This posting picks up where we left you after getting out of LA and driving up to Yosemite Valley. You should already have seen photos of this on Picassa but if not we have inserted th links in the text try this link in your address line http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/lh/sredir?uname=peter.huxford14&target=ALBUM&id=5330353677218057233&authkey=Gv1sRgCIzOwaejqfac3wE
Well, it’s Saturday night in Lone Pine and the Trailer Park is quiet. What started of like a domestic in the making turned out to be a simple pre-prandial couple of beers. The RV resort was full so we took the first place we could find which was very different. Apart from us all the trailers seem permanent and there are no facilities, just narrow gravel sites with a concrete hardstanding between. Haven’t met our neighbours but the family pit bull may be a bit put out as we seem to have been allocated his toilet. The site manager lives in a little shack with just room for a bed and a couple of bottles of whiskey but assured us Lone Pine had everything we could want within walking distance.
It also advertises itself as half-way between the Yosemite and Death Valley, which happens to be our itinerary. Their claim may be true in the summer but to our surprise this is still winter in the High Sierra (‘Spring’ starts in may) and we have had a few adventures getting here. Aiming to see Yosemite Valley and then cross over to Highway 395 to go south to Death Valley and the Grand Canyon we checked the National Parks website to find that most of the roads over the sierra were still closed by snow and in fact it wasn’t at all clear if we could get into the valley at all, or, if there, whether any of the trails would be open.
We drove to the nearest KOA campsite in the book, in Midpines which was still some 50 miles from the Yosemite valley. The next day we drove on in to find it not only open but basking in temperatures in the 80s. Although some of the trails were closed higher up there was plenty for us to do and we ended up staying for 3 days and loving every minute. The first night we had to go back to Midpines but the second night we got the last site in the valley itself so didn’t have to drive out.
The ‘heat-wave’ was really fortunate, not only because it was great weather to be in the mountains but also because it started the snow melting which meant the rivers and waterfalls were at their spectacular best. With the long drive in we only managed two half-day hikes, one up past Mirror Lake and the other to Nevada Falls. The third day we managed the full 8-hours up to the top of Yosemite Falls, the tallest in the US. A long haul but worth it as it takes you above the snow line for the views out onto the distant peaks that you can’t see from the valley floor.
The only disappointment was not seeing any climbers on El Capitan or the Half-dome to give our photos a sense of scale. Whether at the bottom or the top you need to look twice to see a tree on the skyline or a car in the valley bottom to suddenly realise how huge these rock-faces are. Anyway, we’ve put some photos on Picassa which will give you an idea.
Looking for a way across the High Sierra
On the third night we found a nice little campsite on the way out and set off fairly early the next morning aiming to find the first pass open and head east, perhaps to Lake Tahoe, and then south through the Great Basin that runs down the far side of the Sierra. We probably should have gone further west and picked up 99 again but we kept to the foothills and were rewarded with a morning of constant switchback over the foothills. Very spectacular but tiring to drive. At lunchtime we found ourselves in Angel Camp, home of the world frog-jumping championship which Mark Twain had immortalised in one of his short stories. Definitely our kind of place with bric-a-brac shops, bookstores and wholefood cafes – very alternative and not a shopping mall in sight. We picked on an interesting café which turned out to be part of an organisation that not only provided a therapeutic retreat for people needing to sort themselves out but also ‘fair-trade’ links with a village in Kenya. We had a long chat with the manager and over a lovely healthy lunch, then blew it all with home-made ice-creams, ‘single scoop’ but big enough to feed a family.
The pass here was closed so we headed North to Jackson where Highway 108 appeared to be open. Filling up with groceries and gasoline we headed east climbing ever higher, over 8,000 feet and above the snow line. Eventually there were 6’ drifts beside the road and snow covered peaks stretching in all directions. The road was clear but in the distance there were worrying grey clouds dumping large quantities on the mountain tops and heading our way. We were relieved when we cleared the pass and headed down hill only to find the promised gas station was on automatic and wouldn’t accept cash or British credit cards (they ask for your ZIP code which seems a very insecure system - if someone takes your wallet there is a good chance your address will be in there too).
There was nothing for it but to get to the main highway over Monitor Pass.- according to the sign not part of the local county snow clearing programme. However, it was still sunny and we seemed to be below the snow-line so we decided to go for it. It was only 20 miles but if anything steeper than the main pass and once over the top we head down towards the desert valley floor. Halfway down these barrier-free hairpins the steering went a bit funny, rather like a burst tyre, and a smell of burning. We pulled over, but the tyres seemed fine, the engine was fine but the hand brake wouldn’t hold so while Margot slid across to put her foot on the footbrake, Peter went off and dug a rock out of the hillside to stop us rolling away. We decided it must be brake fade although Peter had been using the engine brake as directed. We decided to let things cool down a bit and then head very gingerly down the remaining few miles.
We made it eventually, though we still have the rock inside, just in case, and have been extra careful on the hills today. We found a site once we hit Highway 395 and stayed there till late morning resting up and planning the next phase of our trip. This RV really gets through the fuel and apart from making our journey rather more exciting than we would have wished, its not exactly the eco-friendly mode of transport we would have wished. So from LA to San Francisco it will be a small car and from then on we start our rail pass to Boston by way of Kentucky and Michigan.
But tomorrow its on to Death Valley...
Death Valley
for photos of Death Valley and the Grand Canyon http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/lh/sredir?uname=peter.huxford14&target=ALBUM&id=5332589196535253857&authkey=Gv1sRgCL3c5t
Although the site super’s mission statement echoed a sign we saw later in Kentucky “If our service fails to meet your expectations, then please lower your expectations” we did find a nice restaurant called the Roundabout and saw the motel where John Wayne stayed when shooting movies up in the neighbouring mountains. the localMojave Red beer is good too.
Next day we pulled out of town stopping at the information centre which had a vast 3-D model the entire state which gave us a bit of an idea of why our trip had taken so long. We had been up at 8,000 feet and as we approached Death Valley we gradually dropped towards sea level and below with the temperature rising towards 90 degrees. We stopped briefly to look at the Harmony Borax mine where 18-mule wagon trains dragged the borax (you probably used it in cleaning products in the 1950s) over the mountains that had nearly defeated us in the campervan. Those guys were tough!
We got a map at the visitor Centre in Furnace Creek and Peter insisted we drive up to Zabriskie Point as it was the name of a movie he had seen in the 1970s. Really strange rock formations all but still couldn’t remember what the film was about so will have to look it out from Blockbuster when we get home. We then drove back down to the Valley and round to Golden Canyon where a sign told of a man who had tried to walk there from Zabriskie Point and died of thirst. So we filled up our water bottles and headed up the canyon. Incredible colours and shapes in the rocks.
We drove on to Badwater Basin , the very bottom of the valley at 282 foot below sea level, as the sun dropped below the mountains, sharing the view with a Russian gangster and his girlfriend in a red Mustang and a loud-mouth from Florida trying to impress the (much) young(er) lady he appeared just to have picked up. Fortunately they moved on leaving us a short time to savour the changing colours and the incredible quiet.
It was a long drive in the dark to get out of the valley but, with a long way to get to the Grand Canyon, we carried on until quite late eventually making it to Parumph, or at least to an incredibly luxurious RV resort in a nearby desert. You can buy a chunk of desert pretty well anywhere you like here and built whatever you like. This was clearly a major investment but we had it almost to ourselves. Although it was late Peter headed for the jacuzzi and sauna before bed and in the morning we spent an hour in the gym and the outdoor pool, all included in the entrance fee.
The rest of the day was spent driving endlessly across the Arizona desert, broken only by a drive-by visit to Las Vegas, down the Strip and out the other side. The desert was just as weird as Vegas with occasional communities of trailers in the distance huddled against the mountains like extras from ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’. In fact, it is known ( to its residents, at least) as the UFO sighting centre of the world which probably says more about the effect of spending too much time out in the sun than the existence of extra terrestrials.
Once again it was late by the time we arrived at our nights resting place, a site just 40 miles short of the Canyon. We rigged up the electric and the water supply and settled down for the night only to be frightened out of our wits by the Carbon Monoxide alarm going off. We rushed around checking everything and throwing open the windows but it only started up again. The alarm was wired to the mains so the only way we could stop it was disconnecting the van altogether.
About this time the guy in the next mega-RV turned off his generator and when we switched on everything seemed OK. We can only assume it was fumes from his generator that did it though it seemed unlikely as there was a gale blowing and he was downwind. Must have been some freak vortex, but we weren’t too happy so we packed up and drove back to the previous town and booked into a Super 8, waking a grumpy Russian émigré who seemed to have learnt her customer care skills at the Gum store in Moscow under Stalin. It wasn’t that late.
The next day we had to drive onto Flagstaff to have the van checked. It was fine but it took all morning so we arranged with the rental company to keep the van an extra day so we wouldn’t have to cut our Grand Canyon visit short. It also meant we entered the Canyon national Park from the backdoor which gave us the bonus of visiting a Navajo run visitor attraction on the edge of the park. Although mainly consisting of trestle tables selling jewellery it also included, in the $2 entrance fee, views of the little Colorado Gorge. It was quite impressive though, admittedly, perhaps less so if you had already seen the Grand Canyon itself. It was amazing to see the number of cars that turned round at the sight of the $2 fee and Margot had a chat with one of the stallholders about whether they would do better making it free and boosting visitor sales. It was a shame as it was a better way of making a living than building a casino or smoke shop which seems to be the usual way for reservations to make a buck.
Shortly after, we entered the Canyon, driving along the rim and getting out for our first view of the Colorado River way below. It really is astounding. We also stopped at the viewing tower built by the same architect who built Hearst Castle on Highway 1 and decorated murals based on local Navajo art forms. Tourism here was started by gold prospectors who felt there was more to be made here than digging in the ground and although visitor numbers are huge it seems to have been managed in a fairly unobtrusive way. You don’t have to walk too far from the car parks for the crowds to thin out
Having parked the van on the camp site we caught the shuttle to the rim and walked along the edge as the sun went down, stopping eventually at a promontory to see the sun disappear in a blaze of glory before we caught the last shuttle back.
You can’t make the bottom in one day and the trailheads were plastered with signs with gory tales of those who had tried and failed. There is a lodge at the bottom but you have to book months in advance so we had to make do with a walk halfway down. It seemed a shame, particularly after chatting to a couple of people who had done the full trip, but it was nevertheless a great experience. We shared it with quite a few others but it was steep enough and hot enough to generate a sense of achievement and camaraderie amongst those we met. There is a designated turn-around point half way but I think we inspired a few to carry on the full distance – ‘if those two oldies can do it so can we …’. We also shared the route with a couple of mule-trains that had been right down to the bottom overnight led by a couple of old-time wranglers who really looked the part.
Despite an early start, by the time we hit the top it was sadly time to move on, this time heading further south to avoid going back across the same stretch of desert. After another nervous stretch of mountain with no gas stations and a night in an RV site in the middle of nowhere we had one full days drive to get to the edge of LA so we could navigate the freeways and get back by the 11am deadline. We stopped for lunch in the picnic area of a brand new but surprisingly empty rest area. May have been something to do with the sign warning that we shared the space with rattlers and tarantulas. We made a thorough check of the bench and tables and kept a beady eye on the undergrowth but all we saw was a little mammal a bit like a meerkat (prairie dog?) – cute rather than threatening.
We found a site on the edge of LA with an outdoor pool and jacuzzi and which should have been an easy run in in the morning. Unfortunately with cleaning the van and filling up with gas (LPG and petrol) things got a bit tight and we had our first row coming off the freeway. More of a semantic debate really, on the significance of the terms ‘left’ and ‘right’ when giving directions. And then we found we had gone to the wrong depot, meaning a further 30 miles and 3 gallons of gas. But we made it in the end and got a shuttle out to the airport to pick up our next vehicle, this time a car for the drive up Highway 1 to San Francisco.
Highway 1 – On the Road
Once again our main interest in LA was getting out of it as fast as possible, this being Friday and evening rush hour seeming to be something to be avoided. I am sure LA is full of delights if only we had spent the time but you can’t do everything and I am afraid our lasting impression will have to remain one of smog and endless freeways. Sorry LA.
We had a motel booked up at San Simeon but needed to eat as it began to get dark so we pulled in to Morro. Turned out it was the weekend of the hot car festival and the town was filling up with beautifully turned out old cars, though we were assured there would have been more but for the rain as the guys didn’t like their paint jobs to get wet. Main Street was closed off but we were lucky to find a little micro-brewery and had a nice meal of beer and tacos
After a night in San Simeon we gave Hearst Castle a miss and headed north again, making our first stop at the elephant seal colony near Cambria. The hundreds of seals cover the entire beach like a busy day at Benidorm moving only occasionally to flip sand on to their backs or to move a couple of feet down the beach following the receding tide. With the aid of our trusty binoculars we were also treated to the sight of 3 turkey vultures starting in on the corpse of a baby seal, a gruesome scene happily denied to the families viewing the colony from the boardwalk.
Further up the Highway we reached Big Sur and stopped a couple of times to admire the scenery including the Pfeiffer State Park with great beaches and surf exploding on the rocks. By now Peter was having a nostalgia fest from his youthful reading Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" but we were due at the Hacienda Hotel in San Francisco that night and we still had to get through San Jose. We had not intended to visit San Jose but an interesting system of road signs drew us into a Groundhog Day scenario where we continually returned to the same spot. We eventually broke out but by the time we reached San Francisco it was dark and thanks to an equally bizarre system of road signs we found ourselves on the ramp up to Golden Gate Bridge. A ‘ last exit’ slip road left us in a ghost town in a huge park with no signs and nobody about. Hard to believe we were in the middle of a major city but it turned out to be the Presidio, a redundant army base where the entire US army in the Pacific had been gathered and shipped out. Navigating part by the stars and part by the distant lights of downtown we eventually found our way out and located our hotel. The Hacienda is an early urban motel in the Spanish style, a little old fashioned but full of character, comfy and our base for a whole three nights.
San Francisco
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We still had the car for another day so the following morning we headed out over the fog-bound bridge to Sausalito where we found the museum with a vast model of the hydraulics of the Bay closed. After brunch in a quayside cafe we headed inland into Marin County where - up the steepest twistiest roads so far- the Muir Woods house some of the tallest redwoods on the coast. Again very crowded near the car park and along the valley floor but we then took a long climb up the valley side to where we were promised a view of the Pacific - if it wasn't for the fog in between. A lovely walk anyway, and back across the bridge in time to follow the "49-mile Scenic Drive" around the city. About mile 20 the fog lifted as we looked down on the town fromTelegraph Hill and from there the tour took us around Downtown San Francisco, including Union Square, Chinatown and along the Quayside from the Ferry Terminal to Fishermans Wharf.
That evening we walked along Lombard street to a Nepalese restaurant where we got into a long conversation with the owners wife who ran an aid organisation for orphans back in Nepal. Peter had his "GhurkaJustice.com" t-shirt back at the hotel and she was very interested in what was going on in Britain as we had just heard that the government had just had to do a u-turn.
The next morning we had to get the car back and from the depot we got a bus back to Union Square and re-ran the previous days route on foot (well, the last few miles). We went through Chinatown, and up to the City Lights bookshop famed from the Beat Poets who were instrumental in diverting Peter from the straight and narrow in the mid-6os. Its a fantastic bookshop and as we browsed we both realised we needed to live another 40 years to get through eveything we wanted to read. However, for now, we restricted ourselves to the Obama book "Dreams of my Father" and a novel called "The Absolutely True Story of a part-time Indian" by Sherman Alexie. Peter started reading this off the shelf and felt he had to buy it as we didnt have time to finish it there and then.
We then went around the corner to the Trieste coffe bar for lunch along with the current generation of poets and musicians sharing the space with 60s nostalgia freaks like us. From there we headed up to the Coit Tower overlooking the bay stopping only to chat with an elderly slightly inebriated gentleman who seemed to be still celebrating the election of Barrack Obama and who claimed to know 'Mr' Lawrence Ferlinghetti, probably the last of that generation of poets still alive. He was a sweet man and dipped into his backpack to fish out a copy of "The Wit and Wisdom of FDR" to give to us, only to find his spare coke bottle full of beer had leaked all over it. Never mind, nice thought.
The Coit Tower elevator was out of order and we were not allowed to use the stairs so we didn't get the view but probably the best thing is the murals around the inside of the tower, heavily inspired by Diego Rivera, showing all the social and economic life of the city at the time of the Depression
From here we walked down the Coit steps to the quayside where we found the Amtrak office near the Ferry Terminal and sorted out our tickets for Chicago, Memphis and Washington. Then onto the 'F' tram back to Fisherman's Wharf for a beer. The wharf here is a bit tacky so we got a trolley bus backto the hotel, near which we found a great little deli where we got a cold take-away.
Our last day took us back to the Wharf to hire a couple of bikes for the circular route over the Golden Gate Bridge (still shrouded in fog) backover to Sauselito for lunch. Most cyclists catch theferry back fromhere but we decided to take the longer trip round the bay and back from Tiberon - a total of 16 miles. the hire shop had said it was flat but this was relative and though it was an interesting ride it was pretty tiring and we had to struggle to catch the last ferry back. We consoled ourselves with a galss of red wine as we cruised past Alctraz and by the time we got back to the hire ship we were the last back and got a round of applause for our efforts.
Our final night in San Francisco but too exhausted to party so an early bed as we had to get up at 530 to be ready for a taxi to get us to Amtrak office at 730 for a shuttle bus to get us over to Oakland to the train which didn't leave til 10 past 9.
Next blog - our rail trip to Denver, Chicago, Ann Arbor,Memphis, Chicago and Washington
