Monday 2/21- Tuesday 2/22/2011
I’m not sure why I chose to leave Sacramento on Interstate 50…probably because I had 50 on the brain…but it turned out to be my only questionable decision during my four-day 1705 mile road trip
After an amazing long weekend in Portland for our 18th anniversary, (my year to plan) I returned home to play with Isabela, do some laundry, and pack up to hit the road once again. This trip had been in the making for months. Actually, three trips had been in the planning stages and I watched the weather daily for weeks before lift off. My number one trip choice (out of Yosemite, the Olympic Peninsula, and Utah) had been due east to the high desert region all along. The weather permitted. I was packed. Time to go.
After quick trips to the market and gas station I hit the road about 9 PM. And quick they were. My menu for this trip would be quite simple. Good bread, peanut butter and jelly, along with about 15 apples, 10 carrots, a bag full of oranges, coffee, coke and a 6 pack of beer. Pure bliss.
It didn’t occur to me until I hit Tahoe that I really should have taken Interstate 80 though Reno and then hooked up with 50. It would have been easier driving and a bit quicker. But as I said, I had 50 on the brain.
Tunes played and time passed. It had been a long day of cruising around Portland, waiting for a late plane, and trying to catch up with Bee. I was tired. Really tired. And by the time I got to Ely, NV I was too sleepy to go on. The beauty about that was that I was driving the car-tent. Yes, driving the car-tent. See, a few months back I had come up with the idea of creating a poor man’s “Tear Drop” to make traveling a bit easier on certain kinds of trips. THIS was one of those “certain kinds of trips.” After meticulously measuring the inside of our Honda Pilot, I came up with the idea of covering the entire inside of the vehicle with some kind of thick fabric. Jo-Ann’s Fabric Store served me well. After purchasing seven yards of “sale” fleece I was ready to sew. Paula laughed at me when I told her I was going to hand sew it. My neighbor and good friend Shelley did the same. Shelley ended up machine sewing it for me…I really think she was worried I would end up like a stuck pig. Thanks Shelley!
So…Ely, NV. Where do you pull over…drop the shades of the car-tent….and sleep soundly knowing no one is gonna mess with you or your car? The Ely City Hospital you say? Look at all those cars in the lot. And there are so many, who’s gonna notice just one more? And look over there. There’s a good spot that’s a bit darker than the rest of the lot. Perfect. Out like a light. Two hours. I’m good and ready to go again.
Since it was still virtually the middle of the night, I decided to forgo Great Basin National Park and continue driving. As I crossed into Utah on State Route 21 the sky began to lighten up. By the time I entered the area of the San Francisco Mountains, Frisco Peak at 9,660 feet was staring directly down at me. It was a beautiful way to watch the day awaken. I stopped and took a lot of pictures of the show in the valley below the mountain before continuing on.
I arrived in Bryce Canyon National Park at about 11:00 AM to a crystal clear blue sky looking down at 18 inches on newly fallen snow. This is what I had wished for. Beautiful skies and new snow. The perfect combination.
I checked in at the Visitor Center and was given some great advice from a Ranger about how to spend the rest of the day. After two sandwiches and an apple, I packed up and headed out. I carried my snow shoes on my back and wore traction devices on my boots (these are basically very tame crampons to provide a bit more traction on ice and snow.) I parked at Sunrise Point and hiked the Rim Trail to Sunset Point where I dropped over the rim on the Navajo Loop Trail. I had been told that the backside of the loop was closed due to danger from falling ice and rocks, but I just planned to hike to the bottom and back up. On the way down, I met a woman coming up. She was hiking strong with snowshoes on her back as well. She looked to be in her early 60’s. She told me that I could connect the trail I was on with another trail at the bottom and make a loop of it. This sounded good to me. At the bottom I found a sign leading to the Queens Garden Trail. I also found a German couple on their knees in the snow. I had to do a double take to make out that they were each forming a massive ball of snow. With a few key words and some crude sign language they explained their plan to make a “super big snow person.” I said my farewell and headed north. The rock formations were absolutely amazing. It’s easy to see the progression over time as you look at these rocks. They start as “fins” of rock which develop “windows” as they erode. Later, those “windows” collapse and form “hoodoos” which are what make Bryce so unique.
I’d been here in the summer and seen these formations growing out of the red dirt below, but this was my first time here in the winter. The views were even more dramatic. Now, the wide array of red rocks not only contrasted against the crystal blue sky, but they presently also grew out of a pure white carpet of snow. The contrasts were unbelievable. The blue of the sky….melting into the hoodoos, fins, windows, and bridges…which were all growing out of the most pure white imaginable. The snow in Bryce appeared whiter than any snow I’d ever seen. It was remarkable.
I hiked the entire 3.5 mile loop taking more than my share of pictures. I did leave the trail more than a few times. Winter is a bonus in that way. You don’t have to stay on the “designated trails” in order to cause the least amount of impact on your soundings. The entire park is a trail in the winter.
The three people I saw on the trail were the only other people I saw on the trails that afternoon. I spent the rest of the afternoon driving down the road and stopping at all the overlooks that had been plowed. The road was only plowed to about ½ of its total distance. I drove to the furthest plowed lookout (Farview Point), made a sandwich, opened a beer and took in the views….all alone. It was amazing just how few people were in the park at all.
I then decided to drive back to Bryce Point for the sunset. It was incredible and did actually attract a few other people….the first I really had seen since the German couple hours earlier. I took a series of pictures and then headed back north into the heart of the park.
I camped in the only opened campground that night. The Park Service had 10 spots plowed out for campers. I was the only one there. The Lodge is closed this time of the year as well. So, I suppose that other than a few live-in staff, I was the only person sleeping in Bryce Canyon National Park on Tuesday, February 22, 2011.
Wednesday, 2/23/2011
I set my alarm for 5 AM Wednesday morning because I had planned to do a 15 mile loop that connected two trails. I wanted to get an early start with my headlight so that I would be down around the formations for sun up. With the thermometer on my car reading 3 degrees, I bundled up and headed out.
The waning moon provided plenty of light and my headlight wasn’t needed. I descended northeast on the Fairyland Loop trail on a well snow packed trail. I took numerous pictures as the sky slowly turned from a black to a bluish gray with the moon providing an eerie glow from above. It was magical!
Arriving at the Tower Bridge as the sun was peeking above the horizon, I stopped to take off my pack and enjoy the show. The colors of the rock and sky changed with every moment that passed. I wasn’t sure what provided the most light. It could have been the brightening sky, or the reddening rock. Or it could have been the glow of the moon or even the glistening of the white snow. The world was waking up and I was a silent observer.
Once the first act of the day had come to a close, I dawned my pack once again and rounded the corner to find that the packed trail had ended. It was time to make my own tracks. Little did I know that I would be doing so for the next 4 miles, mostly uphill in almost two feet of fluffy snow. It was exciting, new, exhilarating, and finally exhausting. By the time I had climbed the 1000 feet back to the rim and arrived at Fairyland Point I was spent. I took off my pack and, in a daze, made myself a sandwich and boiled some water for coffee. I was expecting to find some other people at this overlook, but was surprised to find that it hadn’t been plowed and thus had no fellow adventurers.
With a rest and some sustenance I was ready to continue. A trail packed by a set of cross country skis led south along the Rim Trail back towards my starting point, Sunrise Point still 2.7 miles away. I tried walking in my boots for the first 200 yards and decided that the snow wasn’t firm enough not to have snowshoes on. After slipping on my shoes I continued another half mile only to find that the tracks abruptly ended. Whoever had made them had decided to turn around at this point. I trudged on a bit, sinking even more than I did down below. After about 10 more minutes I decided that enough was enough. This trip was too short to be unfulfilled for any time at all. I made the decision to turn back around and head back to Fairyland Point to reevaluate.
Once back at the lookout, I noticed that the ski trail I had followed originated from the west of me, on the main road. I decided that although the mileage was a bit longer, it was well worth not sinking up to my knees any longer. The walk back to the road took no time at all. Once on the road, and stripped down of all my snow and ice gear, walking on the pavement for the next 2 miles felt a bit like road walks on the Appalachian Trail so many years ago.
Once I arrived at the front gate, I explained that I had already passed through the gate, thus paid my fee using my Annual Parks Pass the day before. I could tell that the Ranger wasn’t so sure that I was telling the truth. We talked about my morning and my trip from “out west” and in no time at all I had made a friend. We said our goodbyes and she mentioned in passing that a “sizable storm” was on its way.
The second half of my planned hike started at the same place my day had begun, right next to my car. Remembering the “sizable storm” as I approached my car and the second trail-head, I decided to take a quick drive over to the Visitor Center (VC) to find out more about the weather. I had already traveled a bit over 9 miles.
Once at the VC I found a weather board that confirmed the approaching storm. It was coming…and I needed to make some decisions. My original plan had been to drive into Grand Escalante National Monument and do some canyoneering, but unfortunately all of the places I had planned to visit were off long dirt roads. I was told by the Rangers at the VC that with rain and snow those red clay roads got very “snotty” and they would highly suggest I refrain from using any of Escalante’s dirt roads.
So…where to go. With as storm coming I needed to find a lower elevation and maybe something a bit out of the storm’s path. I talked to Paula back home and got some basic weather updates about areas in all cardinal directions. It was clear I didn’t want to head north, into the storm. I really didn’t want to head east and risk being further away from home once the storm hit. That left south and west. After a bit of debate…I compromised and headed southwest for 90 minutes and arrived in Zion National Park in the late afternoon in time to see the late day colors off the rocks that towered above me.
The Zion VC had closed a bit earlier, so I toured around a bit and got a feel of a park I had only been to in the summer many years ago. It was a completely different place. Softer and gentler. After some rambling, my stomach began to rumble. The Lodge was open…and so was the restaurant. Should I splurge? After six or seven sandwiches in the last 48 hours it was time. The restaurant had very high priced items that all sounded like a bit much for my dulled pallet. Then my eyes landed on a thing of beauty. The Soup and Salad Bar. And what was that Mr. Waiter? It’s all you can eat? Well, another reminder of the Appalachian Trail. Time to eat and eat I did! I spent 2 hours savoring bowl after bowl of soup and plate after plate of salad just like it was a five-star restaurant in the finest city on earth. By the end….I was stuffed. I hobbled back to my car-tent, dropped the shades and quickly fell asleep.
Thursday, 2/24/2011
I woke up at 7:45 AM and wondered how I had managed to sleep so long. Between the excessive dinner and the blackout shades of the car-tent, time had just rolled by. But what perfect timing. The VC opened at 8 AM.
Under a partly sunny day with big billowing clouds floating by, I made my way through the valley to the VC. A very knowledgeable Ranger gave me a plethora of useful information so that I could plan my day. In the end, I decided on Angels Landing. I had climbed Angels Landing years earlier on a 100 degree July morning with a good friend. I had remembered sweating profusely and massive crowds. This climb would be different.
I parked in a lot with only a few other cars and got packed up. I wouldn’t need my snowshoes today but I would carry my traction devices for later in the climb. The car thermometer read 51 degrees, a stark difference from Bryce Canyon’s much higher elevation. I began to cross the footbridge across the Virgin River and stopped dead in my tracks. To my left and not more than 40 yards away was a stunning Blue Heron standing knee deep in the river. I slowly dropped my pack and switched lenses on my camera. I got a few very good pictures of my bird friend showing much of its color and texture detail. I was careful not to disturb this beautiful creature in its home.
The first mile and half of the trail was so steep that in order to keep it usable, the NPS needs to keep it paved. It’s paved with cement mixed with Zion’s natural red clay and doesn’t look out of place at all. The first 1000 feet utilize a multitude of relentless switchbacks. I took my time and enjoyed the views as I ascended. It was a spectacular morning. When the switchbacks ended I entered a narrow valley and encountered my first group of “hikers.” Three adults and two small children were whooping and yelling so loudly that I could hear them far before and far after passing them. I was glad to see that they were enjoying themselves so much but really wished they could have tried a bit harder not to interrupt the solace of others.
After the valley, I was faced with the first ice and snow of the day. The trail made a 180 degree turn and headed up 22 short, steep and very slippery switchbacks. The slippery conditions would last the rest of the hike. The traction devices were a must.
At the top of the switchbacks stood the .5 mile spur trail to Angels Landing. A few other people were standing around. Some who had tried and headed back. Others who had decided not to try at all. For there in front of me stood a half mile of snow and ice covered rock that even in summer conditions required anchored chains all the way to the top to assist climbers in their bids for the summit. These were not summer conditions.
After talking to a few hikers I cautiously made my way towards the first set of chains…all eyes on me. I quickly forgot about the others and focused on every foothold and grip on the chain. I soon got into my rhythm, and despite my fear of heights, I felt quite confident and energized by the thrill of the climb. Five to ten times there were short breaks between the sections of chain where there was nothing to hold onto but the slippery ground and the air around me. I took extra precautions at these points above and beyond my original focus. One small slip at any point in the .5 mile “trail” could mean a quick catch on the chain, a tree or a rock. One small slip could also spell a fall of over 1000 feet and certain death. Caution was of utmost importance. And cautious I was. In no time I hit the summit and found it just as I had found the entire .5 mile; empty. I took a few pictures and began boiling some water to have my celebratory coffee and sandwich. It was silent. It was warm. It was spectacular.
I stayed on the top for 90 minutes and never had any other visitors. I had the summit to myself and savored each and every moment of my alone time.
I finally decided that I wanted to see some other things in Zion and I must say goodbye to Angels Landing. On my way down the .5 mile spur I saw 3 or 4 others. I’m not sure if any of them made it to the top. The rest of the 2 miles was full of many other hikers who would clearly not make it onto the spur trail much less even to the summit. Most had tennis shoes on and little or no gear. I hope they were all safe.
At one point when I was sitting taking in the views, and a girl came up the trail and sat not far from me. As we talked I learned she was from Germany. After a few minutes, her traveling partner arrived and the three of us continued to talk about the geology and geography of Zion and this part of the country. Then, a third in their group rounded the corner. He was from Vancouver and had been cycling for 6 months. He met up with the Germans in Death Valley. Out of money, he had been invited to continue his adventure with the Germans, by way of their rented Minivan. And here they were. We talked for a while and they shared with me a “must see” in Death Valley called “Golden Canyon.” They went on and on describing in detail many of the hidden treasures buried deep in this ravine.
At the bottom of the trail, a second trail split off towards the Emerald Pools and I decided to take the Kayenta Trail to check them out. Some of the trail was closed due to falling ice but I saw the vast majority of the 4 mile loop. The high-point of this trek was the water falling into Upper Emerald Pool. Much like Upper Yosemite Falls, the water freezes as it falls and forms a “snow cone” at the bottom. It reminded me of my last trips to Yosemite with Isabela. It was beautiful but different than Yosemite because there was very little water falling here in Zion, thus I could watch it freeze from water to ice in mid-air. It was spectacular and I took many pictures. On the way down I stopped at Middle and Lower Emerald pools to take in the view. Both were beautiful but couldn’t compare to Upper Emerald Pool. Once back at my car, I drove to the end of the valley to take a quick look at the Narrows. This is a very narrow canyon that the Virgin River travels though. Only 16 hikers a day are allowed permits to hike its length. I don’t imagine many ask for those permits this time of year, but the last time I was here I had been lucky to acquire one. The views brought back fond memories of the day the picture next to my bed was taken many years ago.
With almost 9 Zion miles under my belt by 2 PM I decided to hit the VC to check on the weather. The Ranger updated me on the approaching storm. It was big. It was cold. It was on the way.
I once again decided to seek guidance from Paula (my weather center). The picture she painted was one of a massive storm making a trip back on Interstate 50 and/or Interstate 80 difficult if not impossible in my time frame. There was only one choice for me. I would have to go south and try to make it around the southern part of the Sierra Nevada’s before the storm reached that far southwest. Time to hit the road
I cleaned up and headed southwest out of Utah, through the corner of Arizona, through the southern corner of Nevada just north of Vegas, and into California. It was a beautiful trip and it was obvious I was ahead of the storm and had some time to play with. Where to play? Death Valley.
I drove into the park at 9:30 PM and quickly found a spot to set up the car-tent. I wanted to get in some decent sleep so that I could wake up well before the sunrise. My plan was to take the advice of my Zion friends I would never see again and trek into Golden Canyon.
Friday, 2/25/2011
At 5:30 AM, just as the sky began to display a hint of light, I entered the mouth of the canyon. The dunes were magnificent. The colors and shapes seemed to change in front of my eyes as the sky filled with light. It began as a walk up a large wash and then turned into a roller coaster of single track in and among the dunes. The views of the valley below were striking. The colors danced on the valley floor and blended into nameless colors on the dunes, on the peaks behind the dunes and into the sky. The lighter it became the further I hiked into the canyon. There was evidence of mining in this canyon and I wondered if it was all Borax mining as I remembered DV was so famous for. Towards the back of the trail, I decided I would try to follow another wash back out to the valley floor and then walk north at the base of the dunes to my car. I figured that if I just kept heading west and down, that I would eventually hit the valley floor where my car was parked. It worked beautifully. I had to do a bit of scrambling down dry waterfalls a couple times, but other than that the trek went without surprise. I ended up about 1 mile south of my car and enjoyed the walk at the base of the dunes back to my car. Looking straight up on my right at the towering dunes and across the vast valley floor to my left was absolutely spectacular. The loop, with some additional exploring, had been about 5 miles.
Once back at the car, I hit the VC. The Death Valley VC is nothing but a trailer. A stark difference from the modern and environmentally conscious VCs in the last two parks I had been to. The VC Trailer actually matched the high desert, unimproved, hippy feeling of the park.
The Rangers told me that Golden Canyon had been the epicenter of debate about making Death Valley a National Park. They told me that in 1976 a company wanted to build a huge open Borax mine in that canyon and the public erupted in anger. That was the movement that fueled the National Park designation. Ultimately, Golden Canyon was responsible for the transition from Monument to National Park.
The Rangers also told me that the storm was coming and would include very high winds. Only here, in Death Valley, it was a BIG deal. There had been no measurable rain in over a month and very little prior to that. Death Valley is a dry place and this was an especially dry year. The storm was a “cold one” and would drop snow on the surrounding mountains and passes. Time to move. The Rangers encouraged me to stop by Marble Canyon on my way west out of the park for a different Death Valley experience. I had been to Marble Canyon once before years earlier with a friend. I remember there being lots of people. Too many people. I decided to give it a try.
I drove on the highway for about 30 minutes and then had to continue the drive on a dirt road for 2.5 miles. I arrived at a parking lot with only 6 other cars. Perfect.
I dawned the lightest pack thus far on the trip. I wouldn’t be needing the type or amount of gear/clothes I had needed at the first two parks. The car thermometer read 68 degrees
I entered the mouth of the canyon and immediately was reminded of the meaning behind its name, Marble Canyon. Unlike the rough craggy Golden Canyon, Marble Canyon had it’s lower walls made of just that….smooth, polished marble.
Within the first 10 minutes I had passed 4 groups of people (the first 4 of 6 cars.) After about 45 minutes I arrived at a 15 foot dry fall and four other hikers pondering what to do. Two were from Victoria and in their 60's while the other couple was from San Diego and in their 50s. We talked for a bit and I showed them how to get around the obstruction. We would meet again later.
I continued up the canyon treasuring that there was probably no one ahead of me. After about 20 minutes I hit a 20 foot dry fall and found my way around it quite easily. In another 15 minutes I hit a 30 foot sheer cliff face which when water falls from it must truly be a site! There was no way to scramble up this one. I looked for about 20 minutes for a way around it…only one option presented itself and I wasn’t very confident with the path it charted. I carefully followed it for a bit, but soon decided that the rock was much too loose to attempt all by myself, deep in a canyon in Death Valley with a storm approaching. The one option that was left was a smaller canyon about 100 yards back from where I had come. As I turned around I was surprised to find the four I had met earlier coming up behind me. Surprised to see they had made it over the last dry fall, I answered their questions about what I had found concerning this one. They were happy to know that this was, for all intents and purposes, the “end” of the trail and they could rest before heading back. I bid them ado and started walking back to the small side canyon.
After a short time, I reached the side canyon to my left. As I entered its mouth, it was obvious that this canyon was rarely used as there was much more dried but standing plant growth on the floor. There were a few boot prints here and there to signal I was not alone in the exploration of this route. It was much more narrow than the original canyon was and more like the rock earlier in Golden Canyon. I ascended around bend after bend doing a lot of hand over hand scrambling until I was at the height that I supposed would get me back into Marble Canyon and well above the top of the falls that had stopped me. I could hear the voices of the other four hikers well below me and off to the left. From my point in the split off canyon, this canyon split yet once again. I had the opportunity to scramble up either one or try going over the canyon wall on my left. Any, all or none might have gained me entrance back into Marble Canyon. Clouds were billowing and the clock was ticking. I was at least 90 minutes from the car. I had been so lucky with the weather so far. I really shouldn’t push it. I decided to head back. I would be very happy later in the day for this decision.
I passed a number of people on my way to the mouth of the canyon. A man wearing a Paia Fish Market shirt from Maui sparked my interest and I talked to him and his wife for a bit. I arrived back at my car at about 11:30 AM after walking about 6 miles. I made a couple sandwiches, cleaned up the best I could before putting on clean clothes, and hitting the road.
I would be traveling from Death Valley west on Highway 190 and then south on Highway 178 into Ridgecrest. From there, I’d be skirting across the southern most Sierra Nevadas and into Bakersfield where I could catch Highway 99 and take it straight home. My goal was to dodge the brunt of the storm already pummeling the majority of California, Nevada and Utah.
The drive started out uneventful as I headed out of the National Park and into the Slate Mountains. It was only after beginning the descent into the barren valley below that things grew wild. Winds, that I would later learn were gusting upwards of 80 mph, were stirring up dust devils everywhere and the car was difficult to keep going in a straight line. I was lucky that for miles upon miles there wasn’t another car in sight as my car drifted all over the two lane highway. At times there was so much dust in the air I had to pull over to let it clear so I could see safely. There were times I could “see” the wind approaching the road ahead of my car by watching a dust devil speed toward the road. Those were times I cold brace myself for the impact of the wind. Other times, the wind must have been blowing a bit higher and picking up no dust at all hit my car with full force and no warning. I needed to be constantly aware. I did manage to get out of my car one time to take a picture of the mayhem. After almost 60 miles, I reached the other side of the valley and gained the semi-protection of the town of Ridgecrest. Ridgecrest, and all of the land around it is military based. The town itself is surrounded by no less than the following entities: the US Navel Weapons Center, the Goldstone Deep Space Tracking Station, the Irwin National Training Center, the Marine Corps Training Center, and Edwards Air Force Base. Needless to say there is a lot of activity of which the normal citizen is oblivious to. It’s a strange and beautiful area
Once in Ridgecrest, I stopped for gasoline and the station attendant mentioned I might want to hustle if I wanted to make to over the pass and to Bakersfield before the storm. I asked if there were different routes and he mentioned that there were two. One a bit north and the other a bit south. In line with my “missing the storm” philosophy of this road trip, I chose the southern route. On my way out of town I took a couple pictures of the storm engulfed northern route and was glad I had chosen the other.
The southern route took me on Highway 14 and kept me just below the 4000 foot mark as I crossed the edge of the Sierras. The clouds were black but no rain. As I approached the only summit I needed to get over, I could see that there was indeed precipitation at the top. I passed Cal Trans setting up chain controls and slowed with the traffic. As I passed over the summit it was raining….and just 200-300 feet above the road on the hills it was snowing. I had made it. I’d traveled nearly 1300 miles in winter and never once been interrupted by the weather. I had unfortunately counted my chickens a bit too early.
Once over the summit there was surprisingly no rain. Not in Bakersfield. Not in Visalia. There were however, highway signs warning of, “Heavy Rain-Slow Traffic Ahead.” Fresno, still no rain. Madera, Chowchilla, Merced, no rain. Then it hit. A few miles north of Merced the sky unleashed what looked and felt like giant buckets of water from the sky. Traffic slowed from its posted 70 mph down to 15 mph at the fastest. It was a deluge. After about 15 minutes, the next freeway information sign warned of, “Emergency Road Work In Livingston.” Having never heard of a town called Livingston or knowing what this “emergency” was I continued north on Highway 99 with throngs of other cautious drivers. Then, traffic completely stopped. It didn’t come to a slow down. It stopped. That might have been a problem going 70 mph but traffic had been moving at 10-15 mph for at least 30 minutes. I was stuck. Totally completely and utterly stuck. I was in the far left, of three, lanes with no chance of getting over or exiting the freeway anytime soon.
I quickly did what many others were probably doing. I got on my phone’s GPS mapping software and tried to find a way out of this mess. And it worked! It really did. I saw that if I got off at the next exit, I could take a series of country roads to miss all this mess. Perfect. I exited the freeway, with many fewer cars than I would have expected, and immediately was traveling the posted 55 mph on the first road out to meet the second road that would parallel the freeway. Easy. No problems. After about 6 miles I saw break lights. Then, I was stopped. Again. There was a four way stop to turn left onto the paralleling road and it wasn’t pretty. I guess others did have the same idea. Some must have been exits in front of me on the freeway and some behind. But all of them converged on this one road 6 miles away from the freeway. It took me 15 minutes to make it to the stop sign and in that time I used my phone once again. I decided to turn south, away from the traffic and away from home, in order to go further from the freeway and catch another road about 12 miles from the freeway. This time I won. No one else had decided to take this route. I didn’t see another car for the next 20 minutes as I navigated my way through farm roads and back to the freeway. When I entered the freeway, almost 45 minutes after I had exited it, traffic was moving as if nothing had happened south of me. I was later to find out that “severe flooding” reduced the freeway to one “very narrow lane.”
Finally, the weather had caught me. It wasn’t snow. It was rain. It wasn’t in Nevada, Utah, or Arizona. It was in my home, California. It wasn’t a thousand miles away from family. It was less than a hundred miles from them. Mother Nature is omnipotent. She can do as she pleases, when she pleases and where she pleases. We are just along for the ride.
Thank you Mother Nature for blessing me with an amazing trip. One that rejuvenated me in ways that only solo travel can do. One that will provide sustenance to me in times when there is not the chance to have this kind of time for silence and reflection. I will return.
I’m not sure why I chose to leave Sacramento on Interstate 50…probably because I had 50 on the brain…but it turned out to be my only questionable decision during my four-day 1705 mile road trip
After an amazing long weekend in Portland for our 18th anniversary, (my year to plan) I returned home to play with Isabela, do some laundry, and pack up to hit the road once again. This trip had been in the making for months. Actually, three trips had been in the planning stages and I watched the weather daily for weeks before lift off. My number one trip choice (out of Yosemite, the Olympic Peninsula, and Utah) had been due east to the high desert region all along. The weather permitted. I was packed. Time to go.
After quick trips to the market and gas station I hit the road about 9 PM. And quick they were. My menu for this trip would be quite simple. Good bread, peanut butter and jelly, along with about 15 apples, 10 carrots, a bag full of oranges, coffee, coke and a 6 pack of beer. Pure bliss.
It didn’t occur to me until I hit Tahoe that I really should have taken Interstate 80 though Reno and then hooked up with 50. It would have been easier driving and a bit quicker. But as I said, I had 50 on the brain.
Tunes played and time passed. It had been a long day of cruising around Portland, waiting for a late plane, and trying to catch up with Bee. I was tired. Really tired. And by the time I got to Ely, NV I was too sleepy to go on. The beauty about that was that I was driving the car-tent. Yes, driving the car-tent. See, a few months back I had come up with the idea of creating a poor man’s “Tear Drop” to make traveling a bit easier on certain kinds of trips. THIS was one of those “certain kinds of trips.” After meticulously measuring the inside of our Honda Pilot, I came up with the idea of covering the entire inside of the vehicle with some kind of thick fabric. Jo-Ann’s Fabric Store served me well. After purchasing seven yards of “sale” fleece I was ready to sew. Paula laughed at me when I told her I was going to hand sew it. My neighbor and good friend Shelley did the same. Shelley ended up machine sewing it for me…I really think she was worried I would end up like a stuck pig. Thanks Shelley!
So…Ely, NV. Where do you pull over…drop the shades of the car-tent….and sleep soundly knowing no one is gonna mess with you or your car? The Ely City Hospital you say? Look at all those cars in the lot. And there are so many, who’s gonna notice just one more? And look over there. There’s a good spot that’s a bit darker than the rest of the lot. Perfect. Out like a light. Two hours. I’m good and ready to go again.
Since it was still virtually the middle of the night, I decided to forgo Great Basin National Park and continue driving. As I crossed into Utah on State Route 21 the sky began to lighten up. By the time I entered the area of the San Francisco Mountains, Frisco Peak at 9,660 feet was staring directly down at me. It was a beautiful way to watch the day awaken. I stopped and took a lot of pictures of the show in the valley below the mountain before continuing on.
I arrived in Bryce Canyon National Park at about 11:00 AM to a crystal clear blue sky looking down at 18 inches on newly fallen snow. This is what I had wished for. Beautiful skies and new snow. The perfect combination.
I checked in at the Visitor Center and was given some great advice from a Ranger about how to spend the rest of the day. After two sandwiches and an apple, I packed up and headed out. I carried my snow shoes on my back and wore traction devices on my boots (these are basically very tame crampons to provide a bit more traction on ice and snow.) I parked at Sunrise Point and hiked the Rim Trail to Sunset Point where I dropped over the rim on the Navajo Loop Trail. I had been told that the backside of the loop was closed due to danger from falling ice and rocks, but I just planned to hike to the bottom and back up. On the way down, I met a woman coming up. She was hiking strong with snowshoes on her back as well. She looked to be in her early 60’s. She told me that I could connect the trail I was on with another trail at the bottom and make a loop of it. This sounded good to me. At the bottom I found a sign leading to the Queens Garden Trail. I also found a German couple on their knees in the snow. I had to do a double take to make out that they were each forming a massive ball of snow. With a few key words and some crude sign language they explained their plan to make a “super big snow person.” I said my farewell and headed north. The rock formations were absolutely amazing. It’s easy to see the progression over time as you look at these rocks. They start as “fins” of rock which develop “windows” as they erode. Later, those “windows” collapse and form “hoodoos” which are what make Bryce so unique.
I’d been here in the summer and seen these formations growing out of the red dirt below, but this was my first time here in the winter. The views were even more dramatic. Now, the wide array of red rocks not only contrasted against the crystal blue sky, but they presently also grew out of a pure white carpet of snow. The contrasts were unbelievable. The blue of the sky….melting into the hoodoos, fins, windows, and bridges…which were all growing out of the most pure white imaginable. The snow in Bryce appeared whiter than any snow I’d ever seen. It was remarkable.
I hiked the entire 3.5 mile loop taking more than my share of pictures. I did leave the trail more than a few times. Winter is a bonus in that way. You don’t have to stay on the “designated trails” in order to cause the least amount of impact on your soundings. The entire park is a trail in the winter.
The three people I saw on the trail were the only other people I saw on the trails that afternoon. I spent the rest of the afternoon driving down the road and stopping at all the overlooks that had been plowed. The road was only plowed to about ½ of its total distance. I drove to the furthest plowed lookout (Farview Point), made a sandwich, opened a beer and took in the views….all alone. It was amazing just how few people were in the park at all.
I then decided to drive back to Bryce Point for the sunset. It was incredible and did actually attract a few other people….the first I really had seen since the German couple hours earlier. I took a series of pictures and then headed back north into the heart of the park.
I camped in the only opened campground that night. The Park Service had 10 spots plowed out for campers. I was the only one there. The Lodge is closed this time of the year as well. So, I suppose that other than a few live-in staff, I was the only person sleeping in Bryce Canyon National Park on Tuesday, February 22, 2011.
Wednesday, 2/23/2011
I set my alarm for 5 AM Wednesday morning because I had planned to do a 15 mile loop that connected two trails. I wanted to get an early start with my headlight so that I would be down around the formations for sun up. With the thermometer on my car reading 3 degrees, I bundled up and headed out.
The waning moon provided plenty of light and my headlight wasn’t needed. I descended northeast on the Fairyland Loop trail on a well snow packed trail. I took numerous pictures as the sky slowly turned from a black to a bluish gray with the moon providing an eerie glow from above. It was magical!
Arriving at the Tower Bridge as the sun was peeking above the horizon, I stopped to take off my pack and enjoy the show. The colors of the rock and sky changed with every moment that passed. I wasn’t sure what provided the most light. It could have been the brightening sky, or the reddening rock. Or it could have been the glow of the moon or even the glistening of the white snow. The world was waking up and I was a silent observer.
Once the first act of the day had come to a close, I dawned my pack once again and rounded the corner to find that the packed trail had ended. It was time to make my own tracks. Little did I know that I would be doing so for the next 4 miles, mostly uphill in almost two feet of fluffy snow. It was exciting, new, exhilarating, and finally exhausting. By the time I had climbed the 1000 feet back to the rim and arrived at Fairyland Point I was spent. I took off my pack and, in a daze, made myself a sandwich and boiled some water for coffee. I was expecting to find some other people at this overlook, but was surprised to find that it hadn’t been plowed and thus had no fellow adventurers.
With a rest and some sustenance I was ready to continue. A trail packed by a set of cross country skis led south along the Rim Trail back towards my starting point, Sunrise Point still 2.7 miles away. I tried walking in my boots for the first 200 yards and decided that the snow wasn’t firm enough not to have snowshoes on. After slipping on my shoes I continued another half mile only to find that the tracks abruptly ended. Whoever had made them had decided to turn around at this point. I trudged on a bit, sinking even more than I did down below. After about 10 more minutes I decided that enough was enough. This trip was too short to be unfulfilled for any time at all. I made the decision to turn back around and head back to Fairyland Point to reevaluate.
Once back at the lookout, I noticed that the ski trail I had followed originated from the west of me, on the main road. I decided that although the mileage was a bit longer, it was well worth not sinking up to my knees any longer. The walk back to the road took no time at all. Once on the road, and stripped down of all my snow and ice gear, walking on the pavement for the next 2 miles felt a bit like road walks on the Appalachian Trail so many years ago.
Once I arrived at the front gate, I explained that I had already passed through the gate, thus paid my fee using my Annual Parks Pass the day before. I could tell that the Ranger wasn’t so sure that I was telling the truth. We talked about my morning and my trip from “out west” and in no time at all I had made a friend. We said our goodbyes and she mentioned in passing that a “sizable storm” was on its way.
The second half of my planned hike started at the same place my day had begun, right next to my car. Remembering the “sizable storm” as I approached my car and the second trail-head, I decided to take a quick drive over to the Visitor Center (VC) to find out more about the weather. I had already traveled a bit over 9 miles.
Once at the VC I found a weather board that confirmed the approaching storm. It was coming…and I needed to make some decisions. My original plan had been to drive into Grand Escalante National Monument and do some canyoneering, but unfortunately all of the places I had planned to visit were off long dirt roads. I was told by the Rangers at the VC that with rain and snow those red clay roads got very “snotty” and they would highly suggest I refrain from using any of Escalante’s dirt roads.
So…where to go. With as storm coming I needed to find a lower elevation and maybe something a bit out of the storm’s path. I talked to Paula back home and got some basic weather updates about areas in all cardinal directions. It was clear I didn’t want to head north, into the storm. I really didn’t want to head east and risk being further away from home once the storm hit. That left south and west. After a bit of debate…I compromised and headed southwest for 90 minutes and arrived in Zion National Park in the late afternoon in time to see the late day colors off the rocks that towered above me.
The Zion VC had closed a bit earlier, so I toured around a bit and got a feel of a park I had only been to in the summer many years ago. It was a completely different place. Softer and gentler. After some rambling, my stomach began to rumble. The Lodge was open…and so was the restaurant. Should I splurge? After six or seven sandwiches in the last 48 hours it was time. The restaurant had very high priced items that all sounded like a bit much for my dulled pallet. Then my eyes landed on a thing of beauty. The Soup and Salad Bar. And what was that Mr. Waiter? It’s all you can eat? Well, another reminder of the Appalachian Trail. Time to eat and eat I did! I spent 2 hours savoring bowl after bowl of soup and plate after plate of salad just like it was a five-star restaurant in the finest city on earth. By the end….I was stuffed. I hobbled back to my car-tent, dropped the shades and quickly fell asleep.
Thursday, 2/24/2011
I woke up at 7:45 AM and wondered how I had managed to sleep so long. Between the excessive dinner and the blackout shades of the car-tent, time had just rolled by. But what perfect timing. The VC opened at 8 AM.
Under a partly sunny day with big billowing clouds floating by, I made my way through the valley to the VC. A very knowledgeable Ranger gave me a plethora of useful information so that I could plan my day. In the end, I decided on Angels Landing. I had climbed Angels Landing years earlier on a 100 degree July morning with a good friend. I had remembered sweating profusely and massive crowds. This climb would be different.
I parked in a lot with only a few other cars and got packed up. I wouldn’t need my snowshoes today but I would carry my traction devices for later in the climb. The car thermometer read 51 degrees, a stark difference from Bryce Canyon’s much higher elevation. I began to cross the footbridge across the Virgin River and stopped dead in my tracks. To my left and not more than 40 yards away was a stunning Blue Heron standing knee deep in the river. I slowly dropped my pack and switched lenses on my camera. I got a few very good pictures of my bird friend showing much of its color and texture detail. I was careful not to disturb this beautiful creature in its home.
The first mile and half of the trail was so steep that in order to keep it usable, the NPS needs to keep it paved. It’s paved with cement mixed with Zion’s natural red clay and doesn’t look out of place at all. The first 1000 feet utilize a multitude of relentless switchbacks. I took my time and enjoyed the views as I ascended. It was a spectacular morning. When the switchbacks ended I entered a narrow valley and encountered my first group of “hikers.” Three adults and two small children were whooping and yelling so loudly that I could hear them far before and far after passing them. I was glad to see that they were enjoying themselves so much but really wished they could have tried a bit harder not to interrupt the solace of others.
After the valley, I was faced with the first ice and snow of the day. The trail made a 180 degree turn and headed up 22 short, steep and very slippery switchbacks. The slippery conditions would last the rest of the hike. The traction devices were a must.
At the top of the switchbacks stood the .5 mile spur trail to Angels Landing. A few other people were standing around. Some who had tried and headed back. Others who had decided not to try at all. For there in front of me stood a half mile of snow and ice covered rock that even in summer conditions required anchored chains all the way to the top to assist climbers in their bids for the summit. These were not summer conditions.
After talking to a few hikers I cautiously made my way towards the first set of chains…all eyes on me. I quickly forgot about the others and focused on every foothold and grip on the chain. I soon got into my rhythm, and despite my fear of heights, I felt quite confident and energized by the thrill of the climb. Five to ten times there were short breaks between the sections of chain where there was nothing to hold onto but the slippery ground and the air around me. I took extra precautions at these points above and beyond my original focus. One small slip at any point in the .5 mile “trail” could mean a quick catch on the chain, a tree or a rock. One small slip could also spell a fall of over 1000 feet and certain death. Caution was of utmost importance. And cautious I was. In no time I hit the summit and found it just as I had found the entire .5 mile; empty. I took a few pictures and began boiling some water to have my celebratory coffee and sandwich. It was silent. It was warm. It was spectacular.
I stayed on the top for 90 minutes and never had any other visitors. I had the summit to myself and savored each and every moment of my alone time.
I finally decided that I wanted to see some other things in Zion and I must say goodbye to Angels Landing. On my way down the .5 mile spur I saw 3 or 4 others. I’m not sure if any of them made it to the top. The rest of the 2 miles was full of many other hikers who would clearly not make it onto the spur trail much less even to the summit. Most had tennis shoes on and little or no gear. I hope they were all safe.
At one point when I was sitting taking in the views, and a girl came up the trail and sat not far from me. As we talked I learned she was from Germany. After a few minutes, her traveling partner arrived and the three of us continued to talk about the geology and geography of Zion and this part of the country. Then, a third in their group rounded the corner. He was from Vancouver and had been cycling for 6 months. He met up with the Germans in Death Valley. Out of money, he had been invited to continue his adventure with the Germans, by way of their rented Minivan. And here they were. We talked for a while and they shared with me a “must see” in Death Valley called “Golden Canyon.” They went on and on describing in detail many of the hidden treasures buried deep in this ravine.
At the bottom of the trail, a second trail split off towards the Emerald Pools and I decided to take the Kayenta Trail to check them out. Some of the trail was closed due to falling ice but I saw the vast majority of the 4 mile loop. The high-point of this trek was the water falling into Upper Emerald Pool. Much like Upper Yosemite Falls, the water freezes as it falls and forms a “snow cone” at the bottom. It reminded me of my last trips to Yosemite with Isabela. It was beautiful but different than Yosemite because there was very little water falling here in Zion, thus I could watch it freeze from water to ice in mid-air. It was spectacular and I took many pictures. On the way down I stopped at Middle and Lower Emerald pools to take in the view. Both were beautiful but couldn’t compare to Upper Emerald Pool. Once back at my car, I drove to the end of the valley to take a quick look at the Narrows. This is a very narrow canyon that the Virgin River travels though. Only 16 hikers a day are allowed permits to hike its length. I don’t imagine many ask for those permits this time of year, but the last time I was here I had been lucky to acquire one. The views brought back fond memories of the day the picture next to my bed was taken many years ago.
With almost 9 Zion miles under my belt by 2 PM I decided to hit the VC to check on the weather. The Ranger updated me on the approaching storm. It was big. It was cold. It was on the way.
I once again decided to seek guidance from Paula (my weather center). The picture she painted was one of a massive storm making a trip back on Interstate 50 and/or Interstate 80 difficult if not impossible in my time frame. There was only one choice for me. I would have to go south and try to make it around the southern part of the Sierra Nevada’s before the storm reached that far southwest. Time to hit the road
I cleaned up and headed southwest out of Utah, through the corner of Arizona, through the southern corner of Nevada just north of Vegas, and into California. It was a beautiful trip and it was obvious I was ahead of the storm and had some time to play with. Where to play? Death Valley.
I drove into the park at 9:30 PM and quickly found a spot to set up the car-tent. I wanted to get in some decent sleep so that I could wake up well before the sunrise. My plan was to take the advice of my Zion friends I would never see again and trek into Golden Canyon.
Friday, 2/25/2011
At 5:30 AM, just as the sky began to display a hint of light, I entered the mouth of the canyon. The dunes were magnificent. The colors and shapes seemed to change in front of my eyes as the sky filled with light. It began as a walk up a large wash and then turned into a roller coaster of single track in and among the dunes. The views of the valley below were striking. The colors danced on the valley floor and blended into nameless colors on the dunes, on the peaks behind the dunes and into the sky. The lighter it became the further I hiked into the canyon. There was evidence of mining in this canyon and I wondered if it was all Borax mining as I remembered DV was so famous for. Towards the back of the trail, I decided I would try to follow another wash back out to the valley floor and then walk north at the base of the dunes to my car. I figured that if I just kept heading west and down, that I would eventually hit the valley floor where my car was parked. It worked beautifully. I had to do a bit of scrambling down dry waterfalls a couple times, but other than that the trek went without surprise. I ended up about 1 mile south of my car and enjoyed the walk at the base of the dunes back to my car. Looking straight up on my right at the towering dunes and across the vast valley floor to my left was absolutely spectacular. The loop, with some additional exploring, had been about 5 miles.
Once back at the car, I hit the VC. The Death Valley VC is nothing but a trailer. A stark difference from the modern and environmentally conscious VCs in the last two parks I had been to. The VC Trailer actually matched the high desert, unimproved, hippy feeling of the park.
The Rangers told me that Golden Canyon had been the epicenter of debate about making Death Valley a National Park. They told me that in 1976 a company wanted to build a huge open Borax mine in that canyon and the public erupted in anger. That was the movement that fueled the National Park designation. Ultimately, Golden Canyon was responsible for the transition from Monument to National Park.
The Rangers also told me that the storm was coming and would include very high winds. Only here, in Death Valley, it was a BIG deal. There had been no measurable rain in over a month and very little prior to that. Death Valley is a dry place and this was an especially dry year. The storm was a “cold one” and would drop snow on the surrounding mountains and passes. Time to move. The Rangers encouraged me to stop by Marble Canyon on my way west out of the park for a different Death Valley experience. I had been to Marble Canyon once before years earlier with a friend. I remember there being lots of people. Too many people. I decided to give it a try.
I drove on the highway for about 30 minutes and then had to continue the drive on a dirt road for 2.5 miles. I arrived at a parking lot with only 6 other cars. Perfect.
I dawned the lightest pack thus far on the trip. I wouldn’t be needing the type or amount of gear/clothes I had needed at the first two parks. The car thermometer read 68 degrees
I entered the mouth of the canyon and immediately was reminded of the meaning behind its name, Marble Canyon. Unlike the rough craggy Golden Canyon, Marble Canyon had it’s lower walls made of just that….smooth, polished marble.
Within the first 10 minutes I had passed 4 groups of people (the first 4 of 6 cars.) After about 45 minutes I arrived at a 15 foot dry fall and four other hikers pondering what to do. Two were from Victoria and in their 60's while the other couple was from San Diego and in their 50s. We talked for a bit and I showed them how to get around the obstruction. We would meet again later.
I continued up the canyon treasuring that there was probably no one ahead of me. After about 20 minutes I hit a 20 foot dry fall and found my way around it quite easily. In another 15 minutes I hit a 30 foot sheer cliff face which when water falls from it must truly be a site! There was no way to scramble up this one. I looked for about 20 minutes for a way around it…only one option presented itself and I wasn’t very confident with the path it charted. I carefully followed it for a bit, but soon decided that the rock was much too loose to attempt all by myself, deep in a canyon in Death Valley with a storm approaching. The one option that was left was a smaller canyon about 100 yards back from where I had come. As I turned around I was surprised to find the four I had met earlier coming up behind me. Surprised to see they had made it over the last dry fall, I answered their questions about what I had found concerning this one. They were happy to know that this was, for all intents and purposes, the “end” of the trail and they could rest before heading back. I bid them ado and started walking back to the small side canyon.
After a short time, I reached the side canyon to my left. As I entered its mouth, it was obvious that this canyon was rarely used as there was much more dried but standing plant growth on the floor. There were a few boot prints here and there to signal I was not alone in the exploration of this route. It was much more narrow than the original canyon was and more like the rock earlier in Golden Canyon. I ascended around bend after bend doing a lot of hand over hand scrambling until I was at the height that I supposed would get me back into Marble Canyon and well above the top of the falls that had stopped me. I could hear the voices of the other four hikers well below me and off to the left. From my point in the split off canyon, this canyon split yet once again. I had the opportunity to scramble up either one or try going over the canyon wall on my left. Any, all or none might have gained me entrance back into Marble Canyon. Clouds were billowing and the clock was ticking. I was at least 90 minutes from the car. I had been so lucky with the weather so far. I really shouldn’t push it. I decided to head back. I would be very happy later in the day for this decision.
I passed a number of people on my way to the mouth of the canyon. A man wearing a Paia Fish Market shirt from Maui sparked my interest and I talked to him and his wife for a bit. I arrived back at my car at about 11:30 AM after walking about 6 miles. I made a couple sandwiches, cleaned up the best I could before putting on clean clothes, and hitting the road.
I would be traveling from Death Valley west on Highway 190 and then south on Highway 178 into Ridgecrest. From there, I’d be skirting across the southern most Sierra Nevadas and into Bakersfield where I could catch Highway 99 and take it straight home. My goal was to dodge the brunt of the storm already pummeling the majority of California, Nevada and Utah.
The drive started out uneventful as I headed out of the National Park and into the Slate Mountains. It was only after beginning the descent into the barren valley below that things grew wild. Winds, that I would later learn were gusting upwards of 80 mph, were stirring up dust devils everywhere and the car was difficult to keep going in a straight line. I was lucky that for miles upon miles there wasn’t another car in sight as my car drifted all over the two lane highway. At times there was so much dust in the air I had to pull over to let it clear so I could see safely. There were times I could “see” the wind approaching the road ahead of my car by watching a dust devil speed toward the road. Those were times I cold brace myself for the impact of the wind. Other times, the wind must have been blowing a bit higher and picking up no dust at all hit my car with full force and no warning. I needed to be constantly aware. I did manage to get out of my car one time to take a picture of the mayhem. After almost 60 miles, I reached the other side of the valley and gained the semi-protection of the town of Ridgecrest. Ridgecrest, and all of the land around it is military based. The town itself is surrounded by no less than the following entities: the US Navel Weapons Center, the Goldstone Deep Space Tracking Station, the Irwin National Training Center, the Marine Corps Training Center, and Edwards Air Force Base. Needless to say there is a lot of activity of which the normal citizen is oblivious to. It’s a strange and beautiful area
Once in Ridgecrest, I stopped for gasoline and the station attendant mentioned I might want to hustle if I wanted to make to over the pass and to Bakersfield before the storm. I asked if there were different routes and he mentioned that there were two. One a bit north and the other a bit south. In line with my “missing the storm” philosophy of this road trip, I chose the southern route. On my way out of town I took a couple pictures of the storm engulfed northern route and was glad I had chosen the other.
The southern route took me on Highway 14 and kept me just below the 4000 foot mark as I crossed the edge of the Sierras. The clouds were black but no rain. As I approached the only summit I needed to get over, I could see that there was indeed precipitation at the top. I passed Cal Trans setting up chain controls and slowed with the traffic. As I passed over the summit it was raining….and just 200-300 feet above the road on the hills it was snowing. I had made it. I’d traveled nearly 1300 miles in winter and never once been interrupted by the weather. I had unfortunately counted my chickens a bit too early.
Once over the summit there was surprisingly no rain. Not in Bakersfield. Not in Visalia. There were however, highway signs warning of, “Heavy Rain-Slow Traffic Ahead.” Fresno, still no rain. Madera, Chowchilla, Merced, no rain. Then it hit. A few miles north of Merced the sky unleashed what looked and felt like giant buckets of water from the sky. Traffic slowed from its posted 70 mph down to 15 mph at the fastest. It was a deluge. After about 15 minutes, the next freeway information sign warned of, “Emergency Road Work In Livingston.” Having never heard of a town called Livingston or knowing what this “emergency” was I continued north on Highway 99 with throngs of other cautious drivers. Then, traffic completely stopped. It didn’t come to a slow down. It stopped. That might have been a problem going 70 mph but traffic had been moving at 10-15 mph for at least 30 minutes. I was stuck. Totally completely and utterly stuck. I was in the far left, of three, lanes with no chance of getting over or exiting the freeway anytime soon.
I quickly did what many others were probably doing. I got on my phone’s GPS mapping software and tried to find a way out of this mess. And it worked! It really did. I saw that if I got off at the next exit, I could take a series of country roads to miss all this mess. Perfect. I exited the freeway, with many fewer cars than I would have expected, and immediately was traveling the posted 55 mph on the first road out to meet the second road that would parallel the freeway. Easy. No problems. After about 6 miles I saw break lights. Then, I was stopped. Again. There was a four way stop to turn left onto the paralleling road and it wasn’t pretty. I guess others did have the same idea. Some must have been exits in front of me on the freeway and some behind. But all of them converged on this one road 6 miles away from the freeway. It took me 15 minutes to make it to the stop sign and in that time I used my phone once again. I decided to turn south, away from the traffic and away from home, in order to go further from the freeway and catch another road about 12 miles from the freeway. This time I won. No one else had decided to take this route. I didn’t see another car for the next 20 minutes as I navigated my way through farm roads and back to the freeway. When I entered the freeway, almost 45 minutes after I had exited it, traffic was moving as if nothing had happened south of me. I was later to find out that “severe flooding” reduced the freeway to one “very narrow lane.”
Finally, the weather had caught me. It wasn’t snow. It was rain. It wasn’t in Nevada, Utah, or Arizona. It was in my home, California. It wasn’t a thousand miles away from family. It was less than a hundred miles from them. Mother Nature is omnipotent. She can do as she pleases, when she pleases and where she pleases. We are just along for the ride.
Thank you Mother Nature for blessing me with an amazing trip. One that rejuvenated me in ways that only solo travel can do. One that will provide sustenance to me in times when there is not the chance to have this kind of time for silence and reflection. I will return.