Silent Giants: Sequoia National Forest, CA

After Santa Barbara, we had about a week to make it up to San Francisco, where we’d be celebrating Sean’s birthday. We decided to make our way North via the Sequoia National Forest, since neither of us had ever been. On our first night, we landed in a little campground called Sandy Flats.

This campground was perched right on the Kern River, and while it was blissfully free of chipmunks, we did discover one rodent friend:

This was very exciting, but not as exciting as when I thought I saw an otter swimming next to the beaver. (Turns out it was just a second, smaller beaver. My zoology game is not what it could be.)

The next day we woke up early to hike to Miracle Hot Springs, a lovely little collection of stone pools fed by a natural spring that sits right by the river. We couldn’t find the proper route on the way in, but we managed to reach it through a combination of intuition and willingness to pretty much just slide down a hill on our butts. Fortunately, the long soak must have cleared our heads a little, because we found an established path on our way out with no trouble.

After the springs, we drove to a sequoia grove called Trail of 100 Giants. The grove itself isn’t very large, but what it lacks in area it makes up for in height.

Almost all of the mature trees had long, black gashes in the center, scars from forest fires that must have happened before the younger trees sprouted. Some of them you could even climb into; I circled one of the larger sequoias at least three times looking for Sean before I finally heard his voice coming from inside.

How DOES one get hired as a Keebler elf?

At first glance, the trees seemed to be all more or less the same; the more you explored, however, the more their differences became apparent. Some trees were conjoined with their neighbors, trunks fused together in their soft youth. One had a great knobby plateau growing out of its base to make a perfect natural bench. Here and there you could see a fallen tree, its root system exposed, a gaping crater left where it used to grow.

Once we’d filled our eyes and exhausted our necks, we popped into the gift store, where we asked the clerk for her favorite local spots. She recommended a nearby trail that led to a waterfall, “just past the three boulders and the pile of sawdust.” Her directions proved to be accurate.

We’d now experienced both a natural bath and a natural shower — neither of which made us anything close to clean, but we’re learning that sometimes adventurers just don’t get to smell good. (You should still let us visit you and sleep on your couch, though.)

Camping life has also meant sporadic Internet access, but we’re back in wifi-land now, and will be catching up with ourselves before long. Stay tuned, good people!

Scorched Beauty: Joshua Tree, CA

We were sad to say goodbye to La Paz last week, but the homeland was calling, and we knew if we stayed much longer Sean would descend even further into his Mexican Coca-Cola addiction. We said our farewells and hit the road, heading back the way we came.

Well, more or less the same way — I confess there was one instance where I neglected my navigational duties and took us down a country road that soon turned to gravel. By the time we realized my mistake, we’d gone too far to backtrack, and before long the gravel turned to large rocks — some of them menacing enough that I had to jump out of the car and hurl them out of the way to ensure that Watermelon’s dainty underbelly could proceed unscathed. It wasn’t that close to sunset and we weren’t that low on gas, and we did end up making it to our hotel with plenty of time to spare, but let’s just say we both spent a lot of time thinking about how we’d survive in the desert if it came down to it.

If only we could eat breathtaking vistas.

Other than that, the drive up was fairly uneventful, although we did discover that military checkpoints are considerably less nonchalant when you’re driving towards the States. It was a true test of our Spanish skills trying to explain to Mexican officials what all the weird crap in our car was. (Things like antihistamines and tarot cards and odor-eating charcoal bags just don’t come up very often in Duolingo lessons.)

Just shy of Tijuana, we hit an exciting milestone:

That’s right, Watermelon is now a ripe 100,000 miles old. Gifts aren’t necessary, but she’d love to get a card. Ziggy is always nice. A check would be fine too.

After spending the night in Tijuana, we made our slow way back across the border and drove to our next stop: Joshua Tree.

Even in the dead of summer, Joshua Tree was by far the most crowded park we’ve been to, but somehow it felt more remote and pristine than anywhere we’d camped so far. Maybe it was the quiet: whereas the other campgrounds were filled with bird chatter or insect songs, in Joshua Tree we barely heard a wing flutter.

We did, however, have some uninvited guests.

In fact, much of our time at Joshua Tree was spent waging a rodent war of Caddyshack proportions. Every time we turned around, these disturbingly brazen creatures were infiltrating our food, water, beer and coffee supplies. They managed to devour an entire bag of guacamole chips, which I was hoping would at least cause them some mild intestinal discomfort, but it seemed only to cement their conviction that we wanted desperately to feed them and needed only to be shown how.

Nevertheless, after securing our comestibles, we managed to get in some very scenic hikes. I don’t know anything about rocks, but the ones in Joshua Tree look like giant pebbles stacked by a daydreaming child, piled in such improbable configurations that you can’t help but see whimsical shapes in them. It’s not unlike staring at a bunch of clouds.

When you’re just trying to get a cool rock picture and a tree totally photo-bombs.

The trees themselves are equally tempting to the imagination — they seem to be frozen midway through some frantic gesture, like hands grasping at the sky. They also have surprisingly shallow roots, so you frequently see them listing at precarious angles or collapsed entirely in the sand, like a desert traveler crawling towards water.

We kept these hikes short, however, because as soon as the shadows receded under the scorching mid-day sun, we were like ants under a magnifying glass. On our first day I made the mistake of trying to prepare lunch at noon and nearly burned myself on the silverware I’d set on the picnic table just seconds before.

For those particularly punishing hours, Sean and I ventured into town to explore. On the main drag we found a little gathering of weird galleries and shops, and we happened across a loosely defined outdoor art space that featured a spaceship-like construction with revolving disco boulders.

All the people we talked to (except the mannequins) was friendly and helpful, giving us suggestions for coffee-shops, bars, galleries, and tourist attractions. Following one tip, we drove out to a little Old West village called Pioneertown, which has served as a film set for famous westerns over the years such as, I kid you not, “The Gay Amigo.” The town is also home to a famous bar called Pappy and Harriet’s, which, in spite of its remote location, boasts such big names as Paul McCartney and Lorde in its roster. (We didn’t see any superstars, but their nachos were divine.)

After Joshua Tree, our trajectory will take us steadily Northward, which will bring a welcome change in climate. I love the desert, but we only have so many layers of skin left between the two of us.

Next we’ll be heading to Santa Barbara for a little dose of perfect weather (and to see some dear friends and family). Will we stop in L.A. and get famous real quick along the way? Probably. Stay tuned.

Underground Treasure: Sonora, TX

After three weeks of visiting friends and family, Thursday marked our first day of venturing into the unknown. The unknown started with the Caverns of Sonora in Sonora, Texas, where we pitched our new tent in a beautiful little campground, alone except for a small band of deer and a frustrated peacock.

On the way to Sonora, we’d worried about having enough daylight to set up camp in, but towards 9 o’clock we were still watching a phenomenal sunset. This is probably because the sky in Texas is about twice as big as anywhere else — something that a scientist might contest, but only if they weren’t from Texas.

As we were admiring said sunset, we ran into one of the park’s tour guides, Chris, who was out walking his dog and looking for birds. He showed us the woodpecker nest he’d been watching and explained that the male woodpecker builds a nest before finding a mate, to show the females he’s worth their time. (Our peacock friend could probably learn a thing or two.)

Unfortunately, this magical evening gave way to a decidedly unpleasant night. The sleeping cushion I’d bought for seven dollars at Walmart — really more of a yoga mat made out of flip-flop material — was only marginally better than sleeping on the ground, and the stuffy air and insects kept us both up half the night. Worse still, when we finally stumbled out of the tent in the morning, we discovered that raccoons had gotten into our cooler bag (damn those nimble, adorable fingers) and half our food stash was gone.

It was a rough start to the day, but things looked up when we took a tour of the caverns with our new friend Chris. The experience gave me a profound appreciation not just for the vast and bizarre world that exists underneath us, but for the people who worked to explore and study the caverns back when they could only see a flashlight’s length into what lay ahead.

Also, it was nice and cool down there. Why hasn’t Texas built an underground city yet?

We wanted to stay in Sonora an extra night, but none of the three outdoor supply stores we checked in town sold camping gear, and I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping on my flip-flop mat again. Instead, we packed up and headed for Marfa, Texas. Stay tuned for tales of (hopefully) weird art and alien sightings!

Stomping Grounds: Plano, TX

About a week ago Sean and I made it to Plano, Texas, where he grew up. As a country kid, I used to be confused when he told people he was from “the Dallas area” — like, are you from Dallas or are you from a completely different town? (Fortunately, when I tell people I’m from Iowa their only question is whether that’s the one with corn or the one with potatoes. It’s the one with corn.)

Now, having spent some time in Dallas, I understand that Plano is part of Dallas in much the same way this park bench is part of the creek:

Plano’s Chisolm Creek on Sunday. What climate change?

Basically, the Dallas area is like a transformer made of towns that it swallowed up. This is all very foreign to me; New Orleans, though it contains enough weirdness for a few Dallases put together, is actually a very small city. I’ve never lived anywhere where the downtown had more than three exits. In fact, the town where I grew up could probably be comfortably housed inside one of Dallas’s skyscrapers.

As luck would have it, this turned out to be the perfect time for Sean to visit his childhood home: the day after we arrived, his parents put it on the market. After 20+ years in Plano, they’ve set their sights on something a little more rural. I’m excited to visit them at their fainting goat farm next time around, but I imagine it’s pretty weird for Sean — it’s hard to say goodbye to the place you spent your formative years in.

While his parents shopped for their new home, Sean and I decided to become homeowners ourselves. Our budget was about $12.99, and I think we did pretty well for ourselves.

Feel free to visit! We have a guest wing.

Our visit was also well-timed because it coincided with Father’s Day, and Sean has one of those. His grandfather, Richard, also lives in the area, so the lot of us went out to celebrate their fatherliness with pizza and beer.

We also took a little day trip to Denton, where one of Sean’s high school friends is now a father himself. We spent a few hours in the thrall of Neva’s cuteness, discussing matters such as “hat!” and “hi!” We learned that any item can be classified as a hat when you put it on your head, including but not limited to plastic stacking cups and my hoop earrings.

Take a look at that little tum-tum and tell me you’re not in love.

After Dallas we’ll be in uncharted waters for a couple weeks, covering some territory that’s unfamiliar to both of us. With our hearts full of Texas love, we’re ready to take on anything.