Boogity, boogity, boogity...

Of course I knew I was ahead of schedule but, waking up that Sunday morning, it started to dawn on me just how much ahead of schedule I was.  I had arranged to meet up with a couple of friends in San Francisco on the Thursday evening but what could I possibly do to keep myself busy until then?  My mind wandered around aimlessly until suddenly it came to me.  I’d visited Death Valley a couple of years ago and absolutely fell in love with the place.  It was only five or six hundred miles away, right?  I hurriedly packed my bag and excitedly jumped in the car.

My route took me along the Avenue of the Giants then south to San Francisco where I turned east and headed out to Yosemite National Park.  The roads were decidedly average but I was motivated and managed to cover the 500-miles with just one stop for gas and just eight hours after setting off I drove up to the gate at Yosemite to be given the news that all the park campgrounds were full.  I was directed back to Yosemite Lakes - a private campground six or eight miles back in the direction that I had come.    

First thing the following morning I packed away my tent and headed back to the park.  I’d visited Yosemite before as well but hadn’t been massively taken with the place - this time it was different.  I warmed up with three shorter hikes and, having parked the car at the Yosemite Valley Visitor Center, I decided to have a go at Columbia Rock Trail.  I struggle a little to make my way up the seemingly never-ending steep switchbacks in the heat but the view was well worth it and I couldn’t help but press on up the trail a little until the Upper Yosemite Falls came into view.  Admiring the view I got talking to another guy who was going all the way to the top of the trail and, rather foolishly, I let myself get talked into joining him.  I guess I knew that I didn’t have enough water to make it to the top and back but put this to the back of my mind and went for it.  I made it to just a few hundred feet from the top of the trail before realising I absolutely had to turn around and head down again. 

I rationed my water intake on the way back down but the dry heat of the day was really taking it out of me and I quickly started to dehydrate and feel decidedly off colour.  When I finally made it to the bottom of the trail I headed straight for the luxury of the nearest water fountain.  I drank and drank, refilled my water bottle and drank that on my walk back to towards the car but I still didn’t feel too good so, in an effort to recharge, I stopped at the store and bought a bottle of Cherry Coke, a bar of Hersheys and a big bag of salted peanuts… and consumed the lot without any of the usual feeling of guilt.   I was soon feeling myself once again and left the park having well and truly learned my lesson.

When I’d visited before we’d planned to visit the ghost town at Bodie State Park but I, erm, messed up our route and we didn’t make it.  This all came back to me as I retraced my steps across the Tioga Pass and I couldn’t help myself but throw my plans out of the window and take a left at the end of the road in an effort to make up for this faux pas.  There was no camping or other accommodation at Bodie so I had no other choice but to retrace my steps and seek out accommodation nearby.  I returned to the main road, turned right towards Bridgeport and, in less than a mile, was rewarded when I stumbled over the Virginia Creek Settlement where I got myself a real bargain… a cabin for the night - with electric, wireless internet, a fire pit and grill - for 24 bucks.  There were hot showers and even a decent restaurant on site - that’s what I call a bargain!

The next day was supposed to be all about Death Valley but I spent far longer than planned at Bodie and didn’t arrive at the edge of the park until 3pm and it became a real race to even get to the visitor center before it closed at 5.  When I enquired about camping for the night, the look on the rangers face suggested that it wasn’t the wisest idea I’d ever had and I had no choice but to throw my budget out of the window once again and take a cabin at the Furnace Creek Ranch.  It wasn’t cheap but, I’ve got to be honest, it really made the visit something special and, much as I love camping, you do deserve these treats every now and then!

I settled in, took a shower, then headed off to Badwater Basin - at 282ft below sea level, the lowest, and hottest place in the US - to see the sunset.  I parked the car and walked.  And walked… it was seriously hot but strangely invigorating.  When I finally turned and looked back to where I’d come from I realised that I’d made it a great deal far further out than most people do; it had to be a good ¾ of a mile from the parking area.  The sun started to drop out of the sky at a rate that I’d not realised was possible, the sky turning the most amazing red colour, and offering the most beautiful sight as it set over the mountains ahead of me.

I hung around out there for what seemed like forever - lapping up the solitude and marvelling in the beauty of the place - before my peace was finally shattered by one of those dreaded Cruise America Rvs roaring up.  Somewhat disappointed to have my moment ruined I set off back to the cabin but felt strangely compelled to pull the car to the side of the road halfway back.  I turned off the engine and lights and clambered up onto the roof where I sat for twenty minutes, just enjoying the moment and thinking about just how far away I was from my ‘real’ life.  By now it was all but pitch black and the silence, combined with the heat, was quite an experience and one which will stay with me for a long time.  Then I sensed something behind me - isn’t it strange how you just know to turn your head sometimes - it was a light up on top of the mountain.  I couldn’t figure it out initially - was it someone up on Dantes View with a powerful flashlight.  No, it was getting bigger, must be a car up there?  Then it got bigger still… and it finally twigged.  It was the moon rising over the mountains!  One of the most amazing sights that I have seen… I felt privileged to be the only one out there enjoying it.

After another half an hour or so, just chilling out and enjoying the atmosphere, I headed back to the visitor center.  It was closed, of course, but I wanted to check my email and there is an open wi-fi connection there.  It was after 9pm and the thermometer was still showing 110 degrees!  God, I love Death Valley.

In the morning, after a nice hot shower - the third of my stay - I checked out of my cabin and hopped in the car and set off in the direction of Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.  Like Yosemite and Death Valley I had planned to visit these places once I got back from Alaska but I had time to spare and it seemed silly not to visit now as it really opened up the possibilities for later in my trip.  The drive from Death Valley to Sequoia took me south across the Mojave Desert, west to Bakersfield and then north to the park entrance - taking six hours to travel probably no more than 100 miles as the crow would fly - but there was no alternative route so I just had to get my head down and drive.  Thankfully no-one seems to have any interest in enforcing the speed limits along much of the route so I was able to shave a considerable time off the 8 hours that had been suggested for the journey. 

I had decided to break the journey part-way at the Red Rock Canyon State Park where I decided that I would take one of the roads within the park which was signed as ‘4wd advised’ - having driven quite a lot of dirt roads in various national parks I was confident that it’d be fine - but, within 100 yards I was bogged down and had to rock the car free of the soft sand.  Having finally accomplished this feat I drove on… only to almost tear the front splitter from the car a few hundred yards further down the road.  At this point I figured that 4wd really was advisable and headed back to the safety of the tarmac.

I have to be honest that I wasn’t massively excited about Sequoia and Kings Canyon but I would leave as a bit of a fan.  The General Sherman tree may not be as impressive as they make out but the road through the parks was superb - a great drive and very scenic.  If it wasn’t for the crazy amount of mosquito bites I received - I gave up counting at 23 - I would have spent more time in Sequoia leaving early allowed me more time at the quite marvellous Kings Canyon so it all worked out in the end.  To say that I loved that drive was a complete understatement - it was sublime - and I wish I had just another couple of hours to spend there.  But I had an appointment to keep… in San Francisco.

I used to be unbelievably anti-satnav but, having fought my way through the traffic into San Francisco, I finally stepped out of the car wanting to hug my TomTom.  To put it simply, if it’d not been for that little box stuck to the inside of the windscreen, I would never ever have found Neil and Kristin’s house.  But it took me straight there through the maze of side streets and the tangle of freeway slip roads to be greeted by two friendly smiles on the door step.  The first time I had seen anyone that I know since I was dropped at Heathrow.  Now seven weeks is a long time to only have strangers to talk to so I must apologise to them now if I got a bit carried away and didn’t let them get a word in!

Next morning I woke to an empty house - my hosts both had to work - but it was lovely to be able to lounge around the house, answering my emails and doing very little without having to worry about the check-out time or about hopping in the car to get somewhere.  I finally forced myself to leave the house around lunchtime - not for food, for I had munched my way through a massive burrito the previous evening - but to head out to a hike that had been recommended to me - the San Andreas Trail.  It turned out to be absolutely tedious but it got me out the house for a couple of hours until it was time to head over the Bay Bridge to Oakland for the baseball.  It proved to be an excellent evenings entertainment - the Athletics beating the Marlins 7-6 in the eleventh - and all for no cost as someone handed me a ticket as I waited in line at the ticket window and refused to take any money for it… which was nice.  What wasn’t nice was the massive swarm of black fly which descended on the stadium for half an hour before leaving as quickly as they had arrived.  Most surreal.

Neil had managed to get hold of passes for the Saturday at Sears Point so, whilst he was away, Kristin and I popped along to the local farmers market.  When Neil returned home he took me off for a walking tour of the neighbourhood.  Initially I wondered why he insisted on us marching up to the top of a dirty great hill but, when we reached the top, I saw exactly why.  The view over the city was absolutely breathtaking.  It should be in every guide book but, thankfully, it’s not and I was able to enjoy my visit in peace.  We rounded the tour off with a couple of pints at one of his local drinking establishments before heading back to the house to get ready for a party we were attending at their friends house.  I’m still trying to work out which gave me the best view of the city - looking down from the top of that hill or walking through it after dark… either way I loved the place and will definitely be back someday.

Precisely a year ago I watched on TV as Juan Pablo Montoya won the Nascar race at Sears Point.  I decided there and then that I would attend the following year and, despite numerous revisions to the exact nature of the trip since then, it was fantastic to actually drive through the gates of the circuit.  The race itself was going well with Montoya running in second place for much of the race and Marcos Ambrose - making his Sprint Cup debut - also running really welll.  I am a huge Montoya fan but I was cheering both drivers on until disaster struck.  Montoya was bumped from behind, sending him wide, and then collected by Ambrose as he tried to recover the line, spinning him off the track.  He got back on track and eventually fought his way back to a creditable sixth - Ambrose didn’t finish at all - but it could, and should, have been so much more and I left the place really disappointed.

It took me 30 minutes to walk back to the car and twice that to get out of the parking lot - and then only because I decided I’d had enough of sitting in line and took off in search of another exit route, cutting between the lines of parked cars and bumping through a ditch.  I was off to Sacramento to spend the evening with my cousin who I’d not seen in around 15 years.  Not surprisingly we’d both changed a fair bit but we found plenty to reminisce over until it was time for bed.  

Arriving in the US by air is daunting - no two ways about it.  If it’s not the long, tiring flight then it’s the whole palaver associated with clearing customs and immigration. This time was different though as I was arriving on a short 50-minute flight - rather than the usual 10 or 12 hour version - and I had already cleared Immigration before we left Vancouver. Normal form is to wait in line for over an hour to be finally greeted by a disinterested immigration official who, more often than not, will take out their bad day on me… so it was a positive delight to arrive, get off the plane and head straight to the luggage carousel.  I was in such a good mood after the whole experience that I could forgive the airline for sending my bags to the wrong carousel causing me to waste an entire hour of my life as I waited for them to fly out of that little opening like they were jet propelled.  I could even forgive the rental car company for giving me the biggest gas-guzzling monster of a car that they had - initially, at least - despite me booking a compact to try and keep my fuel costs low.

Just four hours after dropping the Toyota Camry back to Vancouver Airport, I set off from Seattle Airport in my Pontiac G8.  Having weighed up all the options I had begrudgingly settled on crossing the border by air.  In the end, with the exception of the environmental issues, it won out in every possible way and proved the perfect hassle and stress-free way for me.  Indeed it was so simple that it barely felt that I had crossed an international border at all - especially one which is usually as tough to cross as the US.

As I left the airport I did my usual trick of nearly rolling the car on the first tight bend - I forget that these aren’t European cars and they don’t tend to handle so well - and headed off in the direction downtown Seattle.  I headed first for the Space Needle and went in search of a reasonably priced hotel but ended up so frustrated that I gave up and headed north out of the city where I had been told that the prices would be cheaper.  They were - considerably.

The following day I headed back downtown to pick up where I had left off and visited the Pike Place Market - home of the famous flying fish - which, despite being a total tourist draw, was actually quite good fun… even if I had to duck at one point to avoid having a huge slippery wet fish land on my head! After struggling through the hordes of crowds for an hour or so I headed off to the Space Needle which, unfortunately, I found to be a bit of a disappointment.  Of course that may have been because I had recently been to the top of the (much higher) CN Tower in Toronto… the faces of those around me as we stepped out of the elevator suggested that I have been spoilt!  I headed back out of the city and rounded the day off with a visit to the Future of Flight Center adjoining the Boeing factory in Everett.

The following morning I was up bright and early and headed back to the huge Boeing plant as I had tickets for the factory tour - something that I had been looking forward to for a while.  Unfortunately they didn’t allow you to take your camera on the tour but, when you consider the value of the commodity that we were looking down on from the walkways, I guess it is fair… I sure wouldn’t fancy explaining how I’d dropped a camera and managed to punch a big dent into the fuselage of a 747!  The tour itself was fascinating and well worth doing if you are in the area.  Though it is advisable to eat breakfast beforehand as it is quite a long tour when you are hungry - just take my word for that!

Once the tour was over, after 48 hours in the US, it was finally time to get this roadtrip underway.  The first destination was Olympic National Park on, you’ve guessed it, the Olympic Peninsula!  To get there from Everett the quickest way is  to take a short ferry crossing and, for once, I timed my arrival to perfection, driving straight on to the ferry.  I barely had time to make it off the car deck and collect the usual pile of brochures, maps and literature before it was time to return to the car and head off.  It didn’t take too long to reach the park entrance - despite the complete nutjob at the supermarket who couldn’t grasp the concept of me not being able to sign his petition as I didn’t have a US address and who refused to get out of my way until I’d done so.  I had to physically move him from my path.  The petition?  You’ll love this one… was against high gas prices!!

My first destination was to have been the Hurricane Ridge viewpoint but, as I was informed by the ranger at the nearby visitor center when I was buying my National Parks Pass, I’d have been wasting my time as it was totally fogged out.  I should have known then that the pattern of events for the next week had been set but I was blissfully unaware at that point and headed onwards around the southern shores of Lake Crescent.  I was still a little lost and unprepared for my arrival in the US and, having stopped and hiked a trail recommended to me by the ranger, I pulled out my park map in search of where to head next.  Spotting a place marked on the map as ‘North-Westernmost Point in the USA’ I knew right away.  It was quite a detour, and time was ticking on, but it had to be done and off I set - as they say - ‘On a Mission’!  Whilst the intended destination proved to be unreachable sans 4×4, the journey was far from wasted as I was treated to some of the best scenery that I would see in the area as I drove the coastal route towards the Makah Indian Reservation at the very tipoff the peninsula and, by the time I finally reached the Mora Campground, I was tired but happy and I finally felt like I had rediscovered the spirit of a roadtrip.

After an early morning stroll along Rialto Beach to the ‘Hole-in-the-Wall’, followed by hiking a couple of trails in the Hoh Rain Forest area, it was back into the car for the long drive south and east to Mount Rainier.  The weather en route continued to be foul and I consoled myself with the fact that I wasn’t missing anything being stuck inside a car.  I stopped overnight at the Alder Lake Campground and slept like a log.  When I woke the next morning I was delighted to discover that the weather had cleared and I excitedly set off for the mountain.  All was well as I entered the park but, as I climbed the steep access road, things took a turn for the worse and went from the odd bit of snow in the gutter to huge (and I mean huge) snowdrifts at the visitor center.  Needless to say all the trails were closed and there was absolutely nothing to do apart from head off to Mount St Helens.

When I had planned the route through the north-west Mount St Helens had been one of the first places on the list so I was hugely disappointed to stop at the visitor center by the Interstate to be told that it was fog-bound and no view was possible.  And, no, they didn’t expect it to lift for several days.  Having driven so far I wasn’t gonna take their word for it and set off on the hour-long drive to the viewpoint to see for myself.  Guess what?  They were right all along - which made it even more frustrating.  I was determined to see something before calling it a day so decided to head south and visit Ape Caves.  They had been recommended to me previously and, according to the newspaper given to me back at the visitor center, were open for visitors.  Having backtracked all the way back to the Interstate, headed south and then east (a total of almost three hours behind the wheel) I finally arrived… to be greeted with an old friend: “Sorry - closed for the season!”   Aaaargh!  Incensed I headed south towards Portland and took out my worked-up aggression on the steep climb to the top of Multnomah Falls before finally calling it a day at the nearby Ainsworth State Park - 14 hours after I started.  Needless to say, I slept well again. 

After the farce of the previous day I couldn’t quite bring myself to stop and check out Portland.  I was dispirited and needed something more than another town… I needed the scenery of Crater Lake!  Before that I had to endure a Portland rush hour which was far closer to the start of the Daytona 500 than it had any right to be.  Quite frankly I was amazed that I survived without a scratch - trust me, the Arc de Triomphe has nothing on that - and I stopped for breakfast to recover.  I had planned to go in the northern entrance of the park, drive round the western Rim Road and leave via the southern entrance but, of course, my plans wouldn’t work out.  As I sped through the miles of forest land along the route - rather pleasingly ‘speed limit’ are two words that no-one understands out there - I was greeted by a sign offering familiar news, “North Entrance Closed - follow diversion to South Entrance”

When I arrived thought all the effort of getting there proved to be well worth it.  They say that the first sign of madness is talking to yourself - and they’re probably right - but I think I’m passed that anyway so it wasn’t that much of a worry when I heard myself utter a ‘wow, will you look at that!’ when I first set eyes on the lake.  It was simply breathtaking and, even though the snow meant that my access route was closed, it set the lake off an absolute treat.  I’ve heard people describe the lake as magical and, as you most probably are right now, I laughed at them.  All I will say on the matter is just go there and see it for yourself… make your own mind up on the subject. 

Quite unsure how to top ‘the lake’ I set off for McArthur-Burney Falls State Park which I had seen mentioned previously on the internet.  Yet again it was a fair drive but the change in scenery along the route (via Klamath Falls, rounding Mount Shasta at Weed and then heading through the forest through McCloud) was quite something - literally taking me from snow to the desert sun.   I’ll say that again… sun!  At long last - quite literally the moment I crossed the state line into California - the cloud had cleared and the sun had come out.  Everything was right with the world again!

McArthur-Burney Falls SP was a nice little park - excellent campground, but book ahead, it gets busy - and offered excellent opportunities to hike some nice trails.  On my way back to the campground, having completed a couple of them, I stumbled across a fascinating campfire talk by one of the park rangers.  I was sad to leave first thing the next morning but I had a plan which meant I had no choice.

The following day was my birthday but, more importantly, it was the first day of the Le Mans 24 Hour race in France.  Having become something of an annual pilgrimage since I first visited in 2001 I couldn’t miss it and I decided to forego the camping and check myself in to a hotel for a couple of nights so that I could enjoy the live coverage that Speed Channel was providing.

After checking out the nearby Lassen Volcanic National Park in the morning - once again, my visit was weather affected - I set off towards the California coast.  Next on my list of places to see were the Redwoods and, based almost entirely on its name, I selected Eureka as the lucky place which would enjoy my patronage for the next two nights.  Having broken my journey at the striking Sundial Bridge in Redding on my way, I arrived in Eureka and checked in to the Best Western.  It completely blew my budget but it was a very nice hotel in a relatively uninteresting town so I happily parted with my money.

I woke early to see the start of the race and, whilst they interrupted coverage during the day to show all manner of pointless Nascar programming, I headed off to check out the Redwood National Park.  Initially I was somewhat taken with the place but, after a couple of miles of trying to find my way along an overgrown trail, I suddenly - and inexorably - lost interest.  My interest was elsewhere… more to the point my interest was in France.  I headed back to the hotel and kept myself busy with doing my laundry and grocery shopping until Speed cut back to the race coverage. 

The last few races have been a little processional so it was just my luck that the year that I miss is a bit of a classic.  My luck has a lot to answer for - in fact it is my luck that saw me in the area this early at all - I shouldn’t have been here for another four days but pretty much all my plans had been weather-affected.  Bad luck?  Well, everything happens for a reason, I just haven’t yet figured this one out yet. 

Despite the relative luxury of the Monte Carlo Motel in Barriere (and I mean that sincerely - it really was very nice) I was restless all night and barely slept.  I’d started to think about home over the past couple of days and it was causing me to feel uneasy somehow. Pulling my last clean shirt from my bag and finding it was my England football shirt was the last straw - the truth finally dawned on me - I was starting to feel homesick!  I guess it’s natural after a long time away from home but it was something that I really wasn’t expecting.  Although I had absolutely no inclination to head back to the UK I couldn’t help but miss the place the place - until the start of May - I called home.  More importantly I missed the people I left behind there.

Rather than retracing my steps I decided to head back to Vancouver by way of the Sea to Sky Highway, stopping overnight in Whistler.  I’d been promised a spectacular drive but, truth be told, I really wasn’t feeling it initially - in fact I was feeling quite disenchanted with things in general.  The rain had returned, the scenery was very average and the road uninspiring - in fact it was very reminiscent of home and it was putting me in a bad mood.  Eventually I turned the music up real loud, pressed the gas pedal even louder and eventually came out from under my own personal dark cloud and started to enjoy the drive.

And what a drive it turned out to be with the road snaking its way through canyons and clinging to the side of mountains like spaghetti stuck to the side of a pan.  Whoever suggested they run a road through that route was quite clearly insane but I’ll love them forever for giving me two hours of insane fun.  Suddenly running across tight hairpins, washed out sections of road, narrow one-lane bridges, huge streams of water running across the road and zero visibility as I (quite literally) drove through the clouds all contributed to a challenging drive but the most memorable thing will be the rockslides.  We’ve all seen the signs warning us we’re heading in to a rockslide area, right? But how many of us have actually seen rocks suddenly falling off a sheer cliff to our left, covering the road ahead with debris?  I counted five different instances in a little over ten miles. (The rocks were mainly baseball sized but there was the odd rock which was beach ball sized which certainly added to the fun!)

I’d arrived in Whistler expecting to find somewhere like Banff or Jasper but I was to be seriously disappointed.  What I actually got was Basingstoke-On-The-Hill.  It was full of shiny new Starbucks, clothes shops and offices belonging to companies organizing mountain biking trips and ATV rides.  The rest was a construction site - which is to be expected given the Winter Olympics are coming in a couple of years - but I soon discovered the place had about as much soul as an outlet mall.  Disappointed I headed back to the campground where I was greeted by two black bear strolling past my tent.  Inspired by this sight I vowed to give the place another chance; heading back into town and signing up for an ATV ride up the mountain the following morning.  I’d actually got quite excited about the idea but, having woken up horribly early, I arrived at the shop to be informed that the trip had been cancelled due to ‘inclement weather’ (not enough punters, more like.)  I took this as a sign and left as quickly as I could - which really wasn’t very quickly at all given the never ending road construction. 

In need of a change of scene I decided to hop on the ferry to Vancouver Island which I liked a lot despite the continuing rain.   Pacific Rim National Park - on the far side of the island - is small but it had some fun hikes which I was able to enjoy after stopping off in Tofino and paying a small fortune for some waterproofs.  I spent a couple of nights camping there which proved to be pretty lonely but me, Jack and a roaring campfire made a good combination and made the evenings pass just that little quicker.  I did a lot of hiking - and a lot of thinking - on Vancouver Island and, by the time I got back on the ferry to head back to the mainland, I had straightened a few more things out in my head. 

I’d heard great things about Vancouver - earlier in the trip I had been really looking forward to getting there but, as if the two days of constant driving rain weren’t enough, my own black cloud was back and I couldn’t wait to get to the airport and head south across the border to open a new chapter in this adventure.   I didn’t dislike Vancouver - there is absolutely nothing to dislike - but my mind was somewhere else and it was just delaying me.  I stayed for a couple of nights at the Capilano RV Park which, although it could do with a little bit of renovation in the shower department, was fantastically placed right on the edge of the city - I’d be surprised to find a campground located so  closely to any major world city anywhere else.

If you were hoping for some sort of travel guide to the city - sorry, you’re not gonna get that here - I’ll give just two bits of advice… don’t, whatever you do, give in and buy a ticket for the depressing Vancouver Trolley (which other tour anywhere stoops so low as to point out such delights as the Department of Social Security office?) but do make sure that you watch the sunset, and the city light up, from the Lions Gate Bridge.  It was quite fantastic. 

They say that a roadtrip isn’t about getting to the destination - it’s about the journey. It’s about the discovery.  This past week - from the very moment that I made my way down from the top of Whistler Mountain back in Jasper - has seen this trip cease being an extended sight-seeing trip and has become a true roadtrip in every sense of the word.  It’s been a tough week but I’ve learned a lot about myself, confronted some demons that I could conveniently ignore back home and I’d like to think that I’ve come out of it stronger.   Having said that… I’m sure ready to head south across the border and start a new chapter of this big adventure!