trash. Why does nature always seem to lose?
And then, this terror of a kid shows up, apparently parentless. I watched as he nearly destroyed the child-size Teddy Bear that sat in the lobby. The brat pulled the bear into the floor, pummeling and punching it–poking at its eyes, yanking its ears, and flinging it around before leaping on it from a chair like a wrestler. A lamp nearly fell over in his screaming rambunctious fit. Where were his parents? Why allow this bad behavior in a public space, in a place others were relaxing? Is his tormenting aggression ok with them–even if he was only abusing a stuffed animal? Why allow him to destroy something, especially something that belongs to others?
I finally figured out his parents were the well-dressed couple sipping wine and staring intently at their respective iPads on a nearby sofa. Honestly, I doubt they would have noticed if the kid had been snatched. Then again, that kind of behavior must deter kidnappers. I mean, who’d want him?!? It is this kind of behavior, this lack of sensitivity and respect–his and theirs–that troubles me. Nature is losing–has lost, and will continue to lose–because of greed, selfishness, and the lack of empathy and kindness.
Sunset
I couldn’t watch anymore. If this had been a real animal or a tree, I would have been in a brawl–with the kid and the parents. Instead, I walked outside to see the pink sunset. Good decision.
Pastels painted the eastern sky like a linen postcard, I stood in awe, in the quiet twilight. An older man came out to stand beside me, he with his camera too. We smiled at each other. No one else was outside. Silence. The wind shivered the trees. Creaking, crispy sounds. Pinks turned into fiery reds and oranges, and a crescent moon appeared over the tree silhouettes. It lasted only a few minutes, then the light was gone.
“Wow!” was all I could say.
“Splendid!” he added. “Glad I saw you making photos! I guess we’d better get back in to the three ring before the bears get us.”