Out of the mountains and back into the world

8/18/2017

Well, it had to happen eventually. I had to reach the end of the road. I’ve been on this trip now for almost six weeks, Jane’s tired, I’m tired, and it’s about time for me to get home and get back to work.

But the end of the road that I’m talking about for now is actually the end of the Redwood Mountain Overlook road, site of my final Sequoia/Kings Canyon hike. And boy, was this a road I was glad to get to the end of!

I reluctantly packed up my camping gear this morning – there’ll be no more camping stops this trip, unfortunately – and hopped in Jane, ready for another half day of hiking. A park ranger had recommended the Redwood Mountain grove to me as a nice out-of-the-way, fairly unpopulated hike where I could finish winding down prior to my return to “civilization”.

As soon as I turned onto the road leading to the trailhead, it immediately became apparent to me why this hike is so unpopulated.

This monster of a road winds its way down the mountain into a low valley, but it does its best to get you there as fast as it can – that is, it’s very steep because it mostly just goes straight down. It’s unpaved, narrow, and bordered on one side by a steep, soft slope that seems ready to give out at any moment. Best yet, it features some outstanding potholes and washboard features.

In short, it’s the perfect road to drive your lowered vintage Mustang down! Not only will you get to test your brakes (on the way down) and your throttle control over washboard features (on the way up), but you’ll also get to find out what electrical connections and mechanical components aren’t as snug as you thought they were. If the car’s still functioning by the time you get to the top, you’ve won the lottery!

Jane and I barreled our way down the slope, wallowing into unseen potholes and trying not to get going so fast that we would slide off the edge of the cliff on any of the turns. The steering, which by this point in the trip was very clearly unhappy, howled in protest as I spun the wheel left and right repeatedly to get around obstacles I saw at the last moment. Things even managed to rattle, even under the weight of all of the gear I had stuffed in Jane. But hey, we made it to the bottom just fine.

I parked and tried not to think about the fact that I would have to go back up the dang road again in a few hours, instead setting off on the large loop trail with the intent of just hiking for an hour or so before turning back. This redwood grove is another one of the largest in the parks (I still haven’t figured out if it’s in Kings Canyon or Sequoia), but it’s a lot less densely populated with redwoods.

I saw quite a few giants and hiked along a small stream for a while, which was extremely pleasant.

Someone made this redwood log into a storeroom

And then I realized that I had been hiking upwards for quite some time. I looked around and the trees and overall landscape had completely changed – I had gone from a marshy redwood forest to a dry alpine climate in a very short distance! Fascinating.

As far as I could tell, this was mostly due to the change in elevation (going up) as well as my positioning on the slope. I suspect it must have something to do with the way wind and weather moves over the mountain, as the slope opposite me across the valley was still heavily forested with lots of redwoods towering over the rest of the trees. Had I been able to do the entire hike, I would have looped around over to that slope and down through the valley again. But alas, I only had the morning to hike, so I turned back the way I came, which somehow looked completely different going the other way. 

I returned to the parking lot and sat on a rock to eat my lunch, whereupon I observed a group of young teens having an argument over my car. All agreed that it was a very nice car, but half said, “That’s awesome that it’s down here!” and the other half said, “No way would I take a car like that down here! That road was terrible!” which was an accurate assessment.

I went up to them and said, “Well, I took it down here so I guess now I have to take it back out,” and then I got in and started my way back up. I admit that I paused a bit at the base of the trail, just looking upwards at what I had to tackle. You see, the problem with a vintage car from the Muscle Era is that you’ve got a lot of power and not any traction control to speak of. In most conditions this is totally fine, except when you’re driving on ice and washboard surfaces. For whatever reason, a heavily ridged surface kicks the rear end out sideways really quickly if you’re not good on throttle control or countersteering. And I really wasn’t too keen on kicking the rear end straight out over the edge of the cliff.

But hey! This is what we do, Jane and I. We tackle that which makes the average person more than a little uncomfortable, and we wrestle with it, and we win (most of the time). Or we keep trying until we do. Sometimes you’ve just got to have more guts than sense.

So up we went.

There were a few hairy moments, but we made it to the top with nothing more than an exceptional amount of complaining from the power steering pump. We’re old hats at challenges like this, you know. I knew that if I had anything to be rattled loose or destroyed, it would have been rattled loose or destroyed long ago somewhere back in Canada or maybe Montana.

I popped the hood and added some more power steering fluid, which the pump promptly puked back out, despite being low on fluid and clearly asking for more. I said, “screw it,” and Jane and I started making our way down out of the mountains.

One of life’s greatest pleasures, I find, is going down a delightfully twisty road. But the pinnacle of this pleasure is when the downhill slope is precisely steep enough that you can maintain the speed limit without the application of the skinny pedal or the brakes. I coasted my way down the mountain in neutral, enjoying my sudden 40+ MPG status. Who said muscle cars can’t get good gas mileage?!

Our destination for the night was Bakersfield, CA. Now, those of you who know Bakersfield are now immediately thinking, “But why?!” Myself, I’ve never been to Bakersfield before, and I figured it really couldn’t be as terrible as everyone says. But as I entered the dusty wasteland surrounding the city, I found myself agreeing with everyone elses’ assessment: Bakersfield is just terrible. At least, its environment is. I’m sure the people are quite nice.

In fact, the reason I was going to Bakersfield was because I wanted to meet someone! A member of the Vintage Mustang Forum, Bob, resides here. I’ve known him through the forum for quite some time but have never met him in person. He had been keeping an eye out for original Mustang body parts, and had found the holy grail: an original rust-free 1966 fastback decklid! He contacted me asking if I wanted it, saying it was cheap, and the answer was “of course I do”.

Yeah, I know, my car is already painted and wearing all her parts. But I’ve never been happy with the reproduction decklid that I had to put on after the wreck. The panel fitment is a little wonky and the metal quality is not great so I have to be careful with it, which is kind of silly in a car that’s used as a camper and road warrior. I figure next time I paint Jane, I’ll put this original decklid on instead, and then she’ll be even better!

I met up with Bob at a popular local divey diner spot and we wedged the decklid crosswise into Jane. It’s a good thing that I won’t be camping anymore, because unloading this thing every day would be a massive PITA!

 

The prize, wrapped in an old sheet because it's covered in old flaky paint.

We went inside for dinner and Bob informed me in no uncertain terms that “the portion sizes are huge here and you definitely won’t be able to finish the meal,” which of course meant that I was bound and determined to eat anything that was put in front of me. I mean, I’m from the South. I was a member of the Clean Plate Club growing up. In short, I can put away a ton of food and I can’t back down from a challenge.

We both ordered the country fried steak and I maintained that of course I would be able to finish the meal. Bob then made a critical mistake and told me, “I bet you that decklid that you can’t finish this whole meal.”

And that’s how he ended up watching me painstakingly wipe up every crumb of a giant country fried steak, a double order of hashbrowns, and a 12” pancake. I was very proud of myself and all he had to say was, “Good god, woman.”

Don’t worry, I paid him for his decklid anyways.

So on that note… Kelly signing out!