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
Driving through Red Canyon and Dixie National Forest on our way to Bryce Canyon.
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.
Beautiful morning light in the Silent City / Bryce Amphitheater. Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.Behind a hoodoo at Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.A tree grips the eroding earth beneath its trunk on the rim of Sunset Point. Looking towards Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.Looking out at the Silent City from Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.Path into the Silent City at Sunset Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.Pink, white, and orange hoodoos are all that’s left behind from erosion in Bryce Canyon National Park.Hoodoos, cracks, and crevices. Sunset Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Inspiration Point: 8,100 elevation
Mama Lucy resting along the rim path to Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
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.
The view from Inspiration Point–Sunset Point in the distance. Bryce Canyon National Park.Hoodoos rise above trails, as seen from Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.The hoodoos of Bryce Canyon National Park. Inspiration Point.A trail through the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, far below Inspiration Point. The white hoodoos are freshwater limestone, the pink are “dirty” limestone with sand, silt, and iron. Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.Hoodoos and trees. Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.All alone on Upper Inspiration Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.
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.
Bryce Point. Elevation 8,300 ft. Bryce Canyon National Park.Windows are one of the final steps before they become hoodoos. Bryce Point at Bryce Canyon National Park.Looking back at the rim of the canyon. Bryce Point, Bryce Canyon National Park.Mama Lucy at the Bryce Point viewpoint. Bryce Canyon National Park.Mama Lucy and me at Bryce Point. Bryce Canyon National Park.Burned trees along the rim of Bryce Canyon National Park.
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.
At the highest point in Bryce Canyon National Park, with a raven.Tall trees as we look out from Rainbow Point into the red, chocolate, and grey cliffs of the Grand Staircase and Bryce Canyon National Park.A natural arch bridge or window in Bryce Canyon National Park.A hoodoo with a view. Bryce Canyon National Park.Burned trees are evidence of another forest fire in Bryce Canyon National Park.Road through rock in the Red Canyon. Utah.Sunset and moonrise over Bryce Canyon.
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.
A gash in the land for the Little Colorado River. Does the Grand Canyon begin as just a crack?The Little Colorado River Overlook in Navajo Nation.Indian portraits: art on a building in Navajo Nation, Arizona.
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.
Pilot Car, follow me. Ushering traffic through a rock fall repair area on Highway 89. Marble Canyon, Arizona.Looking down to the valley and a canyon from high atop Highway 89 in Marble Canyon, Arizona. You can see a tiny road to the lower right, just beside the boulder in the foreground.Passing through the break in Marble Canyon’s wall, Arizona.
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.
A lone “hoodoo” somewhere in Utah.Buffalo near Zion National Park.
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.
Melting red rocks of Zion National Park.Checkerboard Mesa, Zion National Park.
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.
Final warnings: no bikes, no pedestrians as we enter the West end of the Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel. Zion National Park.Another tunnel through sandstone mountains in Zion National Park.
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.
Bighorn Sheep are skilled climbers and can scamper up this steep, rocky terrain, faster than the mountain lions. Zion National Park.Bighorn sheep dot the red rock hillside. Zion National Park.
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.
The East Temple, as seen from the Valley Floor, Zion National Park.Part of the Sentinel, as seen from the valley floor of Zion National Park.Red cliff walls in Zion National Park.The Great White Throne, near Angels Landing. Zion National Park.The Great White Throne, and Angels Landing. Zion National Park.
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.
The moon over red sandstone cliffs. Zion National Park.Looking up at a tree growing on the red sandstone cliff. Zion National Park.Grains of sand settle on the sandstone mountain. Zion National Park.Layers of sandstone give just a little room to trees. Zion National Park.
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.
Mas Vegas Barn. Driving Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon. Somewhere in Arizona.
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
Thirty Days…Hath September…April, June…and the speed offender.Burma Shave. The last of 5 consecutive signs on Route 66. Arizona.Mama Lucy at Roadrunner Cafe on Route 66, Arizona.
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.
The Grand Canyon. Trees and dollops of stone.
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.
Falling is one of the leading causes of death in the Grand Canyon. Note the little man (dead center) out on a Grand Canyon ledge.
Shuttles in the Grand Canyon
Mama Lucy, safely behind the fencing at a Grand Canyon viewpoint.Roads way down in the canyon, and the canyon of the Colorado River.These trees! I love their tenacity and their view! 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!
Looking down at Bighorn Sheep on a ledge. Grand Canyon.Bighorn Sheep in the Grand Canyon. Beyond, trails in the canyon.Rim to rim. The beautiful colors of the Grand Canyon. Note the distant smoke from a fire on the North Rim.
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.
The Colorado River, way down in its Grand Canyon.Desert View Watchtower. Grand Canyon.
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.
Hanging on. A tree tries beneath a one cloud sky. Grand Canyon.Drifting. Wood and clouds over the Grand Canyon.A tree grows on the Grand Canyon South Rim.The colors and clouds on a Grand Canyon morning.Duck on a Rock. Grand 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.
Pre-dawn sky at Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley.
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.
“Desert sky…Dream beneath a desert sky.” Predawn moment in Death Valley, lyrics by U2.
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.
Daylight Pass (4,317 elevation) in Amargosa Mountain Range, on the eastern edge of Death Valley. The long road from California into Nevada.
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″.
The remains of the John S. Cook and Co. Bank in the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada.The HD & LD Porter brothers’ store in Rhyolite, Nevada. It is said that customers could buy groceries, clothing, mining supplies, hardware, lumber, furniture, hay, grain, and Studebaker wagons here. The store also leased freight animals. The Porter Brothers slogan was, “We handle all good things but whiskey.”Tom Kelly built the Bottle House in 1905-06 with 51,000 beer bottles. The bottles were donated from the 50 town bars.If a Joshua tree falls in a ghost town, does anyone hear it? Rhyolite, Nevada.
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.
Looking back at California from this long desert road near Rhyolite, Nevada.Signs of the times. Ghosted hotel in the town of Beatty, Nevada.Amargosa Valley sells fireworks, gasoline, and has a diner in an alien museum. Nevada!
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.
Hoover Dam on the Colorado River, on the Nevada / Arizona border.The Hoover Dam Bypass Bridge over the Colorado River and Black Canyon. Arizona / Nevada border.Mama Lucy at Hoover Dam. Nevada.Power lines in the desert nearing Las Vegas.
Las Vegas!
The Faux Eiffel Tower at Paris, Las Vegas, Nevada.
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.
Laundering in Las Vegas.
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.
Dancing waters of the Bellagio. Las Vegas.
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.
Mama Lucy doing her thing in Las Vegas.Slot machine Mama Lucy in Las Vegas.
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.
Trees, mountains, and valleys. Leaving Sequoia National Park, California.
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.
On the winding, hilly back road CA-245.
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.
Neat rows of grape vines, stitched to the California hillside.This harsh land seemed to activate self-reflection, ideas of peaceful aloneness, and eternal movement. And, there is this sound tires make on the long, empty roads to Death Valley. Was this where the Eagles were inspired to write: “Don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy. Lighten up, while you still can, don’t even try to understand…”Another long road near Ridgecrest, California.
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.
Shadows on a long road to Death Valley.Dark was coming near Panamint. And we were still on the road into Death Valley. At the top of this hill, we came back into a mile of sunlight, for one last look at the sun before heading down into Death Valley.
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.
Stovepipe Wells General Store. Across the street from the hotel. Death Valley, California.Lights. Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley National Park. California.
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.
A hint at the coming colors of sunrise. Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley National Park.Just a moment before the sun came over the ridge, a rose color washed over Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.Good morning sunshine! Thanksgiving in Death Valley, California.A few seconds later, and the desert appears from the dark. Death Valley. Me, my shadow, the birds, and the desert in a fading pink sunrise. Death Valley.
Thanksgiving site-seeing
After breakfast in the Toll Road Restaurant, we drove over to the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes.
Mama Lucy in the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes of Death Valley on Thanksgiving morning.
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.
A wheel from a 20 Mule Team wagon. Harmony Borax Works. Death Valley.
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!
On the road across Death Valley.
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.
Badwater Basin in Death Valley National Park.Us at Badwater Basin in Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.Walking out onto the salt flats at the lowest place in North America. Badwater Basin, Death Valley.Walking in the salt flats. Badwater Basin. Death Valley.A vast salt flat in Death Valley’s Badwater Basin.
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.
Artists Palette hills of oxidized rocks of Death Valley.The one-way road through the Artists Palette hills of Death Valley.
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.
Mama Lucy in her rocking chair. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.Our view from the rocking chairs. Dust from a distant car, and an airplane trail. Death Valley on Thanksgiving Day.
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.
CA-180 sign near Fresno, with the Sierra Nevada foothills in the background.Coyote in a field. California’s Sierra Nevada mountains.Orange grove. Near Squaw Valley / Sanger, California.
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.
Mama Lucy at a viewpoint just inside Sequoia National Park, posing with the giant greeters. The Sequoias became a national park just a couple of weeks before Yosemite, in the fall of 1890.
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.
Mama Lucy admires a giant Sequoia. Sequoia National Park, CA.
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
Mama Lucy at General Sherman, the giant Sequoia that is the largest tree by volume in the world. These giants are impossible to photograph in a way that shows their true scale.
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%).
Sugar Pines and Sequoias near General Sherman’s grove in Sequoia National Park.The triplets, Three Graces, Sequoia National Park. For prints, please email me.Moss grows on a neighboring Sugar Pine tree in Sequoia National Park.
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.
Looking up at the Sequoias. These trees are not as tall as the Coastal Redwoods, but they are older and have more width and volume. It is said that as the Sequoias grow tall and stand above their neighbors, wind can often sheer off their tops. The topped trees will continue to grow in girth.If you listen, you can hear the chipmunks. Sequoia National Park.
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.
The lobby bear at Wuksachi Lodge in Sequoia National Park.
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.”
Pastel sunset over Sequoia National Park.Then, a crescent moon appeared among the trees. Sequoia National Park.And then, pastels turn fiery just before dark, and the trees start melting into the sky. Sequoia National Park.
November 19: San Francisco to Yosemite National Park. Starting mileage: 37,495.
Our drive east across California on a Sunday morning was quiet, sunny, and we were happy. The sun was in our eyes, and the road sparkled. We passed vast grassy flatlands, farms and fields, vineyards, almond trees planted in rows, and pastures where black cows reigned. Today, we’d see Yosemite, THE third National Park, and OUR third National Park.
Almond tree farm in California.The one brown cow. California.
Ode to Scenic Vistas and Viewing Points
One of our favorite things to do was stop to stretch our legs at scenic vistas and viewing points. Mama Lucy took the opportunity to walk her Fitbit, while I made photographs. Whether they’re called Observation Points, Scenic Turn-outs, Scenic Overlooks, Vista Points–all viewpoints have handsome views. But not all viewpoints are themselves scenic. Amidst the allure of the surrounding area, these viewing spaces are usually paved parking lots, sometimes populated by picnic tables, bathrooms, and overflowing trash cans. But, at this one, I noticed the lovely blonde hair-like grasses and admired the peaceful viewpoint as much as “the view”.
The Don Pedro Reservoir Lake near Chinese Camp, California.Extra views at the viewpoint parking lot for the vista at Don Pedro Reservoir Lake, near Chinese Camp, CA.
The Rim Wildfire Area
As we passed through Stanislaus National Forest and neared Yosemite National Park, we entered an area blackened by a forest fire. We stopped at another viewpoint, and stood staring at a barren valley full of leafless, toothpick trees. Above us, massive power lines hummed and crackled. A sign directed us to hear more about the Rim Fire.
The Rim Fire broke out in mid-August 2013, caused by a hunter’s illegal campfire. He stupidly lit a fire during a hot, dry, windy time when a fire ban was in place. The fire burned more than 90,000 acres in just a matter of days. Finally, nine weeks later, the fire was contained. But it was a full year before the smoldering fire was declared “out”. In the end, the Rim Fire destroyed more than 100 buildings. Fortunately, no humans died. I can only imagine how much more devastating this was for the wildlife–how many nests or dens destroyed? How many animal deaths? The hunter was charged with a felony, though the charges were later dropped because the only two witnesses against him died.
The Rim Fire began in August 2013, burning more than 90,000 acres around and in Yosemite National Park, California. It took more than two months to contain, and some areas smoldered for over a year.The Rim Fire was caused by an illegal hunter’s campfire in 2013. The fire destroyed more than 90,000 acres in Stanislaus National Forest and Yosemite National Park. California.Dead trees in Stanislaus National Forest and Yosemite National Park. California.Skeletons of burned tree in Stanislaus National Forest, California.
Yosemite!
Yosemite is the USA’s third National Park, established in 1890. Abraham Lincoln first protected the land in 1864 with the Yosemite Grant. But still development continued. Farm animals grazed in the valley. Hunters poached wildlife. More tourists came. More roads were built. Naturalist and conservationist John Muir argued for greater protection, and in 1890, the Yosemite Act passed. This act protected the trees in Sequoia National Park (the second park, beating Yosemite by about two weeks) and the natural formations and minerals in Yosemite.
Thankfully, passionate John Muir continued to argue for a greater idea to preserve and protect the great wild lands of America. One night in 1903, around a campfire in Yosemite with President Theodore Roosevelt, Muir made his point. The idea for the National Park Service was born. While the Park Service was not officially up and running until 1916, a 1906 Act formally gave Yosemite to the United States for protection. The National Park Service…America’s Best Idea. Thank you John Muir!
Entering Yosemite, we could see Half Dome in the distance. California’s National Park.Mama Lucy walking her Fitbit and looking at sequoias at another delightful viewpoint just outside Yosemite National Park. California.Wawona Tunnel into Yosemite National Park. California.Yosemite National Park. The third oldest National Park, founded on October 1, 1890.
On the Valley Floor, Yosemite National Park
At last, we drove down to the Valley Floor and to the foot of El Capitan. There are no words to describe the scale beyond the fields of high grass, where the double-decker Yosemite waterfall fell from a massive granite mountain. Tiny people crossed the field in front of us.
Upper Yosemite Falls as seen from the Valley Floor. Yosemite National Park.El Capitan, a sheer granite mountain wall in Yosemite National Park.Mama Lucy at the Chapel in Yosemite. The Chapel was built in 1879 near the start of the Four Mile Trail. It was moved to this location in 1901.Bridalveil Falls in Yosemite National Park. California.On the Valley Floor. Yosemite, California.Bridalveil Falls seen as we drive onto the Valley Floor. Yosemite National Park, CA.An important point for the preservation of Yosemite and all our national forests and parks. The National Park Service idea was born here, around a campfire.Driving out of Yosemite after the sun left the Valley Floor.Later, we passed over a one-lane bridge in Yosemite. Part of a mountain road for exiting Yosemite collapsed in a rock fall. This bridge redirected cars back over to the exiting side of the mountain.
The sun leaves the valley
We left Yosemite’s Valley floor just after the sun did. Driving out of the canyon, we watched the sun ride up the granite cliffs. We’d make it to our hotel in Merced, California after dark. Happy and exhausted, we were delighted to learn that nearby Mountain Mike’s Pizza had a salad bar!
Finally, if you’re going on a road trip, please support your NATIONAL PARKS! The $80 spent on an annual pass was THE BEST $80 spent on our trip. We are lucky that such ardent and influential people moved on an idea to protect such magical and majestic places. Go! See the parks. Appreciate the last remaining wild spaces. And thank your lucky stars that someone had the foresight and passion to care and fight for nature.
November 17: Eureka to San Francisco. Starting mileage: 37,127.
From the quiet majesty of the redwoods, we were now on our way to the hubbub of busy San Francisco. It was once again, a beautiful day for a drive. Remembering our Road Trip Lesson #1–“the road is the trip too”–we took our time. We drove south down US-101, stopping at Redcrest’s tiny post office, Humboldt Redwoods State Park for a few walks along the Avenue of the Giants, and in Willets for a diner lunch at a place called Lumberjack’s. Besides abiding by Road Trip Lesson #6 to always opt to eat at a local diner, who could resist a place with an ax-carrying mannequin out front?
Sweet little bridge. Somewhere between Eureka and San Francisco, CA.Tunnel to…”ta-da”…San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge!
Staying in San Francisco
We got our first glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge as we passed out of a tunnel, almost at golden hour. The sun’s setting light tinged everything with warmth and welcome. US-101 is the road that goes over the Golden Gate Bridge, and after that and a dramatic left turn through the Presidio, we arrived at our centrally-located hotel, right there on the old highway. So many fantastic old hotel signs, remnants of another era.
In the big cities, I’d looked for hotels where we could park the car, and take public transportation and/or walk. This one was perfectly located, and though not the poshest hotel, it was clean and cozy. And from the balcony, we could see the Golden Gate Bridge…just to the right of a massive billboard touting the coming-soon Apple iPhone X.
November 18: Lombard Street
Lucky us! Our hotel was on US-101, which also turns out to be Lombard Street. After a few blocks walk–or should I say, CLIMB up Lombard–we arrived at the top of the hill. One side is pin-straight, all the way back past the old highway’s hotels. On the other side, Lombard Street becomes the crookedest street in America.
The story goes that this block, with its 27% grade, was just too steep for cars. As a result, property values were lower for residents. Eventually, someone thought of terracing and in 1922, Lombard Street got its curved switchbacks. Originally a two-way street, it became one way, down hill, in 1939. Over the years, hydrangeas were planted to ease erosion. Sometime during the late 1950s-early 1960s, a photograph of a blooming, colorful Lombard Street became popular and was printed on a postcard. Today, it is estimated that more than 300 cars per hour make their way down the narrow turns, and gobs of tourists hoof it down the block’s 250 steps. No wonder the houses have so many gates, ivy, and hedges! As we took our time walking down, we tried not to gawk into resident’s “front yards”, but we did admire their gardening, and their parking skills.
Follow the red-brick road. Walking down the curviest street…Lombard Street…in San Francisco, CA. Read more about this street and see old photos of its construction.Gates and hedges along Lombard Street, San Francisco, CA.Peek-a-boo window near Lombard Street in hilly San Francisco.The San Francisco version of kudzu? Ivy blankets a hilly garage near Lombard Street.Mama Lucy sits for a rest on the way up the hill to see Lombard Street’s crooked other side. San Francisco.
Cable Cars!
Next, we headed for the cable cars. We’d heard the clanging bells and had waved back at the people hanging off the sides, waving and laughing. Our destination was the Powell-Hyde Cable Car turnaround spot in Ghirardelli Square. From there, we’d go to the Powell St. Station at Market Street.
It is said that the San Francisco cable car system came from Andrew Smith Hallidie, who witnessed a horrible accident in 1869. A horse-drawn carriage slipped on the steep-graded, wet, cobblestone street and slid backwards. The heavy vehicle dragged five horses down the hill to their deaths. Hallidie was inspired to do something about it–using wire rope to design a method to pull these cable cars. They were tested and rolled out in 1873.
We were the first riders on the next Powell-Hyde cable car. At this early hour, it wasn’t yet crowded. We marveled at the hills, the clanging of the bell as we passed through intersections, and the pushing/pulling of the conductor’s controls. It was too quick a ride and we were soon at Market Street.
Us on the Cable Car. San Francisco.
Cable Car, Streetcar, Trolley, or Muni?
Now, who knows the difference between all the trolley cars, cable cars, streetcars, light rail, and subway cars? I find it ridiculously confusing…which made it tricky to figure out how to get the MUNI to go out to see friends and meet their dogs. We got a lot of coaching from friends over text and phone calls, and from some kind strangers in the MUNI station and on the bus…or trolley…or in Chicagoan, “the el”…maybe?
Here’s what I learned:
Cable cars run on steel rails with a slot between the tracks where an underground cable runs at a continuous nine miles per hour. To move forward, the conductor operates what are essentially pliers to grip, or let go of, the moving cable.
Streetcars also run on steel rails, but with no slot between the tracks, and no underground cable. The streetcars have onboard electric motors and require a trolley pole to draw power from an overhead wire. They are sometimes called trolley cars.
Some trolleys have rubber tires and no steel rails, but they are electric and draw power from overhead wires. These are called trolley coaches or trolley buses.
There’s also the Muni Metro Light rail. To this Chicagoan, this resembles a short subway train, but on the ground and attached to overhead wires.
And finally, there’s BART–Bay Area Rapid Transit–which is a traditional elevated and subway rail system all over the Bay area.
Confusing, no?
San Francisco’s Muni lines.
Quick visits with good friends
In any case, we found our way out to my friends’ house. It was a nice ride out, through a Saturday afternoon in typical San Francisco neighborhoods. Road Trip Lesson #4 is to seize the moments, so we crammed in this super quick visit. We had a rambunctious welcome from two wiggle-butt mutts and big hugs from good friends. After a short visit, with some much-needed puppy playtime, and a sandwich lunch, we had to be on our way. We got a ride back into town past the Painted Ladies, said our goodbyes, and got in line for another cable car ride back to our neighborhood to meet another friend. Life is short! Make it work!
“Postcard Row”: The Painted Ladies, Victorian Houses at Alamo Square park. The houses were built between 1892 and 1896. San Francisco.
Another cable car ride, another friend, and another diner
The cable cars were much busier now. Our wait was about an hour. Finally, we boarded–Mama Lucy sitting, and me hanging off the side. What a ride! We stopped in the middle of an intersection for a shift change and traded one loquacious conductor for another. We were told to watch our heels so they didn’t drag on street pylons, and tuck in our butts in traffic. !!! Up and over, up and over. Hills came and went. The bells clanged. People chased the cable car wanting to board and the conductor roared “Next Car!” like a lion song. We were giddy by the time we got back to Ghirardelli Square.
Ghirardelli Square in the Fisherman’s Wharf area, San Francisco.
Here, we’d meet another friend for a bit of site-seeing in her car, and later a diner dinner at Mel’s. Genuine chocolate malts and dancing in the booth to YMCA by the Village People at Mel’s, followed by a glass of wine later near the Wharf wrapped up our time in San Francisco. Such great friends, and such a beautiful place to live.
November 19: San Francisco to Yosemite. Starting mileage: 37,495.
We woke the car up early, loading her up to get out of town before San Francisco got busy. According to Road Trip Lesson #5, we asked Siri for help getting out of the city and she directed us calmly across town and out over the Bay Bridge.
Thanks for a great visit San Francisco! Hope to see y’all again soon!
The Bay Bridge. Lower level going East. During the 1989 earthquake, a bit of the upper section collapsed onto this bottom section. It was repaired. In the 1990s, the decision was made to replace the Eastern span of the bridge. A completely new bridge was constructed beside the old one. The new one opened in 2013, and the old one was carefully taken down in 2016-17. San Francisco.
November 15: Portland to the California Redwoods. Starting mileage: 36,776.
We left Portland in a heavy rain. Today, we were headed for the coastal redwood trees in California. I couldn’t wait to see those giant, ancient beings–straight and tall–lining our road.
As we drove along, we saw fields of crops–labeled for city people like us. We called out the names on the signs and admired the plants as we passed: broccoli, hazelnuts, clover, forage, fescue, rye grass, and winter wheat.
Welcome to California
After a little while, we came upon a “Welcome to California” sign, followed by an Agricultural Inspection Point with a sign reading “All vehicles must stop”. We pulled over, and were quickly waved through by the ranger, “Have a good afternoon ladies!” Soon, there was a tunnel, and not long after, the first redwood. Unmistakable…the presence of those surely sentient trees, waiting along the road, welcoming or watching. We were in the Redwood National and State Parks.
Just a photo from behind the steering wheel as we drove into the first in the string of Redwood National and State Parks. My skin tingles every time I get a first glimpse of the Redwoods. There is no comparison! I was excited for Mama Lucy to see them. Redwood National Park.
November 16: Crescent City to Eureka, California. Starting mileage: 37,113
The next morning, we started out early. We’d drive slowly south, weaving around and through the various parks that make up the Redwood National and State Parks system. What a moody day as we drove into a deep fog cloud, then a misting rain, and a hard rain–driving among the giants.
About to enter the fog cloud, California.Seeing the redwoods in the rain and fog…it’s like driving into an ancient fairy tale.Fog in the Redwoods. Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, California.Mama Lucy dwarfed in the Redwood Forest. Redwood National Park, California.
About the Redwood Tree
Coastal Redwoods are some of the oldest living things on earth, 1,200–1,800 years or more, with one estimated to be 2,200 years old. They are tall–the tallest living things on earth at 375+ feet. Coast redwoods can reproduce from tiny seed cones or by sprouting from a root crown, stump, or even fallen redwoods. Despite their great height, the roots only extend down six to twelve feet. But the roots can extend up to 100 feet from the tree’s base, intertwining with the roots of others, all holding on to each other, which greatly increases their stability. These groves are like families, and for this reason, redwoods are often in a line or fairy-ring circle.
A fallen giant redwood spouts ferns, moss, and other trees. Redwood National Park.Fallen redwoods often sprout other trees. Redwood National Park.
Sequoia sempervirens (redwoods) are only found on the Pacific coast, from southern Oregon through central California. They can not live more than 50 miles inland because they need the fog and precipitation from the incoming moisture off the ocean. The tallest and oldest trees are found in deep valleys and gullies, where rainfall is high, year-round streams flow, and fog is regular. The redwoods drink fog: ~40% of their water intake is condensed fog.
Walking in the rain in the Redwood National Park. Fog and rain suit these forests.Moss grows on a Redwood. Coastal Redwoods in Northern California.Mama Lucy walking through the redwood forest.Mama Lucy in the redwood forest.
John Steinbeck’s Redwood Encounter in Travels with Charley
“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.
They carry their own light and shade. The vainest, most slap-happy and irreverent of men, in the presence of redwoods, goes under a spell of wonder and respect…. One feels the need to bow to unquestioned sovereigns. There’s a cathedral hush here. Perhaps the thick soft bark absorbs sound and creates a silence. The trees rise straight up to zenith; there is no horizon…. The green fernlike foliage so far up strains the sunlight to a green gold and distributes it in shafts or rather in stripes of light and shade. To me, there’s a remote and cloistered feeling here. One holds back speech for fear of disturbing something–what?
And only these few are left—a stunning memory of what the world was like once long ago. Can it be that we do not love to be reminded that we are very young and callow in a world that was old when we came into it?
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, 1962
A few photos to try and show the magic:
Redwoods drink condensed fog.Such a magical place of fog, rain, and these kind, sentient giants. Redwood National Forest.The soft, cushy forest floor at the foot of a redwood.
Their one-foot thick, soft fibrous bark makes them extremely fire-resistant. They are also extremely resistant to insects and rot. Indeed, it is said that their number one enemy is humankind. Redwoods are listed as endangered because of declining populations due to urban development and logging. Since logging began in the 1850s, 95 percent of old-growth coast redwoods have been cut down (source: Sempervirens Fund). Today, the four parks in the Redwood National and State Parks system, together, protect only 45% of all remaining redwood old-growth forests, totaling about 39,000 acres. Redwoods are listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List because of decreasing populations.
Lumber facility along the coast near the Redwood National Park. Redwoods are endangered because of urban development and logging. Wild Elk warning. Animals thrive in the redwood forests.
Reverence
I am not religious. But I do believe in something greater, a spirit bigger than our individual selves. These trees embody that. The stillness, the rain, the very presence of the trees, inspire an awe and reverence that I cannot articulate. We are here now, among these divine spirits. How patient they are with the often greedy, cruel humans who are just a moment in their long lives.
I’m drawn to them, and could happily lose myself walking among their trunks in the fog and rain. We walked in silence around them, on a path through a quiet forest with only the sound of dripping rain. I held one of their tiny seed cones, less than one-inch long. And they held me in their midst, among their groves. I took some silence, some calm, some hope with me that day.
November 12: Roslyn, Washington to Seattle. Starting mileage: 36,363.
Today, we began a three-night whirlwind across the Pacific Northwest. We left Roslyn for one night in Seattle, one night at the Pacific Ocean, and one night in Portland. Despite the overcast skies and the frequent rain squalls, it was not enough time in any one of these places.
Over the Snoqualmie Pass to Seattle
We drove out of Northern Exposure’s Cicely heading west over the Cascade Mountain Range, and passed over Snoqualmie Pass just before a snow storm. First, we would spend a day in Seattle with my step-brother seeing the views from Columbia Center Tower and the Space Needle, riding the Light Rail and Monorail, and catching up over a couple of meals.
Passing through precipitation in Snoqualmie Pass, Washington. We loved these vistas of water, trees, and the snowy, fog-covered mountains. Trees hug the road as we passed through Snoqualmie Pass, Washington.Looking West into Elliott Bay and Puget Sound from Columbia Center Tower. Seattle, Washington.Looking North at the Space Needle and Puget Sound from Columbia Center Tower. Seattle, Washington.Looking East at I-90’s floating bridge across Lake Washington to Mercer Island. From Columbia Center Tower, Seattle, Washington.Mama Lucy walking the hills of downtown Seattle, Washington.Mama Lucy at the Space Needle, Seattle, WA.The Space Needle, Seattle, WA.Neon Monorail sign. Seattle WA. Neon looks extra special in this grey, rainy, foggy environment. More NEON Seattle! More NEON! 🙂Walruses decorate the Arctic Club Building, in Seattle, Washington. It was built in 1916 for the Arctic Club, a social group for those who gained wealth in Alaska’s Klondike Gold Rush.Seattle, Washington’s Light Rail tunnel.
November 13: Seattle to Ocean Shores, Washington. Starting mileage: 36,445.
Early the next morning, Mama Lucy and I stopped by Pike’s Place Market for a walk around and a stash of food: savory potato and cheese pirogies from Piroshky Piroshky, light, fluffy and yummy chocolate croissants from Le Panier, and hot coffee from the very first Starbucks. It’s no wonder Starbucks sprouted in Seattle. Hot coffee tastes extra special in that rainy, foggy environment.
Cargo containers lined the side of the interstates around Seattle. Washington. Fascinating to see so many of those cargo ships coming/going from Seattle’s port. Seattle imports furniture parts, aircraft parts, and car parts and exports civilian aircraft, soybeans, and corn. The top three trade partners of Seattle Port are China, Canada, and South Korea (according to USTradeNumbers.com).Neon inside Pike’s Place Market. Seattle, WA. Mama Lucy at Public Market – Farmers Market – Pike’s Place as the sun tries to come out. Seattle, WA.At last, blue skies! Public Market neon sign in a nearly-clear sky at Pike’s Place. Seattle, WA.
We left a partly sunny Seattle. Next, we planned to stay an afternoon and night at the Pacific Ocean. I’d researched carefully to find a hotel as close to the ocean as possible so that we could enjoy a walk on the beach and the sounds of the Pacific at night. However, weather reports told us we were driving into a storm.
Ocean Shores and an angry Pacific Ocean
The further west we drove, the darker the skies became. Soon, the wind and the rain came. By the time we reached the northern peninsula separating Gray’s Harbor from the ocean, the wind gusts were punching the car. We marveled at how much the trees lining the road could bend, and drove cautiously past blue signs noting this was a “Tsunami Hazard Area”, and we were on a “Tsunami Evacuation Route”. The Pacific, sometimes visible between houses and forests, was angry, tossing waves high and hard into the shoreline. We pulled in to an empty parking lot at the Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn. The wind nearly blew the door off the car when we got out. Thankfully, we were able to check in early and we tucked in to our cozy room to watch the storm.
Wind swept the grasses; white caps were visible in the fog and mist. This was not a pacified Pacific, but a wide, wild expanse of fury. We sat in our little living room, picnicking on our Pike’s Place market pirogies and croissants. Despite the storm charge in the air, it was a quiet, relaxing afternoon. We read, did laundry, journaled, talked, and daydreamed. We were two of just eighteen guests at the hotel that day. Later, I’d dreamed of waves and flying over mountains like a bird.
Trees and rain, driving into the storm from Seattle to Ocean Shores, WA.Pouring rain at the Pacific Ocean at Ocean Shores, WA.
November 14: Ocean Shores, WA to Portland, OR. Starting mileage: 36,596.
Bad road to an angry Pacific Ocean. Ocean Shores, WA.
The next morning, the rain seemed to have tapered, but the wind was still raging. Regardless, I walked to the beach to pay respects to the Pacific Ocean…and to thank it for not coming for us during the night. The waves were syncopated, nearly constant and loud. The sand skidded and swirled across the beach. Seagulls sat in forlorn groups near dunes, soaked and caked in muddy sand. I took photos and tried to avoid the sand blasting my eyes and my camera. Sand stung my cheeks, stuck to my hair, and blew into my mouth. The seagulls came closer–one in particular looked like he was asking for help. I wished I’d brought bread. As I took a photo of him with our hotel in the background, the rain returned. There was lightning. I couldn’t hear the thunder for the roar of the Pacific. Turning my back on the wind (but not the ocean!), I pushed my camera into a bag and said “Goodbye” to the Pacific and “Good Luck” to the seagull. I was soaked to the skin by the time I got back to the room.
An angry Pacific Ocean. Ocean Shores, WA.Soaking wet seagull at the Pacific Ocean. Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn in the background. Ocean Shores, Washington.
Storm at the Pacific Ocean
Turns out, this windstorm was extremely powerful. Winds were sustained at 30-40 mph and gusted to 60 mph. There was a high surf advisory and “significant beach erosion and wave run-up was possible”. Trees were falling. Power lines were coming down. Heavy rain was coming. We didn’t know all that at the time, and went about packing up and loading out. Mama went down for the luggage cart while I changed into dry clothes. And then, the power went out. A pop, a flicker, then silence.
Oh no, Mama would be in the elevator by now! I grabbed the key and ran out of the room towards the elevator, yelling for her. The place was eerily quiet. I heard no other guests, just the wind whipping the flags and the windows. The hallways were lit only by window light. Doors were closed in places I had not even noticed had doors. The stairwell emergency light was on. Just as I hit the darkened lobby, Mama walked out of the elevator. She’d been stuck in the dark elevator for about two minutes. Thankfully, she’d rung the bell and the receptionist got her out on the ground floor right away. They told us that the power was out because of a lightning strike, and just how bad this storm was. Fortunately, the power was out for only about 30 minutes.
Lobby lit by the windows and an emergency lantern during the power outage. Best Western Lighthouse Suites Inn at Ocean Shores, WA.
On the road to Portland, Oregon
As we drove out of Ocean Shores, we marveled at the raw power of nature, and the fine line this community lived on there next to the powerful Pacific Ocean.
This area of the country has such a fragrant, fresh, stunning beauty because of the trees, mountains, and the rain. However, the logging of trees provides income to the residents. As a result, it is common to see fresh-cut tree logs piled high on semi-trucks, and logs and lumber stacked high at roadside factories. I wondered if the trees along the roads mourned their fallen kin.
Fresh air and forests line the drive from Ocean Shores, WA to Portland, OR.Alas, this frequent sight, a log-carrying truck in Oregon.…And, a logging facility in Oregon.Hairnets for the mountains. Portland, OR.
Finally, we were in Portland for one big reason…to see our friend Tonya and eat at her pizza place, Via Chicago. She makes the pizzas from scratch. If you’re in Portland, you won’t regret stopping by for a tasty Chicago pizza pie.
November 10: Nampa, Idaho to Rosyln, Washington. Starting mileage: 35,946.
We trekked across the northeastern corner of Oregon and north into Washington in a misty fog and rainy snow. We passed Christmas tree farms, wind turbines, signs warning of “Severe Sidewinds Ahead”, and so many trucks carrying logs. This is the Great Pacific Northwest or Cascadia–an area known for environmentalism, coffee drinking, grunge music, and weather-induced depression.
We were headed for a mythical town: Cicely, Alaska from Northern Exposure.
In real life, the town is called Roslyn, Washington and it is where the TV series, Northern Exposure, was filmed from 1990-1995. The program was quirky, intelligent, kind, funny, full of special people with astute observations, and had so many wise and magical moments. There was Chris Stevens broadcasting from KBHR, Holling Vincouer and Shelly Tambo at the Brick, Indian filmmaker Ed Chigliak, out-of-place New Yorker Dr. Joel Fleishmann, pilot Maggie O’Connell, retired astronaut Maurice Minnifield, quiet Marilyn Whirlwind, level-headed Ruth-Anne Miller, bombastic Adam and Eve, mysterious One-Who-Waits, Chris’ twin Bernard, The Brick’s Dave, Ruth-Anne’s Walt… These people, their town, and their eccentric ways enchanted us. It was as if we knew them, spent an hour in Cicely with them every week. Even today, putting in a Northern Exposure DVD is like sitting down with dear, old friends. What a profound, exceptional, and beautiful place literally and figuratively. The town of Roslyn was Cicely. And the town exists.
Roslyn Cafe in Roslyn, Washington, more often known as Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK. Cue the music and the moose.Dr. Joel Fleischman’s office in Cicely, AK (Rosyln, WA). Mama Lucy heading down the hill into Roslyn’s Main Street.
Pilgrimage
We arrived in the late afternoon and checked in to the Huckleberry House on the hill. It was a no frills room–in a no TV, no internet, no breakfast “Bed and Breakfast”. But there was a shared coffee maker and refrigerator and it was just a 3-minute walk to great breakfasts at Rosyln Cafe. We spent our time there walking around the buildings featured in the show. We had meals in the Brick and at Village Pizza. Mama Lucy wasn’t a Northern Exposure viewer and missed having a TV and the internet in the evenings. Regardless, we enjoyed the time to walk, reflect, and get some of that fresh mountain air.
I expected to see Holling Vincoeur and Shelly Tambo behind the bar in the Brick. Rosyln, WA aka Cicely, AK.Ruth-Anne Miller’s Grocery Store. Rosyln, WA aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK.Playing Trivial Pursuit at Village Pizza on a Saturday night in Roslyn WA, aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely, AK.
Let go of that cow, and fling something
As I walked around Cicely/Roslyn, I imagined seeing Chris sitting in the KBHR booth, or that I’d see Shelly running across the street to Ruth-Anne’s, or maybe Ed would come around the corner with a smile. And I fell in love with the cozy colorful homes, with the plumes of smoke coming from chimneys over tin roofs. I imagined tucking in to a sweet little house with books and a dog or two. Maybe things would be different here. More creatively stimulating. More thoughtful. More there in the moment. Maybe just more life.
It’s been such a strange few years. We’ve felt a little lost. And while some changes may be good for us, some changes just suck. There is no map to figure it out, to see how long the bad roads will last, or which way to go to smooth it out. We wander around until we wander out. Or maybe I just need to fling something.
The Fling…From the episode “Burning Down the House”
Chris:“I’ve been here now for some days, groping my way along, trying to realize my vision here. I started concentrating so hard on my vision that I lost sight. I’ve come to find out that it’s not the vision, it’s not the vision at all. It’s the groping. It’s the groping, it’s the yearning, it’s the moving forward. I was so fixated on that flying cow that when Ed told me Monty Python already painted that picture, I thought I was through. I had to let go of that cow so I could see all the other possibilities.
Anyway, I want to thank Maurice for helping me to let go of that cow. Thank you Maurice for playing Apollo to my Dionysus in art’s Cartesian dialectic. And thanks to you, Ed, cause the truth shall set us free! And Maggie, thank you for sharing in the destruction of your house so that today we could have something to fling.
I think Kierkegaard said it oh so well, ‘The self is only that which it’s in the process of becoming.’ Art? Same thing. James Joyce had something to say about it too. ‘Welcome, Oh Life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience, and to forge in the smythe of my soul the uncreated conscious of my race.’
We’re here today to fling something that bubbled up from the collective unconsciousness of our community. Ed, you about ready? The thing I learned folks, this is absolutely key: It’s not the thing you fling. It’s the fling itself. Let’s fling something, Cicely!”
Northern Exposure’s KBHR radio station. Cicely, AK (Rosyln, WA). The Totem Pole in Roslyn, WA“Explosives”, church, and horses. Roslyn WA.
If you are a Northern Exposure fan, you’ll probably like these links.
First, put on some music. Because of music rights issues, the original tunes didn’t always make it to the DVDs. But some good soul has pulled together a lot of the music into a Spotify Playlist.
Read more about each episode at Moosechick. Really, a fantastic resource.
Also, there’s recent news that a return to Cicely is in the works. Will they really reboot it? Will it be great, like the original?
A little pink shotgun house in Roslyn, Washington.Fall in Cascadia. A house in Rosyln, WA.Green House, Red Tin Roof, Picket Fence. Rosyln, WA.Pink House, Red Trim, Lace Curtains. Roslyn, WABrown and blue house. Roslyn, WA.November cozy in Roslyn, WA.November cozy in the mustard yellow house with chimney smoke, Roslyn WA.Snow on the roof and a wooden fence. Rosyln WA.Huckleberries on the ground at Huckleberry House in Roslyn WA, aka Northern Exposure’s Cicely AK.Fallen apples in Roslyn, Washington.Seen from the road on the drive out of Roslyn Washington.
My mom and I were on a seven-week road trip across the USA. We were now headed north from the desolate, high desert of Utah, and west into the lush area known as Cascadia and the Pacific Northwest.
November 8: Moab to Ogden, Utah. Starting mileage: 35,334.
When we left our brand new hotel in Moab, workers were finally hanging the sign. It was windy, and red sand scattered across the road like snow. We were so happy about seeing Arches National Park yesterday. And though the poor car was still a dusty mess, we were leaving Moab with clean clothes and great memories.
Today, the plan was to drive north, mosey through Salt Lake City, and then drive over the seven-mile causeway out to Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake for a meal before going to our hotel in Ogden.
Leaving Moab’s Desert
The day started on a high desert, two-lane road with frequent turn-outs near Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. Red cliffs surrounded us on this otherwise empty desert plateau. We saw a raven dive down and carry off what looked like a squirrel. We started keeping a weather eye open for cows on the road after seeing a sign warning drivers of “Free Range Cattle”. And when we saw a sign that Green River would be the last services for 110 miles, we pulled over there for gas.
Red hills and blue sky as we drove North on 191 out of Moab, Utah.
Americana in the Book Cliffs
The landscape became scrub grass on hills, sometimes with mountains like wrinkled grey elephant legs standing in the background. Empty land stretched for miles, with a high ridge of cliffs running beside the road. In a few hours, we passed through Wellington. The 50 & 6 Diner was closed, a school bus sat “for sale” on the roadside, several shops had “for rent” signs, service stations were boarded up, and ragged houses sat close to the road like they were about to thumb rides out of town.
Later we’d pass through Helper, Utah: a railroad / mining town with modest little houses stuffed into the land between the railroad tracks and the road. The traditional main street was empty. The playground was empty. Stores were closed. Old-fashioned Christmas decorations hung from light poles on Main Street. Were they recently hung, or had they been hanging for since the 1950s? A town fading into a ghost town. Or was it? The delightfully-named Pick and Rail Supermarket was open. What must it be like to live in this small, old town? How I’d love to spend some time in these old towns, exploring the buildings, the history, and what once was.
LaSalle Hotel and Fine Food Family Restuarant. Classic Americana found on the empty streets of a railroad town called Helper, Utah.We saw many grey houses with yellow trim, and grey horses with black manes and tails. Maybe they mimicked the colors of the grey mountains and the black cows hidden in yellow sage grass along the roads. Just south of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Salt Lake City and the Great Salt Lake
Our plan was to do a slow, scenic drive through Salt Lake City before having a late lunch at a restaurant on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake. We drove around Temple Square and the Mormon Tabernacle, the Utah State Capitol, and stumbled upon the Family History Library where FamilySearch.org lives. I’ve done a good bit of family research, and this is another place I would love to park for a few days to explore.
The Great Salt Lake is big…75 miles by 35 miles. I’ve seen it from the air, an awesome size, at the foot of the mountains and outlined in white and green brine. The lake is similar to the Dead Sea, so salty that swimming is like floating. While fish can’t live in the lake, the surrounding wetlands support thousands of migratory and nesting birds. We wanted to stand on the shores of the lake and see it’s expanse. Antelope Island was the place to do that.
We turned left at Syracuse, and headed towards the causeway out to the island. Antelope Island State Park has dry, native grasses that support herds of bison and bighorn sheep. The island has limited facilities, and is accessible via a seven-mile causeway into the lake. We were the only car on the road to the toll booth, and learned that “everything out there is closed for the season.” Before paying the $10 toll or park entrance fee, we pulled over to consider our options. We were hungry. While we had a few snacks in the car, we were running low on water. It would be at least a two, maybe three, hour excursion–driving out there, site-seeing around the deserted and desolate island, and driving back. We decided to skip it in favor of getting to our Ogden hotel before dark.
Buffalo statue at the entrance to the Causeway out to Antelope Island, Great Salt Lake, Utah.
November 9: Ogden, Utah to Nampa, Idaho. Starting mileage: 35,623.
In the morning, we drove out of Ogden, Utah past the top part of the Great Salt Lake. Today’s road would take us kitty-corner across the bottom of Idaho’s L towards Boise. It was a day of driving through land that looked uninhabited. But the roadside signs suggested times could get interesting around here:
“Dust storm area”
“Game Crossing”
“Deer Migration Area”
“Report Wildfire”
“Frequent High Winds”
“Blinding Blowing Snow”
“Drowsy drivers – Pull off ahead”
The Great Salt Lake as seen from I-15 North.Clear skies and an old barn in North Utah.Sometimes we’d see black cows nearly hidden in the miles of tall blonde grass under wide blue skies. Utah.Near the border of Utah and Idaho, clouds gathered over fields and hay barns.We watched for potato fields along the desolate roads in Idaho.
Hey Idaho, where are the taters?!
Now, I’m a big fan of potatoes–perhaps their biggest cheerleader. I love potatoes any way they’re prepared and swear I could eat them day-in and day-out, morning, noon, and night. Add a little cheese and a cup of coffee, and well, that’s about all I need to survive. So I was pretty excited about having a few potato dishes when we passed through Idaho. Unbelievably, this was not to be.
We pulled over for a diner lunch after seeing a sign for the Fudge Factory Cafe in Glenn’s Ferry. My mouth was already watering, as my brain vividly imagined a homemade cheesy hash brown casserole or a twice-baked potato loaded with cheese and veggies. This was another of those quiet, ghosted little towns sitting along railroad tracks. We drove around empty streets until we found the Fudge Factory Cafe, which also looked eerily empty. Nope. We kept moving.
Old building in Glenn’s Ferry, Idaho.
Just about an hour later, we pulled into the Black Bear Diner in Boise, Idaho for a late lunch. Would you believe they didn’t serve baked potatoes until after 5 p.m.? In IDAHO?! We sadly went to bed that night…potato-less…in Idaho.
November 10: Nampa, Idaho, through the northeast corner of Oregon, and on to Washington state. Starting mileage: 35,946.
We got back on the road in the morning in a dense fog, or maybe it was smog from the Ore-Ida factory near the border of Oregon. Silly me, only then did I realize where the frozen hash brown king gets the name! On this 39 degree morning, four people sat smoking on a front porch of a tumbling down house near the border, a tiny neighborhood street stuck there amidst the factory setting. Like so many places we’d see on this trip, we relished seeing the different landscapes–sometimes empty land for miles with hard rocks and ridges for textures, or soft, colorful fields cloaking the hillsides and valleys. And sprinkled throughout, these old houses and old Main Streets sit, with old ways of life slowly fading away.
Hills and valleys of Oregon and the Pacific Time Zone. We crossed the 45th Parallel just after the quaint little town of Baker City, Oregon. We were halfway between the Equator and the North Pole.Blonde grass in Oregon at the Cabbage Hill / Deadman Pass Lookout area. Those are clouds *below* us, covering the valley.Grass, rocks, and clouds in the valley below. At Cabbage Hill / Deadman Pass Lookout, Oregon. Our road continued down through those clouds and into a fertile valley of corn and hay, and into Washington State.
Soon, we’d pass through a beautiful pass with blonde grass in Oregon, high above the valley and high above the clouds. We could have stayed up there for hours watching the wind ruffle the grass and listening to the silence.
