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?
Take a look for yourself. What do you think?
