Road Trip VI, Days 1-3: Tacoma to Oakland: Pitcher Plants and Sticky-fingered Hugs

Posted on February 11, 2016 by gretchenwing

Two year-olds have their own gravitational pull. Two year-old TWINS have a pull exponentially stronger. That explains why, for the second year in a row, our road trip brings us first to Oakland. That’s where these cuties live–our pseudo-grandkids. (They’re actually some sort of cousin, but who looks at anthropological charts when they can look at these guys?)

These guys.

But much as we’ve looked forward to being hugged with little sticky fingers, The Mate and I have not rushed headlong to Oakland. There are too many pretty places in between. After a short visit with vibrant old friends in Eugene, we zipped off the interstate and headed for the California redwoods, which exert a pull of their own. And that meant…

Oh boy! Highway 199! We love this road. From the bowl of Grants Pass (“Grass Pants,” to our family), it winds up through mixed-forest hills to the high valley of the Illinois River, near Cave Junction. Acting on a tip from a friend who grew up here, we turned off on Eight Dollar Mountain Road and went for a bike ride and then a hike-picnic in a very unusual ecosystem.

This place.

Pine trees + manzanita = Dry. Moss + pitcher plants (tall, insectivorous swamp-denizens) = Wet. This little mountain features both of them together. How weird is that?

These guys.

Another cool feature of our outing: serpentinite. Yes, I did read the info kiosk that told me exactly what makes this glossy green stone so green and glossy–and no, I don’t remember what it said. All I know is, I picnicked sitting on something we dubbed “the emerald throne.”

This stuff.

And then, yes…off we drove to our happy place among the redwood giants, about whom I’ve written before. And from there along the crashing coast, back up and over the hills, moving through fog from redwoods to oaks to vineyards to the Bay. And the babies. Feeling gratitude for all creatures great and small.

The Road is Calling: Off We Go on Road Trip VI

Posted on February 7, 2016 by gretchenwing

It’s that time of year. Days are lengthening, bulbs are pushing their tender way through softened ground, and Wing & Mate are heading out in “Red Rover” on their annual Road Trip–#6.

For background on said Road Trip, and why it’s timed to get us to North Carolina in time for the ACC Men’s Basketball Tournament, click here.

For the next five weeks, then, Wing’s World morphs into a travel blog. Scenery, food, weird road signs–the works. Whee!

Red Rover says, “C’mon, people!”

See you on the road.

Coolest Freecycle Ever: Community Playgrounds

Posted on November 29, 2015 by gretchenwing

This isn’t an official travel blog post. For The Mate and me, a jaunt down to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving doesn’t count as a serious, blogworthy Road Trip. But we’re still on the road, and I want to share this cool thing we saw, so maybe it does count after all.

Kids come with a lot of stuff, right? Tricycles and scooters and playhouses and various plastic contraptions with dials and buttons and little squishy horns that (none too soon) lose their squawks. Kids grow. Parents get more stuff, keeping up with the demand. Until finally, the kids are in high school, the garage is full, and the choice arises: endless yard sale, or multiple trips to Goodwill?

But in Oakland, at least, parents have created a third alternative: bring those toys to the nearest playground. And oh, boy–talk about Toddler Heaven!

What to play with first????

We could have stayed there all day if we’d had enough snacks.

Gentlekids, start your engines!

After all, we all know that other people’s toys are always the best, right?

Even big kids like Son Two are captivated!

Yes, of COURSE I know such community playgrounds only work in a climate like California’s. Try this in Washington or Oregon, in the South or Midwest or New England, and…ugh. The mental pictures I get–mold, cracked plastic–not pretty.

But a girl can dream, right? What do you think?

Travel Brain vs. Stay-at-Home Brain: a Win-Win

Posted on October 12, 2015 by gretchenwing

Most of us know folks who LOVE to travel, taking off every chance they get–whether “taking off” means a weekend jaunt or an international tour.

And most of us also know folks who really, REALLY don’t want to go anywhere.

Guess what: I’m both those people. Nice to meet you.

All the way home from my recent trip to Germany and Switzerland, Stay-Home Gretchen was happily making lists of how she’ll spend her time this week. (Grocery shopping. Revising Chapter 7. Making soup…sorry. Won’t bore you.) Meanwhile Stay-Home Gretchen’s brain kept up this chorus: “No more international travel! This is way too distracting for work, not to mention expensive! And what about your carbon footprint?”

But it’s…so…BEAUTIFUL out there!

And then Travel Gretchen looked out the plane window: “Oooh! Iceland!”

Wanna go!!! (Photo courtesy Wikimedia)

Anyone else experience this tension? I LOVE going away: new adventures, amazing scenery, old friends, culinary delights…And I LOVE staying home: comforting routine, old friends, culinary delights, amazing scenery…

Hey, wait a minute. I just realized those two lists are almost identical.

But home ain’t no slouch either, right?

So…win-win for both Gretchens? Certainly sounds that way. Y’all know what I’m talking about?

Road Trip V, Days 38-41, June Lake, CA to Tacoma (aka Almost Home!): Top Four Reasons to Road-Trip

Posted on April 2, 2015 by gretchenwing

1. Discover America. More specifically, discover hidden treasures no one ever thought of telling you about. Here are some of our faves from this trip.

Caprock Canyon State Park, south of Amarillo, TX. (In a previous post I mis-labeled it as Capstone.) can’t wait to come back with more time!

I’m coming back!

Secret Canyon near Page, AZ. Nothing like as crowded as its famous cousin, Antelope Canyon, but just as breathtaking.

More, more!

June Lake, CA. It’s the cute, low-rent version of Mammoth Lakes, which caters to skiers and hikers. We loved its understated beauty and lack of Starbucks.

Like a mini Lake Tahoe!

Mono Lake. This one’s a bit more famous, having been saved by activists in the 1990s after thirsty LA had drained it down to a dustbowl. But The Mate and I had never taken the time to get off the highway and explore its incredible “forest” of tufa formations.

The shell of an ancient freshwater spring into the saline lake. Really.

Bizz Johnson Bike Trail, Susanville, CA. Susanville?! What the heck is there to do in Susanville? Ride this amazing rail-trail, that’s what: 16 miles through a wild canyon, complete with multiple river crossings, huge Ponderosa pines, flowers, and even some tunnels!

Best bike path yet!

LaPine State Park, just south of Bend, OR. Here the Deschutes River is serene, and you can wind along its banks without having someone blow past you on a $2,000 mountain bike like they do in Bend.

Would’ve loved to have camped here, but it got down to 19. We’re not that tough.

2. Renew ties with family members and old friends you might not otherwise see. Last year we visited with a newly-met cousin in Indiana. This year we checked in with some other cousins whose twins are 18 months old–such a precious, fleeting age! We potlucked with friends we made back in 1981 when I took time out from college to be an intern at a little mountain school. And, of course, we got together with our Tarheel Tribe to act like idiots, watching basketball and eating BBQ.

3. Get closer with your traveling partner. My Mate and I joke that any couple contemplating marriage ought to be sent on a 6-week road trip to find out if they’re truly compatible. I call our annual road trip “marriage glue.”

The Mate and I in the NC mountains

4. Fall back in love with where you live. I have enjoyed every single day of Road Trip V. But on our penultimate day, as I visited a waterfall in the Columbia Gorge, within sight of my home state, just the smell of wet fir trees was enough to choke me up.

Ahhhh…welcome back to Ecotopia!

Those are my reasons. If you have others, I’d love to hear them. But for now, travel-blogger Gretchen turns back into regular ol’ blog-about-whatever Gretchen…until next year!

Road Trip V, Days 35-37, Yucca Valley (Joshua Tree N.P.) to Lone Pine, CA: Why Big Rocks Rock

Posted on March 29, 2015 by gretchenwing

Let me rephrase that. Why DO big rocks rock?

The Mate and I just spent two days looking at and clambering around on the big rocks of Joshua Tree. (“Clambering”–what a great word!) We’re still feeling high. And I’m trying to figure out why.

Is it because big rocks erupting out of the earth make us wonder what else is under our feet?

Is it because their whimsical shapes and configurations make us think about geologic time, or God?

Or let our imaginations romp to giants stacking their toy blocks?

Maybe they’re just pretty, especially in spring.

But my favorite theory? Big ol’ rocks bring out the lil’ kid in all of us.

What do you think?

Road Trip V, Days 32-34, Flagstaff to Yucca Valley, CA: Grand Canyon, Leprosy and Redemption

Posted on March 26, 2015 by gretchenwing

It’s hard to imagine something called “bright angel” being evil, but that’s how I felt about the Bright Angel Trail. It’s the one that takes you from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon down to the Colorado River. 9 1/2 miles, 4,380 vertical feet. In the desert.

The Bright Angel Trail and I have a history.

27 years ago, before The Mate was my mate, we joined a small group of friends for the Trip Of a Lifetime, down the Colorado River by raft. Or half the Colorado; our trip was only 6 days, which meant that we stopped mid-canyon to say goodbye to the river and hike up…you guessed it.

The night before our take-out, one of our friends was stung on the foot by a scorpion. (The guides warned us about going barefoot, but it was night, he had to pee, and…yeah.) “George” spent the rest of the night soaking his foot in the river, but when morning came there was nothing for it: he had to hike up the Bright Angel Trail.

Another friend, an elite marathoner, volunteered to run the five miles ahead to Indian Springs to find a ranger. Surely they’d take care of George, maybe let him ride a mule back up.

Nope. You know all that “hike at your own risk” language you see on signs? That’s what it means. Our running friend came back down the trail with a pair of crutches and a pair of Benadryl. The rest was up to George, and us.

We took turns carrying George’s pack. We stopped to rest as often as we could so he could elevate his swollen foot. But meanwhile the temperature was climbing. Did I mention it was summer? In the desert? The slower we went, the hotter we got, and that heat started to take its toll.

First George’s girlfriend started showing signs of heat exhaustion. We took her pack. Then another friend got clammy and lightheaded, so we took hers too. By now all of us healthy ones were carrying packs on front and back–not a good strategy for maximizing air circulation. We continued to stop often, pouring water over our heads. Poor George on his crutches never complained, but he couldn’t keep from moaning softly. I remember he was wearing white–or he was until the red dust and the water changed his look a little.

In fact, we all must have looked terrible. I know this because, when we neared the rim and the crowd of down-hikers thickened, they all stared at us. And, I’m not making this up, one little boy said, “Look, Mom–lepers!”

Not the most enjoyable hike I’ve been on. I remember almost nothing about what the trail looked like, other than the end, which looked like heaven.

Almost…there…

Fast-forward to 2004. Our youngest had just turned 12, the minimum age for a paddle trip. Once again we put together a group of friends; once again we booked our trip for the top half of the canyon. (The lower half is longer, more dangerous, and more expensive.) Once again, we faced the Bright Angel Trail on the last day. And once again, she kicked out butts.

No scorpion this time, but a couple of members of our party, though in good shape, were not able to deal with the heat. That whole thing about carrying two packs, stopping often, pouring water on our heads? Yeah–we did all that. Again. At least no one called us lepers this time.

So there’s a reason I have barely any photos of the Bright Angel Trail. Both times up, I was too busy helping miserable friends, and feeling miserable myself, to pay attention to scenery.

Nope–don’t remember that.

But this week? Redemption. I got a whole glorious five hours alone to hike down the trail and back up. I hiked as fast as I could down for two hours–not long enough to get down to the river, of course, but long enough to get to Panorama Point.

That little line disappearing into the distance? Panorama Point Trail.

River in View! O the Joy!

Ah, the Inner Gorge! Can’t see this from the top. Can you say Vishnu Schist?

And as I hiked back up, at my own blessed pace, on a beautiful spring day in the mid-60s, I celebrated by taking all the pictures I couldn’t take before…and feeling powerful gratitude. Gratitude at being allowed to return in the SPRING, when–who knew??–desert hiking is a breeze!

Hey cactus flowers, where were you when I needed you, those summers before?

Indian Gardens in March is alive with redbud and fresh new cottonwood leaves.

So, me and Bright Angel? It’s all good now between us. She totally redeemed herself.

All is forgiven.

Road Trip V, Days 29-31, Dallas to Flagstaff: News Flash, Scenic Texas NOT An Oxymoron!

Posted on March 23, 2015 by gretchenwing

Texas, I owe you an apology. You know you’re my favorite love-to-hate state. You’ve heard me say that someone must have picked you up and shook you so that all your scenery ran down into one corner, down at Big Bend. Oh, you pretend you don’t give a gosh durn, Texas, but I know I’ve hurt your feelings.

No scenery in Texas? I stand corrected. The Mate and I have discovered Capstone Canyon. It’s a lil’ ol’ state park about 90 miles south of Amarillo. For hikers and bikers and campers like us, it’s a lil’ ol’ slice of joy.

Crumbly red rock striated like glittery bacon with stripes of quartz:

People-imitating red hoodoos like something you’d see in Arches National Park:

Slickrock a la 127 Hours:

Balancing white capstones fallen from the canyon rim like giant clamshells dropped by giant seagulls:

And…bison?!

Yes, bison. Wandering around free. Capstone is apparently home to the Official Texas State Bison Herd. (Note to other western states: do YOU have a bison herd? Why not? Talking to YOU, Colorado!)

Now add to these images a perfect blue sky, 75 degrees with a cooling breeze, the honey scent of blooming mesquite and the buzz of happy bees, and…scene. Bucolic western scene. Within a stone’s throw of Amarillo! Texas, please accept my apology.

How The Mate and I wished we had planned to camp in Capstone Canyon! But we had only paid a day fee, and changing our minds would have meant driving all the way back to the entrance. Plus we wanted to make some miles that night to get us closer to Grand Canyon. Plus there were, ahem…some basketball games we wanted to watch. But we will be back to spend a couple of nights, weather permitting, and I can’t wait.

Leaving the scenic area, Red Rover climbed up out of the rolling redness and suddenly–boom, there we were back on the North Texas plains, and let me tell you, they are PLAIN. As in plain ugly. But now The Mate and I know their pretty little secret: beneath that flat brownness lies a curvy red heart.

If only more Texans knew about it! No one we know has ever heard of Capstone, or its more famous cousin Palo Duro Canyon. On the other hand…maybe it’s better this way. Bison don’t really enjoy company.

Road Trip V, Days 24-28, Celo, NC to Dallas: The Coolness of Discovering State Parks You’ve Never Heard Of

Posted on March 20, 2015 by gretchenwing

The real joy of road trips is discovery. The Mate and I travel with camping gear and all our various outdoor layers–a sort of mini, mobile REI–so that even if the weather discourages us from camping, it can’t keep us off the hiking trails or bike paths.

In the past few days we were lucky enough to discover two cool “green spots” in places where our expectations of scenery were low. (Face it, we’re hopeless west coast scenery snobs.) But here we were pleasantly surprised.
#1: Chickasaw State Park in southwest Tennessee. We were going to be pulling in late, plus it was our anniversary, so we sprung for a cabin. Not only was it cheap, the site was lovely.

Our cabin, seen from across the lake

There were only four miles of hiking trails, but for a quick stop, that was just the ticket, and we left feeling like we’d be happy to come back and camp.

Cypress knees are so cool!

Cute little old lodge we didn’t stay at.

My western soul misses these eastern flowers–blunts, or Quaker Ladies.

#2: Mount Magazine State Park in western Arkansas. This one had a little more hype, in that our giant atlas noted it as Arkansas’ highest point. We looked at photos on the web and figured, well, those are probably the three views they have up there, but let’s go take a look. Boy, were we impressed.

Beautiful bluffs in the clouds

The view from our room–imagine it on a clear day!!

This time our weather luck deteriorated; it was 39 and raining when we got up there. Their cabins were pricey, so we opted for the lodge–much more than we usually spend, but very comparable to national park prices. And they’d captured that national park lodge New Deal-era architecture perfectly, with giant posts and beams. We felt both spoiled and right at home.

Highest poi? The Mate makes me laugh.

Moral of this story? Keep your eye on those green spots. Sometimes you don’t have to go far from the freeway to feel very far away.

Got your own special green spot? Some overlooked place that shouldn’t be? Please share.

Road Trip V, Days 21-23, Durham, N.C.: Let Us Now Praise Famous Trees

Posted on March 15, 2015 by gretchenwing

…or not-famous trees (which was kinda the point of James Agee’s title). Trees that are famous only to ourselves, perhaps. Special. Dare I say sacred? Do you have one in your past?

I do, and I visited it today. Actually, I visited its ghost; the tree itself died many years ago. It’s a sycamore growing by a creek in the woods outside Durham where I grew up, and once upon a time it looked like this:

(Courtesy Wikimedia)

Sycamores are special. Like madronas, which I wrote about at the start of this trip, they start unremarkably but show more individuality with each vertical inch. Twisting, curving, pied, spotted, toward the top they gleam creamy, crazy white–so white you can spy them from 100 yards away through winter woods. They also have the quirk of growing solo, so that a single sycamore will stand out amidst hundreds of gray and brown fellow tree-citizens. (I try, but usually fail, to avoid thinking of sycamores as tree royalty reigning over their patch of forest.)

My sycamore was solo. She grew in some woodsy acres my family bought when I was in high school, and we discovered her while exploring. Not only did this single tree stand out, her roots supported the banks of a little creek with tiny rapids and wild violets growing in the crevices. I was enchanted. When my school’s annual Mini-Session came around, one April week for high school students to pursue special projects, mine was to camp alone in our woods, in the company of my sycamore.

This was hardly Outward Bound. I was only a couple of miles from my home, but deep enough into the woods as to be safe from outsiders. I had my tent and a little cooking stove, and I spent my days reading, writing in my journal, going for walks, or just lying on a log watching the creek. (Can you tell my Senior English teacher had assigned us Thoreau and Annie Dillard? Yeah, I was quite the teenage Transcendentalist.) I had to leave the woods twice to attend college classes I was taking, and my then-boyfriend (now my Mate) even came to visit me once. So, hardly Annie Dillard either. But mostly I kept company with my tree.

Years later, The Mate and I enjoyed taking friends, and then our young boys, to look at Gretchen’s Spot and visit my sycamore. We could always sight it long before we could reach it through those tangly southern woods. Then some years went by without visits, until we finally went back to find my tree looking like this: