Redwood and Conspiracy

Once again I find myself writing a blog post when we are approaching large trees: first the Sequoias, and now the Redwoods. We didn’t actually go to the Redwoods today, so I am actually not going to talk about them, except to say that we passed them on the way to the campsite.

My topic this evening is driving. We do a lot of it after all, and today was another day spent doing it. However, it was not as hopelessly boring as it may seem. It was not our usual flavor of interesting, today we did battle with… The Man. Or I should say that I did. Respectfully. Briefly. Without serious repercussions.

Ahem, now that the disclaimers are out of the way, I will explain. Most of California is farms, not a super totally awesome surfing and mountain climbing paradise filled with attractive people, bears, and Arnold the Governator. Farms are boring. So, we were cruising through the farms, entertaining ourselves with music, and editing photos. We came to a four way stop, and passed through along with several other vehicles, including the fateful police vehicle. Through my rear view mirror, I watched as the policeman pulled onto the side of the road at the intersection, and proceeded to follow us. I realized I hadn’t seen a speed limit sign in about 30 miles, and I became nervous. 55 mph, that should be alright on a country highway, I thought.

The lights went on. I pulled over. I was calm. Ready, mind working on what I might have been doing wrong. My license came out, and the police man walked up to the vehicle.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” A ritual question of the native cop population of America, my studies had prepared me for this. He did not give me time to answer.

“You weaved three times onto the side of the road, about two feet each time.” It all made sense. Our van actually veers to the right, we noticed that 2000 miles ago. We hadn’t been pulled for our slightly erratic driving before this though, I feel that there were several factors involved. Explanations later.

“Oh,” I replied. He rushed ahead.

“Where are you all coming from?” I thought it was obvious, and replied North Carolina. After some finagling we determined that the correct answer was Yosemite, where we departed from this morning. What time did we get up? 6:45. Then the question:

“Have you had anything to drink?” Was my driving really that bad? No. That was my answer. I’ve never had an alcoholic beverage in my life. So it was no. His finger went up, and I followed it with my eyes. Satisfied I was not intoxicated, he returned my license, muttered something about a warning (for what I don’t know) and pealed out from behind us. My mind continued to work. Surely my drifting couldn’t have been that noticeable, I hadn’t noticed it more than usual. Here are the solutions I thought of: 1.) It was a small country highway, therefore the smaller lanes made the weaving noticeable. 2.) I was distracted, and therefore at fault. 3.) he saw the North Carolina tag on the front of our vehicle, and decided to pursue the strange foreigners. My favorite is the last, as it reeks of conspiracy. Why else would he turn around and follow us at the four way stop sign, including a slightly risky maneuver turning around another car currently stopped at the sign, and passing the car behind me to get to our vehicle. I believe that he may have been a terminator. Just saying, our state of un-cleanliness threw him off of our tracks, and probably saved our lives.

Our next challenge occurred when we hit mountains again. The roads were curvy, very curvy. And we discovered something. People in the mountains of north California don’t need gas. Or they produce their own in the comfort of their homes. Either way, there was nary a gas station for many moons. There was construction, and as the roads were thin and as previously stated curvy, they decided to use flag men to guide traffic away from disaster. Now, what qualifies as construction worthy of flag men differs in California from the good country of N.C. In N.C. it may be a rock-slide, or major surgery on the arteries of our nation known as the highway system. In California, it is a lawnmower. Perhaps it was not really mowing the grass on the side of the road, maybe it was searching for landmines. We’ll never know.

What we do know is by the fourth flagman, and no gas, we were getting a little twitchy. However, we did eventually find gasoline, in a surprisingly nice gas station/coffee shop/minimart in the middle of a trashy little town bordering on the latest iteration of roadway construction. A kindly old man with a huge beard also informed us that one of our bungees was loose. It was remedied and we went on our way.

Finally we made it to the west coast. The ocean popped into view unexpectedly, visible from between the normal trees, redwoods, and ferns that make up the temperate rainforest that is the northwest coast of our country. Lush greens and gray trunks rose around us, and we paid them almost no heed. They were there, and we would see them tomorrow. We were tired, and wanted to get to the campsite, where showers awaited our eager bodies, and beds beckoned to our weary backs.

After a left at the end of the road, we came upon the little private campsite at which we had made our reservation. A very nice man with a dorsal fin of hair greeted us at the gate in his gas powered golf cart, and we followed him into the site, around a barn, and onto any one of around 100 available sites. Then there was showering, free internet in a barn converted into a recreation center, and bed in a tent that keeps us safe from the elements which rage around us in the night. Seriously, the wind and rain are currently quite exciting. Farewell for now,

~Stephen Minervino.