DaveandkaraUStour2011: Days fifty-nine and sixty.: zeroenthusiasm

zeroenthusiasm

DaveandkaraUStour2011: Days fifty-nine and sixty.

Aug 25, 2011 11:55

Our tent.

We woke up at 9:30, protected from the shining sun but wrapped up in the delightfully cool air. Marcus had just woken up and needed to seek help from a neighbor to jump his car back to life. Erica stubbornly stayed laying down in the tent for the first twenty minutes. Kara and I wanted to eat, but quickly discovered that some sort of critters had gotten to the food we left out. We ignored the bear box the night before, where you're supposed to store your food just in case an animal wanders through. So our entire package of hamburger buns were gone; not even a trace of the plastic. Kara found the remains of our bag of gingersnap cookies out in the brush, empty and with little tears around it. Our Boca burgers were safe, though, as were our can of vegetarian baked beans, which we ate for breakfast. An hour later, we were all packed back up and ready to head out for a day in the forests. Kara and I were successfully smuggled in for free, while Marcus and Erica paid the ridiculous $40 fee for spending the night there. They had both already decided we'd too be spending the day with them, which meant we got a driver's seat tour of the forest as well. I have no idea how we would have explored these forests on foot. In daylight, I saw just how beautiful Erica was. As the day progressed, we also got to see just how naggy she is. Marcus dealt with it in a calm manner. He sounded like Ryan Gosling when he spoke. Erica's digital camera had broke after getting sand in it and she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown over it as we drove back to Crescent City to try and find another keyboard cleaner to try and, hopefully, blow the grain(s) of sand out of it. On the way, we stopped by the beach. Marcus excitedly ran like a child up to it. Fog collected along the entire horizon line of the water. The sand at the shoreline was as smooth as a sidewalk. Kara and I were surprised by just how cold it was in California so far, the ignorant New Yorkers we are.

The bulk of the day was spent driving in slow motion through Jedediah Smith State Park, a main staple in the exploration of the historical Redwoods state parks. This is where park officials will tell you to go first and foremost, as it is where everything you're looking for in such a forest is. As we entered it, Erica continuously burst like a little girl, "WOWEE! HOLY SMOKES! LOOK AT THAT TREE!" She went on like that every couple of feet. It was cute... at first. Not quite something pictures or adjectives can really capture, the forests were like stepping into another geological time altogether. Each and every tree was startling. Those that weren't ten to fourteen feet wide were as tall as a building. The roadside plant life was covered in a greyish brown coat of dust from tourist traffic. Trees that had fallen over had other trees growing from them. It was all breathtaking. Marcus pulled the car over literally every couple of feet. We'd slowly ride through, find something that arrested our eyes, and hop back out. It took well over two hours just to get through the first two miles of what was a five-mile long trail through the park. Plenty of other cars drove by, some of them as slowly as we were, but mostly coasting through and leaning their necks back, likely worrying about getting to their next hotel room. We were so thankful we caught a ride with two people so genuinely interested in and swept away by the sheer startling beauty of what nature is capable of. We were lucky members of a generation no longer interested in nature, riding through the final 45% of what was once over two million acres of coastal redwoods in the mid-1800s. These trees can live almost 2,000 years and reach over 300 feet. These trees were much like what we thought of dinosaurs, except these are still here, the legs and arms of a powerful nature long-since drained of its strength. We were all able to climb trees and even go inside some that were open and hollow. One tree was so hollow that we could climb inside and stand up; we could even look up and see a dot of light at the tip. Some trees acted as caves that you could walk right inside of. I climbed down one that sloped down back to the trail like a slide. The innards were cold and moist and smelled like healthy, fresh soil. I had to fall out to protect my ankles right in front of another car and the driver said, "You found yourself a troll!" Erica ran around hyper, wanting her picture taken with virtually everything she saw. She began every sentence in a loud voice, addressing Marcus by his first name every single time. Marcus occasionally tried to climb things, which he was very good at. We walked a half-mile trail, admired clovers the size of our palms, and stood puzzled at how things like this could even exist. Time flew by as all four of us had one of the greatest experiences of our lives.

We eventually zoomed through the last three miles of the park, deciding to restrain ourselves from any further stopping. That is, until we found another reason to stop. Down below us, Marcus saw a stream that ran through miles or surface composed entirely out of smooth rocks. We pulled over and tried to find a trail down to it. I found one that was simple and we spent about a half hour down there. I tried to walk in the water on my bare feet. The stream was more rock than water, each rock slippery with algae. I started worrying I'd slip and break my ankle and decided to sit down on the tip of one dry rock too small for my giant ass. Marcus skipped rocks and threw big ones in the sky, some of them shattering on impact on their way back down against the others. After that, we exited Jedediah Smith and soon after pulled over again. Even though we were all hungry at that point, there was a giant beach, Craigs Creek, underneath a high bridge we drove over that was just irresistible. From above, the water shone a deep aquatic blue. A steep dirt trail lead down to it. Kara and I weren't really interested in swimming, but walked down with them anyway to at least dip our feet in. We ate PB&J sandwiches and admired dogs. Marcus and others climbed to the top of a mountain and swung out by a rope someone had attached to the bridge. He had to have been between fifty and seventy feet in the air before dropping to the water. The bridge overhead was covered in suicidal graffiti, one of which was a memorial to someone who had died, presumably at the bridge, which we heard some people actually jump off of into the water. The water was too cold for Erica and Marcus needed to use a bathroom really bad, so we weren't there for long before heading back to the car to re-enter Crescent City on a hunt for somewhere to eat. It was strange to watch other travelers who go off on a whole other plane of interests and concerns operate. For example, they went about finding a place to eat by using Marcus's fancy cellphone and chose based on ratings via Yelp. When I suggested Denny's, Erica responded, "It only has two stars!" We ended up at some place called Good Harvest Cafe that had fancy chairs made of glossed pieces of trees and a strong Native American atmosphere. We were ignored for the first ten minutes we were there and when the pregnant waitress finally acknowledged us, Erica rudely went on about how we were on a tight schedule and were in somewhat of a rush. Kara and I were able to get some yummy club sandwiches that had tofu and avocado on them, with fries on the side. We began to wonder when they would tell us we couldn't get back in their car.

We drove for a little while south on 101. Erica became very annoying at times. Even in the simplest of conversations, she would talk over you and announce her opinion as if it were fact with absolute proclamations such as, "That is absolutely not true!" or, "I don't agree with that at all." After sitting back and watching her and Marcus communicate with each other, it was no wonder why: Whenever she would talk over Marcus or tell him he was wrong, he would just let it go and quietly take it. Not to say it wasn't probably the best way to work with it, but it was no wonder she was so confident in each and everything she said, no matter how wrong, like when she argued with me and Kara about honey, where she told us, "her friend," farms his own honey and, "takes care of the bees," and, "gives them a home." She obviously had no idea what honey was or how/why bees produce it, but her tone and volume communicated that she did. So much so that even Kara, the biggest defender of bees I know, backed down. There were times when she nagged and hassled Marcus so incessantly that we honestly felt bad for the kid. We drove over captivating views of large beaches crashing waves against humongous rock islands down below, where the fog and the water met together and created what looked like fading watercolors; you could not tell where the water and sky began and ended. We pulled into the Trees of Mystery. A towering cement statue of Paul Bunyan and his faithful ox companion Babe stood over the parking lot. Babe was anatomically correct and Paul Bunyan had the creepiest eyes, his right one looking as though he had a minor serial killer twitch of some kind. Unfortunately, they had closed a half hour before we got there. So we were back on the road, on our way to a campground Marcus knew of from the map, in hopes of getting there before sundown. Beforehand, they bought a bunch of firewood from a campsite that had a burnt-down cabin next to it with caution line still strewn around. We made a stop so they could pay $5 to drive through a redwood tree that the owners claimed was living, though I can't piece together in my head how that it possible now that it has a giant hole in it that cars can fit through. Marcus had to take it up a notch and drive through it backwards, even. We stopped to see elk at one point eating grass by a strip of rental cabins. The male elk, with his monstrous horns, was gigantic, and he stood there on guard as the rest of the elk, all female, ate peacefully. Marcus got dangerously close to them for pictures. The look the male elk shot him as he swiftly turned around toward him was terrifying. But he made it out alive.

We stopped in a really tiny town called Ornick, which lasted only about two or so miles and consisted of one of each typical service business and a few homes, all of which looked like the backdrops to a cheap black and white spaghetti Western. We pulled into a grocery store and got some more food. Kara and I got more buns and some chocolate Teddy Grahams. By the time we made it to Dry Lagoon, it was completely dark out. We found ourselves at a gate that a car in front of us was unlocking. Marcus got out and asked the guy what was going on and he told us that Dry Lagoon wasn't free and that you had to register at some place in exchange for the combination to unlock the gate and drive in. Luckily for us, the guy let us drive ahead of him. There were no amenities at this particular campsite, so I wasn't even sure what the hell the fees were for. Seemed like the state trying to get as much money as it could from all of natures' accomplishments. I complained about it more than Marcus and Erica did. Campsites were separated along a narrow downward trail and marked with posts that had numbers on them. Number three was fortunately still available, so we starting dragging our things down to it. My flashlight died on the way down. The thin trail that lead to our particular site was veiny with protruding roots that you had to be careful not to trip over. I had to go back up the trail to the car with Marcus, where he had put all the chopped blocks of firewood on a thick blanket, ready to be lifted from each side. We lugged what was about twenty pounds of wood down the trail that way. It was so tiring and we even dropped a few pieces behind us on the way which were never recovered. They left a note on their front windshield just in case a park official saw there car there and wanted to fine them for camping without paying. Again, the absurdity of paying to be in nature boggles the mind. Marcus diligently attempted to put together a fire for us all. It took him a while, but he got it, after several pounds of newspaper, dead leaves, and kindling. We grilled food for ourselves over it and talked about this and that. Us being vegan was brought up. While talking about her bunny, Erica loudly told us that animals don't have feelings. That was pretty much the last straw for me, being that animal feelings is so scientifically well-documented. We ate our burgers, which Erica told us she tries to stay away from due to, "all the sodium," and quickly decided to go to bed out of fear of being further annoyed. Whenever he wasn't being spoken over, Marcus was a whole other story. I really liked talking to him. He was open-minded and well-spoken, offering intelligent input to whatever we brought up. Before we went to sleep, we saw a banana slug resting on a leaf! The sound of the beach, no more than a mile from where we laid, went on through the night like a static television. Sleep was great.

We woke up at 11 to Marcus telling us to. He had a new fire already started and we grilled the rest of our burgers on it for lunch. A nice old many camping at site one saw the note on the windshield and walked over just to give us the combination to open the gate. He told us we would have gotten fined if they found us camping for free. We headed out through more forest on 101, through an area they called the Avenue of the Giants. We rode through several small towns filled with commerce and, to our surprise, tons of hitchhikers of all different ages, colors, and motivations. Everyone for a hundred miles was traveling. Some were doing bike tours on the side of the freeway; others were thumbing it by the on-ramp in every town we went through; others were busking across the street wherever we'd stop for gas. We went through Eureka and Garberville. I mostly sat in the back and read zines while Erica played songs that were California-related. I eventually stopped talking altogether because I was sick of igniting a, "You're wrong!" fit in Erica. They smoked a bowl in the car and the smell made me sick even with their windows down. It made me uncomfortable that our driver was toking up, but there wasn't much we could say: we were thankful to even still be in their car at that point. I read a zine called Railroad Semantics #4, which was put together really beautifully and written really well, though it made sure to boast alcoholism at the beginning and end of every tale as he hops trains thousands of miles between Oregon, California, Montana, and Wyoming. It was so disappointing. Between reading that and having to breathe in marijuana smoke, I started to get really frustrated, as I always find myself getting, at how obsessed my generation is with dumbing themselves down. No one can enjoy an exciting, scenic ride through northern California without weed; no one can hop trains through unforgettable landscapes without alcohol; no one can attend an exciting DIY house show without getting wasted in the process. I stared out the window at passing-by pastures of cows young and old, chewing at grass, strolling around, and resting in the shade. I love seeing them be free, if even for only those moments. We stopped in Santa Rosa just so they could visit a brewery. We stayed in the car for over an hour while they were gone and ate sandwiches. I read another zine, Dum Thumbz, which was well-written and put together nicely, but ultimately a sensationalized boring story about a short stint at hitchhiking. I know people's interests vary, but I couldn't wrap my head around having one day left to make it to San Francisco before heading back home to Utah and spending an hour of it at a brewery.

We entered San Francisco around 7:30, welcomed by a $6 toll; the first toll booths we'd seen since the east coast, actually. We drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, a majestic and startling piece of human construction, but also the number one suicide spot in the United States. We poked our heads out as traffic congested itself and stared up toward the top, which was hidden in a thick cloud of fog. To each side, it was completely white and it felt like we were riding through nothing at all. They pulled into a tight parking spot at the expensive hotel they were spending the night at while Erica made condescending remarks about how the spot she told him to go into was better. After we all got our stuff out, they invited us up into the room. They said they were each going to shower and then go out for dinner and that we could shower if we wanted while they were gone. We both knew we needed showers and brief access to the Internet, so we went up with them into their spacious, $130 room. Erica showered while Marcus sat against the wall, looking miserable as he looked on his phone for a fancy restaurant for them to eat at. A long goodbye was shared with a group cellphone picture of us together and then they left. They were incredibly nice people, even if we didn't agree with everything. I was so surprised that they let us share so much of their week-long journey with them. I felt bad that they could only get such a little taste of what traveling and freedom have to offer, as both would soon be heading back to Utah for work and school. We both took showers and then headed out, trying to be gone before they got back, as we assumed they'd prefer us to be. We sat against a wall outside of a nearby Starbucks, trying to figure out what to do next. Just walking a block up and around the corner, we weren't exactly thrilled or comfortable being there. The sky was completely engulfed in a grey fog that was lit up by the lights of the businesses below them. The night life was loud, smelly, young, and intoxicated. The places still open were clubs and bars, of course. The hills declined at high grades, so much so that the sidewalks were mostly stairs to make your descent or ascent easier on you. Along with all of that, it was actually really cold out and the fog whispered of inevitable rainfall. We found a pizza place and decided on that. From what we had seen so far, San Francisco was just the west coast's New York City; the only differences being steep hills and wider streets. It was nothing like what I had imagined, based solely on the opening credits and theme song of Full House.

The stroll to Pizza Orgasmica was boring, but, to our relief, downhill. On the walk there, we found a vegan cookie sitting on top of a post office box. We thought this to be an omen of good luck, but it wasn't. We were surrounded by the loud, late-night bustle of a generation of excess and hedonism, something that sends me into an agoraphobic relapse back into severe social anxiety, and luxury apartments. Not being able to swiftly walk through people on the sidewalks stressed me out. When we found the pizza place, they told us they were out of soy cheese. So we were left with nothing else to do but to search for a place to sleep that would keep us dry should it decide to rain during the night. Lots of walking and not much to look at. In one direction was an endless row of copycat apartments; in the other was bars overflowing with sexually frustrated twenty-somethings wearing expensive clothes and toxic fragrances. We couldn't find shelter anywhere. We sat by the entrance to a recreation center for a little bit, thinking we'd settle for it, until three drunk guys stumbled over and saw us. "Haha, these guys are drunk! You guys drunk?!" I looked at him and said no, angrily. He looked back at me disappointed and went on his way. We took some random turns through corner after corner of over-priced, sold-out motels and neon signs until we found a giant abandoned building with a long corridor to one of its doors. It was lit up and seemed as though it'd been being worked on for renovation, but it would be Sunday the next morning and no one does anything like that on Sundays. a nearby trashcan told us it was once a Blockbuster Video. We laid out our sleeping bags and it took me a while to fall asleep. I already wanted to leave, but I didn't want to be too presumptuous. I figured I'd wait and see where our points of interest take us the next day first before deciding to escape. It didn't even wind up raining that night, either. The city was just surrounded by the symptoms.

The remains of our bag of gingersnap cookies, discovered by a mystery critter in the night.

This stump was the only evidence of giant redwoods by our campsite that first night. Kara could go inside of it.

This cute doodle rode on the dash of Marcus and Erica's car.

The first beach we saw was ghostly. And I have no idea what that thing is in the last picture, but it was long and like a bare lion's tale, though a bit squishy.