Today, I'm headed to Sequoia National Park, which stands adjacent to Kings Canyon National Park. Researching a little beforehand, I think they might be the same place as they use the same National Parks website, but I'm don't know for sure because they have different Wikipedia pages. Either way, I'm gonna try knocking em both out in one day.
Driving to Sequoia, I see California in daylight for the first time: it's beautiful. I think I mentioned this earlier, but the only other time I've been to California is when my brother was stationed here, so my family and I came to visit him. I'd always heard, "Come to California, the weather's great year round!" It rained the entire time. Literally, every single day. So this is my first time seeing California in good weather; it's the most lush environment I've ever seen. I even saw a fully fruiting orange grove: I'm not sure I realized those even existed. In my imagination, oranges were grown underground in South America, netted bag and all, and after harvesting, they put a sticker on claiming it was from California to increase resale value.
Arriving at the park, I do two things: 1) get a map, and 2) use the bathroom. These are both important parts of today's story. The map is important because it's for both Sequoia and Kings Canyon, meaning, yes, they're basically the same park. The bathroom I'll get to later, but let me first say to Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park, for the amount of 1 ply recycled toilet paper I had to use, you might as well buy Charmin, because I didn't save a single leaf for the environment.
Talking to a Ranger, I'm told most of the road along King's Canyon is closed. I can get just barely drive into view of it, but it shouldn't be my top priority. So instead, I head to the Giant Forest to see the General Sherman Tree.
I'm not sure if this is any part of King's Canyon, but it's A canyon that paralleled the road for a while.
I'd always thought redwoods were the biggest trees in California, but while redwoods grow taller, the sequoias grow wider. I could just barely walk through the hole in this fallen sequoia, meaning it was about 6 feet high.
And this is the General Sherman Tree, named after who some from my state might call, "That dagum cheater!" The General Sherman isn't the widest or tallest tree, but it's the world's largest by volume. If you look closely, there's a barely visible man in a black shirt at the bottom of the picture. One of the signs I read said a human to the General Sherman is about the same scale as a mouse to a human. The difference being, humans created chainsaws and fire to prevent trees from becoming the apex predator.
This is a section of a tree that was cut down by the National Parks Service. The sign in front said the tree was beginning to lean over some vacation cabins the park had, so for the safety of the cabins, "and the other trees," they decided it had to go. Me and that guy in the hat agreed that was pretty messed up. The cabins were later relocated.
It's not hard to find a sequoia that's been assaulted with fire such as this one.
The burned areas have a smooth, shell like feeling to them. The trees are capable of healing from their wounds though...
...returning them to their original form which feels more like coarse fur than tree bark. Knocking on a tree, it feels soft and sounds hollow, like a pinata. I try punching one: it's definitely not a pinata. The thick bark and production of a compound called tannin are what protect the trees from fire, insects, and disease. The reason these sequoias get so big is a combination of living long, growing fast, and being in a growth friendly environment: not all sequoias grow as large as the ones in this park, but here, there's plenty of rain and sunlight, and the naturally occurring forest fires are strong enough to kill smaller tree species but weak enough to not as often kill the sequoias. Without competition, the sequoias gain majority share of soil nutrients.
I hike the Giant Forest where some of the largest trees in the park are. The trees here are also named after political figures: this is The President...
...and this is Chief Sequoyah,...
...which has a pretty rad hand like growth coming out of it:
The Senate:
And The House, which looked pretty much the same. Here's what looking up inside a burnt open tree looks like:
I'm a little offset at what appears to be an unceremoniously buried body in the middle of the trail.
The least they could do is bury it under the ground rather than on top so it doesn't stink up the place, but I know National Parks are all about preserving the environment.
I finish the trail which I was unsure I'd do: I sense a disturbance in the bowels. After using the bathroom again, I try driving as close as I can to Kings Canyon, but on the way, it starts to snow. When the road appears more white than black, I realize it's my first full day in California, in March, and I'm about to be stuck on top a snowy mountain again. So I turn back, make my way down the mountain (where it's still sunny and beautiful), and leave the park.
My next 3 days are as follows: Yosemite, which is only 2 and a half hours away, Carson City and Reno, which are 3 hours further, and Redwood National and State Parks, which are another 6 and a half. Reno and Carson aren't far and I don't have a lot to do at either, so I could make it there tomorrow, after Yosemite. I won't be able to make Redwood though, so I'd have to stay at the Reno Rest Area. Since staying in Flagstaff, I'd looked up suggestions on avoiding trouble at Rest Areas. One of them was don't stay at Rest Areas near busy/big cities. The idea is, busier cities have more criminal activity but criminals don't wanna go further than the outskirts to execute their business, so big city Rest Areas end up seeing a lot more crime. I don't like planning things ahead to keep my schedule flexible, but Reno's a fairly major city, so for my safety, as well as looking for an excuse to do so, I rent a room for tomorrow night at John Ascuaga's Nugget.
Tonight though, I decide to stay in Fresno. Not being near an interstate, I look for a Walmart, and this is when California starts to get me behind on my blogging: a vast amount of California Walmarts aren't open 24 hours a day. I know, it's sacrilege. But apparently the demand for Walmart in California isn't as high as it is in every single other state leading to this one, because all of those had plenty of 24 hour Walmarts. Also, California has what's called, "Neighborhood Walmart"s. Basically, Walmart removes their electronics, sporting goods, toys, clothes and any other sections that made them more useful than a grocery store, in what I can only guess is attempt to persuade hippies to buy from them by seeming more like a mom and pop store.
The Walmart I go to is one of the non-24 hour ones, so I can't sleep here due to potential midnight bathroom needs. It's also under construction, which involved closing down the fresh foods section, so I can't buy dinner either. I do use their bathroom, which makes this my "turd" movement of the day, at which point I ask myself, "What could've caused my colon to become so spastic?" And that's when I remember what I ate yesterday; McDonald's, why hast thou forsaken me?!
Searching for Walmart alternatives, I discover a WinCo. I'd never heard of WinCo, but it's like a Costco except you don't need a membership. Also, the prices aren't as low, which is probably why they don't require the membership. But it's open 24 hours, and they had sandwiches, so I'm thankful to them for that. They also have potato salad by the carton, which I'm thankful for only for the entertainment it provides:
Exhausted from searching the town for a place to sleep/eat, I don't find the energy to write very much...
* * * * *
It doesn't take long after entering Yosemite to realize it's one of, if not the most, beautiful National Parks I've seen so far.
Yosemite Park is named after the Yosemite Valley it encompasses, but it's best known features are its waterfalls.
Heading to the Visitors Center, I park in a lot labeled explicitly for Visitors Center parking. Exiting my car, I read a sign saying something along the lines of, "Follow path: 10 minute walk to Visitors Center." Who makes their Visitors Center a 10 minute walk from the parking lot? That's a small hike on its own. Should I bring a Clif Bar in case I lose energy on the way? I already have a map, so I decide to pick a trail without going to the Visitors Center. The trail has its own parking lot I drive towards, but a few hundred feet before reaching it, I see a sign saying, "DO NOT ENTER," and a car ahead of me turning around, so I go ahead and do the same.
The closest lot is about half a mile from the trail but has a bus stop across a muddy road, so I walk across, in the mud, and wait. The bus pulls over but is going the wrong direction. After it passes, I think, "If the bus pulled over on this side, how is it gonna pull over on this side again going the other direction?" I look across the road: there's another bus stop...so I walk across the road, in the mud, and wait.
After about 15 minutes of waiting, I decide to walk there. Getting to the point where the "DO NOT ENTER" sign is, I find it's placed at a fork in the road blocking the direction I didn't need to go. I think about going back for my car, but I'm over halfway there, so I keep going. 30 feet from the bus stop I hear a noise behind me. "No, it can't be," I think. But it is. It's the bus; it reaches the stop before I do by about 3 seconds.
The trail I take is Mist Trail. It passes through both Vernal and Nevada Falls. Getting to the bottom of Vernal Falls is relatively easy:
At the bottom of the waterfall is a rock may or may not be a pot of gold in disguise.
Getting to the top of Vernal requires hiking some slipperier, less maintained areas.
On my way to Nevada Falls, a couple suddenly burst out of the woods, coming from a trail that's supposed to be closed off for the season. The male of the group freezes, giving me a deer-in-the-headlights look. Yes, I know what you were probably doing, and no, I'm not a Park Ranger.
I reach a very sudden clearing where I can't tell which direction to go. After encountering another couple and being unsure whether I misheard their directions or they were big, fat liars, I at least find myself at a photogenic view of the bottom of Nevada Falls.
Finally finding my way, I step aside on some narrow granite steps to let an entire class of what appeared to be middle schoolers by, several of them clearly terrified out of their minds. I think, "That's probably what I would've looked like a month ago."
The top of Nevada Falls and the surrounding view:
On the way back down the trail, I see a squirrel:
Let it be known that among all the National Park animals I've encountered, including the begging crows, the squirrels at Yosemite give the least amount of shits. This one let me get the camera a few feet away to take his picture, and several others let me walk a few feet away from them on the trail without flinching.
Finished with the trail, I'm incessant about riding the bus this time. Getting to my car around 4:00P, I GPS Carson City: 5 hours away.
WHAT?!
No, that's not right. It was 3 yesterday. I've gotta be in Carson City while there's light to take pictures of the capitol, and I've already paid for the hotel: I want to enjoy that hotel, damn it! Looking at the paths the GPS offers, it's not willing to go through any of the 3 eastbound paths in the park. There's no way 3 roads are closed. Flustered, I head to the Visitors Center. Upon arriving, I realize I'VE GOTTA WALK 10 MINUTES TO GET TO IT. That's more wasted time if I really have to drive 5 hours tonight. Getting to the Center, I tell the Ranger,
"I'm trying to get to Carson City from here, and my GPS isn't allowing me to take any of the eastbound roads in the park. What paths are open?"
"Lemme see here...yeah, that's closed...that one...yeah, they're all closed, your GPS is right."
Come to California, the weather's so nice it'll close every eastbound road the one day you planned ahead.
I run back to my car, hoping the 0-10 minutes it saves me will somehow get me to Carson City while it's still daylight, put my AC/DC CD on and slam on the gas until I reach 30 mph, because National Parks have ridiculously low speed limits...
* * *
...I already knew beforehand, but part of me hoped it would work. Hours after getting on the road, the sun has already gone down and I'm still hours away from Carson City, so I change my route to the hotel. At a certain point I realize I'm driving in the mountains and a wall of at least 8 feet of snow is beside me. This is a slightly terrifying realization I carry with me the next couple hours until I finally get out of the mountains, pass through Carson City, and arrive in Reno, Nevada.
My hotel is officially in Sparks, Nevada, a city neighboring Reno. I didn't have plans to explore Reno though, so I didn't mind just checking it out from the interstate. Driving into Reno is...in some ways like driving into Las Vegas. There are hotels with neon lights on them and casinos are involved. You can tell the city is trying to be like Vegas, it's just not trying too hard.
Checking into the hotel, the clerk ask for my license.
"So, are you here on business or just vacation?"
"Vacation. On a cross country trip."
"Ah, ok. Because that's..."
"Yeah."
"...a long way from home. I'm from the east coast, too, but I'm here for school. What do you think of Reno so far?"
"It's...quaint."
"Ha! I like that."
From my conversation with the clerk, I pick up pretty quickly she isn't the biggest fan of Reno. After telling her Reno 911 is the only exposure to Reno culture I've ever gotten, she tells me, "Yep. All my east coast friends come out saying the same thing. No, our police do not wear short shorts, and the prostitutes do not wear rollerskates." A disappointing truth if I ever heard one. After she wishes me good luck with my attempts at enjoying Reno, I head to the room.
For 40$, it's not bad at all. It's got what appears to be a wetbar, a pretty big TV, and that might've been a real marble sink I placed my shoes on. I'm not sure who John Ascuaga is because he didn't have his own Wikipedia page, but he did a good job.
Having gone to Las Vegas, there's one thing I'm craving to do in Reno: gamble. I was so scarred from being beat down by old men, I thought of some strategy alterations and wanted to hit another casino on the way out of Vegas but thought, "I'm going to Reno soon anyway, I'll just play there." Right after the thought passed my head, I pulled my car up to Reno Avenue. "It's a sign," I thought to myself, "literally." So I head to the casino with the intention of winning some money back.
I'm happy to be able to drink while I gamble for once. I have one at the bar before playing though, and find out the drinks are significantly cheaper here than Vegas. It could just be the hotel, but I'm willing to bet it isn't and that a lot of stuff in Reno is cheaper than Vegas. It might even be a better vacation area if you're just looking to gamble, sleep, and eat rather than sight see, watch shows, and visit the nightlife.
I decide to bet on Pass from the beginning this time which makes the game a lot more fun since you don't have to keep to yourself so much. There's a younger guy beside me betting Don't Pass every time and adding none of the other bets: basically how I was my previous game. The difference is he has a girlfriend who won't leave him alone about being bored: sometimes it's not what you have but what you don't have you feel blessed for.
I'm gaining at as fair a rate as I was my first game, but people start trailing off the table. Eventually, it's just me and the younger guy. I ask him,
"What you thinking?"
"Hmm..."
"I was thinking about going."
"Yeah, me too."
So I leave the table (he still stays), surprisingly enough, at the time playing would've been almost exactly like playing in the simulator: both of us only played the Come Bet and threw the dice at random. Still, I figure it's best to leave while I'm ahead this time, and cashing out, I receive 128$: 28$ more than I came to the table with: woohoo! I figure between the money won and drinks drank, I may have come out ahead; I have officially gambled and feel like I won.
Being in a hotel, I don't quite keep up with my blog as well. I've mentioned before I normally write at the end of the day, but how can I write when there's a bed to be laid in and cable television to be watched?
* * * * *
I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but state capitols can be far too difficult to find. You would think in case you needed to tell your governor there was a meteor headed for your state, they'd make it easy to find, but they rarely do. Leaving Reno for Carson City, I type into my GPS, "Carson City Capitol", "Nevada State Capitol", "State Capitol, Nevada", and all sorts of terms Google Maps can't find. Surprisingly, Google Images knows exactly what I'm talking about for every single one. So instead of the capitol, I took a picture of Carson City City Hall because it's the closest thing I could find to it:
It wins for looking least like our country's state capitol. Immediately across the street at what looks like a library, I realize I'm standing in front of the actual Nevada State Capitol.
There's lots of trees at Nevada's capitol, making it hard to get a worthwhile picture.
I'm not sure whether to be impressed or underwhelmed by the lack of grandeur in this state capitol. On one hand, they probably saved a lot of tax payer money by making it so...quaint. On the other hand, the governor at the time might've just gambled it away playing craps.
It's nice to know they keep the Christmas spirit year round though.
The memorials are held in a courtyard adjacent to the capitol. There's a memorial for the miners who first started the town, fallen police, which I thought was pretty nice of them since I hadn't seen one yet, Kit Carson, who was the frontiersman the city was named after, and Abraham Curry, who founded Carson City.
I leave the capitol for lunch at a Mexican restaurant that, because the waiter sucked, really isn't worth talking about aside from pointing out they served bean dip with their salsa. That's something the restaurant in Kingman did: the southwest loves bean dip is the lesson here I guess?
My next destination I'm a little nervous about. It's not exactly my type of hangout, but it's a piece of American history and culture so I feel the need to see it: I'm going to the Bunny Ranch. Being a supporter of freedom for all, I don't care what anybody else spends their money on, so I've got no problem with the existence of brothels, but that doesn't make it something I'm comfortable with. Remember, I'm the guy who doesn't wanna go in Hooters alone, so you can only imagine how I feel going into a brothel by myself. But, for the sake of exploration and the good of all mankind, I will go. The website says there's a bar inside that's open to the public, so my plan is to go in, have a drink, and leave.
The first thing you'll notice is the gate around the place; it's got a magnetic lock on it. I suppose prostitution probably brings some level of criminal activity with it even though it's legal, but it still takes me by surprise. Pressing the door bell, I can hear an irritating buzz coming from inside the house, then a buzz on my side, and the gate unlocks. Going inside, I step on a white marble looking entry way. To my left is an older woman who must have let me in. We exchange greetings and she hands me a little keepsake menu of what the women can be paid to do. I start to move forward and she says,
"Wait here please, the girls will be here any moment."
"Actually, I'm just passing through and wanted to see the place. Would it be alright if I just got a drink at the bar?"
"Yes, that's alright."
Hearing, "That's alright," I decide to keep moving.
"Wait here please, the girls will line up for you."
Slightly stunned that I've been limited to the lobby rug when I just want to get a drink, she follows it up with,
"One of them will give you a tour."
I suppose a tour works; I like to learn about the places I visit and that should give me a good opportunity to do so.
Over the next minute, one by one, the girls start appearing from the back room until 12 or so are lining the lobby wall. Having conversed a little more with the entry woman, she says, "This is Kobie, he's from South Carolina, and he'd like a tour of the house." She turns to me and says, "Now the girls will introduce themselves." She looks at the furthest girl who says her name, then the girl next to her, and so forth until they've all said their names: I don't remember any of them. I suck at remembering one persons name, now I'm supposed to remember the names of 12 half-naked women. I also feel nervous being stared at so intently, like they're waiting on me to do a trick, so I quickly point at what I think is the hottest one and say, "Let's go with you." Upon seeing her up close, I decide there was a hotter one, but I'm just getting a tour anyway, so no biggy. For reasons I'll get to in a bit, I'm going to call this girl Darcy even though that wasn't her name.
The first room we walk through appeared to be completely covered with red velvet, from the floor, to the walls, to the seats lining the room. "This is our make out room, where we have all sorts of fun," Darcy tells me. "This is our bar. This is our toy collection." On the wall is a mounted display of adult toys, pictures of famous people and other miscellaneous items. It actually could've been interesting seeing who'd been at the Bunny Ranch, but Darcy seems very set on continuing the tour. Connected to the bar is a hallway. In that hallway is a kitchen where a bouncer and another prostitute are having lunch.
Darcy: "These are [guard name] and [prostitute name]."
Me: "Hey."
Darcy: "And this is my room..."
I'd read about this: every girl has her own room along the hall. Based on how good you are at your job, you'll get a better room. I think some of the lesser making girls may share rooms as well. Darcy's room is almost entirely pink. She makes me aware of this by saying, "It's really pink." Thank you Darcy, I thought I may have had an eyesight issue. Darcy invites me to sit on her bed, which I do, and points to the pool outside, saying it's closed right now, but when it's open they sometimes have parties. There is, however, a hot tub they open every once in a while during the colder seasons. She ask what I do, why I'm here, I give her the usual spiel. I point out,
"I'm just here to see the place and grab a drink, but I'd be glad to get you one if you wanted to come with."
"Sure. But before we do, lemme tell you some prices just in case you change your mind."
Woman, did you not hear me? I'm here to see the place and grab a drink. I let her ramble off the prices though and give her own spiel on how those are starting prices and they're all negotiable. For those who are interested, she gives an hourly starting price of 2500$, but her and a friend are currently doing a 2 for 1 deal, so you'd get both of them in the same hour. I'd heard the Bunny Ranch girls normally offered 1000$ an hour though, so I don't think these 2 bunnies are saving anybody any money.
Next, she says something that's the reason I changed her name in this entry. She says, "Yeah, so that's 2 girls...aaand 2 girls means 2 [vaginas]!" So Neither of you is related to Francisco Scaramanga? I know how to count you idiot. She then gives me several of the possible combinations in which 2 vaginas could be used. And that's when I realize...she really is...she is an idiot. I'm not sure how I didn't pick up on it before. The make out room is where you have fun? Your room, which I plainly see, is really pink? 2 women means 2 vaginas?
I really hate to judge people. I try so hard not to put people down when they do things that seem obviously ignorant to me. I know I do stupid things, too. But for the purpose of honesty in story telling, I've gotta say this was the single dumbest person I've ever met. Still on her bed, she continues to rattle off prices, then starts repeating questions, then repeats Bunny Ranch facts, until eventually I pop in with, "So you want a drink?" "Sure." When I had a job, I was a web developer: I got paid to be alone in my cubicle. What's your excuse for not knowing how to initiate small talk? You're a prostitute: I understand you're generally hired for your looks, but surely at some point you've been paid to keep someone company or pretend like you care about them. I saw it on the menu: "girlfriend experience." You would be the most disappointing girlfriend in the world.
Sitting at the bar, I get a vodka and diet and she gets a Starbucks iced coffee. As we force conversation with each other, I think, "I wonder if she does have a boyfriend?" I don't ask, figuring it'll look like I'm interested. Not only would that appear pathetic as a customer, but I don't want anyone mistaking her for my type. I continue wondering though, because I want to know what type of guy would be willing to put up with her? Is he an even bigger moron? I'd hate to know that sort of person existed. Or is he just so vain he doesn't care?
She continually ask if I'm "feeling looser" yet, as if after one or two drinks, an extra 2500$ will suddenly appear in my bank account. I ask her why she decided to get into this business. "I just love sex. I love sex, you love sex, we both love sex!" While I won't disagree with your statement, I find it very presumptuous of you to make it: maybe I hate sex, you don't know me. Then she lays the mother of pickup lines on me:
"What's your name again?"
"Kobie."
"Oh, that's right, like Colby Jack Cheese. I just love that stuff. I like to put it in my mouth."
1) Kobie is not Colby. Anyone who is phonetically named Kobie understands my pain. Anytime someone calls me Colby, Cody, or Toby, there's a split second I want to punch them in the face and yell, "Clean your ears out you deaf son of a bitch!" 2) "I like to put it in my mouth," has got to be the stupidest pickup line I've ever heard. Are you a college frat boy and I a boozed up sorority girl? This must be what it feels like to be an attractive woman in a bar.
I hear the buzzing that went off when I rang the gate. All the girls start heading to the entrance: apparently, the buzzing is their cue to get to the front. Darcy says, "I think I have to go up front." What she really means is, "I'm not making money here, so I'm gonna see if somebody else will pay me," which I'm completely okay with both professionally and personally. While she's gone, I think, "I wonder if the hotter girl was smarter than this."
She returns in a couple minutes, having not been chosen. I'm done with my drink, so as she sits I tell her, "I'm actually gonna go. Thanks for the tour though." "Oh, okay. Well we're having a party this [several days away]. There'll be a lot more girls walking around half-naked. You should come!" Yes, because I'm in middle school and lack the self-control to move on with my life when "half-naked" girls are involved. "Thanks. Here's a little bit for your time." I give her a tip and start to leave. On my way out, I see whoever rang the bell walking into the hallway with the hotter girl. He sounds very upbeat (he's probably not here for just a drink) even as the girl ask, "Albuquerque? Are you from the one in New Mexico or New York?" "I don't think there is an Albuquerque in New York." Good for him for enjoying himself anyway.
Walking out the front door, I hear a small buzzing: it's the gate. Apparently, when you exit, it automatically unlocks after an amount of time that allows most customers to get to it, but I don't catch it in time. I open a front door again and run to the gate but it doesn't unlock. Not feeling like admitting to anyone inside I was too slow for something after the verbal beating I've been thinking at Darcy, I climb the gate at the Bunny Ranch: surely that's some sort of achievement.
Getting in my car, I reflect on my experience and begin laughing. I can't stop. That was one of the funniest things I've experienced on my trip thus far. And even though my "tour" didn't teach me much about the Bunny Ranch, it taught me something about myself: I hate dumb chicks. I'm sure Darcy knew how to rock a man's world in the bedroom, but she killed my libido with her words, so it's not a knowledge base I'm willing to restrict any future companions to. To the smart women out there who feel bad when stupid bimbos get all the attention, don't: it's not hard to improve looks, but it's real hard to improve stupid.
Still, after all my insults and remarks, I have to question whether Darcy is dumber for not knowing how to do anything but solicit sex, or I'm dumber for thinking she did. And on the off chance any prostitutes, porn stars, or related industry workers are reading this, don't think this story is meant to imply you're all stupid: just Darcy...and probably that other girl.
Tomorrow's destination is 7 hours away. I don't think I can make that in one day, so I stop at a Welcome Center in Anderson. Why a California Welcome Center is placed in the very middle of the state's width and 130 miles south of the nearest border I'll never know, but it turns out to get to it, you have drive through a shopping complex probably a quarter mile long, which seems very commercialized of them. Arriving, I find out the bathroom doors are locked. "This isn't a very welcoming welcome center!" I yell as I leave. Luckily, 11 miles south, Red Bluff has a Rest Area.
* * * * *
I'm becoming aware how behind I'm falling on my blogs, so I spend a large portion of the day in a Starbucks and finish my driving as the sun goes down. My trip ends in Arcata which unfortunately has no Walmarts and is nowhere near an interstate. They do have a "Welcome Center" though, which upon reaching I find out is a hotel and 24 hour restaurant: I'm sensing a pattern. I think about parking in the restaurant lot but instead head 15 minutes south to Eureka, which does have a Walmart. Arriving, I discover it's not only not open 24 hours, but it's located in a mall. I've never seen a Walmart as part of a mall, but I feel like it says something about the town: I'm just not sure what.
So I head back to the restaurant in Arcata and realize how busy it is to be so late: it's unlikely they'll want somebody sleeping in their lot. Exhausted, but unsure where I'm going to stay, I decide for the first time to check into a hotel unplanned.
* * * * *
30 minutes north is my next destination: Redwood National and State Parks. I wasn't sure how a park could be both national and state, but inside the National Park are multiple smaller areas declared as State Parks.
One of the first things I see after entering is the Pacific Ocean. Entering California was one thing, but now I've basically gone as far west in the contiguous United States as I can: it's a great feeling.
After getting a map, I head to the Miners' Ridge and James Irvine trail: it's an 11.5 mile loop located in the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
The redwoods are big, but what Sequoia Park said about them being taller yet thinner than the sequoias does appear true.
The entire trail is an excellent example of California's lush environment, including the largest 3 leaf clovers I've ever seen which have gotta be worth normal sized 4 leaf clovers.
As I walk, I remember what may be the most important fact about this park: it's where Star Wars: Return of the Jedi filmed the Endor scenes. From this point on, I'm continually looking for logs that may be the one Princess Leia and Wicket the Ewok hid behind.
I reach what appears to be a tree full of small fallen leaves...
...but something's peculiar about it. I haven't seen any leaves like this since I got into the forest. So I have a closer look and find out what they really are:
Millipedes. Hundreds of them. Possibly thousands. As I continue walking the trail, I realize there are more and more, until it becomes tens of thousands. Between the the thick foliage and bug life, this might be the closest thing to a rainforest in America.
Half way through the trail is a mini trail called Fern Valley. I've traveled across the country and seen a wide variety of things, so realize what a compliment it is when I say Fern Valley may be the most beautiful place I've ever seen. The pictures I took don't do it justice:
It's places like Fern Valley that make traveling across the country worthwhile. On the last half of the Miner/James trail I find another rainforest like creature and take a few more plant pictures.
After leaving the park, I pull over for a minute to watch what the sunset before heading on. I want to be in Sacramento early tomorrow which means another 5 or so hours of driving. Luckily, a large portion of it is interstate so I'm in good radio reception, making the drive a lot easier before pulling over at a Rest Area for the night.
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