Portland For Sure

Yesterday we may have fallen a few steps shy of Portland, but today? Portland for sure! It just might take a while, that's all.

Six ten. That was when the alarm went off, and that was when we woke up – complaining and crabbing as we stepped from warm sleeping bags into the cold morning air. Twenty minutes to get the car packed, and a few more to break down the tent. With our site cleared off, we were ready to break out into the world once more.

First things first – yesterday we were unable to shoot Crater Lake from the East, as the Western setting sun obscured the images. This morning the light would be reversed. We would head out into the morning and see the lake from yet another angle.

“The sun creeps across the valley floor; a tomb opening to the morning light.” These words echo in my mind as the golden rays transform the morningscape with its early illumination. It is beautiful to watch as shadow stretch out over the treetops, and against the walls. With great speed the fog is burned away, and beauty takes hold.

When, finally, I approach the lake there are no words. Still, and calm, we are the only two around. Everyone else still rests comfortably in their tents. It is only the two of us looking out over the rim at a body of water, so still, it's hard to tell which is the real, and which is merely a reflection. In different light this lake can be many things, but right here, right now, it is a looking glass for the great forests.

Around we drive, watching the glow fade as the sun rises higher into the sky. And then it is time for us to say our goodbyes to the crater, leave the park, and return to our journey once more.

This park, visited by accident, based on misremembered information, has been a spectacular sight. But there will be more such sites in the future, without doubt.

Leaving the park we head out into the world in search of the fabled room saver. One visitor center provides us with a copy, one month old – most coupons now expired. in another there is none. Finally, at a rest stop just outside of Portland we find one. Hours of stress preceded this event. There are few things I dislike more than not knowing where I'll sleep, or not knowing where to find a place at all.

In the time between these two magazine spottings many hours of Radiolab were played, educating; entertaining. We also made our way into Eugene, and out – stopping just long enough to notice that everyone runs in this town. Everyone.

Soon we would be in Portland. Between Crater Lake and this new city on our horizon, there was only one stop of note. One stop I had not planned on, did not now we would pass, and to be honest – did not even know was real. All my life, I had assumed this location fictional, a product of the ancient floppy days, ruled over by Apple Iie machines. But there on my map, and then on my GPS, and then on my left, just outside the car's window was Odell Lake.

Anyone growing up in the 80s should know of this lake from the game which was set here. You take on the role of a fish and eat your wait, avoid your way, and outsmart your way through life in the lake. The game taught me two things – Rainbow Trout are king, and fear the osprey.

There was also an otter in there somewhere too – but it was the otter who grabbed you from on high, when you tried to be sneaky at the top of the lake, that filled all with fear.

Odell lake. Touching the clear, cool, water – I found myself lost for words. It's like seeing a dragon. How else can you describe seeing someone that you'd never thought real, which had had such an impact on your life? Imagine walking through the streets of Gotham City. In a way, this is what I was doing.

I wanted to jump in and swim, or cast a lure into the water. But I couldn't fish, wouldn't fish here if I could. In some small way, I am those fish. Those fish are me. In a strange digitized manner.

And then we were in Portland. The Roomsaver directed us to a motel, Super Inn, on the metro line. Tomorrow we'd rail into the city proper. Today, however, we would drive. Avoiding the main spots as evening fell, we headed out to the few places where driving would make access easier.

Stark's Vacuums may seem like an odd place for us to head, but this is not just an ordinary vacuum store. Oh no. Within these walls lies the free, small yet entertaining, Vacuum museum. Over one hundred years of the machines history is on display here. Enter, be amazed, and head a number of blocks down the same street, until you come to a strange red door with a sign taped to it proclaiming it to be a museum.

Knock knock Neo. You need to rap on the door, but when no one answers, don't know harder, else the lady who works there will give you an angst filled line about fearing you were going to barrel down on her with a shot gun – as if there were any way you could know she was there, and making her way over. As if there was any way to know why a museum would have a locked door with no windows.

But then you're inside. This is a Toy Museum, free of charge. Metal banks where stereotyped black boys eat your money are on shelves by the dozen. The names, too awful to mention, vary from one to the next, but most are the same.

Then there are the tin soldiers, the model trains. The creepy dolls. This is a place for all those born between the thirties and sixties to come and relive their past. And it was interesting to be sure. All these toys lined behind glass cases. But, while I enjoyed it, it did nothing for the nostalgia in me. This was not my era, these were not my toys.

For those born from the seventies to the eighties, Billy Galaxy is a shop in town which is set up much like this museum, but the pieces are for sale, if one would wish.

With these two places seen we ventured into the heart of Portland. This would not be a sight seeing expedition, but rather one with a purpose – to check out Powell's books. So much has been said of this store, that investigation was needed. But this was not a city for driving. No, pedestrians are so sure of their right of way that they will walk in front of traffic without looking. Bikes were everywhere. Now while I'm sure I will love this set up tomorrow when I am on foot, right now? Infuriating.

We circled the block once, twice, three times – and just as we set the directions on the GPS for home, a car left in front of us. We had a spot – we went into Powell's.

This is a book lovers dream. Four floors of books both new and used. There is a rare book section with one text dating back to the 1400s. And there were games. A terrible number of games. All of which I wanted.

I tried to resist, I did. But then I saw Chez Cthulhu. I had played Chez Geek at my buddies house in Silicon Valley and liked it. Combine that with the Elder Gods and I'm sold. But then if I was buying this, I might as well buy Chez Geek with the expansions too. And then, as I'm a sucker for alphabet books, I picked up Baby's First Mytho's – a Lovecraftian Alphabet Book.

This was an expensive trip – and there was so much more I wanted. I'd have to come back. But it was getting late, we had a whole day tomorrow, and rest was required – not sleep, but rest. Just a time to lay on a bed, and do nothing; lay on a bed, and think nothing. Just relax.

A whole day of this would be ideal, but I'll take the hour provided.

Of course this time never came as we played the Chez games until we fell asleep. Oh Portland. How I've missed you though I'd never met you before.

Crater Lake, Oregon

It is with great upset that I announce my awareness that today is 90210 day. (September 2nd, 2010.) I hate myself.

But, I'm also leaving California for the great and wonderful city of Portland Oregon. All over the world people speak of Portland as the place to go. The new Oregon trail leads right to its front door step, and tonight I will sleep within the boundaries of such a great and remarkable city.

But first, I just need to find one of those Roomsaver magazines. My love of a state is proportionate to the ease with which I access one of these magazines. I need to know where to sleep, and how much it will cost. Without one I am naked. Without one, I am an unhappy hosteler devoid of free wifi.

Travelling up the secondary route 199, I was on the lookout for a Oregon welcome station. But there was none. I cursed myself, telling myself I should have gone a few miles out of the way to take the I-5 up. Surely that highway would have had a welcome centre looking to give me coupons and locations for places to sleep! But no, I took my chances on the 199.

My outrage was cut short when I saw a National Parks visitor centre. Maybe this would do the trick? It was at the threshold of the Oregon caves. Without our parks pass we could have taken the ninety minute tour free, but it said long sleeves, and pants were required. As were good boots. I had not the gear for this tour. Still, the visitor centre did provide us with a map of the southern state, listing all welcome centres. There were none near us, nor on the 5. The 101, which claimed to be a secondary road, that was where one was. Ai ya. There was no time to go there, we were headed to Portland! Wait – what was that on the map?

Crater Lake? Didn't I hear of Crater Lake somewhere recently? In an e-mail. There was something important about it... Never mind that that was a different Crater Lake, my mind was made up – we would diverge from our current path and take a day to explore yet another national park. We were making good use of our pass, for sure.

Before entering there was one lone restaurant – a pizza joint, that was also a bar, that was also a convenience store. The pizza was good, as were the people – but it was a sobering place indeed. Next to the trailer park, the girl who worked there knew all the rough edged teens that came in. I couldn't help but think this was the type of town you're born in, you live in, if you're lucky – you get a job in, and then eventually you die in it too.

The pizza was good – we had the Cougar Special. Medium was more than enough for two.

We claimed a tent spot nice and early, but quickly left before setting up camp. Katherine is slowly learning my neurosis for seeing everything there is to see before taking care of business. And this isn't something built on nothing – there is reason. Setting up the tent will be the same five hours from now, as it will be at this moment. Setting up the tent in the dark leaves nothing lost – but losing the light, that's everything.

We quickly made our way to the West Rim drive of Crater Lake. The first view point presented me with a sight I'd never before seen. A lake so clear, and so perfectly blue, it was as if a child coloured it in in elementary school. I knew water was blue. I know ice is blue. But to see the lake this brilliant – it was something else.

Crater Lake is a collapsed volcano. No rivers or streams feed the lake, only the snow and the rain. Six thousand feet up in the hills, it stands alone, the deepest lake in the United States. It also boasts the cleanest, most pure water, to be found in the country. You could drink straight out of it, so the tale goes. I wouldn't know – getting down to the water requries a trek seven hundred feet of elevation down. This part didn't concern me as much as the seven hundred feet of elevation back up again.

It would have been nice to jump in, and go for a swim, but I would settle with the views from the rim's edge.

Driving on we would, time and time again, come to view the same water from a slightly different angle, and yet each time this made all the difference. More photos were snapped, more breath taken away.

Deer ran through the fields, and small squirrels that looked suspiciously like chipmunks would scatter around the paths, playing and tumbling down the rock before scampering back up again.

The West Rim road became the East Rim road right about the time the crystal blue lake turned into a black hole, scarred with a brilliant streak of light. Surely this had nothing to do with the fact that we were now looking directly into the sun. While the lake may have been marred, there was still more to see.

A road diverging from the main path leads cars to a valley wall where tall spires have formed out of ash, left behind as the rock eroded all away. Another look out shows the pumice castle, where orange rock has formed in the shape of a medieval castle. At least, if you squint really hard, and forget everything you know about the shape of castles, then it looks like one. Last there was the waterfall trickling down the rock, fed from I can't imagine where, this high up, above the crater's lip.

When we had finished the thirty two mile drive we did not head back to our tent site straight away. instead I detoured to our initial position. I wanted to see how the light had changed the view. Gone were the spectacular colours, replaced with simply – a lake. A beautiful lake, with the Wizard's Hat island, and Phantom ship – but now, just a lake. The magic had faded with the lowering of the sun in the sky.

This is why I rush. This is why every second counts. Because nothing is ever the same again.

Feeling sorry for those just now arriving, we returned to camp where all the surrounding sites had been filled. From nothing, to full in only three hours. We set up camp, and Katherine finished reading the terrible Voyager book that detailed the history of Janeway. What a terrible, terrible, racist, person she was. My hatred for the series grew with every moment. But it's done now, never to hurt me again.

7:45 marked the start of the night's ranger led program – a talk about all the scary animals in the park. Apparently Wolves and Mountain Lions were all but unseen in this park for years – until, of course, this year. This week even. One mountain lion has been seen to stalk humans, and not fear them. When a talk trying to make us feel better about the animals around us (pointing out that vending machines kill more people a year than black bears) leaves the ranger saying quietly, “...we're a little worried about this one...” you know there could be trouble. Even still, that guy is out in the back counry.

The rest of the program was about owls, and deer, and cute little porcupine. The only other strange thing was that it recommended you 'play dead' if a black bear comes at you. This is bad form, and no other park still clams these old tips aside from Crater. If you play dead the bear will play with you, possibly killing you in the process. A bear comes at you? It's a fight for your life. And let no one else tell you otherwise. At least the other parks make visitors aware.

As much as I'd like to see one of these lumbering beasts, I'm more than happy to have them remain invisible as I make my way from park to park. Soon we'll be in Grizzly country. Joy.

As we slipped into sleep I couldn't help thinking how, sure, we still were hours away from Portland, and sure – this wasn't the same crater lake as in the email – but, boy was I glad I made it out this far.

It was just in passing that I learned how important this place was to the state. In the fifty quarter collection, it's this very place that fins itself etched into the coins face.

Never in my life had I seen such blue.

The California Red Woods

September 1st, 2010. A day that shall be known for the most terrifying driving of my year-long trip. That and the insanely large trees we saw.

Insanely, while not being an adjective I'd normally use, seemed perfectly rational when coupled with the lack of sleep these last few entries had been churned out under. Now, with a slightly more rested mind, I will begin once more the tale of this fate filled day of, you know, large tree things. Trees. Very. Large. Trees.

We left driving down the scenic By-way, Highway 36. This was a twisting turning road that lifted us up into the hills, looking down on the outstretched forests below. It was a lovely drive, a beautiful drive, but a slow drive. A very slow drive.

The shortest route between two points is not a straight line when topography enters the mix. I would say mistakes were made, but really – the journey was a beautiful, and halfway to the Redwoods we ended up passing a ranger station.

Mad River Ranger Station lies in the middle of the 36. We had passed a few of these already, but never pulled in to see just what they were. In my mind the ranger station is that thing you passed five miles back, just before your car over heated. Hiking towards it one member of your party disappears, only to be found dead a mile later. When night falls the rangers turn out to be the true killers, and in the end there is not a sole survivor to be found – all killed in a forest fire started to end the madness. The only winner? The forest which will grow back newer and stronger under the somewhat controlled blaze.

As life would have it, this is not quite what a ranger station is. Not to my knowledge – we never broke down, or stayed past dark, so I can't speak to those ends, but in my experience a ranger station is this:

A place where you can get free comics and colouring books about Smokey the Bear. Ohh! His origin issue! What a snag! So many exclamation marks can only point to the fantastic experience that was had here.

There were also pamphlets about snakes, and bears, and other things that want to eat you from the inside out. Like ticks. For the most part a Ranger Station is a rest stop way out in the bush. And there are helpful people there who love the outdoors – have made it their life. They know all the tips and tricks.

In fact they might tell you to take one road out to the 101 to see the Redwoods, and even though that road ends north of where you want to be, you should probably listen and then backtrack later. You may think since you're going to be going north on the 101, it's best to take the road that leaves you south of the forest. But in this assumption you would be wrong.

Listen to the rangers, otherwise you end up travelling far more terrifying roads that wind higher through the hills, and place you seventy miles from the nearest service station. This may not seem bad, as you're well fueled – driving through the desert having taught you to fill up at every chance, not wait until you're near dry – but the roads... they'll become full of potholes, they'll rock you from one side to the other. There will be no railing. There will be nothing but absolute terror for the next hour (twenty miles, one hour.) You will pass no one, except on the few moments where a one lane squeeze meets a blind curve. Then a truck will barrel towards you.

I have not been this nervous in a vehicle – for years. Not since 2006 when I travelled similar roads in British Columbia, Canada (actually those were far worse, but I summoned the fear for this journey.) Katherine drove, stoic, calm, and in control. Good for her. Because as for me? I was thinking of all the worst case scenarios.

A pot could dislodge our oil pan. But would that be all that bad, I mean we hadn't changed our oil in 17 000 KM. We probably didn't have any left, as it was. Wait – we hadn't changed our oil in that long? What's that smell? Burning. Katherine noticed it. Just tell her it's the tires – no sense worrying her when we're still 45 minutes from the nearest service station. She bought it. Now only I needed to worry, and check the engine temp meter, and hope that we did not die out here.

A terrifying hour past – we still weren't out. Thirty more minutes to go. No matter how much Johnny Cash we played, I still worried. Then we were out. Then I told Katherine the smell was the oil, thinking we could change it straight away in town. But no – this town had one auto shop which was booked until next week. Unacceptable!

For the next few miles Katherine was worried, until we reached the first mile of Avenue of the Giants. Right at that moment, she would later say, she forgot all about the oil. This was excellent for me. I let it go too – there was nothing to be one until 60 miles north on the highway.

Avenue of the Giants. That's when we could relax. We had made it to the Red Woods state park. And what a place it was:

Our first stop put us on a one mile hike through the woods where sound shut off from all around us. Outside the forest it was blazing hot, inside – nice and cool. The sunlight never lingers long in this spot.

Trees grew, reaching up over three hundred feet into the air. That's a thirty storey building. All around you. This is a very big tree. And there are hundreds of them all growing clumped together. The root system of the fallen giants dwarf even the tallest person. These are things of beauty.

I thought I would be jaded, after all I had just seen big trees yesterday, but then these ones weren't just big – they were tall as well.

After finishing the trail we hit the car and moved on to the next station where road signs told us to stop. More forest, more trees, more beauty. I envied the people who would hike eight miles in to set up camp, alone in the wilderness. But at this stage, an eight mile hike, even over flat land – that seemed like far too much, just to see some trees. Some trees I was seeing here.

Now if I had a week to camp, rather than just one night that would be different.

There were trees to climb on, trees to crawl inside and make a club house within, trees to simply crane your neck back and look at. Trees, trees, trees. And there were even hidden gems.

A free auto-tour pamphlet is available from boxes at the side of the road, but it wasn't until stop three – the visitor centre – that I overheard a ranger give out secret advice. He drew new lines on the map, and added stops. I had him modify my light blue pamphlet the same way. We now had opened up the Giant Tree achievement, and Founders Tree – which included an informational booklet.

Founders tree stood 346 feet tall, and was on the cover of the book. On the cover was a cartoon man looking up. Clearly we had to re-create this image for pictures.

While 345 may seem tall, it was still but a baby after seeing Giant Tree – accessible by a quick hike after taking a seven mile road which diverged from Avenue of the Giants. Giant Tree was 363 feet tall. A thirty six storey building. If this tree fell in the forest and no one was around to hear it, it wouldn't matter – shocks would be felt all the way to Portland. Maybe. Probably not. It wouldn't make a sound. Final answer.

These are the roads of car commercials, twisting and turning through blind curves, walled by the behemoths. It was hard to think that this was still California. It seems as if we'd seen almost everything in this state. There's been the deserts of Death Valley, the art of Salvation Mountain, the beaches of Los Angeles, the cliffs of Yosemite, and now these trees. We'd spent a week and a half here, and it was barely enough.

Just after five we rolled into town to get our oil changed – the car not smelling all that hot. The oil change had closed minutes before. Great. But ten miles up the road we hit on another quick change place which still had room for us. We were lucky, as it turned out the oil had nearly run dry. After our complementary hot drinks, and a few times telling the staff that – no – we didn't want the extra products, we were good to go. Back on the road, sans terrible burning smell.

Now we just had to find a place to sleep for the night. This would come in the form of Crescent City – a northern town on the ocean. A beautiful sunset was presented to us – the last we would see in this state. And as if saying good bye, the gentle beeping of the light house would lull us to sleep.

And by lull us to sleep, I mean imagine you had left your phone off the hook on the bedside table. Yeah, it was like that, but rather than just you hearing it – it's a blessing for the whole town.

Good night California; it's been real.

The Grizzled Giant and Sleepy Time Roads

This morning the line for camp sites was growing well before seven thirty. As we packed up to leave, more joined the line. I imagined a silent cheer each time people like us left the park. It would mean one more space open for camping.

Adding two hours to our journey, we headed south to see the large trees that lived there – that had lived there for thousands of years. You know, it's interesting. We don't know much about trees from their early days. The oldest in the world if four to five thousand years old. What about the ones from dinosaur times, hundreds of millions of years back? How did they grow? What defenses did they have? We know so little – and it's nearly impossible to learn a thing. You'd think 1600 years is old (the age of some of the trees around here) but really – just a drop in the bucket.

On our way to the grove, we passed a look out stop full of German tourists. The French go to the Grand Canyon, the German's come here. This seems to be the way of things. Why the divide? I'm not sure – but just as most of the people at the Grand Canyon were French, so too are most of those in this park German.

You can tell them, at times, from the Americans. They're the ones who look like they're about to go clubbing, rather than climb a mountain. It's strange, it's surreal, it's really quite wonderful. What are they thinking? Clearly in their mind it all makes some sort of sense.

We passed through a tunnel that transported us from one section of the park to the next. Gravel roads, and tight turns took us from place to place. Here we were not surrounded by tourists, but for the most part, on our own. Until we neared the southern part of the park. The area with, “the trees.”

We pulled into the visitors centre and I asked, rather foolishly, if this was the place with the big trees. (It wasn't as bad as yesterday when I asked if stop ten was next – boarding the bus at stop nine. “Oh, very good counting,” the driver said to me. I didn't realize the same stop going the other way was stop four.)

We were told that we could drive down, and then hike the grove, or take a tram for twenty five dollars a person. Twenty five dollars a person to take a tram a few miles? No thanks. Getting to the lot we started out.

Our legs had not forgiven us our hike the day before. Thighs and calves still hurt. But we could not not see the trees. The trees! Only two and a half miles, round trip. That would be nothing – right?

I seem to recall it being more than nothing, but my memories are what last – and those are the memories of the Grizzled Giant, and the California Tunnel.

The Grizzled Giant is nearly one hundred feet around at the base. Standing one hundred and ninety feet tall, this tree was a monster. A monster with a fence around it.

It seems that the park service didn't want people walking around the tree. Standing on the roots could hurt it. For a tree nearly three thousand years old, and having suffered fire damage, I figured it would do just fine – but that's not my call. No – this tree was out of bounds for touching. You could stand back and take pictures, though.

There's only one problem – from a distance there's no sense of scale. There's no way to appreciate its size. Not without someone next to it. And so I did what anyone in my situation would do (the situation being one who thinks protecting something can end up destroying the true beauty of it.) I set my tripod up, hopped the fence, and got my shot of me standing beside the tree. I have two shots – one with me, one without. In the one without, you just see a tree. It could be any size. But the other? It's in the other that the true monstrous size is seen.

I'd always regretted not seeing the big trees out in British Columbia back in two thousand and six, but now – standing beside this giant, everything was right in the world once more.

The California Tunnel Tree is a tree which had a hole cut in it, large enough for carriages to go under. Why chop down a tree when you can cut it up and allow it to live even still? Of course i walked under it, and looked around – but little compared to standing beside the truly awe inspiring giant.

Once we'd left the forest, it was back on the road – heading towards Red Bluff. We would spend the night there, and press on to the Red Wood forest in the morning. I thought of all the things I'd have time to do – catch up on email, blogging, tv watching – but as soon as we got there (after hours of near exhaustion driving where I had to take over for Kath who couldn't even keep her eyes open) food was our priority – ice cream and Domino's pizza. Never again. Tasty – but, doing terrible things.

With food done, just before nine I was ready to do all those things I'd thought about earlier. I was ready – but my body? It protested. Eight fifty something. That was the last time I saw before the world slipped into dark.

Hiking Yosemite

Waking up, I was relatively sure I had gone unmolested by bears during the night. I checked my arms, my legs, my torso. All seemed where it should be. Putting on my clothes, I woke Katherine and headed outside.

I shouldn't say I woke her, as she woke up at six to check on the line of people waiting for tent sites, and then fell back asleep – but at seven, I re-woke her, and headed out to take pictures of the new day.

More about the tent sites. We only put our name in for one night, we'd have to pay and then try to get on the list for tonight's site as well. A line formed early morning, as these Valley spots normally go quick. It was only because we arrived on a Sunday, change over day, that spots were available yesterday. Today the site would be full up.

The line had yet to form.

Back to the pictures.

Just outside my tent, the rock walls towered over me. Only five hundred feet shy of those cliffs at the Grand Canyon the grey granite shined in the morning sun, a guardian for all that once fell under its shadows. Yosemite was looking to be one of the most beautiful national parks I'd ever seen – and I'd only just stepped out of my tent.

The moon was still out, above the rocks, and the light was perfect. I may have snapped a few more pictures than I'd meant to. I thought the 16 gig card I bough a while back would last until the end of the trip. We'll see. If I can keep to one hundred frames a day, I'll be fine – but that's not so easy a task. Who knew.

If I visit some boring places for a while, well maybe that will let me stick to my rationing, but I'm thinking that's not going to happen either. It's amazing to think that four rolls of film a day, in 1999 standards, isn't nearly enough.

By eight o'clock a line was forming to get a tent site for the night, as we joined it. Early in the morning, some people were extending, like us – others were trying to secure one, driving up near day break.

It was in this line that a crazy person appeared. I try to stand back and let crazy hippies be crazy hippies, but when one started to pester a guy for studying his accounting text book, I took umbridge. “Hey man, you'll remember the time this bearded guy said – don't do it! Don't go into accounting. And you'll regret it.”

In honour of bearded men everywhere, I stepped up and claimed, “let me counter balance, you can remember the time a bearded man encouraged your choice of action.”

The future accountant was studying to get a job, and get money. The hippy protested money, claiming it as all things evil. How he got his five bucks for the night, I'll not know. But, there he was talking about how it does not good. I stepped up again, “money got my butt to Antarctica. It let me walk on all seven continents of the world in a year. I'm thinking you need money for this.” And I do. I don't think you can do that without money – not on so short a time frame, anyway. And the love of money? I don't think there's anything wrong with it.

Soon the hippy turned his back to me, and talked loudly about how lost I was to whoever would listen. And then it took a turn for the wacky. A father was talking about how his son was afraid of bears. The crazy guy said not to worry – bears are more afraid of you (not true) and they won't bother anyone (where was he last night when the ranger was chasing them away?) claiming that he used to run after bears an whack them when he was younger (should we be listening to this man?)

Then the father asked about the eighteen mile day hike – the hippy said the eight year old was never too young for something like this (this is a hard hike for an experienced hiker) and I just prayed the guy wouldn't listen.

In one sentence, though, all credibility was undermined and order was restored once more:
Animals are smarter than us man, you know – they're like smart, and all; the bear, right, well unlike us it hasn't even lost its power of telepathy yet.

And there it was. Thank you very much. Please come again. Moving on.

At just this moment, the line started to move, we got our tent sites, and all went our own ways. Good for that. We were also told that shampoo, and toothpaste were “food” which needed to be removed from our car. We had got a warning on our windshield. Bears enjoy these things and will break your door down to get at them. Into the bear locker just about everything went.

Now nine in the morning we were finally ready to start our day. First we checked out the morning program where a Native American took us through a recreated Indian village. For hundreds of years the Indians lived in the Yosemite valley, until the government kicked them on out. Now only two true-bloods remain, one being her husband. When he and his aunt dies, that will be the end of the Yosemite natives.

She was from the ocean people, full blood from her tribe, now joined with his. And she told us of the acorns, the staple food. She told us how women stay away from men's plants (those used for making weapons). She told us a story of creation – diving frog, mud slinging coyote. She allowed us entrance, to the right, counter clockwise, into the round house, and then she bid us good day.

It was an hour of interest, and education. And – our hippy was there. Now that he saw my interest in this way of life, and this culture he was confused. He knew not what to think of me – and I believe we parted on good terms. To be honest, I would have liked to have heard of his life, and everything he has done and seen... It's just when people start to push their views against what another so clearly wants that I find myself upset. Just let the guy be an accountant. The world needs them, and there are people who do enjoy that line of work. Hard to believe, but there are people who hate camping too. To each their own.

After a sandwich at the deli we headed up to Vernal Falls.

I hated myself every step of the way.

No more hiking. Why do I never listen to myself when I say this? How hard would it be to just see a sign that says, “hike,” and think – nope, I don't think we'll be doing this, thank you very much?

It wouldn't be hard... except I really wanted to know what was at the top. Who comes to a park to sit in a tent all day?

Off we went, Katherine leading the charge. Over the first half mile we rose 400 feet in elevation. My legs were not happy with this. From the mid point, we were on a foot bridge. Some people turn back here – but I was not in pain, just irritated. An the falls looked so beautiful. I'd have to climb to the top to feel as if I'd accomplished anything at all.

Onwards we went. Another half mile, this time over 600 feet of elevation. This time my legs were screaming at me, but Katherine's hurt more. Unsure if she could finish, I told her she could wait and I'd come back. A glare of pure anger. In all fairness, she was carrying the pack. She had every right to be more worn out.

As we climbed, we passed others, and were passed by some. Mid way from the mid way, a rainbow appeared where the falling water hit the pool below. It was a thing of beauty, and more than one picture may have been snapped. Still, we could not wait long. Every moment paused, was another moment to realize the burning in the upper thighs. We pushed on, and on – not in the best of shape, seemingly. Then, we hit the top.

And like always, when finished every hike is worth while. You never thought you'd have to turn back. It was always possible. There in front of us was a clear cold pool of water, surrounded by large slabs heated by the sun. I may have been annoyed by the three guys fishing across, ruining an otherwise perfect picture, but at the same time were they not there, I would have simply taken a few shots, and left – rather than reclining for a brief and comfortable nap.

Lying on the rocks, in the sun, across from a still glass lake – well it was the type of thing that made you wish you had the whole day to waste. Unfortunately we're always on the move, Katherine and I. We never have the time to stop and sell the proverbial roses. No – we press on, and after an hour of relaxing it was back down the hill, and down to the shuttle bus which would take us to our next trail head.

Mirror Lake: There's not much to say, except that the lake was dry – not much to see during California's drought. We were passed by a number of people on horse back. Five used the sand in front of us to relieve themselves. The horses, not the riders. That would have been weird. More weird.

A quick miles around, and we were headed back to the camp village trying to make a ranger led hike. We failed. To console ourselves we ate, and then checked out the museum. As luck would have it just as we got there it was announced that the final showing of the Yosemite Spirit movie would be played – we grabbed seats and watched, learning how the park came to be. As beautiful in winter as it is in summer, we were shown images of the valley and also the grove of Sequoia.

I'd not known it, but in this park were some of the world's biggest trees. We would have to look into seeing these tomorrow. I was no longer disappointed about missing the ranger hike as had I been on it, I would never have learned about these trees.

All that was left was the evening program – about how bears will try and eat you, but don't worry about these black bears, it's the Grizzlies that are the real monsters (you know, the ones the live in the parks where we'll be next week.) Not sure I should have watched that film, I wandered back to the tent, sure a bear would appear at any moment, and got into bed, still dressed – determined to get out and see any bear that came around tonight.

Of course, on this night, there was not a bear to be heard of.

The Winchester House to Yosemite

San Jose was no random stop to break up a drive. No, there was a purpose to be here. A monument to all those interested in the paranormal, the strange, the weird – the mysterious.

San Jose is home to the Winchester Mystery House.

I did not know the name of this place before reaching California, but I had heard of the House many times over the years. It is the house that was never finished – could never be finished. And because of this strange things exist:

Doors lead to walls, closets lead to open rooms. Windows are in the floor. Staircases lead straight into the ceilings. There are strange things afoot at The Winchester, and even stranger reasons why.

Mrs. Winchester, wife of he who made the well known gun, was plagued with questions after her family died close together. She did what all rational people would do in this case – turn to a fortune teller. What could possibly go wrong?

The medium told Mrs. Winchester that the deaths were caused by spirits hurt by her husbands brand of rifles. There was only one thing she could do to appease the spirits – build a house, and keep building it. Never stop. Only then would the spirits leave her alone.

Of course, being a sane and rational woman she... listened to the advice. Yes, she bought up one hundred acres of property and got to work building a giant house that could never be finished. Ironically though her ghost, and the builders ghosts have been 'seen' here, those of the rifled dead, for whom the house was built, have gone unnoticed.

Some people will say that cameras do not work in the house because Mrs. Winchester never allowed photos within before her death. These people just don't understand how long shutter speeds on automatic settings blur images. But never mind that, as no photography is allowed inside the house.

I will tell yo something, when I pay thirty dollars for a tour of a mystery house, I am not leaving without pictures. And shots of the outside may be fine and well, but if some crazy person built a staircase into the ceiling, I want to record that.

Hanging around when the guide moves on, is a great way to make this happen. Same with the window in the floor. And the damage caused by the 1906 earthquake.

I'm all for respecting some photography rights – but when it's just to sell more books in the gift shop? Nope, I'll take my own, thank you very much. Keep guiding with your practiced voice, and your perfect timing for jokes which are, at best, hit and miss.

The easy riser stairs cover the house. In some areas seven turns and fifty steps need to be walked, instead of five normal ones. There are grand ball rooms, lesser ball rooms, and rooms, rooms, rooms. The fourth and fifth floor were knocked down in quake damage, but the three still exist. At the end of the tour I had walked a mile, and seen many interesting things. And a few types of early elevators.

Due to the house being built in stages with multiple foundations, it is one of the safest places to be in a quake. There is also a large well of fresh water under the property. If trouble brews, this is where to head.

Now in reality the mysterious isn't all that mysterious. The door to nowhere, on the second storey, could have been prep work for an unfinished alternate section, and the window in the floor is actually just a skylight allowing light from outside to light the lower floor as well. They'll not tell you this, but pay attention and you'll figure it out. The staircase into the ceiling? Alright – that's somewhat mad.

After the inside, we walked the outside. There is a lot of see here, and it wasn't until three or four hours had past (some time spent playing The Simpson's Arcade Game – my favourite arcade box – just outside the gift shop.) that we drove on.

About to leave San Jose, we noticed a coupon for two free t-shirts if we visited the Flea Market. The Flea claimed to be the largest open air market in America. I've heard that before. Still, free t-shirts. And I like markets. Heading out there, we grabbed our new shirts, a twenty dollar value (what a random coupon to give out) and checked the aisles. It was mostly the same less than wonderful stuff, until a row we saw just before leaving.

This is where people sell their own stuff. This led to piles of broken electronics, and video games. I saw a few copies of Pokemon Snap for N64. If I could be assured it worked, I would gladly have paid the ten dollars. I was not in a gambling mood. Instead, when I saw He-Man's mount, Battle Cat, I had to buy it. Five bucks? Fine, whatever, now He-man can ride his cat, instead of Skeletor's, on my shelf back home.

I may need to wash, and de-stick-ify it first.

Finally we were ready to push on out of San Jose and head cross-state to Yosemite National Park. Someone should have let us know how long this would take. When we got there the three camp sites in the valley were closed. But, there was a forth site down in the valley. Camp 4. This was a place for rock climbers, and poor people, to hang. Five bucks a person to throw down your tent, in a site of six random folks. Like hosteling, but on a plot of dirt.

Not wanting to drive an hour north of the valley, we took it. To be honest, this is what we were looking for. There was just one warning: be careful of the bears.

I'd heard this bear scare before, and was ready to set up camp and sleep for the night. With the tent up, we climbed inside, but just then the cries started:

Go away bear! Go away!

Rangers, and campers were clapping and shouting at the bear which would wander our site for the rest of the night. Did I ever see it? No – the tent provided me with safety. And sure, I may have regretted not seeing the big black bear, but it was also really cold, and I was really tired. Getting dressed and sticking my head out to see a monster? Not my idea of fun. With a millimeter of fabric between me and outside I was safe.

For hours these calls continued, and I wondered what the ranger must feel like. When she applied for the parks service did she know it would be as a bear chaser?

The closest the bear came was at two in the morning when the ranger ran into our tent, as she clapped and cried for the bear to, “go away [(bear)], go away.”

I wanted to see it. I did. But I also wanted to be alive to explore Yosemite tomorrow. Warm in my tent I stayed. That bear could eat the drunks outside instead.

Car Shows, Elephant Seals, and Zebras - Oh My!

The day started simply enough – drive to San Jose. That's it. Nothing to see, nothing to do – just get to San Jose. Simple enough, yeah?

Well – it wasn't quite so easy. First we had to decide if we wanted to run the highway straight up the centre of the state, or if we wanted to drive Highway 1. Highway 1 is the coastal road. And tour books will tell you that no trip to California is complete without taking the windy road which travels all along the rocky outcroppings up and down through the hills and against the water. The down side? It would add about two hours to our journey.

When will we be back? That's the attitude I try to hold each and every day – and while it may be setting us further and further behind, none can say we aren't seeing some fantastic things. Onwards to highway 1.

Good bye straight shot up the gently sloping centre, hello who knows what. There are all number of towns along the way, but one that we pulled off in went by the name of Slovang. This town was said to feel like Denmark in the heart of California. Believe it or not, that description is pretty accurate. All the buildings are stylized, and the people have mostly immigrated from the part of the world. There are even big ol' windmills just for fun. They don't do all that much, aside from attract you to the associated restaurant, which may or may not serve sub-par sausage.

Now this should have been a quick in and out look getting us back on track with time to spare. But no, because things were happening today in Solvang. Some very exciting things for the people – there was a classic car show. Three roads were filled with gawkers, and cars. Don't forget the cars. Old cars, less old cars, shiny cars, and matte ones too. I don't know anything about cars. I know, blue car, red car, pretty car, ugly car. But still, no less than an hour did we spent wandering, looking under hoods at things which, to my knowledge, work magic and make things go. I have a number of friends who would have loved this – and don't get me wrong, I dug it quite a lot but they would have understood a thing or two.

Leaving Solvang we hit the One once more, and continued along beautiful coastline, traveling over historic bridges built seven decades past. Just when I was back in the swing of carrying on, I saw a large number of cars stopped at the side of the road. People were gazing into the field, snapping pictures and pointing. Clearly I had to see what was going on.

As I started to slow Katherine protested – we had wasted so much time already, no more stopping. But I had to know what was up there. Making my way up the ridge to see what they were seeing I tried to guess at what might await me, prepared for disappointment.

What I saw? There was no way I could have ever guessed. I had no way of even knowing such a thing might have existed. Over the hump, across the dry grass, was a herd of zebra. Of zebra! I had not seen animals running free like this since Africa, and certainly did not expect to see them here.

It was like coming across a dragon – or at least a – no, it was like coming across Zebra in the middle of California.

Apparently they once belonged to Hearst Castle – of which we drove on by, having already seen the most impressive thing, thank you very much. But now, they live on their own and make do. Zebra. In California. Next time, I need to be told about these things ahead of time – it was, simply put, amazing.

Only one stop remained before our eventual reaching of San Jose. Elephant Seal point. We go there, parked, and joined the rest of the visitors looking down on the closed beach at all the seals. They were small blobs against the sand. Far from us, and nearly too far for the telephoto lens, I quickly grew bored. I'd seen an elephant seal before, on a nearly empty beach – only a few meters away. I had looked into the eye of a leopard seal, in the pouring rain, two or three feet in front of my face. I had seen seals – and these ones? You could hardly tell what they were.

Thanks but no thanks. I'm glad I saw them, but they weren't all that special. I feel these darkened thoughts may somewhat be from the fact that, over shadowing these creatures, was the fact that I just saw a herd of Zebra(!) but never mind that. From then on, it was just sit back, enjoy the coastal views, and get to where we were going.

Without much fanfare we rolled into San Jose, too late to do anything. The friend I stayed with back in March lived around here – but not being prepared I was without a phone number. In stead we found an over priced motel, settled in, and fell asleep.

Zebra. I mean, really? Come one.