The National Parks Pt. 1

We left Seattle late on Sunday evening, determined to make it to Glacier National Park in Montana by the next morning and catch the sun rise. Our hosts (Doug and Susan) had been so incredibly gracious and knowledgeable (as have our other hosts throughout this trip) and we left refreshed and eager once again to see something new. We crossed the Cascades a few hours after Seattle and the landscape changed drastically. What was once a vast green wilderness became a barren desert, with the occasional rocky peak and miles and miles of windmills, silent sentinels that monitored our passage. We made it to Spokane shortly before midnight, and got out of there as quick as possible. I’m sure there are nice places in Spokane, but they certainly are not under the freeway overpass in the dead of night. Never go to Spokane. Ever. Leighton (like a Sir) drove most of the way and we got into Glacier around 6 in the morning, just as the sun rose. Ned and Chris were refreshed from a full night’s sleep, while I sat in the back complaining that we needed to find somewhere to lay down (I’m not proud of this, but I don’t function well on 1.5 hrs sleep). Despite my frustrations, I forced myself (begrudgingly) to appreciate the monumental snow capped mountains and waterfalls that bordered the road, the Highway to the Sun. We finally got to the campsite a little after 7, sleepily set our tents up and crashed into a heavily breathing heap on the ground.

                Waking a few hours later we emerged from the tent and noticed our surroundings. The tent site bordered a grassy meadow and was backed up by a sheer cliff with a glassy lake boasting the reflections of tall mountains and billowy clouds. It made the whole overnight trip worth it. After a bear warning from the resident park ranger (THE Michael Lambert) we gathered ourselves and piled in the car for a trip up the road to Many Glacier. The 30 minute drive to the trail head was one of the finest so far as we raced past trickling creeks and racing streams. Hills and mountains rose out of nowhere and everything was in bloom except for the thousands of white dandelion seed puffs from who knows where, that drifted towards the ground until the hood of the truck caught them and they would race up the windshield and scoot under the roof rack where they exploded into the sky, free once more.

                The trail that we took was a long one, abundant with views and wildlife, and twice we unwittingly came within feet of a grazing deer, but they didn’t seem to mind. The halfway point in the trail was a powerful set of waterfalls where we enjoyed the cool mist after a couple of miles walking. Jackson and Chris however were not satisfied, they were determined to swim in this glacial river and got their chance a little ways up the trail. The current was strong and the rocks were razor sharp, but Chris and Jackson would not be deterred and seeing them yell and shiver somehow convinced me to go in also. After 30 seconds in the water your feet go numb and you can no longer control where your steps land. The rocks were sharp but I forced myself in, fully submerged and turned around as quick as my clumsy feet would allow, scampering up the boulders to dry in the sun. Jackson had that look in his eye though, and having skinny dipped in two oceans and a few rivers, decided this glacial flow was next on the list. It was a quick one (and who could blame him) but it counted and frozen or not he was a champion.

                We shared some nacho’s and onion rings to go along with a drink at a little restaurant on the way back to the campsite, we had to leave room for the dinner we would be cheffing up. That dinner is our famous slop, which has filled us up on many occasions this trip. What started as a crunchy bowl of rice has been fine tuned, perfected and eventually (at the end of a long day) desired.   An interesting mixture of rice, beans and some type of canned vegetables, we added beef sausage this time to go with the perfect ratio of Lawry’s Seasoned Salt to various other spices and had a classic stick to your ribs meal. After getting a little scare from “Off-Duty Ranger” Michael Lambert about a bear wandering through the campsite, we decided there was nothing to do but play a little music (Leighton playing guitar, myself and Chris taking care of percussion and everyone singing). As the night went on the rest of the campground went silent, and taking the cue we halted the music. The fire roared on and we chatted around it and, of course, DIDN’T play with it. The late night trip to the lake shore was cut short when we saw what we presumed to be bear droppings at the water’s edge. It didn’t seem worth it to get a good view of the stars and get chased by bears in the process so we turned back to camp and fell asleep quickly with the cool mountain breeze sweetening the air in the tent and singing through the trees.--A 

It's Always Sunny in Seattle

Leaving the ferry near Seattle, the five of us set off for the beautiful home of Doug and Susan, my (Jackson’s) extremely hospitable cousin and his wife, in the University district. It was a beautiful, sunny weekend, confirming my mom’s theory that residents of Seattle just tell people it’s rainy all the time to keep Californians from moving there.

Doug and Susan immediately offered all of us water and beer and the seven of us had a powwow in their backyard to bring them up to date on our travels (because of our terrible record on blog updates) and determine what we wanted to do in the city. We went out to their local spot, Kate’s, for dinner and drinks, and after dinner we split off from them to explore the University district and the nightlife it had to offer. The next day we took the car in to fix some brake issues we’d been having, and took a bus downtown to check out the classic tourist attractions. We saw the Seattle Center and the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, the Gum Wall, walked along the waterfront, got some local food, and saw a Mariners game. Then we got a bus back, picked up our shiny, fully functional car, and hit the local, extremely cheap burger joint Dick’s before returning to the house to rest up. Dick’s was the most well-oiled machine I’d ever seen; we got our food within a minute of ordering it. It’s this great service, solid food, and ridiculously low prices that make Dick’s a local necessity. That night, Ned, Leighton, and Chris went to the High Dive to listen to live music and celebrate Ned’s birthday, while Alex and I walked around Fremont Street to see more local sights like a giant statue of Lenin. We also got a second helping at Dick’s and headed back, leaving the others to walk home from the bar a few hours later.

The next morning we went down to Volunteer Park to hang out for a little bit, then checked out the Gay Pride Parade that was going on that day. The Seattle Center, at the end of the parade route, was full of a very interesting assortment of people. When we got there, we saw an anti-gay protester get tackled and beaten up while his sign got destroyed and stolen, soon resulting in an arrest. There was music and dancing everywhere, and the whole area was packed. With all the attractive women there, I started to wonder why I hadn’t gone to any Gay Pride parades before. Afterwards, we decided it would be better to do the long drive to Glacier that night, so we packed our stuff, said goodbye to Susan, and got ready for about 13 hours of straight driving. -J

Between the Bay and the Sound: How to Encourage Catastrophic Break Failure in Your Favorite Vehicle

           JUNE 25- With the sky looking dreary, we left San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge and bid civilization adieu for the day. Our first stop along the PCH was in Bodega Bay, just to antagonize some birds. The harbor was cold and grey, not a soul was seen amongst the sharp rocks that littered the seascape and the parking lot was vacant except for our own White Whale. We hopped back in car and continued through the rain up the coast, ever wary of our new winged friends. Further up the coast, we pulled off at a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean- a perfect spot for hitting rocks into the sea. We brought out our yellow wiffle ball bat and swing after swing, rained pebbles down on the cresting waves. Our energy quashed for the time being, we piled back into the car and continued north towards the Redwoods. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at Humboldt Redwoods State Park, which left us just enough time to explore the forest. Our first pull-off from the Avenue of the Giants led us right below a grove of magnificently tall trees, and tumbling out of the car we ran into the woods towards a stream. We deftly crossed the stream along a fallen giant, came back, and continued up the road along the Eel River. After about another half an hour of driving, we pulled off again at the top of a boat access road and went down to explore the river. The water was beautiful, winding amongst giant trees and edged by weathered stones- prime for skipping. We all worked up a sweat throwing rocks and skipping stones, and before any of us knew it Jackson was swimming in the river. Recognizing a good idea when we saw one, each of us followed suit as the daylight began to fade. Followers of this blog may be aware of the enormous inflatable boat that occupies our rooftop carrier. None of us had ever inflated it before, so we neither knew how big the boat was nor how long it took to inflate. Without a campsite reserved however, the other side of the river was an enticing Eden that beckoned to host our tents. We debated the feasibility of fjording the river with our stuff, as was tradition on the Oregon Trail and required massive amounts of grit to pull off. Light was fading quickly, so we went to investigate our boat and what to do with the Whale while we camped. Upon arrival at the car, a young man about our age approached us at our car. He told us a tale of getting separated from his mother and asked if we had any place for him to stay. We instead offered to call somebody for him, which he politely declined and instead asked for some food. We shared our peanut butter and jelly with him, and after watching him make his sandwich (using the half of a plastic knife we had been keeping in the jar for spreading) we let him keep the entire jar. Our grit rattled, we all agreed that maybe camping in the remote Humboldt Redwoods might attract more runaways/transients and set off to campsite just outside the park. 

JUNE 26- The next morning, still under grey skies, we departed from the Redwoods and headed back to the coast to continue our drive north. We stopped for lunch along the coast of Oregon, overlooking the craggy rocks scattered along the frothy sea and breaking waves, and made sandwiches on the hood of the Whale. If anybody is ever in need of a delicious and cheap sandwich: deli turkey, ham, and salami with mayo, mustard, and Lowry’s seasoned salt on whole grain bread. We continued along our way, next pulling off about an hour or two later at a place called Whalehead Rock (or something like that) for a quick hike. The hike was down a narrow path, less than a foot wide, through five-foot high morning glory and other brush and was slick with mud. The bottom was glorious, toes were dipped in the Pacific Ocean (one person went swimming), and we basked in the clouds while procrastinating our return walk up the hill. Others and I grabbed a stick to help our ascent (Chris already had Excalibur, one of the few times aside from fire-stoking that his stick wasn’t in the way), but the walk was still brutal. Where we could slide down the mud, it was that much harder to get back up. Once we got back to the top, Jackson swore off hiking for the second time and we muddily piled back into the car. It was getting late, so we decided to drive to Eugene to stay the night instead of trying to camp. Along the way, under advice from a former local, we stopped in Cape Arago near Coos Bay to look for sea lions (mission accomplished) and then headed to I-5 for a faster drive to Eugene. We Pricelined a cheap motel for a place to stay, and found one within walking distance of the U of O and downtown Eugene for cheap (Timber’s Motel- not too shabby a place to stay, very friendly). We walked over to Max’s Tavern for an early celebration of Leighton’s birthday with cheap pitchers- all in all a grand time. 

JUNE 27- We left Eugene the next day, and raced to get to Olympic National Forest/Park with enough daylight left to see part of it. We drove up I-5 through Portland, but had to save it for a future destination for a future trip, and got to the Olympic Peninsula by mid-afternoon.  We had a quick drive up Mt. Walker for a great view of the peninsula and got to our campsite in Sequim (pronounced “Squim” apparently) well before the sun went down. According to the Internet, Sequim gets half the annual rainfall compared to the rest of the peninsula, which held true for us as we finally had a dry night camping. The sunset was beautiful over the bay, with fish flopping against the surface for unfortunate insects. We weren’t the only ones to notice the activity in the water, and it wasn’t long before we made another new friend. He swam in from the bay, towards the shore and did flips against the wall while he hunted for dinner. We watched this seal for thirty minutes easily, and watched at least three other seals came to join him in our shared bay. Eventually the light faded and we headed back to camp for the night. 

JUNE 28- The next morning we had a late start (leaving camp around noon) and set off to explore the park before heading to Seattle. Our first stop (and ultimately only- more to follow) was a drive up Hurricane Ridge. The vistas were stunning, glaciated peaks dotted the horizon and lush green color filled the valleys. At the summit, there was a large glacier that had still yet to melt from the winter. Naturally, we had a snowball fight in one of the most epic settings of all snowball fight history- on top of a mountain. We felt more like eight year olds than the actual kids who were watching us, snowballs flying back and forth and peals of laughter dominated the ambient sounds. We had a catch in the parking lot, and set off back down the mountain to further explore the park. Two things you should know about the context of what happened next: first, the drive down was very steep and second, our brakes were already pretty worn down before this drive. We drove about a couple miles to the bottom, and yada yada yada, we were stopped at a stoplight back at the main road and a pedestrian comments to us through the open window “Hey dude, your tire’s smoking!” We took a look, and although it wasn’t the tire, our brakes were shot. We had few options left other than to head to Seattle and look for a shop to get them fixed before we descended the Rockies. We drove back, away from the Hoh Rainforest (another future destination for a future trip), and hopped on a ferry to Seattle for the weekend. 

On the California Coast

After leaving the sun drenched streets and congested sidewalks of L.A. we travelled along the Coast Highway to Santa Barbara, a refined beach town with girls on every corner: sirens, luring us in. We stopped at a taco place on Milpas St. called La Super-Rica. The line went outside the building and wrapped itself up the block but the place was highly regarded and it was a perfect Southern California day, a warm sun and nobody in a hurry. Behind the counter we could see into the kitchen, where each chef worked with machinelike efficiency. The tortilla lady rolled, flattened and warmed the tortillas in four or five swift movements while crammed in around her the other chefs chopped, diced and grilled their hunks of pork, chicken and steak. As the meat sizzled there was no downtime as they flew around the tiny room filling orders and keeping the patrons happy.

The food (a pork taco variation for me) was even more enjoyable than watching the cooks, and was the best taco Jackson and I could remember (besides Mom’s of course). After stopping for the night in the sleepy old town of Monterey, we were back on the way to our halfway point of the trip, the City of the west (as in not the City of the east, New York) San Francisco. Ned’s brother Will had been living in San Francisco for a few years, so we had a place to stay for a few nights

That evening, we went to a local Chinese place and took the food down to a beach under the Golden Gate Bridge with Will as our all-knowing guide. The sun dipped beyond the horizon while we struggled to keep the sand out of the communal food dishes, a completely useless exercise. For me, Chris, Leighton and Jackson, the ocean breeze, however chilly, was welcome after so long in the desert, and despite the whipping sand we wanted to stay as long as we could. That night, meeting up with Will’s roommates, we went to a nearby bar, the Kozy Kar where we played the craziest and simplest game I had ever seen, Slap Bag. The rules are such: take the bag out of a box of Franzia, slap it (as hard as you can) and take a drink. An easy game to pick up and a good way to become the entertainment for everyone else.

The next day we got a full taste of the City. Will and his roommates (Stephen, Travis and sometimes Torsten) have the whole San Francisco thing down pat and it was cool to be given a taste of it. How great it was to be back in a City, every street corner buzzing. We sprinted through the fog to catch a bus, hopped on and off when we needed and stuffed our faces in between. Mounds of Dim Sum here and trays of dumplings there. These guys are movers and whether or not there was a plan didn’t matter. After a hike through Chinatown, we made our way to the San Francisco Giants game, and stood in a free section nearly under the stadium, beyond the right field wall. Ned and I fit right in with a group of guys who would never miss an opportunity to catch a game, to stand behind the fence and throw scores and stats back and forth, or just simply watch and listen. The right fielder yells a comment to the guy patrolling center field who chuckles. The pitcher stares in towards the plate and the old veteran coaching third flashes signs down the line. A long homer down the line quiets the crowd but the game goes on. The guys discuss what the Giants need to do to fix their holes, and figure out which team has the best chance at making a run. It’s a sport with never ending debates and we tried to have all of them.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at a nearby Beer Garden (rescuing a couple of mistreated and underappreciated mugs in the process) and seeing the skyline from Alamo Park (which of course rose to fame after its appearance in the Full House opening credits). Arriving too late for Chris to start the Pho Challenge (more on that later), we trekked to a pizza place where we shared pies and pitchers of beer over a red-checked table cloth like a big, loud family dinner with countless conversations and everyone chipping in. The restaurant, Gaspari’s, slowed down as the night dragged on, while we picked at the remaining slices of pizza and made sure everyone had a full cup. It was a comfortable feeling, sitting there surrounded by friends, new and old, as stories and jokes were passed around with ease and by the time we were ready to leave only a few couples dotted the booths along the wall. We happily trudged through the late night fog, full and content. Scattered shouts came from blocks away and the screech of a cab’s breaks cut through the night, but the City seemed devoid of that lonely feeling that city streets so often hold late at night. As if we owned the place we made our way back home, tired from a day of hustling and ready for sleep.

The next morning we had to wake up early, having to make another trip to a mechanic. Somehow, in his haste (or ineptitude), old Roy back in Page had disconnected our tail lights. Having gone a week using the passenger’s hand signals for turns, we decided it was time to get it fixed. Our new guy (maybe Mark Ruffalo’s brother?) was a straight shooter so we felt good about this one and Jackson and I were led by our stomachs down to the Mission District to eat the renowned Mission Burrito, a serving too large and too wet to eat by hand. Jackson polished his burrito off with methodical grace, but as I struggled with the last third of mine, the stakes grew higher. Chris, some sort of eating expert, was convinced I would not be able to finish the meal and challenged me on it. I was satisfied with what I had already eaten, but out of pure spite, I stared him in his eye as I forced the burrito down. Chris, defeated, hung his head in shame (that’s how I remember it anyway). We crossed the Bay Bridge to pay homage (for Jackson) to Berkley that afternoon and returned to the City that evening for Chris to try his hand (and stomach) at the Pho Challenge, complete with two pounds of meat, two pounds of noodles, an ocean of broth and 18 eager eyes, ready to see some classic American gluttony. Prepared mentally, if not physically, Chris approached his bowl of noodles devoid of emotion, entirely focused on the task at hand. While the rest of us downed much smaller bowls, he worked steadily for an hour, starting with the meat first, a point of later controversy. As the timer entered single digits his breathing came slower and his breaks between bites longer. The noodles had sopped up the extra broth and try as he might, he could not swallow the large clumps he tried to force down as the bell rang. The hour proved too short a time and Chris left upset and determined to one day come back and demonstrate his ability.

We were up early the next morning to pack our car and thank our hosts. It was a true city experience, always moving, never bored and always incomplete. Though we had spent a whole extra day there it felt wrong in many ways to leave with so much unseen and unknown. As always though, there was another destination just up the road and many more after it. Every time we get comfortable somewhere it is time to split, so we stayed true and flew across the Golden Gate to the ancient Redwoods and the rugged Northern Coast. –A