Whatever You Do, Don't Let Go

And other things you might want to let go of.

We just returned from our July 4th Weekend.

It was a blast. And I mean that, inasmuch as upward middle-aged people can experience a blast. By middle age I mean, I’m old. Every time someone speaks of being middle-age in your fifties, I harken back to that oh so clever line in ON GOLDEN POND:

ETHEL: They’re a nice middle-aged couple, just like us.

NORMAN: If they’re like us, they’re not middle-aged.

ETHEL - Of course they are.

NORMAN: Middle, middle means the middle of life, Ethel. People don’t live to be one hundred and fifty!

My wife is a planner. I am not. However, when it comes to traveling, that’s where I become the anal retentive guy wanting a plan all the time (or at least I used to) and my wife is the person coming up with all sorts of things to add to our trip last minute. Somewhere along the way, she found the TRAIL OF 100 GIANTS! And yes, the all capital letters is me trying to give that phrase gravitas the way I experience it vicariously, like with a loud, echoing voice-over. Once we were headed north, my wife added this to our driving itinerary the first day. Since the other family would be getting a later start due to work constraints, we would be humping this one alone. Me, I had seen redwood trees before, so I didn’t think there was any reason to see them again. That, and the idea of an added hour of drive time with the kids in tow was not appealing to me. I don’t think it was appealing to them either because our youngest son, upon hearing what we were doing, said “I’m not going.”

(Full disclosure, that’s his response now on most new things.)

The Trail of 100 Giants is not found in Middle Earth, though I suppose it might be considering the type of drive you have to make. It is located in the Sequoia National Park north of the Bakersfield and Kernville by about 25-30 miles. Going straight from Los Angeles, it’s about a four-hour drive, and the terrain is interesting. One minute we were in the farmlands of the grapevine area looking at expansive orange groves and grapevines. The next, having barely inclined to any measurable degree, we’re on a mountain ridge at least 1000 feet up looking down on cottonwoods, blue oaks while spotted fir and pine trees grow above us. No rails on the winding roads, and few human life forms.

One thing that becomes tragically clear as we continue our ascent, the devastation from Windy Fire way back in 2011 still hasn’t been recovered. Hundreds of blackened bark spears remain, standing aimlessly, there branches withered and haggard, with no hopes of revival. Their ashy companions form piles of chopped trunks in areas where deforestation is occurring with the hope perhaps they will be replaced. One hopes from the chopped piles that litter what once was likely a lush green landscape that a rebirth is underway. Yet that can only happen as quickly as the forest is cleared to make way for new life.

It takes us a good 40 to 50 minutes of zigzagging back and forth until we come to the parking area for the (add voice-over echo here) TRAIL OF 100 GIANTS. We park in a small makeshift lot at a campground and wedge our way into a spot between two cars. There is an honor system here, whereby you need to go to the lot entrance, grab an envelope, add the fee of $12 for parking and visiting the area, and shove it into a slot in a metal pole. Giving the moral thermometer of America right now, I wonder how many folks skip this step.

Like I said, I’ve seen redwoods before, but oh, did my memory lapse when it came to the immense sight of a sequoia. The Sequoia Tree earns its name and then some, because I don’t recall ever seeing ones that were this large. When I say large, I mean it’s possible to live in one, and I don’t mean in the branches. The trees defy description, as if all the other trees are earth-formed and this immense giant landed here from another world. It’s the Superman of earth trees. In the picture below, it’s as if my family and I have become Liliputians in the world of Gulliver’s Travels.

You’d think the bark of such a behemoth would be impenetrably hard, but instead it’s almost spongy soft to the touch on the exterior, almost like an American Beech tree back east. The main difference is that the Sequoia has what feel like little hairs entwined within the bark. However, should you get a view of the inside, like the one above that endured some scarring from the fires, and you find the internal sap of the tree petrified into the blackened wood, becoming what looks like a plastic surface, yet hard as marble. It looks like Disney came in and created a ride out of it.

I am struck that despite many other folks being on the walking path, striding along this beautiful trail is peaceful. I can’t remember the last time I was in a place where quiet was this respected, as if this was a holy place and the trees were our Gods. For a moment, the world disappears and I let go of all the crazy daily happenings that add stress and just breathe in the clean air. The only word the comes to mind while standing amongst this forest is ‘wondrous.’

The trail is also home to beautiful White Fir trees, Ponderosa and Sugar Pine trees, as well as Incense Cedar trees. However, nothing compares to the majestic redwoods, that are easily recognizable along the way. Some even grow in pairs, like siblings, and some trees grow together, like the one redwood and cedar tree we saw growing right through each other. Sequoias seem to be have a symbiotic quality about them, allowing for the sharing of resources and water. Their roots will often stay shallow and intertwine with another tree, creating an interlocking ecosystem of its own that even allows both to thrive. In other words, they view all trees as having value to them in a connected environment that is dependent on one another.

Hmm, I wonder what we could learn from this?

There is one drawback from parking your car in an area where there is no internet and that is that the moment you stop using the GPS signal you came in with is the moment you lose it period. We could not find out way out of the place without having to first stop by the snacks area in the campground. It was a decent sized yurt that stood with little souvenirs and some refrigerated drinks. We asked how we get to Kernville since we didn’t expect that the cashier there would know specific lodges like the Corral Creek Lodge, and were told to take a left out of the parking lot and a left at the first stop sign and keep going.

No signal, no directions, and of course, we’re so reliant on our cell phones that we have no maps. So we start driving, knowing that Kernville is at least 20-25 miles away, and on winding one way roads that means at least 40 minutes.

So now we are driving virtually blind, with no sense of when or where we will find Kernville because out this far, there are very few signs. And we keep going straight, and all that goes through my mind is Stephen King’s book, Misery. I can’t think of worse place to have a tire issue or an oil problem and of course, my wife made it clear she did not check her car before we left, and me, the bad husband, forgot as well.

About 30 minutes into this drive we literally speed past the Corral Creek Lodge on our left. I turn to my wife, expecting her to have seen it, and say, “Uh, honey, that was our hotel.” And like a movie scene that has the camera hold on one spot on the road, we speed past, hit the brakes super hard and try to find a way to make a u-turn.

The lodge looks not unlike the old Red Roof Inns you used to see dotting midwestern freeways back in the 1980’s and 1990’s. It’s a two floor motel in the middle of nowhere, facing the road you see above and the Kern River just several hundred feet beyond that. There are a few campgrounds nearby, but no sign of anything remotely civilized. The nearest store where any provisions can be found is just outside Kernville, about five miles away.

I’m not much of a camper and neither is my wife because not only are we a risk to the wildlife when we do camp, but a risk to ourselves. The last thing I want to do is be found dead because I left my garbage dangling too low and I ended up as bear feed. Besides, we do like to have our amenities on vacation. My wife wants a bathroom. She does not take to the idea of not being able to get clean.

Back to the Corral Creek, which isn’t a five star experience by any means, but the rooms are big with a mini-kitchen in each consisting of a small refrigerator, some tabletop burners, a microwave, a toaster dishes etc.. They also have a strip of yard out front and a fire pit off the left part of the picture above that you can use for hanging out and making s’mores (which we did).

I know many people who would never step foot in a place like the Corral Creek Lodge just from the look of it. Even we were a little hesitant because there is nothing close by should it really turn out to be awful.

WE LOVED IT!

Sometimes you have to let go of the pre-judgments we all make when we’re worried or frightened about something. Hotels often fit into that category, as I can remember from my childhood staying at some out-of-the-way places that became some of the most cherished memories of our vacations. Sometimes the road less traveled is a better choice for your own good. We really don’t need all the things we often think we do.

I won’t ever forget a Holiday Inn we stayed at on our drive to Madison, Wisconsin in a small town called Elkhart, Indiana. We found in that hotel a giant pool, shuffleboard and many pinball machines and new video games (this was circa 1976-77 I believe) after a long day of summer driving. My entire family decided to swim that evening, and what we thought was going to be a dull evening, turned into one of the most fun we had as a traveling family.

There was also a time when my dad decided to fly us in his club’s Cessna 172 to Madison, a four-seater plane that cuts the time spent driving down by half a day. On the way back, the weather kicked up. With a storm threatening our route back to Pittsburgh, my dad opted for a landing field in Mansfield, Ohio. It was late in the day and since Mansfield isn’t exactly a metropolis, we may have been the only plane to have arrived that afternoon on this small grassy runway. Turns out, a local nearby got us a car to use, a ruddy old Cadillac or Oldsmobile with gold cloth interior that was stained everywhere and missing some of the push down door locks. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and this guy I think also called a motel for us so we’d have a room waiting. He wasn’t a travel agent by profession, likely a mechanic or groundsperson, but he did a heck of a job that day for us. We drove into town a little worn and weary, found a our cute little hotel and a restaurant that I don’t recall, but my parents claim was the Rainforest Cafe of its time. After a great meal, we tucked into our room, let the storm pass and watched movies. It turned out to be an unexpectedly fun evening.

The Corral Creek Lodge is a family run establishment, and there were all sorts of folks staying there over July 4th weekend. But everyone was respectful and quiet, the way country folks are often portrayed in motion pictures. Not only that, the people in Kernville were just as friendly as anyone could be. It reminded me of the town of Grady from Doc Hollywood. Our first morning in town before our whitewater adventure we met some of the town’s ladies and their dogs, Henry and Eureka.

Henry can’t get enough belly rubs while Eureka chills out.

They were both white golden retrievers— beautiful animals with incredible smarts. Eureka, the elder of the two, has a heart condition, and on July 5th her owner sets up a kissing booth for Eureka to give out kisses for a dollar each! Naturally we went back to see her on July 5th. (See below.)

We took our whitewater trip on July 4th and did a half day with our boys and our friends on the lower Kern River. The rapids only measured Level 2s and 3s, but the challenge came when the boys and I decided we’d go jump off the fifteen foot cliff the guides showed us. We found a way to climb up and we stood there for a second, looking out on just how high fifteen feet was. It’s over a story off the ground, and everyone is hedging now as to who will go first.

I want to set the example for my boys, so naturally, I say I’ll do it. That’s when our guide tells me I might want to take off my glasses and hold them. Seems like a no-brainer, so I put my glasses in my left hand as my guide says, ‘whatever you do, just don’t let go.’ I take the leap.

The moment I left the cliff and the water came rushing at me I remembered that I was 54 years young and hadn’t done anything like this since I was in my twenties. Thus, the moment I hit the water and shot downward my hands opened up like parachutes and swoooooosh, no more glasses. This was one thing I shouldn’t have let go for sure. As I surface without my lenses while attempting to look into the muddy-bottomed abyss, I realize I have a fanny pack on. It’s the same one my wife put her earrings in; yeah, the one I used to hold the hotel key but completely forgot about due to the giant life vest around my neck.

As it was, I was also leaving town next week, and though I had already ordered a new pair, there was no way those glasses would be ready by Wednesday morning. Thus, I was partially blind for the next 24 hours until we arrived home. My wife got stuck making both drives, which was not her expectation. However, the idea of me weaving in between blurry images on a freeway or worse, winding our way along a mountain pass and me not being able to judge the edge made her let go of the pipe dream she had that I could manage it.

We sat out Saturday night by the fire pit, which Tina, the owner, set up just for us. We roasted our marshmallows and sat out looking at the stars. Not me, I sat out looking to see who was next to me and if I was certain I was speaking to the right person. Either way, it was a beautiful night.

Yes, the rest of the trip was blurry, literally, unless you were within ten feet of me. But between the Sequoias, The Corral Creek, Kernville, our whitewater journey, Eureka the kissing dog, and our night of s’mores by the fire pit, I found that letting go, even of glasses at the wrong time, often makes things turn out for the better. Besides, I like my new backup pair of glasses I got from LensCrafters, who turned the pair around in a few hours.