Day 30, August 17 - ReEntry and Epilogue, Three Weeks Later

It's been about three weeks since I returned from the west, and I'm trying to settle into the routine here. It's not easy.

Even the simple semantics create a disconnect. When I began to speak of the differences in the life I lived while on the road and the life I live here, teaching and going about my daily business, I called this life, this domesticated existence, my "real life." But every time that phrase came out of my mouth, it felt wrong, untrue. The life on the road, the life of unexpected joy and surprise, the life of setting down and picking up my existence almost every day in a new and different and wonderful place, seems more like my real life than the one where I'm constrained by habit, ease, and familiarity.

So I refer to it as "this current life," and think of the life on the road as the real deal, as that's where I feel the most alive, that's where I see more clearly who I am and what life means to me, and that's where the passion to live fully, wholly, presently, lovingly, is most awake in me.

I've had a number of people ask me about Day 30 on the trip, and who have requested either that or an epilogue or something to bring closure to the travelog. I will do both here, as the story of Day 30 is brief, and the epilogue seemingly more fitting.

Day 30 began of course in Spearfish, at the same campsite that ended Day 1. I packed up that last morning, after having been greeted with some texts from those who missed me while I was gone, and left for the long drive across South Dakota.

It was amazing how quickly I fell back into the thinking, the patterns of this domestic life. I talked on the phone with people, texted people, and made plans for my arrival. The introspection was gone, as well as the simple immersion in my surroundings. My life at home came back as if it had never left, or rather I had never left it.

I met up with Anna in Sioux Falls, and we drove up to Brookings, SD, to join up with Emilie and Nick for dinner. We had a lovely time, catching up on each other's lives, and it was great to see and touch them again. After a nice afternoon with them, I drove home to meet up with a friend. We too caught up with each other and I began the reentry process in earnest.

Trip Data:

Days on the road:            30

Miles traveled:                 7767

States Visited:                  8 plus Canada

Number of Hikes:            20

Miles Hiked:                   120

Longest Hike:                 10 miles

Shortest Hike:                 3 miles

Highest Elevation:           10,800 ft. (Glacier at Great Basin)

Lowest Elevation:           -200 ft. (Death Valley)

List of Hikes:

4              Devils Tower, WY
3              Medicine Wheel, WY
7              Morrell Falls, MT
7              Apgar Lookout, Glacier NP, MT
10            Grinnell Glacier, Glacier NP, MT
10            Plain of 6 Glaciers, Bamff NP, Canada
3              Mt Rainier, WA
6              Mt Rainier, Skyline Trail, WA
3              Crater Lake, OR
18            Glen Aulin Trail, High Sierras, Tuolumne Meadows, Yosemite NP, CA (3 days; 6 mi/day)  
9              Road’s End, Cedar Grove, Kings Canyon NP, CA
10            Redwood Canyon, Kings Canyon NP, CA
3              Sequoia NP, CA
7              Devil’s Pile, Rainbow Falls, Mammoth Lakes, CA
4.5           Rock Lake, Near Mammoth, CA
4.5           Bristlecone Pine Grove and Glacier, Great Basin NP, NV
7              Antelope Island, The Great Salt Lake, UT
4              Spearfish Canyon, SD
120 miles/20 actual hikes = Avg. 6 mi per hike
120 miles/30 days = Avg. 4 mi per day

Epilogue, September 13:

One of the things I let go that first night was my commitment to writing every night. I no longer give myself the time to reflect on the day, and I have settled back into indulging all the distractions that decorate my life. I told myself I wouldn't do that, that I would keep writing every night, but here it is, three weeks later, and this is the first I've written since returning. Shameful my mind cries. Necessary is what my "higher self" sighs. Change it my critic adds. We'll see, the realist says.

In addition to missing the writing, I miss the regular hiking. I’ve hiked a few times a week since I’ve been back, and I’m regularly hitting the gym, but that’s not the same as that constant hike in front of me and the satisfaction of it being completed behind me. And the variety of landscape. Ah, I miss that. And the mountains. Iowa offers not a lot in the way of mountains. When a picture pops up on Facebook from  Glacier or Yosemite or some other wonderful wild place, I catch my breath a little and sigh into the longing.

I know I’ll go back on the road next year, and maybe even for a shorter period over the winter break, but I don’t know if anything will ever match this experience I’ve had. The solitude, the adventure, the joy of discovery – all that is unforgettable.  I’m extremely grateful that I have a life that affords me the ability to make this kind of trip – I realize how privileged I am. And I’m willing to give up more of this current life and whatever security it seems to provide to strike out on the next adventure. Until then, I work to stay in the present moment and occasionally gaze long into the images of the wilderness and indulge in the fantasy of solitude, and for just a few moments I’m there, breathing.

Day 29, August 16: Symmetry

Day 29, August 16: Symmetry (pictures to follow)

I’m camped at Spearfish City Campground for the night, the same campground where I camped the first night out. I find some pleasure in the symmetry of this – both my first and last night’s camping in the same place. I also find pleasure in that this campground is in South Dakota, the state where I lived for so many years of my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel the same kind of affection for Iowa that I do for South Dakota.

As I was planning my route from Cody to Spearfish, I noted the town called Thermopolis, Wyoming. What a great name for a town. I thought I must see this town and it was along the scenic route anyway. So an hour or so into the drive, I came upon Thermopolis. It happens to be the site of the largest natural mineral hot springs. Or that’s its claim to fame anyway. I pulled into the city park where a steaming stream ran into a number of plateaus of hot pools. The town has built a boardwalk system around the pools and incorporated and rebuilt an old suspension bridge over the main river there.

I walked the boardwalk and put my hands in the hot water. Although there was a slight smell that is common with hot springs, that smell was mild. There were small water parks and a free indoor and outdoor pool for bathing in the springs if one chooses to. I noticed most of the names in the register were local folks. I was tempted, but the road called. So after my exploration, I continued my drive east.

Wyoming is a beautiful state, especially when you get to the Big Horn National Forest. I crossed it at a more northern spot on the way out, and it still was breathtaking, even after the higher and more dramatic peaks I’ve seen over the last 30 days. I love the jagged, rugged look of the mountains there, and they awaken something kind of primal in me. And driving the winding roads with their steep upgrades and downgrades is always exhilarating.

I arrived in Spearfish around 3 p.m., and after selecting a campsite and throwing up my tent, I headed to the visitor’s bureau to get information on trails. The woman there was very helpful and I selected a hike about eight miles out of town in the Black Hills National Forest.

Since it was so late in the afternoon, I selected a shorter trail and only hiked four miles. I could have hiked more – I can’t explain how much I am energized when I set out on a hike, especially when it takes me through tall trees and lush undergrowth. There has to be something magical that comes from tree energy; I feel it every time. Even if I begin a hike without much enthusiasm, it is quickly there, pulling me along.

I knew this would be the last hike of the trip – I drive home tomorrow. As I was striding through the trees, I pondered what I was going to do to keep this going. Fortunately, I have two good parks nearby for hiking: Stone Park just a few miles from my house and Ponca State Park in Nebraska, about 45 minutes away. And as long as the weather holds, I’m shooting for at least one or two hikes a week. I also have some good nature trails at WITCC, so if I need a break from work, I can hit those for an hour or so. I also think I might try a little snowshoeing and cross country skiing this winter. I just know I have to get out to the woods or wilderness on a regular basis.

Knowing this is my last night camping is a bit emotional. My goal had been to not stay in any hotels, and I haven’t. The only bed I’ve slept in since leaving on July 19 was at my sister Sally’s. (Thanks again Sally! It was fabulous!) I’m sure it will feel good to be back in a bed again, but I’ve grown very comfortable in my tent with my little blow-up mattress, my Mickey Mouse comforter (that was Nick’s all those years ago), and my sleeping bag. It’s been cold and it’s been hot, but I’ve always been pretty comfortable. Last night, with the wind off the lake and the cold I was concerned how it would go, but I slept like a rock.

I would have never thought I would love camping like I do. That point, after setting up camp and getting things I need from the car, when I build a fire and cook dinner or just enjoy the flames, is my favorite time of the night. I’ll miss the campfire most I think. I did buy myself a little fire pit for my yard, but it’s just not the same.

I’ll also miss the casual life camping affords. I haven’t worried much about makeup or how good I look or anything like that for a month. (Except of course when my friend called me “Halle Berry dipped in vanilla.”) Right now, as I write this, I’m sitting here in some old, too large shorts, an oversized hoodie, green wool socks and hiking sandals. Not a high fashion look. Not even a low fashion look. But a comfy, camping kind of look I imagine. Now I go back to work on Monday and it’s makeup and straightened hair and matching outfits every day.

I’ll also miss the random connections I make with perfect strangers on the road. Writing this blog entry is taking about an hour longer than it should because my neighbors at the campground, a couple with five grandchildren with them, keep coming over to visit. I’ve shared my Easytether application information with them and they shared a good weather app with me. I know about their daughter, how many children she has, where they live, that they farm, when they decided smart phones were necessary on the farm, and some other details of their lives. What a great opportunity traveling is to touch others. I’m the kind of person who is friendly anyway, but this offers so many interesting, diverse opportunities for connection. (Anna said once, after we left a Casey’s store where I’d been visiting with the cashier, “We have friends everywhere, don’t we?” )Yes, Anna, we do.

I won’t miss dirty fingernails and sleeping with clothes on. Being able to stay clean is a challenge when you’re on the road and camping. I have come to value hot showers and flushing toilets and water from a spigot to brush my teeth with in the morning. But those are such trivial concerns, and easily remedied eventually.

So I’m closing the camping portion of this journey tonight, and tomorrow, after my drive across South Dakota, life will resume as usual. But I have a feeling usual has shifted for me; usual means something different to me now.

Day 28, August 15: Drive Time

Day 28, August 15: Drive Time

Most of today was spent on the road. I opted to drive through Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks, even though it added a little time to my drive. I wanted to be in Cody, WY, by tonight, which is about where I am.

Much of the west is open range

It was a nice drive as I came up the west side of Wyoming. When I got to the Grand Tetons, there was a haze over the mountains, so they were barely visible. I tried a few photos, but I don’t believe they’ll come out.

Wyomingians love their antlers

Yellowstone was busy as usual, so I gritted my teeth and drove through the southeast corner of the park. The cars were heavy, but the landscape is still breathtaking in parts, and I enjoyed much of what I saw. I didn’t take as many pictures – I think I’m getting burned out with that. I’ve taken almost 1200 pictures over these past 30 days, and my shutter button finger is getting sore.

I was shooting for a campground I saw on the map: Buffalo Bill State Park just outside Cody. I knew I wouldn’t arrive till after 5, but instead of my usual anxiety when I arrive late in the afternoon to find a campsite, I figured either they would have space or not, and kept my eyes open  as I got closer for another option. There were plenty of National Forest campgrounds leading up to the park, so I knew I could go back to one of those. I’m finding myself much less anxious as I enter an uncertain situation. I’m hoping this is something that will continue after I’m home.

When I arrived at the campground, it did have room. But it is cold and windy here – it is in a very unprotected site on a lake – and it should get down to around 45 tonight. But I was able to set up and anchor my tent, build a fire, and grill myself a burger in spite of the wind. I’m getting better at this camping thing as I go along, I have to say. I wish my mother and father were alive to see this new part of me develop and grow. When they died, I was still of the “I’ll only camp if I have a microwave and a bathroom” mindset. My, oh, my, how I have changed.

There are so many ways I’ve grown on this trip. I noticed last night, as I was at my campsite and as I walked to the bathroom and back, that when I hear sounds now in the underbrush, I don’t even jump; if anything, I just wonder what it is and look to see. I seem to have learned to take things as they come instead of creating scenarios around them. I also noticed that the few times I’ve been afraid, which were very few, it was my imagination creating ideas that frightened me, not any actual situation. Another valuable lesson if I can hold on to that in everything I do.

So I’m going to sit for a while tonight in front of my fire, look out at the lake in front of me, keep my hoodie up, hunker down in my chair, and read a little. If I get too cold, I’ll move inside my tent where it’s nice and cozy.

Tomorrow I make the six hour drive from Cody to Spearfish, and there I’ll set up camp for the last time on the trip. I like the symmetry of this – that was where I camped the first night of the trip. I still can’t believe I’ve been on the road a month and that it’s almost over.

Day 27, August 14: The Great Salt Lake

Day 27, August 14: The Great Salt Lake  (pics to follow)

Deciding to spend the day in the Salt Lake City area presented the problem of deciding where I would find good hiking trails, and if I couldn’t, deciding what to do.

The young woman working the gate at the campground last night had suggested I check out the trails at Antelope State Park, which is an island just into the Great Salt Lake. Either that or I could wait till the Visitors’ Center opened at 8 here at Wasatch State Park. I decided that by going to Antelope Island I would meet two of my objectives – see the lake and find some hiking.

Hot air balloons on the drive

I left camp at about 7:30 a.m. and programmed Antelope State Park into my GPS. It was about a two hour drive, but it was a beautiful morning. I’m camped near Park City, which, if you remember, was the site of the Winter Olympics a time or two ago. The buildings you can see from the highway are beautiful, but I can’t help but wonder about the millions (billions?) of dollars that went into all the construction for that two weeks, and what those buildings are used for now.  I’m sitting in a quaint coffee shop on Main Street right now, and the shops are busy and tourists are everywhere. Very affluent appearing tourists. So the investment must have been worth it.

In addition to admiring the Olympic architecture, I admired the road system that was built for transporting all those people. While I expected to deal with morning traffic typical for a city the size of Salt Lake City, instead I encountered wide highways with numerous lanes that held many fewer cars than they have the capacity for.

The hike went up and around that peak

First impression - birds and smell

No, there were real buffalo too

Climbed out on a rock point

When I arrived at the lake, and began the drive across to the island, the first sensation I had was the smell. It smells like stale seawater and I’m not sure what else. But because my idea is to refuse to categorize any smells as “unpleasant” if I can pull it off, I decided to not complain about it to myself. And within a short time, as I got farther onto the island, either I got used to it or the smell dissipated enough it wasn’t noticeable. I think it did dissipate because I smelled it again on the way back across this afternoon.

I got a map of the hiking trails at the Visitors’ Center, and decided on a six and a half mile hike that climbs 1000 feet and allows, at its summit, a view of both the east and west sides of the island. I drove much of the length of the island to the trailhead, which was located at a ranch.

That is one interesting thing about this island. It has a large buffalo population and apparently a working ranch to manage that population. (It also has Prong Horned Antelope, Big Horn Sheep, coyotes, bobcats, and all sorts of birds.) The buffalo were very visible and I passed huge herds on the way down the island.

After registering at the trailhead, I began the hike. The weather was pretty brutal – the thermometer on my pack read around 90 at the trailhead and 100 up at the summit of the hike. The landscape was typical for high desert, with little green vegetation and only a few trees (none of which were near the trail). I soon realized I would have no shade for the duration of the hike, and wondered how I would feel at the end. I knew once I started back down, it would be better, but I had the three and a half mile climb in front of me.

Along the way I saw a buffalo and her calf standing above on the ridge, but she was long gone by the time I got there. I also saw an antelope up ahead of me, standing still and looking at me. He didn’t wait around to see if I was harmful or not though. I saw a few others along the way too, but they all seemed very skittish. At one point, a large golden eagle swooped closely overhead, hunting I presume, for some unfortunate rodent.

View from the ridge

Lunch time

When I finally reached the ridgeline, the view was spectacular, and I could look both ways and see water. You can understand, looking at the expanse of this lake, how Brigham Young and his followers thought they’d reached the Pacific Ocean. (I think that’s how the story goes, right?) I sat and had lunch at the lone picnic table there, and then began the trek down. It did go much faster but was still terribly hot. I was very happy to turn on the air conditioner when I was back in the car.

Even with the long drive back to camp, I arrived too early to just call it a day. So I showered and headed to Park City to explore some of those buildings and to sit with wifi and a latte in this quaint little coffee shop.

Sunset over the Wasatch Mountains

I have to share one more story. On my way back, I stopped to get a Diet Coke. I was standing in the 7-11, sweaty and flushed from the exertion of the hike, when a young black man, probably in his 20s, walked by me, leaned in, and said, “You look like Halle Berry dipped in vanilla.” I spun around and told him that was about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. I wanted to give him a big hug, so I guess it worked. Now granted, all this hiking has been good for me and I did actually have a little eye makeup on today, but Halle Berry? Not in the greatest stretch of imagination could I fathom being compared to that goddess. But all logic and sense aside, it made my day.

So I return in a little while to my campsite and dream of a world where a 53-year-old white woman can be compared to a stunning black movie star. Oh wait. I guess I live in that world. It is a great world after all, isn’t it?

Day 26, August 13: Leaving the Wilderness

Day 26, August 13: Leaving the Wilderness

3200 Year Old Bristlecone Pine. Still alive.

It rained last night. I went to bed about when it started and I don’t know how long it rained, but I stayed nice and cozy. I did pitch my tent on a bit of an incline though (seriously, I looked for a flatter lie and couldn’t come up with one at my site) and kind of had to sleep on the edge of my air mattress. No worries though – I still slept pretty hard.

When I got up this morning, the idea to get going was pretty prevalent. I still hadn’t hiked at Great Basin, and I wanted to get at least a short hike in. I was mulling all that over while I was breaking camp, and even considering scrapping the hike altogether.

But my neighbors, whom I had met last night, invited me over for espresso. How could I refuse? Espresso at a fairly primitive campsite? What a treat. When I got there, the son, a boy of about 18, asked if I liked more of a latte or a cappuccino. I said latte of course, and he steamed the milk on their portable machine and fixed me right up.

Drinking my latte out of my metal camp cup, I visited with them for a while. Alice, the mom, is a nurse practitioner, and Dennis, the dad, is a psychiatrist.  The son, Michael, loves biology and chemistry. Any guesses where he’s headed? He thinks research, but his major will prepare him for medical school if he decides that.  They’re from Santa Cruz, and I have their numbers so if I’m ever in the neighborhood, I’m invited to give them a shout.

The family, which has a lot of hiking and backpacking experience, was headed north for a backpacking trip. When I discussed my plans and my indecision about the hike, they recommended the Bristlecone Pine hike at least. Kurt, from Kings Canyon, had suggested I visit a Bristlecone Pine grove in the eastern Sierras, but I didn’t take the time to do that. So here was the perfect solution.

I finished my latte – Dennis insisted they clean my cup for me – and we said our goodbyes. I can’t get over the wonderful people I’m meeting on this journey of mine. I’m seldom lonely, and a lot of that is due to these brief but strong connections I’m making with people along the way. I’m becoming more and more convinced that loneliness is a state of mind. And that the people we love will always be there, even if we don’t talk to them every day. And when they’re not, those gaps of intimacy will be filled with those we encounter along the way.

The view from the trail was spectacular

I finished breaking camp and went to the trailhead. The trail had two options: just take the Bristlecone Pine trail, which was about 2.5 miles, or add in an additional two miles and hike to the southernmost glacier left in North America. I decided to make that decision when I came to that junction.

The hike to the Bristlecones was very nice – a little bit of a climb but nothing terrible. The pines themselves are magical. These trees are the oldest trees in the world. Not these specific ones, but the species of tree. They live up to more than 4000 years. I did see a few that were around 3000 years old though. These trees don’t rot when they die; they erode like the soil and rocks they grow from. Their shapes are unique and twisted, and they can grow in the most desolate of situations. My favorite quote from the informational plaques that dotted part of the grove said, when talking about a tree that lived 1500 years in a very tough spot, hence becoming more resistant to rot by growing thin growth rings, “. . . its ability to stand for centuries after death is directly related to the adversity of its life.” I think there’s a metaphor there for the strength adversity gives us in our own lives.

That's the glacier in the dip

When I came to the glacier trail sign I was so energized from the trees and the hike to them, I decided to head for the glacier. It was a rocky and uneven trail, and it rose another 400 or so feet in elevation. At the trail’s 10,800 foot summit I stood almost eye to eye with the glacier, and stood atop what is called a rock glacier, the next level down from the actual ice.

On the return hike, I met a number of hikers, and stopped to visit with some of them. The connection I felt to them, the trees, the mountain, and just existence itself created a feeling of oneness and awareness that was palpable, bringing tears of gratitude to my eyes. What a way to finish hiking in the wilderness.

The Great Basin below the mountain

Shoe tree on the road. Ha!

I say finish because I’m outside Salt Lake City tonight at the Wasatch Mountain State Park. I plan to stay here two nights, and to go see the Great Salt Lake tomorrow. There is an island out on the lake that has a state park on it and some good hiking trails, so I’m going to shoot for that, but it, like the park where I’m camped, is an urban park. I can see massive houses built into the sides of these mountains, and the park itself is surrounded by suburbs of Salt Lake City. I will be driving across Wyoming the two days after that, but I don’t know how much hiking I’ll be able to do. Hopefully a few miles every day, but it will depend on what I find and where I camp.

The land here surrounding Salt Lake City and Provo is beautiful, and the mountains seem to shoot up out of the plains. I look forward to seeing more of them as I drive to the lake, but I’m not looking forward to the interstate driving I’ll be doing to get there. I guess it’s a good segue of sorts to going back to civilization at the end of the week.

Day 25, August 12: Looping Back North

Day 25, August 12: Looping Back North

More Valley of Fire

After writing yesterday’s blog this morning, I broke camp and headed north, away from the furnace that is southern Nevada in August. The temperature was 97 degrees at 9 a.m. when I drove through the first town on the Valley of Fire loop, and it stayed consistently in the 90s for the first few hours of the trip.

The Sisters at Valley of Fire

When I stopped to refuel and load last night’s blog, I was shocked to get out of the car and feel a cooler breeze. It was probably still in the 80s, but the difference was immediately evident. Mountains began to appear on both sides of me, and the vegetation thickened. It is not lush in the high plains desert, but it is thick in places. The drive, like all of them have been, was beautiful, and I stopped the car repeatedly to try to capture what my eyes were drinking in.

I made it to Great Basin National Park by about 2:30 p.m. I stopped and asked the ranger at the information center if he had advice for camping and hiking. He suggested I take the Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive and camp at the high campground there. It sits at just about 10,000. There are a couple short hikes that amount to about 5 miles I can combine from this high trailhead, and I intended to take them this afternoon.

First look at Great Basin N P

But by the time I had started up the road to the campground, it had begun to rain. It didn’t rain hard, but it was enough to hinder my scenic viewing; I hope to get some good pictures on the way down. It was still raining lightly when I arrived in camp, but by the time I picked out my campsite, read a little on the hikes I was going to take, and put on a sweat shirt, it had stopped enough to put up the tent. It’s amazing how a little timing goes a long way.

The rain dissipated by the time I had camp set up, but it was almost 4:30, so I decided to make my hike early in the morning. I’ve been puttering around the campsite, fixing a few things and looking over route information. It’s kind of nice to have a slow day after the busyness of the last few days.

So I’m sitting here by the fire, relaxing and preparing for an early night of it. Whoever camped here before left a big pile of wood, so starting the fire was easy and enjoyable. I plan to cook a small steak, read for a while, and turn in about 8 p.m.

I can’t believe I only have four more nights on the road after tonight. I’m afraid I won’t have a lot of time for relaxing until I get home now; I hope to get in a few more short hikes in the Wasatch Mountains and Wyoming, and I have a lot of miles to cover. This has been such an amazing adventure; I’m sure I’ll mourn the freedom next week when I’m back at work, but I’m fully cognizant of my good fortune in being able to take this time.

Day 24, August 11: 10,000 Foot Drop

Day 24, August 11: 10,000 Foot Drop

I’m writing this on the morning of August 12. What a day yesterday. Of course, I’ve said that before.

I began the morning following a recommendation of Kurt, a lovely man I met at Cedar Grove in Kings Canyon National Park. He is very familiar with the area and has given me many recommendations of things to do. I wish I could do all of them, but as I’ve said before – this is an experience buffet and I can’t possible imbibe it all.

He told me about a little place called Pie in the Sky at the Rock Creek Lakes Resort, south of Mammoth. Not only do they make fresh pie every day, which are sold out by 1 p.m. regularly, but also they have lovely hikes there. So after breaking camp, I began the short drive to this little gem of a place.

The resort sits at about 10,000 feet, and I pulled in the parking lot about 8:30. Expecting to get a piece of pie for breakfast (can you think of a better way to start the day?), I sat myself at one of the seven stools around the counter, joining the four people already there. A man came out from the back and asked for my order. I said I had heard they had some good pie, and I wondered what kind they had today.

“No pie till 11,” he curtly replied. “Coffee?”

I said sure and quickly adapted my plans to hike first, then eat pie. I sipped my coffee and struck up a conversation with the two couples. The older man and woman were the girl’s parents, and they were all staying at the resort, a group of small, rustic cabins. We began talking first of pie, then of hiking.

The mother said she also had two sons, one of whom they had hiked up to meet the previous day, taking him supplies. He is well into a through-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail, a 2650 mile trail that stretches from Mexico to Canada. To hike that trail is one of my aspirations, and I was eager to hear about it. We discussed his journey some, and then I mentioned that I thought I would hike the John Muir Trail first, a 220 mile trail in the Sierras that often overlaps the PCT. They laughed and explained that their other son was hiking that at the moment. What a family.

I decided I better get going to get my hike in and get back for pie, so after some discussion with a young woman who was working back in the kitchen, I decided on a four and a half mile hike along the river. I grabbed a red velvet cupcake on my way out the door, made fresh that morning, and headed out for this short hike.

It turned out the hike dropped about 700 feet in that two and a quarter miles down, most of which was in the first half mile. I noted that I would be climbing that on the way back, at an elevation of more than 9500 feet, but undaunted and encouraged by the beauty of the tumbling and rushing water over the rocks beside the trail, I began the climb down.

What a lovely hike. The trail followed the river all the way, and I wove between tall wildflowers that brushed my hips in places and crossed a number of wooden planks laid across trickles of water for my convenience.

After reaching the second campground along the trail, and hiking about an hour, I turned back so I wouldn’t miss the pie.  The climb wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be; I’ve apparently become acclimated well to the altitude and elevation gains and falls after more than a week in the Sierra Nevada. I arrived back, a little sweaty but not too winded, just in time for pie.

I took one of the seats at the counter again, and this time a brusque older waitress asked me what I wanted. The list of the day’s pies was posted, and it was an agonizing choice. I expressed my dilemma of making the decision, and she had no tolerance for my indecision. I said surely I was not the first to express the difficulty with making such an important decision. No, she explained, it was common and hence her irritation.

I finally decided on the boysenberry a la mode, and I was not disappointed. These pies, made totally from scratch are delectable – just the right amount of sweet and a crust that melted in my mouth. I finished the piece slowly, and the line behind me, most ordering pieces of pie to go because of the limited seating, grew steadily longer. After watching other pieces come and go, I ordered a piece of fresh strawberry to go. Dilemma solved – two pieces. I also, feeling guilty for only putting sweets in my body, ordered a delicious grilled chili, tomato, and cheese sandwich to eat on the road. After buying a calendar strategically placed near the register, my billfold was $30 lighter. But oh my, what a good use of cash.

And cash was a bit of a problem. At the ATM as I was leaving Mammoth, before the Pie in the Sky, I put in the wrong PIN. The machine told me so, and I, for the life of me, suddenly couldn’t remember what my PIN was. I tried other combinations too many times, and it shut me down. Unfortunately, I have to deal with that on Monday, but I still have the old trusty credit card. Talk about feeling ridiculous – how could I possibly forget something I use so regularly? I now, after finally recalling what it is with some certainty, realize the things we know best are so buried in our subconscious that bringing them to the surface is sometimes almost impossible. That’s my excuse anyway.

Feeling well fed and well sugared, it was time to leave the Sierra Nevada. I can’t express how much I love those mountains – both the west side with Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia National Parks, and the east with Bodie and Mammoth and Pie in the Sky. These mountains are stunning, and everywhere I looked, I saw beauty. I did not realize a different kind of beauty awaited; I was not prepared for the stunning scenery I’d find in Death Valley.

Driving through Death Valley is something I felt I had to do simply because it’s there. I had no idea of the variety of color and texture and stunning, breathtaking vistas there. I found myself continually stopping and taking photos of each view and vista. And the heat. Of course I knew it would be hot. The thermometer, when I stopped partway through on the floor of the valley, read 120 in the shade. A woman I talked with said her car thermometer read 124. The air, with the window down going 60 miles an hour, was brilliantly hot on my arm when I stuck it out the window. One other thing I learned as I crossed the Valley is that it lies below sea level. It was something to see my GPS read -210. I realized, as I read the gauge, that I had dropped 10,000 feet in a few hours.

And then suddenly, as I was almost across the Valley, a thunderstorm came up, and there was a rainbow in the distance. I came around a bend in the road, and traffic was stopped. My timing was perfect, and I fell in behind a state trooper as he led us through the next few miles; the rain had washed sand and rock across the road in many places, and water continued to run down the sides of the road and across it. Before I knew it, it was clear again, and the trooper shot off, lights still flashing, and I continued on as if nothing had happened.

The first town I came to, after I left Death Valley, was Pahrump, a small town outside of Vegas. Known for its brothels, especially the infamous Chicken Ranch, I decided to do some research for my novel. I stopped at both the Chicken Ranch and Sherri’s Ranch, and interviewed the girls that were willing. I posed as a potential customer, and it was quite the experience. These were beautiful and articulate young women for the most part, many with college degrees and jobs outside of the brothel work. They come, live in the brothels for a few weeks, then go back to their other lives for a while. One of the most memorable was a girl who is a roofer in Montana in her other life.

The interviews with the women in the brothels took a long time, so I wasn’t back on the road till after dark. I began to worry some about where to stay and resigned myself to finding a hotel room – the first of the trip. But driving through Las Vegas, which is such an amazing visual experience, I had no idea what part of the city is the best to find a room. I wasn’t interested in being near the strip or in the heart of the city, and I saw nothing that bordered the interstate as I passed through.

When I stopped for gas, I looked again at the map, and realized I was close to The Valley of Fire, a place Judy, a friend of my mother’s, had recommended I visit. And it had a little green tent by the listing. Setting the GPS, I drove toward the state park hoping to find an open campsite.

The drive was a winding, desolate road in deep darkness, and I had no idea what would be at the end of it - whether the campgrounds would be full or whether I could even find them.  I realized, although it was a regular occurrence when I traveled with Jesse, I hadn’t hunted for a campsite in the dark on this trip. And I don’t like it. Not one bit. I began to imagine all sorts of grisly scenarios, and my anxiety level grew.

I finally found the turn off to the campgrounds and quickly found an open site at a well-furnished campground. The weather was oppressively hot, still in the 90s, and I set up camp without much delay. I was famished, having not eaten since leaving the Pie in the Sky, and ate my strawberry pie and some cheese and crackers. I crawled into my tent, without the rain fly, and tried to sleep in the heat.

Finally I dropped off I suppose, only to awaken a few hours later. I pulled on my shoes and walked the short distance to the restroom. The moon was only a narrow crescent, but the stars were brilliant. To get to the restroom, I had to deal with a number of bats swooping and diving under the lights. I ducked and dodged, fully knowing that a bat would never run into me with their sonar. But it was creepy, I have to say. I kept thinking: they’re eating bugs, they’re eating bugs.

Then, as I was at the sink in the restroom, I read the poster they had taped there warning of Africanized Honey Bees, also known as killer bees, that are prevalent around here.  Don’t worry, it said, although they are known to sting people regularly they only want water and please report any hives. Great, I thought. African killer bees. And I also saw, in the toilet, a smashed scorpion. I don’t know if it fell from my shorts or if it were already there, but that too gave me pause.

After the adventure to the bathroom, I lay back in my tent, looking up through the net, trying to sleep in the stifling heat, and saw a shooting star. And another one. I then remembered the Perseus Meteor Shower is this weekend. And I lay there watching the falling stars till I fell asleep again.  

 

This morning I’ve awoken among gorgeous red rock formations, scampering and accomplished chipmunks (as I’m writing this, a tiny chipmunk just bumped a water hydrant handle enough for it to spit out a little water, jumped down, and is drinking it), and yes, even a few bees. But the showers are free and hot, so I was able to cool off and clean off from the sticky night, and I’m ready to check out this Valley of Fire and then head back north to Great Basin and the Great Salt Lake.