I am one of those unfortunate Australians who was born in
the middle of winter. Believe me, this is a sad thing. While my siblings had
pool parties that stretched into never-ending dusk on their birthdays, I got inside
party games and nice knitted jumpers for presents. I've always felt a bit
ripped off by the date of my birthday. It's cold, there's too few daylight
hours and the options for fun seem a little limited.
I decided 2012 would be different. I was going to turn 39 in
the sunshine, baby, and that meant going on a dream holiday to the USA, where
July means summer, swimming, long days and good times. And I decided the best
way to do it was in a motorhome with my husband Luke, tooling our way around
California, known for its reliable sunny weather.
A motorhome meant we didn't have to plan our trip too
closely and would have the freedom to stop wherever and whenever we liked
without having to pack and unpack constantly. And by combining car hire and
accommodation we saved money. It was an exciting idea.
The plane trip over was a little harrowing. It was in a
barely-held-together Qantas 747 that lost all power on the runway at Los
Angeles and was apparently decommissioned immediately afterwards. Nothing like
starting a holiday with the glad knowledge that yes, you are still alive.
Thankfully it was all good from there.
We picked up our shiny, new 10 cylinder Ford motorhome from
the Cheapa Campa/Apollo office in LA and felt a little overwhelmed by how huge
it was. They make them wide in the US, which means lots of lovely room in the
back. Thankfully the roads and parking spaces in the US are also wider. It
didn't take Luke very long to get used to driving on the right side and we thus
braved the endless LA freeways, heading west. First stop, Las Vegas. We had an
appointment to keep.
We didn't go to Vegas for the gambling. I suspect that's the
least interesting part about it. And we didn't go so we could quote Hunter S.
Thompson and giggle about bat country, although a fair bit of that did go on.
Nope, we went to laugh at the pure American excess that Vegas offers in
abundance. There are machine gun shooting ranges, roller coasters on top of 30
storey buildings, helicopter rides, giant wave pools, topless clubs and
non-stop buffets. The place is like a never-ending circus and really has to be
seen to be believed.
Ultimately we figured the best way to do Vegas was to get married by Elvis while dressed as pirates.
Didn't matter that we were already married or that it wasn't
our anniversary. You can't go to Las Vegas and not get married. Hence,
we forked out an obscene amount of cash to hire some impressive pirate outfits
and organise the ceremony. At 4.15pm on June 13 we were whisked into the tiny
confines of the Graceland Chapel on Las Vegas Boulevard for an intimate vow
renewal service with a delightful Elvis impersonator. Luke promised to be a
hunka hunka burning love and I promised to stay off of his blue suede shoes and
amid it all, we got a little emotional. Because, in the end, we were getting
married again and it suddenly felt very special.
Fifteen minutes later we were out on the street clutching a
fake wedding certificate and a DVD of the event, to cherish forever. It was
moving, it really was.
We spent our wedding evening wandering the streets of
downtown Vegas in our pirate outfits. People kept wanting to have their photos
taken with us and we were constantly being invited for drinks upstairs with the
"industry people".
We stayed at the Golden Nugget hotel for our honeymoon night
and spent the next day sliding down their clear plastic waterslide that goes through a giant aquarium full of sharks. Like you do.
After that we drove the motorhome into Arizona to visit the
Grand Canyon for a couple of days. Waking up at dawn, we rode our extra cheap
just-purchased Las Vegas Walmart bikes along the rim as the sun rose. It's
difficult to describe the astonishing sensation of sheer size that the Grand
Canyon gives you. It really is... grand. Looking down at rocks that are over 4
billion years old is a humbling experience.
We hiked down to "Ooh Ah
Point" where I developed a sudden fear of heights and said "ooh
ah" far too much. We went back up and by 10.30am had retired to the
comfort of the motorhome for a well deserved nap. Drinks at sunset looking over
the canyon was equally fabulous.
We travelled back east along Route 66 for a while, admiring
the old diners and service stations at some of the lesser-frequented old towns
on the road before getting back to the busy interstate. We had a long way to go
and a short time to get there and we started wishing for some kind of banjo
getaway music to help create the right atmosphere.
Our next destination was Sequoia National Park in the Sierra
Nevada mountains in California. The winding trip up the hill to 6000ft was a
little nerve wracking but the motorhome handled it fine. Happily ensconced in
the campground, we unpacked all of our weird American food into one of the
special lockers designed to prevent bears from breaking in. Part of us wanted
to leave a bit out for them in the hope of spotting one. Alas, it wasn't to be
and we didn't see a single bear on our entire trip.
The sequoia trees are breathtaking, living behemoths that
grow so fat they are the largest living tree by volume. They're also pretty
tall, growing up to 85 metres, although they're topped by the Giant Redwoods of
Northern California. We visited the General Grant tree, the second largest tree
in the world and spent about an hour just sitting on a park bench admiring it,
watching the squirrels and chipmunks playing around the trunk. We also did a
bit of surreptitious tree hugging in the surrounding grove.
The area is considered a National Monument because the trees
are so large and so old; the General Grant is around 1650 years old. The hills
surrounding the grove were logged in the 1890s and the General Grant itself was
scheduled to be logged before the government announced its protected status.
Back at the campground we built a large campfire, drank a
few beers and cooked up some pasta in the motorhome before bed, relaxed and
happy in the surrounds of the beautiful forest.
We stayed at San Francisco for a couple of days and suffered
a bit of a shock when the fog rolled in of an evening. Suffice to say, the
bayside souvenir sellers make a killing from fleecy tops and scarves. On the
Saturday we attended the Pride festival and were treated to the sight of
thousands of partying revellers at Dolores Park before watching the Dykes on
Bikes kick off the lesbian parade. Good fun.
We headed north and checked out some of the wineries in the
Sonoma region. Naturally I was keen to visit Kaz winery and buy a bottle of my
namesake wine. There we discussed the vexing issue of why American wines still
use corks - a source of distress to us Aussies who are now used to the ease of
screwcaps. Seems they still think it's better for aging purposes, despite the
fact that the majority of wines are sold as "drink now" items. We
enjoyed our visit to the wineries but had to restrain ourselves and not buy too
many bottles lest we be unable to drink them all before we got on our next
plane.
Travelling north the next day we entered into the land of
the redwoods, winding our way into the Avenue of the Giants, site of the
tallest trees in the world. The area is a gorgeous lush rainforest split by a
crystal clear river and it's dotted with picnic areas and campgrounds.
We opted
for a flash new RV park which made a nice base for exploring this natural
wonderland. We did our fair share of tree hugging in the redwood forest as
well, not to mention Return of the Jedi re-enactments.
Perhaps the best part of
our day was travelling out to the Giant Tree, the tallest in the world, and
eating a hastily-grabbed picnic of cheese, crackers, sausage and wine in the
carpark by the creek, surrounded by huge trees. It was very peaceful. Lots of
people said they were jealous of our motorhome and the freedom it gave us.
We got as far north as Eureka, where we rode our bikes along
the long beach and felt vaguely threatened by the signs that told us we were in
a tsunami zone. Then we turned the motorhome west again, heading across the
mountains with the intention of slowly heading back to LA.
Halfway along
the incredibly mountainous and windy Route 299 we encountered a
tiny village called Big Bar with a sign that said "Try White Water Rafting!" The weather had turned warm and we were suddenly hit
by the urge to take this sign up on its offer. Neither Luke or I had ever white
water rafted before and we're not known as the most adventurous people but it
suddenly seemed like the best thing ever. And why not? It's not like we had to
be anywhere that night.
Thus we found ourselves sporting life jackets, wetsuits,
helmets and paddles as our happy-go-lucky guide Peter ushered us into the raft,
accompanied by his "wifey". The river winds its way through heavily
wooded steep mountainsides and features delightful calm sections of water
between a variety of rapids. Our course was a 3 - not too scary but a little
bit challenging. We were a little bit disconcerted to discover that we were
supposed to help paddle our way through the rapids, not just hang on and swear.
This was pretty scary to begin with but before long we were
paddling like pros and yelling our defiance at the freezing white water like
crazed vikings. I'm pleased to say we even survived the "Hellhole"
rapids without being thrown into the water, something which is apparently quite
common. I was shivering by that point and was doubly pleased to make it through
with only half of me wet. After half an hour we stopped on the bank in the sun
and ate corn chips with home made salsa. As we chatted, a mink popped up on the
river bank and abruptly disappeared when it saw us. We spotted another one
further downstream - a rarity according to Peter - as well as a bald eagle.
Having made it back to Big Bar, I made a beeline for the
motorhome where I was able to stop shivering and put on some warm clothes.
Summer... yay! After that we settled into the RV park across the road, parking
our motorhome right beside the river and enjoying a few well-earned wines by
the rapids while deer frolicked on the far bank.
Once more we descended to the floor of the San Joaquin
Valley before heading up the Sierras again, into Mount Lassen National Park.
This is the site of the second most-recent volcanic eruption after Mount St
Helens. Lassen Peak blew its top in 1915 and continued to erupt for several
years after. It was one of the first volcanos to be photographed during an
eruption. After a walk through a lava tube we set up at the Lake Manzanita
campground and hiked around the picture perfect body of water at dusk, taking
endless photos of the snow-capped mountain reflected in the water. We also came
face-to-face with a not-so-shy deer, who opted to just walk around us rather
than run away.
The next day we drove our way through the park, stopping to
do short hikes and admire the astonishing beauty of the area. The road took us
steadily higher until we passed 8000ft and were driving through large patches of snow. So much for summer!
We figured we were mentally and physically unprepared to
climb Mount Lassen (a 4km return climb) so instead we hiked into Bumpass Hell,
a collection of hot sulphur pools and steam vents about 3km from the main road.
It turns out we were unprepared for this hike as well since half the trail was
covered in snow and some of it traversed rather terrifying heights. Wearing
jeans and sneakers seemed like a good idea when we left but we were fairly damp
around the edges when we returned. It was worth it though; the pools were
impressive, if horribly smelly.
We finished our day with a change of clothes and a calming
drink inside the motorhome, looking out the window across the impressive
panorama that stretched from the down into the valley below. Bliss.
The afternoon of the next day we were back in San Francisco.
Luke wanted to ride his bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. Never mind that it
was foggy, freezing and blowing a gale. We parked on the northern side and put
on every piece of warm clothing we owned and then set off, making our way along
the specially reserved cycleway on the right hand side. It was quite an
experience to stand on the bridge with the foghorn vibrating the massive steel
girders beneath our feet. Tankers and freighters travelled below, one
accompanied by a tugboat called the Millenium Falcon. We rode across and then
along the bay foreshore to Chrissy Park. Thankfully the fog blew away for a
while, allowing us to enjoy the sunset on our return journey.
After camping for free in a Walmart on the outskirts of San
Francisco, we made a snap decision to head for the coast and look at Santa
Cruz. I had no idea what we'd find there but the lady at the local information
office said that they were feeding sea lions down at the wharf. Finding a good
park a few blocks away, we rode down to the beach and into one of the best days
of our tour. In the bright sunshine we wandered onto the large wharf stretching
out into Monterey Bay, the sparkling blue ocean stretching into the distance.
The sea lions lay about on floating pontoons and were very amusing, as were the
giant seagulls and pelicans.
We settled in for a seafood lunch and Luke tasted his first
clam chowder. After a couple of drinks we lazily made our way over to the
Boardwalk on the beach. This is a huge fun park full of rides including a 100
year old carousel and the roller coaster that featured in the film The Lost
Boys. By luck they were having a promotion where all rides only cost $1
after 5pm on a Monday. So I dragged Luke onto the roller coaster and we did a
fair bit of screaming. After that I was left to go on the rides by myself,
which I did eagerly, grinning like a fool and feeling like a kid all over
again.
We set off south the next day and spent a couple of days at
Monterey, riding our bikes and admiring the seals and sea otters. On the Fourth
of July holiday we booked a berth on a whale watching boat. Despite seeing four
blue whales, a dozen humpbacks and an albatross, the trip wasn't a huge
success, mainly due to Luke losing his lunch over the side in the unstable
conditions.
I did get to have another childhood wish fulfilled that
evening thanks to the availability of fireworks in the US on the Fourth of
July. I bought myself a couple of "Purple Rain" crackers at one of the
roadside stands and was stupidly excited at the idea of being able to light
them without being arrested. At dusk we
found ourselves in a carpark just over the county border (where it was legal)
with dozens of other people, all letting off bags full of fireworks. By the
time it was dark there were explosions all around us and large numbers of
excited kids were happily wielding vials of gunpowder like little demons. I'm
pleased to report there were no injuries. It was fantastic and I truly wish we
could still do it in Australia.
After another couple of days travelling down the coast we
finally handed our motorhome back to the Cheapa Campa rental place. It was a
very simple process and the staff were helpful and friendly. We then rode our
Walmart bikes 20km to the beach at Marina Del Rey where our hotel was booked.
The next day was my birthday and we spent it riding our
bikes to Santa Monica and back. I'm sad to say that I didn't get the summery
birthday I'd planned. The rest of the continental US was having heatwaves but
California stubbornly stayed cold, with temperatures hanging around 20 degrees
celsius. It would have been warmer at home in Queensland. So I didn't swim,
despite my best intentions. Indeed, our trip taught me that summer in
California may be sunny but that doesn't mean it's warm. And there's no place
like home.
Still, I did have the experience of a lifetime and saw so
many amazing and beautiful things over there. America is abundant in natural
wonders and our four week trip only allowed us to scratch the surface. There's
still so many things I can't wait to see and I'm keen to hire a motorhome and
do it again one day.
And if you're thinking of doing it, I can only say: go. Take
the plunge. You'll love every minute and you'll have memories to last a
lifetime.