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.