Autumn In Vermont Drove up to Vermont with Felicia for an extended autumn weekend. The colors were predictably vibrant. We got there about 2:00 and stopped first at the Appalachian Trail. We walked across a river on a footbridge to have lunch on the rocks next to the rushing water, watching the yellow leaves falling and racing past in the river. Because we had left late, we didn't have a lot of time to enjoy the day. The leaves looked great as we drove, but we had planned to stop at several festivals. We could only get to one, the Heritage Fest in Newfane. I remembered stopping in Newfane, perhaps at the same festival, in 1989 on my solo Vermont bike trip. There was lots of art on display. The fest broke up at 5:00, so we headed for the hostel, stopping in Townsend for a photo, and again to cross the covered bridge near there. We checked into the E. Jamaica hostel and made dinner. Turned in early. The next day it rained, but we enjoyed driving around anyway, stopping in small towns and poking around. We found an art fair in Rutland and wandered around there. Stayed in a bed and breakfast in an old farm house. The next day was sunny and clear. I went outside into the chilly morning to go running. The colors on the trees were so vivid they took my breath away. I ran down the road and saw a horse pasture with a low-hanging fog over it. I wanted to run back and get my camera, but I kept going. I turned onto a dirt road and ran uphill. In pastures to the side of the road, the trees were painted in their brightest oranges and reds, glowing in the bright morning sunlight. It was a spectacular sight. I ran only a mile, mostly uphill, then turned back. After showering and dressing, we joined the other couple for breakfast. Our hosts served us an omelet-type dish, plus potatoes, toast, fruit, tea, juice and bread. I ate lots. We packed and took off, driving around on the farm roads, seeing the narrow end of Lake Champlain and lots of colorful trees. Stopped to walk to one old covered bridge that used to be for a train. The tracks are long gone, leaving the bridge alone in the woods. We ended up in Middlebury, where we walked around, seeing a waterfall, crossing a footbridge over a river, going in a crafts shop, walking around a church. Then we headed for Lake Dunmore, which I randomly picked from the map. Went to the park there and found some trails. Parked and hiked uphill along a water pipe for a bit, then on a more gradual ascent uphill for a mile through the woods. The trail was carpeted with fallen leaves. At the top we walked to Silver Lake and found ourselves a cozy little spot out of the wind and in the sun for a picnic. Felicia had bought cheese, pepperoni, crackers, raspberry wine, apples. Plus her chocolate chip cookies. We stayed there a long time, till about 4:00. The hike down was faster. Got to Weston at dusk. We walked through the green together. Then we drove to the B&B and checked in. This one was bigger, more like a hotel. We moved in, then drove to Londonderry for dinner. Had pizza. At the B&B, we sat in the lounge downstairs a while, trying to read, while three not-particularly-intelligent woman inexpertly debated the issues of the day. We went up to bed. In the morning, after showering, we went down to breakfast, sitting with two older couples, one from Massachusetts, one from Seattle. Talked with them some. I ate hot grain cereal, omelet, toast, and blueberry pancakes. Plus tea and juice. Was full and happy. After packing and petting the white cat, we drove into Weston. We walked through the town green and got someone to photograph us with the gazebo behind. Then we went in the shops there. I wasn't much in the mood, but Felicia did some Christmas shopping. After that we drove on a back road through the colorful woods, trying to find Hapgood Pond to hike around. Never found it. Drove home. Top North & South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana Had a great time out west. Wide open spaces. Endless prairie. Buffalo. Beautiful sunny weather. I was in Bismarck, N.D. for a conference. Had a funny thing happen while there. One morning I went for a run. It was sunny out but in the 40s, if not the 30s. I ran into this park near the river and as I was looking off through the trees, I saw a caribou. I stopped and doubled back. Sure enough, he was standing there in a meadow, huge rack of antlers on his head, munching grass. I started to creep closer, hiding behind trees, trying not to spook him. He looked up once, but I hid, and he went on eating. Closer and closer I got, stealthily creeping. I peeked out at him from behind a tree, and only then noticed there was a large fence between he and I. All at once I realized that I was sneaking up on a caribou in the zoo. There was lots of drinking at night at the conference, so when I woke up early to start my road trip I didn't feel that gung-ho. But I checked out, got a car and hit the road. Heading south from Bismarck, N.D., I very soon left civilization behind. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and my hangover soon dissipated as I looked around at all the fields and hills. Though the land was mostly flat, rocky hills occasionally jutted up from the earth. Rolls of hay dotted the fields everywhere. Cattle grazed, and once I saw a herd of buffalo. There were no other cars at all on the road. The few towns I passed were all off the highway, so that you'd have to take a side road to get to them.

I pulled off in the small town of Selfridge to look around. The houses were small and clustered together. Kids walked to the small school, while a half dozen dogs cavorted around in the damp grass. A grain elevator seemed to provide most of the work for residents, for the only businesses were a gas station, a post office and a bar called The Other Side Bar. It didn't appear to be a poor town. The homes had nice green lawns, with gardens and basketball nets on the driveways. At the school kids tossed a football around while some of the loose dogs romped around with them, under the delusion that they were children too. After an hour or so I reached the South Dakota border and entered my 46th state. The roads were mostly straight so you could see for miles in both directions. The speed limit was 70, so I was doing about 75 with no problem. And I almost never saw other cars. Most of the time there were no houses either, just wide open plains of prairie grass. The major advantage to this was that you could stop whenever you wanted to take a leak without fear of a car surprising you. Just stand right in the road and go. And the times that I did stop and turn off the car, I just stood there in amazement at how quiet it was. Crickets made the only sound as the warm breeze blew through the open fields and the sun shone down. I thought briefly about the situation back home where a hurricane was bearing down. But all I could do was smile and be thankful for such absolutely perfect weather. At 2:00 I pulled into Badlands National Park. Payed the $10 fee and got my first view of the famed Badlands. Impressive. Spires and gullies, strange formations lined with distinct layers of sediment, shadows highlighting the crevices. At one parking area I took three short hikes. One hike took me right out into the Badlands. I discovered that the hills were all made of dirt. I climbed on some of them, scrambling down into gullies, hopping from ridge to ridge. Another trail lead down a maze-like valley in between huge peaks. At one point a ladder had been set up to let people climb an especially steep hill. The trail was often indistinct, and I had to skirt around steep dropoffs or leap from ledge to ledge. The walk culminated at the edge of a cliff where there was a spectacular view of the valley below where the hills faded and blended with the open prairie. I stopped at many pullouts and took pictures. The road climbed to the tops of the hills so that to my right was a flat plain of wild grass, while to my left the land dropped down steeply and I looked down at the peaks and gullies. At one pullout the prairie just stretched on for miles and miles. It wasn't planted grass--it was wild grass, just like the settlers had seen when they first crossed this area with their wagons. I took a walk out into the not-quite-knee-high grass, not following a trail, just walking, trying to imagine what the settlers had been thinking as they crossed similar vast expanses of grass. The wind blew steadily across the plains and a few white clouds crossed the wide blue sky above me. I took a side trip down the Sage Creek Rim Road, a gravel road, and stopped at Robert's Prairie Dog Town. I walked out into a field that was filled with prairie dogs. They were everywhere, walking around, nibbling grass, popping into their holes. Looking like large hamsters, they seemed unafraid, and as I crouched in the grass trying to focus my camera at them, they would stare at me and even walk closer to see what I was up to. I walked farther into the field and began to hear the chirping warning sound they made to warn others that an intruder was coming. From every direction "Chirp chirp chirp." Then they'd pop into their holes when I got too near. When I left the park the sun was down and I had an hour or more to drive. I set off for Rapid City in the fading daylight. I could see the lights of the city twinkling in a valley when I was still 10 miles away. I easily found the hostel where I planned to stay. I went to a Taco Bell, walked around the downtown area. Local kids rode around in the back of pickups or packed into a convertible, yelling and rumbling up and down the streets. It seemed driving around and yelling at pedestrians was all there was to do in Rapid City. I walked around a bit and saw a big brew pub in a former fire station, as well as several closed craft and souvenir shops. Interestingly, a bible book shop sat next to the brew pub. In the morning I got up early and rushed to Mount Rushmore. I got there well before the crowds. Parked in the free lot that few people know about. Just a couple people there. I stood and looked up at the faces, impressed by the immensity of the project. Then I walked a boardwalk trail to get closer. I sat there by myself for about 15 minutes, looking up, thinking about the faces and the time it took to "carve" them. Drove to Crazy Horse Memorial, an even larger carving in a mountainside. Paid the $7 to go in, but really didn't get much for that. The view wasn't much closer than from the road. But it was cool to look up and see the face of Crazy Horse in the rock. Watched a film, looked at exhibits on the life of the man who started the project (now dead-his family is finishing it for him). Then I left. The roads in the Black Hills were spectacular. They wound around and over pine-covered hills, passing through meadows where cattle grazed. Perhaps it was just the warm sunshine and the cloudless blue sky, but I felt elated just to drive and gaze at the spectacular scenery all around me. I headed down to Wind Cave National Park, but when I reached the town of Pringle, I saw that the road I needed was closed. They wanted to send me on a very long detour that would take me 41 miles when the cave was only 7 miles away. Wondering if the road was open as far as the park entrance, I stopped at a store in the town. A guy with a long gray beard first told me I had to take the detour, but after we talked a few minutes and I mentioned a side road on my map, he must have warmed to me because he told me to go in the store and see a woman named Char. She knew a secret way to bypass the detour, he said. So I walked past a trio of locals sitting on chairs in front of the store and found Char. She was a smiling, friendly older woman. She and another man there told me of a couple back roads I could take that would get me around the closed section of the road. Pleased, I headed down the road, turning off as instructed onto a gravel road. It passed through large meadows with forested hills behind them. A few ranches popped up from time to time but mostly I was alone, just driving through the back country in the Black Hills. I eventually came out onto a paved road in Wind Cave National Park. It had lots of twists and turns, and one time it even circled around and went underneath itself. I pulled into the visitors center and was just in time to make the 12:30 tour. A couple dozen of us followed a ranger through a revolving door and into the cave. (Yes, a bit strange to enter a cave this way, but the sole natural entrance was through a hole barely a foot in diameter.) The cave had lots of boxwork, a cool honeycomb-like formation created when sediment filled the cracks in the limestone. Later, water washed the limestone away, leaving the sediment. I had brought my mag light, so even though the cave had plenty of lights installed, I was able to look around at other side passages not on the tour. I couldn't explore them, but I looked down them as far as I could see. The floor of the cave had a cement sidewalk on it and there were lots of cement stairs with railings. Even so, it was a cool tour. At times I hung back so there was no one around me and it got kind of spooky. When I came out of Wind Cave the weather was warm and the air fragrant with flowers. I was debating whether to drive into Custer State Park, where a "wildlife loop" reportedly yielded good views of buffalo herds, or to go on a hike. I drove to the trailhead of the Centennial Trail in Wind Cave Park. A couple from Ohio was leaving and they told me that a buffalo was standing in the middle of one of the trails leaving from that point. Since I had read many warnings not to approach buffalo, because they were known to charge, I decided to take the other trail. It led downhill into a meadow. The path went right through the knee-high prairie grass. Hills rose on both sides of me. At times they were treeless, covered only with grass, and other times pine trees covered them. The trail lead to a stream, about five feet wide and a foot or so deep. I crossed it on a log bridge and continued through the tall grass. The scenery was so spectacular, like nothing I'd ever seen on a hike back home. I planned only a short hike, but I couldn't stop walking. It was magical really, following that winding stream, going farther and farther into the valley. I rounded a bend at one point and looked into a meadow, and there stood a massive buffalo (as opposed to the usual scrawny ones), grazing peacefully. I was a bit hesitant to approach, as all the warnings indicated this was not wise. But the trail did not go very close to the beast, so I crept along quietly, hoping he didn't turn his head. Soon I was hidden from his view behind a small hill. But then I decided I needed a picture of him, so I began creeping through the tall grass and stealthily climbing the hill, while trying to avoid stepping in the very smelly droppings that he had deposited to booby-trap the area. I also began to worry about prairie rattlers. I'd read a warning about them, so I walked with my eyes on the ground in front of me, hoping that any hidden snakes would at least do me the courtesy of rattling before they struck. About halfway up the hill I poked my head up and saw the buffalo, about 50 feet away, chewing quietly. I readied my camera, aimed and…he turned his head and looked at me. Click. Duck. RUN. I hoped he hadn't had time to register my presence, but I kept expecting to see him cresting the hill and charging. He didn't, and I relaxed a bit. After that, though, I kept creating scenarios in my head of how I would escape a charging buffalo. I fancied myself ripping off my shirt and holding it out to the side like a matador, waiting for the buffalo to get close, and then diving heroically out of the way. The buffalo apparently roamed far and wide along the trail I walked, for I was continually stepping over their droppings. At one point, though, I stepped over a pile that didn't look like the others. I suddenly wondered if there might be bears around. Nervous, I began making more noise, clapping occasionally and talking out loud at intervals to warn any possible bears of my presence. The trail kept going, though several times it appeared that it was going to dead end in a canyon. But each time, it turned and threaded its way through a narrow pass in the cliffs. At every bend a new set of wonders greeted me, and I walked on and on, thrilled to be there, hiking in South Dakota. The trail crossed and recrossed the stream many times on log bridges After about 2 miles I came to a signpost where several trails intersected. My map told me that I could continue hiking a little farther and then return to the car on a different trail. I decided to do it. Almost right away the trail climbed a steep hill in the woods. After walking through the trees for a while, I left the woods and came out into a vast prairie. Grass covered the ground as far as the eye could see. A familiar chirping noise told me that prairie dogs lived here, and sure enough I saw hundreds of them spread across the landscape. Some sat atop their holes, chirping to warn others of my presence. As soon as I neared them they dove inside to safety. The last mile of hiking was a bit much. The grass whipping my bare legs became painful. Plus I was walking into the bright sun without shades. I plodded on and on, dismayed that the trail seemed to be going away from where I thought the car was. Finally it curved around and headed back toward the lot. But there was one last obstacle. Standing in the middle of the trail was a big buffalo. I cursed the creature. I was so close to the end. Why couldn't this damn buffalo leave me alone? Seeing that I had no choice, I left the trail and walked into the taller grass, seeking to put some distance between myself and the buffalo. I walked cautiously, trying not to let him hear me. At the same time, I was scanning the grass for rattlers. The pointy ends of the grass stabbed my legs, and I cursed aloud with each step. I walked a huge arc around the creature, then returned to the trail. He glanced up at me, but didn't seem to care. I was a little incensed at this. After all, I had devoted a lot of time to being scared of him--at least he could give me something to be scared of. A few fierce grunts maybe, or a pawing of the ground with his hoof. Stupid docile buffalo. I drove out of the park and into Custer State Park, seeing a few scattered buffalo along the way, but no longer caring. The road was winding and hilly. I took Iron Mountain Road back toward Rushmore. It went through three tunnels and two of them were positioned so that Mt. Rushmore was perfectly framed by the tunnel's opening. It was a wondrous site to behold. I pushed on back to Rapid City, showered in the hostel, and asked Robert for some good places to eat. He suggested a buffet place that was excellent. You could go up to a window and order as many steaks as you wanted, cooked however you wanted them. Plus all kinds of other food. I ate for about an hour. Then I walked around downtown a little, going in some stores to look at art and souvenirs. At the hostel I talked to some guests. One couple, a blond named Traci and an Indian guy named Steve, apparently lived at the hostel. After the other guests had drifted off, they began telling me their life story, how they had fled their families, neither of which seemed to approve of their marriage, and were trying to start off from scratch in Rapid City, a town neither had been to before moving there. They seemed such a sincere couple with such high hopes that I really wanted the best for them. But all I could offer them was my wish of good luck and a handshake. And then we parted, off to our beds. I never saw them again. I rose early again and packed. I headed west on Rimrock Highway, a pleasant, winding route through the hills. I drove through Deadwood (Wild Bill Hickok is buried there), passing down the deserted main street with its saloons and casinos, then passed through Lead. I drove the Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway, which followed a river valley. Steep rocky cliffs rose above the road. I ended up in the town of Spearfish. Then I got on Interstate 90 and headed west. Crossed into Wyoming and followed signs for Devil's Tower, a huge column of hardened lava towering above the surrounding land. (It was used in the movie "Close Encounters.") I drove up to the gates of the park. I decided not to go in, but to eat lunch at a picnic table outside of a store. As I ate I gazed up at the massive formation. Moving clouds occasionally parted to bathe it in sunshine, highlighting its many vertical cracks with shadows. I sat under a tree to contemplate it. Content after eating lunch, I let the warm Wyoming breeze blow through my hair as I sipped a Mountain Dew and just stared at Devil's Tower. I realized, not for the first time, that I have seen a lot of things in this world. I've been all over the place, to Europe, to Australia, to most of the states. I've never taken any of my experiences for granted, though. I feel lucky to have had each experience and thankful, as well. I looked at Devil's Tower for a long time, trying to sear its image in my mind and remember the moment forever. After sitting for a long while, I packed up and left, heading north on 112. It blazed through open countryside, the land getting flatter and flatter as I neared the Montana border. When I reached it, there was no sign to welcoming me to the state. Just a small sign that said, "End State Maintenance." Exactly at that point, the pavement changed to a lighter color, signifying that Wyoming had stopped paving and Montana had started. I parked my car just before the border and walked across into my 47th state. (Oklahoma, Arkansas and Hawaii remain.) I felt a certain elation at finally being there. Overhead the skies were cloudy and the wind blew a bit colder than it had before. I drove on into the "town" of Alzada. A closed and boarded up store was spray painted all over with warnings to stay away from it. I drove down a gravel road for a mile or so, then got out and looked into the distance ahead of me. The road just kept going and going till I could see it no more. Backtracking, I got on 212 and headed northwest. It was a straight road going over mostly flat ground with a few small hills. I could see for miles ahead of me, and on all sides. There was nothing but wide open prairie all around me. No houses at all. On both sides of the road was strung a continuous wire fence. No matter how remote the road, there was always a fence there, presumably to keep the intermittent sheep and cattle from the road. Since there wasn't much to look at, whenever I passed a house it was a big deal. I would look at it closely, an object of curiosity. I had been looking forward to hitting some of the towns along the way that were on my map. I counted down the miles till I hit Hammond. Then I finally got there. It comprised three buildings. No stores. Then I was back in the prairie again. It's funny how your perspective changes when you're in a place like this with such wide open spaces and such emptiness. There was a truck about a mile behind me. Every time I looked in my mirror he was there. It was really pissing me off too. It felt like he was tailgating me. I tried to outdistance him, but since I was already doing 80 that wasn't likely to happen. So I just had to endure him there, right on my ass, a mile away. I made it to the town of Broadus, a dusty little outpost town of gravel streets, weathered houses, old pickups and a few small stores and less-than-modern gas stations. It was a kind of mirror to the bleak openness all around it. The ground in front of its old buildings was littered with bikes, old tires, dog houses and various discarded items, the wind kicking up dust all around them as it blew across the dusty plain. I stopped for gas and chatted with the woman at the counter. She worked at the school, which bused kids in from ranches many miles away. She said she really liked Broadus and that the people were "terrific." She tried to expand on this point, but ended up just repeating herself: "They're just so…terrific." The next town was 80 miles away. I set off into the prairie once again. This time there were no cars in front of me or behind for miles. And only a few cars passed me going the other direction. I had read that drivers in these remote states waved at each other when they passed since it was such an event to see another car. So I had been dutifully waving at each car as it approached, but no one at all had waved back. Can't believe everything you read. The good thing about the dearth of traffic was that you didn't have to pay much attention to the road. You could look off at something to the side and swerve into the left lane without worry. Still, the occasional white roadside crosses that I passed told me that the roads weren't as safe as I supposed, streaking along at 80 MPH. I stopped once on this stretch and got out to stand in the wind and look around me. A herd of mule deer about a quarter mile away eyed me suspiciously. On both sides of the road, about a mile away across the plains, rose rocky hills. I just stood there a while, feeling the lonely prairie wind and looking out at the plains and big sky of Montana. In Miles City I got on I-94 and headed northeast, back towards North Dakota. In Glendive, MT, I grabbed some food at a Hardy's. It got dark about 8:00, but the sun illuminated some clouds bright red. I watched them in my rear view mirror until they faded away into blackness. It was 9:00 when I reached Dickenson, N.D. I got a motel room, then took a walk past other motels and fast food places. It was about 40 and windy. When I left at 6:30 the next morning, it was pitch black outside and in the 30s. Drove back to Bismarck, as the sky lightened and the sun dawned. Returned the rental car with 1,140 more miles on it than when I started. I took the hotel shuttle into town to eat breakfast, then returned to the airport and flew home. I've been depressed ever since. But as I said, I'm thankful I got the chance to see all those places-places I had never thought about before, but places that will remain forever etched in my mind.

Yosemite Valley and San Francisco I’ve been traveling a bit lately. Went from California to West Virginia, for both fun and work. California was fun. I flew out on a Thursday morning. Landed in San Francisco at 9:30 am with a full day ahead of me. I got my rental car and headed right out of town over the Bay Bridge toward Yosemite Park. A few hours east of the city I got off the highway and onto narrow roads crossing farm lands with lots of orchards and vineyards. Passed through small towns that seemed kind of depressed, with lots of thrift shops. From flat farmland the terrain became hilly. I stopped in Chinese Camp. The sole small store sported lots of leather goods and stuffed animals and some dusty canned goods. Most of the talk between the shopkeeper and I was about the fire burning in the park. Outside the weather was still muggy and overcast. I turned down a random side road and started driving through the countryside. The road was narrow and winding. I passed ranches and dipped down into gullies, which obviously flooded when the rains came. I worried slightly that a flash flood would prevent me from returning. Back on the main road I curved around, cresting hills and seeing great views of a reservoir below. I continued south into Mariposa, which turned out to be a touristy place. Bought canned ravioli for dinner, plus a hoagie for tomorrow’s lunch. Then I drove to the hostel. It was down a quarter-mile dirt road. It comprised a half dozen or more buildings scattered all over a hillside. I walked the dusty dirt trail to the office and registered.

 

I went to my bunk house and showered. Walked up the hill to the kitchen, which was separate from the “cafe” in the office building. There, meals were cooked and beer could be bought. I met a bearded guy with glasses named Mark. After small talk, I asked if he wanted to drive into Yosemite together and split the $20 fee. He agreed. He planned to do some long hikes later in the week and some shorter ones tomorrow. Since I only had tomorrow, I suggested the Vernal/Nevada falls trail. He seemed agreeable. He left and I started cooking. A guy and girl walked in and I asked the guy where he was from. He was from Munich, so I practiced my German. The girl, it turned out, was his sister, Katherina. He was Marcus. We talked cheerfully and I asked them if they’d also like to share a ride into the park. They liked the idea, since they had no car and planned to take the bus, for $11 each, round trip. Stuffed, I went to the cafe to poke around. I saw Katherina and Marcus with another guy who also wanted a ride. The new guy was named Keith, from Scotland. We had a beer and talked. (They had a great local beer called Yosemite Bug beer. Just $2.50 a pint.) I told them about Mark and that the car would be a bit crowded with five, but they were still happy about it. We talked till maybe 10, then turned in. I woke to a glorious new morning. I went outside and lie on a hammock there, looking up at the blue sky and at the trees all around me, and enjoying the fact that I was in the woods in California, far from home. I had oatmeal, and then found the others. Mark told me he had met his own German girl and decided to take her hiking rather than joining us. So the rest of us got in my car and away we went. I drove us along the winding road toward Yosemite. As we got nearer, the road turned bad, crumbling near the edges, with concrete barriers set up to keep us from driving into the river. We reached the park gate and paid the $20 fee, then we headed into the valley. First we stopped at Bridalveil Fall and walked the short, paved trail to it. There were only a couple cars in the lot, quite a switch from last time I was there. The falls were not flowing very strongly. A few quick pictures and we were on our way. We came out of the woods and were met with the breathtaking vista of El Capitan (a massive wall of rock) towering above us. I pulled over so we could gaze at it in awe. We drove into the Curry Village campground, looking for parking, and got directions to the trailhead. We parked and strolled down the road to Happy Isles Nature Center, arriving just as a park bus let off about a dozen people. So much for solitude. We quickly outdistanced them on the paved trail toward Vernal Fall. The trail paralleled a river, climbing high above it. After about a mile we reached a wooden bridge and got our first view of Vernal Fall, still a half mile distant. With the morning sun bathing its upper half in light, it was a wondrous sight. The bridge was full of tourists, most of them speaking different languages. In fact it seemed we saw few Americans all day. The four of us continued hiking toward the fall, stopping halfway there to go out on some rocks for another view. This was the best view, I thought, and I sat on the rock for about 10 minutes admiring it and taking a few pictures. My companions, I noticed, seemed eager to move on. Instead of enjoying the mesmerizing view, they kept looking at me, as if saying, “What are you doing? We have to keep hiking.” We reached the rock steps that ascend Vernal Fall and began climbing. Unlike on my last visit with Felicia, there was virtually no mist from the fall. The rocks were all dry. Last time we’d gotten drenched. Climbing was easier this time, but it also meant that there were none of the rainbows that had been so breathtaking to behold last time. We climbed steadily uphill, very close to the roaring 5,044-foot fall. I stopped several times to behold the majesty of the scene. My companions halted faithfully to wait for me, but they never seemed to share my appreciation of the view. We reached the top and walked along the fence to the very edge of the falls. It was cool to look down at the crashing water and then out at the valley below, squeezed between massive cliffs. We saw other climbers coming up the steps and in the distance people on the bridge. It was such an incredible view. I broke out some food and had half my hoagie. The squirrels were out in force up there, and they vied with the Steller Jays for handouts. If you held your empty hand out the squirrels would come right up to peer into it. They became annoying and I squirted one in the face with my water bottle, sending him scurrying. The Jays, however, were beautiful, and it was thrilling to see them up close. I held out a small bit of bread and after a while one of them landed right on my hand, grabbed it and flew off. Of course I was breaking the rules by feeding the wildlife, but I only did it once, and never fed the squirrels. Some of the squirrels were actually way overweight. A couple were so fat they appeared just to sprawl there like lazy dogs on their stomachs. When you stepped near them, they didn’t even run off, they waddled slowly away. All that because of tourists feeding them. A little bit upstream from the fall the river widened and lots of people gathered on the rocks at the shore. Some were even sunbathing on the far side of the “Emerald Pool,” as it’s called. Just upstream from there, the water slid over smooth rocks, creating a smooth slide that looked like it would be fun to ride, though painful. We caught our first glimpse of Nevada Fall from here, gushing out from the rocks and falling 5,907 feet straight down. Our trail took us near its base, and I scrambled down to the water to wash my face and admire the fall. Then the serious climbing began. The trail switched back and forth along open rocks, keeping us right out in the blazing sun. No steps this time, except in a few spots. I let they others go ahead of me, and I stopped numerous times to look back and enjoy the view. We reached the top and walked to the river, flowing peacefully over rocks just a few hundred feet before it would crash violently into the valley. We walked out on the rocks and put our feet in the water. I got out some food and ate, enjoying the sun. A minute later I looked back at my open backpack and watched it shaking around. A damn squirrel was in it. I splashed back to shore and chased it out, but it had torn through the bag and turned cookies into crumbs. We rested for the better part of an hour, then meandered to the fall. A wooden bridge crossed the river right near the edge. I walked to the edge of the cliff next to the fall and found a magnificent view of the valley far below with mountains rising all around us. We crossed the bridge and took the John Muir Trail. It descended more gradually, offering us great views of Nevada Fall in the process. A stone wall to our right kept us safely from the edge, which dropped off steeply. Perhaps a mile later we came upon a magnificent view of Vernal Fall from high above it. We could see the people at its top and those climbing the steps up to it. It was breathtaking. We descended steeply and arrived back at the Emerald Pool atop Vernal. More people lounged about now, with many of them swimming. I contemplated jumping in, but didn’t. We headed down the steps again and to the parking lot. On our drive out we stopped at Yosemite Falls, which were almost completely dry. Last time we had been here the upper and lower falls had been gushing with water. Today barely a trickle came down, and the creek at the bottom was dry. We were a bit sore, so we decided to head back to the hostel after that. The drive back took forever, winding back and forth on the crappy road. We showered and met for dinner and a few pints. We talked about our day and I found out about their lives. Katherina is studying sports therapy. Marcus is studying, but without a major yet. Keith is just kind of traveling the world with his guitar. He was in Australia, then came to California to meet friends in Berkeley. From here he’ll take a bus to Chicago to join a band. We all talked about differences in our countries in languages. It was a fun evening. In the morning I decided to drive to the Mariposa Grove of Sequoias. I said good-bye to my European friends (curiously neither of the Germans shook my hand; perhaps it’s not their custom. Either that or they secretly despised me) and I headed out. I had e-mailed someone in Mariposa weeks ago and asked about interesting roads to drive, and someone had given me some directions along something called Chowchilla Mountain Road. The person said it was an old route used by the original settlers when they crossed the mountains in stagecoaches, and that each June they reenacted that crossing in the Mariposa Pioneer Wagon Train Ride. The road would dump me out right in Wawona, where the Mariposa Grove of Sequoias was, and from the map it appeared it would cut off a lot of distance. So I took it. What a ride. It started off as a winding paved road, but the paving soon ended and I was on a gravel road, winding past ramshackle shacks strewn with old machinery and ranches buried in thick trees. Each residence had a plethora of signs warning trespassers not to enter. One sign informed me that “You may be DEAD WRONG if you trespass here.” I had to wonder, was trespassing really such a problem here that all these signs were warranted? I mean, was there a time with scores of people would come driving down this gravel road just to park and march all over these folks’ property? How many people were really interested in trespassing? The signs really made the area look ugly and suspicious, and I thought it more likely that evil things were going on on that land. I was a little scared, and didn’t want to encounter any of these people, since I was, to them, an invader from another state. The road became briefly paved, and passed a few normal, signless homes, but then it really plunged into the wilderness. It turned to dirt and started uphill, narrowing to one lane and winding back and forth, back and forth endlessly. Up and up I drove, wondering what I was getting myself into. The road was filled with deep ruts, and it dropped off steeply into the woods on my right. Of course there was no guard rail. Dust kicked up behind me and the trees closed in on me, keeping the sunlight out. Branches reached in and snatched at the car (which was, by the way, a white Dodge Stratus, not a 4WD jeep). Farther and farther into the wilds I drove. No other cars passed me and I felt the remoteness of the road envelope me. I was utterly alone up here. I stopped a few times and turned off the car, listening to the silence. Just a mild breeze broke the utter stillness of the dense woods. One time when I stopped, though, on a random curve in the road, something caught my eye in the foliage downhill from me. An old car, completely demolished, rested in the overgrowth. I found this a little scary. Was there a body in that car? I didn’t go look. On and on I drove, mile after mile, all the while going uphill. Eventually a break in the trees presented itself, and I stopped to take in the view. I looked down, far down, at the valley from which I’d come. Mountains stretched off into the hazy distance. I could see no sign of humanity at all, no roads, no buildings, no towns. Somehow I just knew that there was not another human being within a dozen miles of me. The road continued uphill, covered with gullies and boulders that I had to drive around. At one point I had to drive across a stream. I was very worried that I would meet some obstacle that I couldn’t surmount and I’d have to drive back down again. Also filling me with dread was the fear that I was not on the road I was supposed to be on, and I was, in fact, heading deeper and deeper into an endless wilderness. I was glad I had filled my gas tank before setting out. As I reached the top, my road was crossed by another, much smaller road. I saw a sign on it, and I jumped out to read it, feeling somewhat relieved to find this sign of humanity. It told me that Wawona was six miles away. Relief swept over me. I was on the right road! I kept going, and soon I began to descend. I glimpsed deer dashing away from me into the dark woods. The sun poked through and speckled the road with light. My dread had been replaced with hope. Then, up ahead, another sign. I pulled over. It said “Entering Yosemite National Park.” That was it. No gate, no guard. Had I not bought a week’s pass yesterday I could have entered here for free. Several miles later I saw a van parked next to a bridge, which spanned a creek. I pulled over on the other side and ran back to the creek to splash my face. I was greeted on the shore by a long-haired, friendly guy named Terry. He had just emerged from a swim. We talked for a few minutes, and he told me how he and his 3 sons were here from Laguna Beach to camp. They had been turned away from the sites in Yosemite by a fat, rude ranger, he said, and he wanted me to go there and give the guy hell. They had a boat on their van and bikes tied to the back. We talked a few minutes, then I left them. The road continued to wind down a steep hill for a few more miles. And then, abruptly, I emerged from the woods and entered, of all things, a golf course! Just like that I was driving past golfers, all staring at me like I was blocking their shots. Perhaps I was. After this bizarre end to my journey, I found the parking area for the bus that would take me to the Mariposa Grove. A 15-minute ride later and I was at the grove. I opted to hike the trail rather than pay for a bus tour, but the trail wasn’t all that scenic. There were only a few large sequoias at the bottom and they were scattered around. One of them had a tunnel dug through it, so I walked through. But then I had to climb a long hill for several miles, with no sequoias to see at all. The path was very dusty and I kicked up loose dirt with every step. On top of that, the trail paralleled the road that the bus was on, so buses were constantly driving past with their bullhorns blaring facts for the tourists. At the top I found several large trees. I walked off the trail and sat between two giants to have my lunch. It was peaceful there. I reflected on the age of the trees, which were likely more than 2,000 years old. I walked up to and around, and through several other trees, surprising a resting deer behind one. Then I hiked back downhill, hurrying at the end to catch a bus, which ended up not leaving for 10 minutes. When I reached my car I started a long, four-hour drive to Santa Cruz. The road wound down from the mountainside into Oakhurst. Soon I left the woods and hills behind and was on flat land. Then I turned west and drove a perfectly straight road with nothing on either side of me but fields of brown grass. It was like driving through Kansas. As I neared the coast the road narrowed and became winding again, going over mountains. I made some wrong turns. Eventually I reached highway 1 and got into Santa Cruz. Found the hostel, parked my car and registered. Then I took a walk to the beach. Walked out on the sand to the ocean’s edge. The evening was chilly, but I didn’t feel cold, despite my lack of a sweat shirt. I walked onto the boardwalk, filled with people, amusement rides and games. Walked to the end and over a railroad bridge with a footpath. I tried to call my girlfriend on a pay phone and three of them in a row were broken. Some cheerful guy loitering near the third phone reacted to my anger by saying, “The phone didn’t do nothing to you” and then picking it up and saying, “Hey, it works.” I tried to explain to him that the mouthpiece was missing and you could only hear, not speak. As I walked away, it sounded like he was making fun of me, saying into the phone, “Hello, can you hear me. Calling France.” So I shouted, “Go ahead, put some money in there and try to make a call if you don’t believe me.” I guess he thought I was picking a fight because he backed down, saying, “Hey, I don’t want no trouble over it.” I later found a phone with a mouthpiece and left a message for Felicia. Then I went to the hostel and wrote postcards. In the morning I headed out of town. Drove the cliff road and tried some pay phones there. Busted. From now on Santa Cruz will stand out for me as the town of busted pay phones. I drove along the ocean on highway 1. I stopped at some little surfing town along the way and had breakfast, reading a local surfing newspaper. The overcast, cool day felt like fall. Continued driving into San Francisco. After checking into my hotel, I set out on foot for a bike rental place. I had to walk up and down some of the city’s steepest hills. It was chilly out, but I had just shorts and a tee shirt on. I got the bike and headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. The bridge was very windy. I had great views of the Marin Headlands, the hills on the far side. That’s where I planned to go mountain biking. I had gotten directions to some mountain biking trails via e-mail, but once I got there I couldn’t figure them out. Other riders directed me onto various routes, but I got all fouled up. I ended up climbing a long hill on a paved, busy road, then going downhill on a gravel fire road, which was nice. But after riding for miles on a paved road, I learned that I couldn’t do a round trip, so I had to turn around and come back the way I’d come. I opted for the paved road rather than the fire road, but it was a long, steep hill that took forever. I enjoyed the downhill ride onto the bridge. The views were spectacular, looking down onto the bridge. I breezed across and zoomed back to the bike shop, the wind at my back. Took a bus back to the hotel.

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