Red Bluff Rollercoaster: Our Trip on Route 36

This week we went on one of the craziest trips we’ve taken yet.

We left Medford, OR and arrived in Red Bluff, CA. It seemed such a shame to be so close to the West Coast and not see the Pacific Ocean and the redwood forests. So we decided to plan a long day to drive there, followed by a day of rest to recover.

It was only 140 miles or so, but the maps told us it would take over three hours because the mountain highways had lots of twists and turns. No problem; we can handle that.

However, these were not just your typical winding mountain roads. Oh, no. About 30 minutes in, we wondered when the rollercoaster ride would end. The constant turns were bad enough, but the road also shot up and, before you knew it, back down quite quickly – just like a rollercoaster, I tell you. We surmised that a tractor-trailer would high center on those hills. When the small, rolling, twisty hills with terrain that looked like a scene from the ranch on the original “Parent Trap” movie had worked their way up to the mountain passes, we thought we might get some relief. Although the hills had ceased, the twists and turns steadily grew worse, and as we went up and down mountains and followed switchback paths, we also saw that the edge of the road was frightening. Just inches away were deep drop-offs with steep ledges. Yikes. 

I had brought books to read and my computer, but it wasn’t long before I became too queasy to look down. I didn’t even crack the books. My oldest son was riding with my parents, and the two younger ones were with us, playing happily on iPads. I wondered if that was a good idea, but they said they felt fine. I personally was glad I hadn’t eaten breakfast, and I had no intentions of putting food in my stomach until this crazy carnival ride ended. I already felt like I had consumed far too much deep-fried food and then jumped on The Twister at the fair – and stayed on the ride for several hours.

We came upon some construction (which looked like a treacherous and nearly impossible job to do on this road), and just when the pilot car began leading us through the mess of workers and machinery, my 5-year-old said twice that he “so” needed to get out of the truck. We were all feeling that way, but that exact moment wouldn’t work, and he didn’t specify why he needed to exit.

Then it happened. He was looking down (at my iPad, no less) and suddenly emptied the contents of his stomach all over his clothes, booster seat, and the iPad (which at least is protected with an Otterbox case, but still.) We pulled over as soon as possible, and I cleaned up the best I could. Gone are the days of needing a diaper bag and bringing along an extra sets of clothes, so I promised to buy another shirt somewhere. As I looked around at the other passengers of both vehicles, I realized we were all pale of face and white of knuckle. And we weren’t even halfway.

I tried to ignore the puke smell and enjoy the scenery, which really did have a rugged beauty. If I had been plopped there blindfolded, I never would have guessed I was in California. I didn't have the presence of mind or stomach to take many photos but managed a few from my phone now and then.

We saw very few people. Forget finding a town, store, or gas station where we could get out, use a bathroom, and walk around. When I did see a gas station once, it looked run down but boasted unleaded fuel for the modest price of $4.89 per gallon. That’s an entrepreneur if ever I saw one.

We passed a couple of areas with campers and tents that looked like they might be gypsy camps or hippie communes. At one place where we stopped to stretch and calm our churning stomachs, we saw a couple emerge from the woods, and they were speaking a foreign language that sounded European, which wasn’t very reassuring since we had begun to suspect that we might have ended up in another country accidentally.

Well, at long last we made it to the beach. In total, it took us four hours, but we got to show our kids the Pacific Ocean for the first time, and we even saw a seal bobbing in the waves. The sun, the sand, and the waves were perfect. It was our dog’s first time at the ocean, and we all laughed at the way he barked when the waves came in as if he were being chased and must attempt to scare off his would-be attacker.

We debated not moving again for a couple of hours, but we were too close to the Avenue of the Giants not to drive down through at least part of this famous stretch of redwoods. The boys were astounded, and my husband had also never seen these majestically towering trees. We didn’t regret coming.

But we still had to make the trip back.

Driving four hours to spend less than an hour at the beach, drive for 30 more minutes, and spend less than an hour in a redwood forest, only to turn around and drive the four hours back, at that moment seemed like insanity. We debated looking for hotels, but we knew the drive home would look no better the next morning. Better to get it over with.

If we thought a twisty road with steep drop-offs and incredibly fast elevation changes was bad in the daytime, we were in for a treat: It’s even worse at night, with deer popping out from around corners with the path ahead shrouded in darkness. Yet just before darkness came some breathtaking views.

When we finally pulled up in front of our home-sweet-RV, my middle son sighed and proclaimed, “When I grow up, I am never taking my kids on that trip!”

It didn’t take long to decide that one day of rest wouldn’t be enough to recuperate. We extended our stay an extra day, and my husband and I even booked massages, an available amenity at the Durango RV Resort.

We told a few locals that we had taken Route 36 from Red Bluff to Fortuna, and we got some interesting looks and comments.

“You’re brave! The 36?” (That’s how Californians refer to their highways.) “Betcha didn’t take the RV down that road!”

“That’s the growers’ paradise.” (Growers, as in, you know, a different kind of weed … which might explain the “camps” we saw.)

“Who threw up? Someone always throws up.”

“Lived here my life and won’t ever take that route.”

Well, buddy, I can assure you that I won’t ever take that route again. There are other ways to the Pacific Ocean and redwood forests, and we will find them because we will make the time to do so.

I Googled “Route 36 California” a couple of days later and was amused by the comments I found:

“Most likely the craziest elevation changes you will ever see. Truly resembles a rollercoaster in spots.”

“Lots of places without guardrails, and long drops, so be careful!!! Every road will seem very trivial after you ride this.”

“This road will have you going up a hill, making a right at the top, and before you can even see over the crest, as you’re still turning right, the road goes left.”

“This is a road to stay alert on and not become over confident.”

“It was an amazing 140 miles of twisties, hairpin turns, periodic straight-aways and scenic views (or so my wife told me) as you won't have much time to look around.”

“Prepared for that queasy feeling you get after four solid hours of a rollercoaster ride.”

“You will never be so happy to make it to the coast and relax after this one.”

“After this, every road is easier.”

That sums it up pretty well. So, was it worth it? That day or the next, I might have said no. As the misery of the drive wears off, and all I have left are some amazing photographs (and an iPad that smells faintly of vomit), I’m happy that we went. I’m grateful to my husband for making it happen. 

Take a look for yourself. What do you think?