The Yellow Splash of Caution

Well clearly I made it out; I am sitting back home now all clean and shiny and doing my best to relate this as honestly as possible.

Back to that last day in camp:  If you recall, I had parked Beagle in my reserved spot (a double spot) but the prior occupants had not left—they were out for the day; clearly intending on returning to their tent and belongings.  Which they did at 6:30PM.  By then the campground was packed; people were everywhere, doubling up in single sites, just trying to make do—no one was going to head back down that road at that hour.  And the camp host was nowhere to be found.  Totally MIA.  But the great thing about campers is that we are all usually pretty laid-back people.

And so when the occupants arrived and gave Beagle a long look, I walked over and introduced myself.  I had seen them the night before when I was scoping out my next spot and they looked like a nice couple, young, with a boy of about seven.  I mentioned that I made a reservation for the spot online and he claimed he did too (not to be suspicious, but the reserved marker indicated that they only had reserved it for two nights, not three.)  In any event, it was getting late and we acknowledged that we were both quiet and thought the arrangement was just fine.  And it was.

Sitting in Beagle after dark I was in a near panic about leaving in the morning.  I seriously thought about walking over to site #16 and asking my welcoming neighbor if I could follow him out in the morning but I knew that would likely lead him somewhere I had no intention of going.  Then I got mad at myself.  Really angry.  I mentally yelled at myself, “Kit, stop playing the victim here!  If you don’t like how you are feeling then figure out what decisions you made to get yourself here and make different ones in the future.  And for now, shut the fuck up and figure out the best plan to get out.”  

That’s like self-love, right?

And this is where I realized one of the best things Alan and I did for each other; we made each other better.  We were far from identical.  Far.  He taught me logic and I taught him emotion and in a million other ways our differences made us an excellent team.  One thing he had that I never learned was Caution.  I would say, “Oh!  That looks like fun, let’s do that!” or, “Let’s go there!” and he would answer, “OK, let’s see how we can do that or go there without either one of us dying or going broke.”  I was our inspiration and he was our caution; the combination brought about incredible journeys. 

Caution is what I lacked on this trip.  So after my talking to, I noted that next time I will be more cautious, I will Google Earth the roads before committing my precious Beagle.  But for that night, the only thing I could come up with to ease my anxiety was leaving as early as possible in the morning in hopes of not meeting anyone else on the road.

And so we left, 7:15.  About five miles into the drive, just before it became super scary, I came upon a logging truck coming up the mountain, empty this time.  Thankfully, it was on a straight portion of the road and he had lots of room to pull over which he quickly did, giving me a little honk-honk as I slipped by.  I hoped that he would radio his fellow workers that I was coming down the mountain.

I was a nervous wreck.  Sometimes things aren’t as bad as you remember, but these roads actually were worse.  There was one spot where a boulder was on my right and the drop to the valley on the left and only enough room for one vehicle to inch through, on a blind curve—I hadn’t even remembered that one.  I really wanted to take a picture but dared not stop.

When I finally (finally!!) reached the end of Hogback Road and saw Highway 245, the first thing I noticed was the bright yellow strip down the middle.  Lines!  A road with lines!  Highway 245 now looked like the Orange County Toll Road, wide and welcoming.  I was so happy!  It still wound around a lot but you could see ahead if someone was coming.  At one point I could see no one coming for awhile so I didn’t bother staying in my lane at all, I joyfully swerved along, crossing back and forth over that wonderful yellow line.  It was so pretty, it seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

Then I heard, swish, swish, swish, swish and thought, “Hmmm, that’s odd, it sounds like I am going through puddles but there is not a cloud in the sky.”  I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw all that shimmering bright yellow paint splashing up the side of Beagle.

Yep.

Really, it was too much.  I had to laugh.  What happened to Caution?  To top it off, the swerving across the line was something I always did while towing (when appropriate) and Alan never did—he preferred to always be in his lane.

But I will never forget that joyful feeling; I am tempted to leave the paint on Beagle.

 

-K

Two Out of Three

“Might…maybe…if you are lucky”, was where I promised this post would start.  If you missed the last episode, these are some of the words the manager of a campground used when I asked his opinion of getting Beagle up to Eshom Campground. 

We can dismiss the “maybe” as I am sitting here now, in Site 22, a double site nestled alongside the creek, a site in which last night’s occupants have failed to leave, choosing to spend the day somewhere else while their tent and belongings remain behind (perhaps this issue will rectify itself before I am done writing, let’s just see.)  It being a double site, there was plenty of room for me to park Beagle without so much as casting dust onto their stuff, so here I sit.  Writing and waiting.

Ever since my arrival yesterday, I have been looking forward to today as a day of 50% recovery from the drive in and 50% building up the courage to leave tomorrow. Site #22 is worth the wait; I only hope last night’s occupants lean toward apologetic and not angry.  If they ever return.

Anyway, this morning, with Mr. Campground’s three words ringing in my head, I drove down Highway 180 to Highway 245, you remember, as Google attempted to direct me on Monday.  Immediately my heart began pounding; Highway 245 is nothing more than a narrow, barely two-lane road winding down, through and around the surrounding mountains.  But it is not like I could turn around—there weren’t even any pull outs available.  Ack, it is making me nervous just writing about it.

Assuming I would lose cell connection, I had written out the directions but thankfully Verizon carried through with only a few drops—very few of my road names matched the tragically few number of road signs.  A left onto Hogback Road put me on an even more narrow and more harrowing drive as it climbed up the mountain, providing lovely, heart-stopping views from the right side of the vehicle straight down into the valley below.  No guard rails, no shoulder most of the time, no turn around areas, no lines, no way am I coming here again.

I drove extremely slowly, one eye on the next blind curve, one eye on my cell connection—I wanted to know how far back I would have to walk if I lost service and needed to get help.  I knew that if I came across someone who was also towing, one of us would have to back up.  I imagined the other driver would be a man.  I seriously thought about crying.

And here is where Luck comes in:  Just as I was taking a sharp right, a semi-truck (Semi-Truck!) full of trees (giant, dead Sequoia trees) came cruising around the blind curve ahead.  We had about two seconds to decide how to play this.  Being two expert drivers, we immediately determined that it is best if neither of us stopped moving; he shimmied his rig alongside the mountain, crushing some bushes, while I used every inch of the two feet between the pavement and the drop to the right as we maneuvered around each other like two unwilling boxers.  I couldn’t even look in my rear-view mirror—what did it matter anyway?  We were either going to scrape each other or not; my only wish was that he didn’t hit me forcibly enough to knock me over the edge.

I’d like to say it got easier but it didn’t.  I did not happen across any more logging trucks but now I was completely paranoid, my jaw clenched tight, a death-grip on the steering wheel.  When I realized both of these things I took some deep breaths (still no where to turn around for miles) and just tried to concentrate on getting around the next curve.  At one point, I kid you not, the road was only as wide as Wurzig with a boulder on the left and the drop off on the right as I headed into a blind curve.  I was barely breathing.

With about ten miles to go I was given an opportunity to turn around.  A left onto Whitaker provided enough space in the road to allow a three-point turn should I so desire.  I stopped.  I considered it.  I used all my Might to continue forward.  In for a penny in for a pound.  By now I wanted to see if this was worth all the trouble.

Can’t say that it is.  Although maybe just for the relief you feel when you finally see the Eshom Campground sign; it flooded me from head to toe.  I had booked online taking the only site available for Tuesday night, #16, so had no idea what to expect.  Thankfully, it was at the end of a loop and on the outside.  A few minutes after I backed Beagle in, my neighbor came over to introduce himself.  Can I just say, I was not in the mood.  All I wanted was to get the hot Noses out of the hot car and pour some warm scotch over ice.  He, of course, wanted to talk about Beagle, then River, then Opus before finally allowing that maybe I wanted some quiet time to just get set up. He did mention that I was in the best site in the park and that if I needed anything “other than ice” to just let him know.

But he was wrong about #16 being the best site.  Site #22 is the best site, albeit you have to fork over the money for a double site.  It is well worth it.  #16 was ok; Beagle’s door opened into a private forest of trees heading up the mountain and had plenty of shade for the Noses, but I am happier over here. 

Tomorrow I pack up and head back down those roads.  For now I need to stop thinking about it, enjoy the sound of the creek outside Beagle’s door and another hike with Opus.

-K

Dreamy Anticipation

Have I written about this before?  My love of anticipation?  How I think it is the most under-rated emotion?  Joy, like Hate are spontaneous emotions.  Anticipation, like Compassion, only gets better with time.

So it was with great anticipation that I packed up Beagle; I “knew” my campground was on Hume Lake; I was day-dreaming like crazy about how I would swim in the lake every day after walking the Noses around the three mile lakeside trail (planning to do it twice with Opus.)  I packed two bathing suits, my serious, let’s get some exercise one-piece suit and my serious, let’s get some sun, bikini.  Walking, swimming, reading (there is no cell service at the lake), writing.  Three nights, maybe four, of discovering what my mind will do when left completely to its own devices.  

And then it was with great consternation that, when Google said, “Take the next right onto Highway 245”, leading me away from Hume Lake, that I replied, “I certainly will not.”  I figured Google had it wrong, you know, because that happens every day.

Eventually I pulled over and realized my mistake; while making the reservation for Hume Lake, Eshom Campground popped up as having availability for my dates.  I just assumed that Eshom was the name of the campground at the lake.  Such a rookie mistake, I can hardly believe it.

Not wanting to give up on my lovely daydreams, I still drove to Hume Lake.  It was packed.  I mean packed!  Kids everywhere, multiple tents in a single campsite; all the reasons I do not usually camp this time of year.  I drove through and pulled off Hume Lake Road to study some maps—having arrived at the aforementioned cellular dead zone.  By now it was getting close to three.  I could see from the map that getting back to Eshom would take some time and also realized that it would involve a twisting, narrow, perhaps not even paved road—too much to take on right then.  I needed a Plan B for the night.

I drove up Highway 180 to a private campground and the manager showed me the sites available.  It was basically a field off of the highway although (and I give him great credit for this) he was serving ice cream.  I told him my tale and asked about the roads to Eshom.  “Your rig might make it…maybe…going the back way.  You will have better luck going back down to Highway 245.”   Three words you never want to hear when someone is telling you how to get to a campground:  Might, Maybe and Luck.  Turns out I needed two out of three but that is tomorrow’s story.

It was too hot and dry to stay in his sunny meadow so I hopped in the car and turned back toward Hume Lake.  I had seen a couple of pull off areas in which I could stash myself for the night but as luck would have it, just off of Highway 180 I saw a beautiful boondocking spot nestled among the giant trees.  I pulled over, walked back to the site, saw how I could get Beagle down and, more importantly, back up, returned to Beagle and backed her in. 

It was a great site:  Quiet, with only the occasional car passing by on the highway and after dark I counted only two until I drifted off to sleep.  Across the street was a Forest Service road which the Noses and I enjoyed for an evening walk.  We repeated it the following morning during which we paused to wonder at a giant bear print.  Wonder, not like, “wow, nature” but more like “hmmm, why are we out here without our pepper spray?”

Opus and I felt like we were just getting started after returning River to Beagle so we left her in the cool, shadowed car and set off down the still deserted highway.  After half a mile or so I noticed a creek running alongside the road, about thirty yards below.  And then the Deal Maker, a large, flat, sun-filled rock just at its edge.  We headed down through the rocks and brush.

Once at the rock, a small pool revealed itself; the creek gurgling over the rocks and fallen trees, splashing into a clear, shallow pool.  It was a mini oasis completely hidden from the road.  Time for a mini swim. 

Have you noticed that sometimes you are fortunate enough to have people in your life that enhance it whether you are with them or not?  I am fortunate right now to have three such people:  Whether together or not, one keeps me sane by reminding me to laugh at myself and life’s foibles; one keeps me exploring new sides of myself; and one constantly reminds me of what I truly want in life.  So it was with a nod to TWGPT that I stripped down to the suit you are never without, waded into the pool and dunked myself under; he had just done so on the other side of the Sierra’s.

It was cold, I could only dunk under twice before making my way back out to that sunny, flat rock.   As the sun dried the droplets from my skin, I gazed down the valley, grateful to have spent so much time day-dreaming about Hume Lake and savoring the delicious tangibility of the here and now.

-K