For 13 days we crossed 12 states and logged nearly 5800 miles. During that time the only place and time we knew we had a guaranteed place to sleep was at my parent's house for two nights. The rest was all up for grabs. I went into the trip with a plan for the places we were going to see but that was pretty much it. I didn't know the days we'd hit each spot. I didn't know how much distance in time or mileage there was between each spot. I certainly didn't know which roads we would have to take other than the first few that got us out of Arizona. But for 12 nights we made it work. Our homes for those twelve nights included 8 campgrounds, 1 rest stop, my childhood bedroom, and the car.
Before the trip, I can't say I ever paid attention to this sign on the side of the road:
Prior to April when camping and random road trips suddenly became such a big part of my life, I'm not totally sure I even knew what that sign meant. While we are the road that symbol became the most spectacular beacon I could see near the end of a long tough day on the road.
The first campground was one of the easiest to find and most hassle free of all. We set up the first night about an hour away from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon at Lee's Ferry campground in Northern AZ. We had left Phoenix around 2:30 that afternoon so this was our latest start of the trip and one of the shortest distances we covered. The fear of storms and the desire to see the scenery leading up to the Canyon in daylight forced us to stop pretty early. Lee's Ferry was great. We were able to hear the rushing waters of the Colorado River while we slept. The canopies above the sites were a life saver on a rainy night.
The same would not hold true at our second stop at Valley of Fire State Park just outside of Vegas the next night. Once again we found ourselves caught in storms. Google maps provided Valley of Fire as the most reasonable option we had for where we were and the time of night. As I drove through miles of empty desert to try to find the campground, I have to say the thought of mobsters burying bodies crossed my mind. I was glad my copilot was asleep because she couldn't see the look of fear on my face. This wouldn't be the last time I was glad she was asleep on the way to the campground through sketchy areas. The monsoon storms were generating some heavy winds but luckily we were able to find a site sheltered from the wind by the rock next to it. That is at least for part of the night. The winds would shift and we would find ourselves battling to secure the tent roof and filling like we were going to be carried off by a rushing wash. One bright spot to this was that I battled the storm while in my boxers. I don't care how silly it might have looked there's nothing more invigorating than taking on a storm in your underwear.
Night 3 would be another night of scrambling to find a spot. This would actually turn out to be the worst. It was the Saturday before the 4th and we were just outside of Yosemite. We must have checked 10 different campgrounds around the park and at the nearby lakes, with all of them ending up full. Again my copilot would get some rest, while I (stupidly, I must say) took us 20 miles the other direction toward Mammoth Lakes, CA. Mammoth Lakes would pretty much prove to be a bust too, with all campgrounds being full. Finally we were able to find a secluded area in the woods near a campground to set up for a few hours. This would probably have been the most dangerous choice we made and not something I would recommend for those not ready to engage in combat with woodland wildlife. Thankfully, we survived and even got a fairly decent night's rest.
After spending a long day basically just driving a very short distance around the Yosemite Valley for 4 hours, we didn't make a ton of progress the next day either. We were closing in on the San Francisco area. This time around we started actually calling for reservations. I doubt anyone is shocked to find out we struck out on every call on the night before the 4th of July. We took a gamble and drove toward a state park near the beach. Again, I'm very glad the copilot slept so she wouldn't see us drive through creepy California farm areas late at night before finally hitting the industrial section of Watsonville, CA and eventually our campground. This one hit several levels of creepiness because Google maps led us down some eerie back roads before hitting the industrial area. We could have crossed off horror movie farmyard murder or inner city violence victims as our method of departure from this Earth. Instead we made it safe, spent the night at the campground and woke up to go see the beach before heading off to San Fran.
After a day at Golden Gate, my goal was to get us somewhere to watch the 4th of July fireworks. I failed miserably. Needless, to say the copilot was not happy when we reached Eureka, CA for the final 5 minutes of their fireworks display. On the bright side, we had no trouble getting a camping spot at Clam Beach a few miles down the road. We would wake up to a cool, foggy morning. We set up our camp stove on the beach and made coffee. It was beautiful and peaceful until the tide came in higher than we predicted causing me to jump from my chair knocking over the camp stove and giving the rest of the coffee to the ocean gods. I would later see a sign posted warning about coming in contact with local lagoon or ocean waters due to contamination. I didn't mention it to the copilot because she is a little bit of hypochondriac and I still have the open wound on my leg from the Grand Canyon spill. She hadn't been in the water, so I didn't see the point in worrying her.
The next night would be our only stop-free night as we tried to rush from Redwoods National and State Parks to Yellowstone starting to feel the time crunch of the trip. The drive through Southern Oregon toward Boise goes down as one of the most terrible sections of the trip. This drive actually led me to a concept for a novel I hope no one steals from me: Land Pirates. This section of Oregon is so deserted that I was literally terrified every time a car pass me because I was waiting for them to turn around and come back after me, land pirate style. There was an opportunity to stop at a campground that I had considered and even exited the road to check out. It was in Eastern Oregon and I don't remember the name. But I do remember the sign that said it was 6 miles away down gravel roads and the sign that followed shortly after: "Pioneer Cemetery: Established 1853." I promptly turned around and drove the rest of the way to Boise, ID that night avoiding yet another opportunity for a grisly demise. I'm glad the copilot never realized how many times we had come close to being a "based on actual events" movie.
I already have the concept in mind for the second half of the campground stories, which is why I titled this section "The Silly Part". The next section is the part that will probably bring me to tears. Tonight, I'm having a good night, so I'll skip it. Also, I'm out of generic brand zzzquil and I'd like to be able to get some sleep so I won't be tapping that well of emotion. This were the fun nights. The hunts for campgrounds throughout Arizona, Nevada, California, and Oregon led to some ridiculous situations, funny moments, and of course horror movie fodder.
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