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