During a precious few days of home time, I enjoyed sitting still and took my time remembering how to do my job. Deb and I spent a lot of our days together, trying our best to come down gently from our European holiday. It was weird being at the Phoenix base without Cleo in the house, but I made do without her company.
Dad joined us at base on Thursday, feeling pretty fresh after his business class flight from Belgium. We kept tabs on Mum as she flew across the world to get home but we soon became focussed on our trip. On Friday, I was reunited with my dear Berta and Dad got to have his first ride in a self-driving car.
Our Waymo pulled up in front of the house and $20 and 40 minutes later, we’d been driven across town by absolutely no one. It had become common place for me so it was nice to see Dad trip out at the lack of driver.
We found Berta safe and sound in her parking space and Dad’s first comment when he stood in the kitchen was, “it’s smaller than it looks in the photos!” And so the shit talking began.
We had a lovely pizza lunch with the family at their place and the kids were all over their beloved “Toto”, especially the boys. With all of the tools in Berta, we couldn’t help but help Matt fix the garage door and I felt proud that the Goodings got to see where all my handy skills come from. It was the master and his apprentice at work, just like old times.
On Saturday morning, we prepared Berta for departure and for the first time, Dad gained an appreciation for the Phoenix summer heat. By 9am it was just too hot to be doing anything in the van, even if it was just putting clothes away in a drawer. We decided to save the bed making for later. We were ready to go, but needed to cool down first so sat inside with some cold water chatting with Deb. Though Peter Jr. was sadly in town for a funeral, I was happy we caught him. He pulled into the driveway just as we were about to make a move so we settled back into our chairs to linger a while and catch up with him. He was well and it made me excited for Thanksgiving with the whole Gooding family in just a few months.
Peter Jr. hadn’t met Berta so after a quick tour of the household for him, it was road time. We gathered for the obligatory departure photo, then we were off. I was sad to say goodbye to my beloved Mom but I was looking forward to this. Just me and my Dad in the house that Sarah and Dan built. Last month had been action-packed and this one was going to be just as epic.
Out of the Heat
I drove us out of Phoenix northwards towards some clouds and coolness. After we climbed up the ever-revered fuel pump hill, we stopped for lunch at the rest stop and contemplated the distant lightning and dark clouds. I predicted there would be raindrops on the windscreen by the end of the day and Dad balked at me. It would be the first of many times that I would be right over the next few weeks.
Only another few dozen miles up the road, the raindrops came and it was soon pissing down. This was monsoon-stuff! We’d just been in 40*C heat and now we were getting drenched! We both laughed when we saw a modern Mustang parked up in the grassy median between the highway lanes having noticed him pass me at great speed minutes before. He’d run out of talent obviously! It was only another ten minutes before he blew past me again so evidently he hadn’t learned his lesson.
We were off the major highway (17) as soon as we could be and took the scenic route through Sedona which never gets old. It was still hot and a Saturday which meant that every pullout north of town was occupied for access to the creek and amazingly there was a carpark of a queue to get into the Slide Rock State Park. There’s just too many people!
We had a ten minute wait at some roadworks in the shade of some trees and thanks to a fancy count-down clock, I know I had time for a pee and a quick wander down to the creek for a test of the water temperature. Yes, I could see why everyone wanted to be in it.
Once we got through that, we continued north towards Flagstaff and stopped in town for my last ever Walmart shop. It was such a terrible place with crappy produce and fatties everywhere. Never again. We had to shop again at Safeway just to get everything we needed.
Thanks to all those roadworks, it was beyond 5pm when we finally got into camp territory in the abundant pine forests north of Flag. It was blissfully cool and when I turned left off the highway, Dad swore that he’d camped here before. I told him he was probably thinking of Mammoth but he was adamant. After we’d picked a nice spot and gathered firewood, I proved him right by looking through old photos and sure enough, we’d camped here before with Ramsie and Mum. Our last spot was no more than 100 meters away. Our tastes obviously hadn’t changed!
Dad got some lessons on how camping with Berta works and I got some feedback on things I needed. We had a great first night.
Brake Failure
Dad had warned me that he is a solid twice-a-night pee’er and we were both surprised to wake up and find that I hadn’t stirred at all during his expeditions outside. I wouldn’t so much as turn over the whole trip no matter what he did.
After breakfast, I got out the Atlas and used old photos to figure out the roads we’d travelled on last year with Mum and mapped out a vague route to get us to Bonneville. We’d end up doing a little bit of criss-crossing, but would mostly be in new territory.
In typical Edwards fashion, we left camp right on the dot of 9am, though we had no schedule. Dad decided it was his turn for a drive so he got us out onto the dirt road. At the very first intersection, he slowed down, looked at me with a bit of surprise and said, “the brake pedal doesn’t feel that good.” My heart went to the floor. I’d only fixed my seized front brake calipers and got myself a stiff brake pedal for the first time a few months ago. Dad had been heavily involved as my mechanic on the phone and I’d so proudly reported that the problem was fixed, I finally had a great brake pedal. Now he gets behind the wheel and the first thing he says is that it feels crap?
We swapped positions and the brake pedal went straight to the floor. Oh shit. I pulled over into a dirt area over a ditch so we could easily get underneath to look for what had to have been a gross brake fluid leak. I started at each wheel fearing a blown caliper piston but found the source in the middle of the car. The steel brake line sending fluid to the rear brakes had rusted through and fluid was pissing out. Bugger. While I was relieved Dad didn’t think my work was just shotty, this was a pretty bad problem to have and we didn’t have the parts to fix it.
With nothing but wide open road ahead of us, we turned back to Flagstaff to the nearest O’Reilly’s which was about 14 miles away. With the high rate of fluid loss we had limited time so I didn’t muck around and I was strategic with my driving, using the transmission to slow me down and driving like a granny as we approached traffic lights. It was not a fun drive but I was grateful I only had to use the brakes a couple of times and I just kept pumping the pedal to and from the floor.
After pulling into a shaded spot at the back of O’Reilly’s, we found a helpful man inside who told us of his limited stock of brake line unions, how he didn’t have a tool to make a bubble flare, but that we could jerry-rig a new brake line out of random pre-flared lengths that he had. We must have made three or four separate trips back into the store to get the bits we needed and scribbled on multiple pieces of paper to finally arrive at the solution but we had a plan.
I’d kind of hoped Dad and I would get to do some work on Berta during the trip, but I didn’t think it would be to fix a major mechanical issue. We both got our dirty gear on and got to work. It was nice to be the apprentice again as Dad took the lead. We made a huge mess of the tarmac making no attempt to catch any of the brake fluid and we only got pissed off once when we misplaced the magnetic light (Dad had hung it on the underside of the bonnet).
When the rounded-off front brake nipple meant we had to jack the front of the car up it started raining but we kept our spirits high! At least we weren’t in Phoenix with this problem because then we’d be burning our hands in the heat.
After we’d bled all four corners going through a bottle of brake fluid, we packed up and I returned all the bits and pieces we didn’t need to the shop. When Dad drove us away, it was 2:30pm. Of course it was a Sunday so we couldn’t have taken it to a brake shop if we wanted to and I was glad we didn’t. We worked great as a team and turned an undriveable car back into a home-on-wheels in the space of half a day.
We scoffed a muffin each as we drove, realizing we hadn’t stopped for lunch during the whole ordeal. We made good time, heading straight up highway 89 grateful that we needn’t stop at any of the tourist traps we’d already seen like the Grand Canyon and Horseshoe Bend.
We got out to stretch our legs at Navajo Bridge and Dad was confident he’d been here before but then re-negged on that statement later down the road. After leaving Flagstaff, we’d dropped down in elevation so the bridge greeted us with a hot breeze which wasn’t an encouraging sign for our impending camp. It was already 5:30pm but we were trying to make up some time so we pushed on, grateful for the long Summer days.
After driving past the Vermillion Cliffs, we started climbing and I decided we should only camp above 7,000 feet. Flag had been about that and was pleasant so hopefully it would be the same up near Jacob Lake? It sure was. We swapped rocks for pines and found a nice little spot just off the highway. There was no one around and found a lovely flat pullout.
The handbrake had been out of action for a while but on the drive I’d come up with a solution so after getting in and fixing that, we both had showers and relaxed after a tough day!
Getting Closer
With the first big weekend of Speed Week on the Bonneville Salt Flats over, we had to get there before the rest of the week was out. That meant a big day of driving.
After doing some work in the early morning, I took the first stint and we didn’t have any dramas leaving camp this time. We were glad to have camped where we did because soon after we left, we descended back into the heat. Dad reminisced about his trip in the Astro with Tina and Mum as we passed by the road to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and soon after we crossed into Utah, we stopped for morning tea at a rest stop. I remember stopping here on previous trips and we had some good entertainment with some serious landscaping work going on.
When Dad took over the driving to take us further north, I got set up to work in motion and it worked brilliantly! I bungee-corded my laptop to sit on top of the glovebox, had my table in my lap with keyboard and mouse and Starlink worked a treat! This was amazing!
I looked up whenever I could because we were driving through some beautiful scenery with the typical Utah colors of red and orange.
We found a nice riverside spot for lunch and were disappointed it wasn’t camp time because it would have been a nice place to stay a while, especially with the cliffs extending skyward. The river was running dirty and fast so I figured it was the last of the snow run off pushing through the canyon.
I drove us on towards Bonneville and the scenery turned pretty barren towards the end as we listened to music. We had some raindrops on the windscreen so despite the mostly blue skies, we were keeping our rain streak going – so far it had “rained” every day!
Without many camp options and wanting to get as close to the salt as possible, it was a late end to the day, nearly 6pm by the time we parked. Dad was driving while I scouted possibilities and while Grantsville reservoir looked enticing on the map, it lacked character and shelter from the wind and the price wasn’t right at $20 for the night.
After checking it out and deciding against it, we carried on down a very rough road, but we were rewarded with many camps to choose from and we were happy with our final choice. It was dusty and a laden with rubbish but the nearby babbling brook was the best feature. Dad leveled us up while I did a clean up then we both enjoyed a shower in the cold river.
The grass at the bank was a nice touch and while we weren’t above the required 7,000 feet, we were still looking for a jumper after the sun went down.
The Salt
Cows kept us company over breakfast and after getting as much work in as I could, we were hustling to leave camp by 9am. I wanted to get onto the salt before it got too hot and I also had an afternoon meeting to somehow work into our day.
Having read the Speed Week spectator’s guide, we knew to bring cash so we stopped in the town of Grantsville then got straight onto highway 80. It was a longer drive that I thought. The highway goes straight for dozens and dozens of miles. It was new territory for Dad and somewhere I hadn’t been in the summer so instead of the usual white snow, we saw piles of salt.
As we approached the Salt Flats rest stop, I saw lines of cars in the distance to our right and declared that it must be the speedway. Dad balked saying it was beyond the rest area, not before it. He ended up being wrong so we’d just seen our first taste of Speed Week.
We pulled in to the rest stop for morning tea and walked out onto the salt. I did what everyone else probably does and got a bit of the white stuff on my finger then licked it. Yep! It sure was salty!
I re-read the sign that brought me here and I instructed Dad to do the same. Our motorsport month was officially about to begin!
Soon after leaving the rest stop, we pulled off the highway and I was disappointed that there wasn’t a big sign at the exit to say, “Speed Week on Now!”
We saw the BLM camp at the bend in the road leading out to the salt flats and it was lacking character to say the least. Dead flat and dusty with lines of porta-potties, it was where the poor spectators hung out.
We didn’t have any traffic to contend with as we pulled up to the entrance to the salt. The road ended, white ground extended away and into the mountains and a BLM sign told us that we’d arrived.
There were a couple of caravans parked up with derros dressed in vests there to take our money and issue us day passes. We bought a program for $20 and our day passes at $25 each. Then, Berta was on the flats!
There were cones guiding the way but no one around so we got a little confused and ended up pulling into the start area. We quickly realized we didn’t belong and turned back onto the main drag until we saw a few spectators lined up along the course at a quarter-mile distance.
We carried on into the pit area where we stopped at the sunglasses shop. The spectator’s guide had warned us that normal sunglasses can’t filter out the glare that comes from the salt and so we were prepared to buy us some orange-lenses that don’t darken your view, only filter out the wavelengths of light you don’t need.
The stall was busy with those returning to the flats and the owner had us pegged for the novices we were before we’d even come close to him. He was a friendly guy and not at all surprised to hear that there were a couple of Aussies on the salt. For whatever reason, kiwis tended to dominate this place and we must have chatted to half a dozen before even leaving the stall. We could probably blame the “World’s Fastest Indian” movie for that.
Now with a better lay of the land, armed with our new sunglasses, we walked towards the pits. We soon discovered it was way too much ground to cover on foot and I had a meeting in just over an hour so we drove back to the spectator area and made camp. We hadn’t expected to be able to stay with the van, getting the impression that vehicles had to be parked somewhere and your spectator camp brought in on foot, so we were very happy.
We set up the awning with me asking Dad to find improvements in the way we set it up, but he was suitably impressed. The shade was an absolute necessity because it was hot and there wasn’t a breath of wind. I got the radio tuned in to the commentary which was absolutely essential to have any idea of what was going on and we sat down to watch.
There were two courses on the flats this year, one a quarter mile away and the other a few hundred meters beyond it. Each was about seven miles long with five miles of timing beacons. It seems a long way, but when rocket ships are flying past upwards of 300 mph, it looks short.
We got an hour of watching in before I had to have my meeting. It wasn’t fun for either of us with me sat in the heat of the van and Dad watching without commentary. I did not complain though. Here I was having a work day with cars and motorbikes flying past and break-neck speed.
The rest of the day, we just posted up and watched. There was every type of car and bike you could imagine, from stock-looking trucks, to dragster-like vehicles the shape of a sharpened pencil. Dad declared the program to be poop and he was dead right. We couldn’t really learn much from it.
After hearing the radio commentator say people had “qualified” or were attempting a “qualifying run”, we got sick of guessing what he was on about so I wandered over to our neighbors to make friends and get some information. I hit the jackpot with a guy who’d been part of a team in previous years and a spectator for the last decade. He started by explaining that these were the best weather and salt conditions they’d had for eight years, telling me of cancellations that happened in years past thanks to flooding and other weather events. It was quiet now because the big weekend was over. People come here to break records and usually by the end of the first weekend, you’ve either done that or you’ve blown your engine so you go home.
Back in the day, as the sign at the rest stop had explained, to set a land speed record, you had to hit your top speed within the five mile course, then turn around and do it again with the new record being the average of your top speed from both runs. Now, to have your name and vehicle in the history books, you had to “qualify” by setting a new fastest speed, then come back the next day and repeat it (in the same direction) after a full inspection to ensure your vehicle was legal per the class you were in. These were called record return runs and the new record is the average of your qualifying run and your return run. These record return runs are held at the very start of each day so we knew we had to be back on the salt early tomorrow to see those.
Armed with that information, we thoroughly enjoyed the rest of our afternoon, seeing cars turn into floating bubbles in the heat haze after passing the three-mile mark and marveling at the speeds we were seeing. The binoculars were coming in handy to track the motorbikes and slower cars on the far-track and watch for their chutes to open.
The last car of the day was running at over 200 mph when the front end of the car lifted up into the air. The driver pulled his chute, bringing the front down with a crash then sending him into a spin. In the dust he threw up, I thought he’d rolled, but thankfully it was only a spin and I was able to see the driver through the binoculars get out unhurt.
That brought racing to an end at 6pm and we were one of the last ones to decamp and drive out. All the competitor cars and gear were allowed to stay on the salt but come 8pm, everyone had to be off. It would be an eerie place to stand as a security guard, watching over these machines of speed on a quiet salt flat.
The camp at the bend in the road wasn’t too crowded but we just had to go looking for something better so we drove a few minutes towards the mountains. Though there weren’t any trees throwing shade, we parked ourselves behind a mountain and were in the shade half an hour later. I did some work while Dad fixed the fridge latch he’d broken on the drive in and then we had a leaky shower tap to fix.
When 8pm rolled around, we finally had time to have dinner! Though the temperature didn’t really dip much, it was nice to be outside with a very slight breeze and we watched the twinkling lights from highway 80 and listened to the riff riff camped down below. The stars were beautiful and I must have seen at least five of them shoot across the sky but poor Dad missed all of them.
I stayed out a bit talking to Dan as the breeze picked up a bit while Dad got settled in bed with the doors open. When I was packing up outside in preparation for bed, I saw headlights nearby and a weird strobe light flashing against the nearby mountain face which weirded me out. The breeze was too hot to sleep with the doors open anyway so we shut up shop. It was definitely hot but not unbearable.
The Turbinator
Record return runs started at 8am so we were up at 6:30am to make sure we didn’t miss anything. We didn’t bother with breakfast, just packed up camp and drove onto the salt.
There were lots of cars heading to the start line and we parked up right where we’d been yesterday and got the bikes out in preparation for our pit cruise later.
We thoroughly enjoyed our breakfast at camp watching as cars made their way down to the start line from the pits. Though we were a quarter mile from the track, we got to see everyone up close as cars were pushed or towed by their crews towards the start line.
It was almost more fascinating seeing them crawl by than when they were speeding off into the distance. Especially at the start of the day when it seemed like a weekday morning commute!
Our neighbor friend from yesterday parked up next to us soon after we got there he was chatting with us asking how our experience had been yesterday. He told us about the Turbinator which was aiming for a 500+ mph record. It had done it before, but never been able to repeat it for the official record and so was their aim.
Visibility in the morning was much better than yesterday as the heat waves weren’t blurring the horizon so we could see the cars beyond the 4 mile mark. By 10am, the haze was back to yesterday’s level and so was the heat.
It was good to see the record return runs as these were the “serious” competitors. We saw a new record in the 100 mph range for a vintage motorbike and a rocket-ship looking thing that broke 400 mph. Again, the commentary was essential to understand any of what was going on with the speeds being read out at each mile marker.
When the Turbinator was pushed to the start line, all eyes were on the course. You could see down-track in the pit area that people dropped what they were doing to move over to the course. This could be the fastest thing anyone would see all week. Anticipation was high and the commentator emphasized the importance of the moment as everyone held their breath. And then…. His parachute opened on the start line. The whole paddock exhaled and other cars soon took to the course.
By mid-morning, we were both starting to fall asleep so it was time to head to the pits. After re-packing the parachute, the Turbinator had crawled past us towards the start line so I took my handheld radio to listen out for its next attempt.
As we rode through the pits, we were stunned by what we saw. We’d expected them to be half empty but I couldn’t believe there wasn’t a factory team in sight. At these sorts of events you always expect the amateur crews who have built a machine in their backyard shed, but there’s always the bright shiny trucks with Snap-On everything and a chef.
Nope, everyone here was a grease monkey in every sense of the word. Maybe it was the rugged environment that made everything seem less professional than it was, but it looked like they were all flying by the seats of their pants to pull together a fast car.
The breeze as we rode was nice but wow was it hot when you stopped moving. It was hard to imagine these crews staying out here all day every day wrenching on hot cars. Yes they had a cold shower and air conditioned rooms to return to, but they’d easily be out on the salt twelve hours each day.
When I heard Turbinator on the radio, we rushed to the edge of the pits with everyone else to see it run. This time it got off the start line and we could see it speed towards us. Unfortunately they had another issue and it came to a halt just shy of 3 miles. Bugger.
We finished our tour of the pits then rode back along the flat white stuff to Berta, faithfully waiting for us. It took them a while to recover the Turbinator so while that happened we had lunch, grateful for our cold fridge.
After a few more runs, we were ready to move on. We came, we saw, we experienced the speed, but damn it was hot and we’d had about enough.
I brushed the salt off the bike tires as best I could before stashing them away, then we drove down to the start line to watch the action there while in Berta’s air-conditioned comfort. Most of the cars were pushed onto the course by their support vehicles, probably because they didn’t have a first gear that could get them going.
We said goodbye to the salt, thoroughly glad that we’d came. It’s not something that TV could do justice and while we probably wouldn’t be back any time soon, it was an amazing experience.
It was hard not to shake our heads at the campers still parked up at the bend in the road, but hey, they were probably just tougher than us. We only drove a few minutes then we were into Nevada and faced with multiple casinos. We planned to stop for diesel and a shop in Wendover but I balked at the $3.44/gal price and we were buggered if we could find a shop so we carried on.
Our next stop was in McGill where the fuel light came on and we were forced to pay $4.10/gal. Dad wants that worked out in the spreadsheet. We listened to an F1 podcast on our way to Ely where we finally stopped for a shop and saw the familiar hardware store from our last trip where we’d filled up with propane and browsed their wares which included everything from clothes, baby chickens and guns.
Having not done any work today, I really needed to show my face so we made an early camp down a nondescript dirt road typical of Nevada. Though there was a lovely carpark at the top of the hill complete with picnic table and bins, there weren’t any designated campsites so we made-do with a flat patch of dirt amongst the trees back down the road.
We rocked out to Meatloaf, had a small fire and after I finished work tried to do some technical support with Dad’s calendar but didn’t have much luck. We were happy to have an early night after a couple of hard days on the salt.
Halfway Across Nevada
I did some work in the morning and since we had nowhere to be for a while, we were both up for a short day. Within an hour of getting on the road, Dad had a potential spot pegged at Kingston Canyon. Thanks to the Atlas and a tiny campground symbol!
We were driving west and after sharing the road with a bunch of cyclists who really could have chosen a better road to be on, we turned on our podcasts and drove through the Nevada brush.
Eureka was our morning tea spot where I checked in at work then we drove the block to have a look. Another small country town with small country homes – it was nice to get off the main drag for a little bit. We went from one straight road to the next with nothing much to look at except for the desert bushes. Trees and hills were a thing of the past.
Kingston was a nice little old town that had sprung up from mining but for what we weren’t sure. After navigating our way through the sleepy place, we hit a dirt road and found the campground as pointed out by the Atlas. It was empty but for one camper with a river running through it – a nice feature.
Wanting to suss out the lake at the end of the road, we continued on to Grants Lake and found a few people at its shore fishing or contemplating kayaking. After venturing further up the road we found a guard station that had long been abandoned then turned back.
It was a warm day and I couldn’t resist a jump into the water so I got down to my undies and did just that.
The dammed lake was full to the brim and trickling over its small outlet which was nice to see after driving past so many reservoirs with water levels way below their high-water marks.
Back at camp, we were ready for a late lunch and were surprised to find that two parties had shown up! Thankfully the spot we’d picked out was not taken so we parked it. It was not at all level but we used some ingenuity (rocks as well as our leveling blocks) to lift Berta up and got it nailed first time.
Good thing too because we had an audience. A guy stood there with his arms folded the whole time then buggered off after we were successful. I hope he was impressed.
We were right next to the fast flowing creek which came with a dammed pool and there was an ensuite right across the way! Shame it was locked, but Dad quickly fixed that with a screwdriver by turning the lock from the outside. Lovely!
I got to work for the rest of the afternoon while Dad washed his undies in the creek. It was good to have some focus time and make a few phone calls as we watched the campers roll in. It was a Thursday afternoon and by 5pm the place was full!
Dad said not to bother with firewood since we wouldn’t be able to find any so I went off immediately to find some. I waded upstream into the creek and found a gold mine of drift wood. The sun shower that hit us towards the end of the afternoon made us indecisive about bringing things inside and covering our hard-earned wood. It lingered long enough to make us do it then of course it stopped raining immediately.
Needing to get out and move around, we went for a walk around camp as the sun started to set and then up the road a bit and found a spooky mine entrance and brand new power lines leading into the mountains for whatever reason.
Dad made me laugh when he fully intended to de-sandal and slide down the steep rocky ravine for a shortcut back to camp. I thought he was joking but the look on his face said he wasn’t. He thought better of it then walked back with me to camp. We were so happy with our spot and our timing.
With time on our hands, we settled in to watch some WRC and were nicely interrupted by a lady from Carson City who told us a bit of her story and we told ours. We capped the night off with a beautiful fire which was much needed because the night cooled off quickly. We sat by the warmth and ducked our heads when the bats flew too close to us.
Berta Back in California
We stayed at camp late so I could have my 9am meeting and other campers soon discovered the benefit of our ensuite. I told Dad we should have locked it behind us but that would have been selfish.
Having taken it easy yesterday, we had a big day of driving, not stopping for lunch until nearly 3pm at Fallon where I’d definitely been before and Dad couldn’t be sure. There just hadn’t been any enticing lunch stop options before Fallon and it made the green grass of the city park look amazing.
As we approached the California border, we stopped on the side of the road so I could hide all of our recently purchased fruit and veggies because I didn’t want to give them up at the border crossing. It was Dad’s bright idea to hide them in the laundry basket! I needn’t have bothered because the border patrolman only asked where the vehicle was registered and when I said Arizona, he waved us on through.
It was late in the day, we’d been driving for most of it and were now desperate for camp. I had my eyes peeled as we drove up and over Monitor Pass. This was new territory for both of us and I was glad to still be finding new ways to cross the Sierras. We climbed high enough to not want to camp because of the cold but when we’d descended and came to the intersection with Ebbetts pass, we struck gold. I could see our camp down the cliffs.
Dad pulled over and the road looked steep and rough so I hopped out to scope it out. It would be Berta’s toughest road yet but I was confident she could do it. I directed Dad down over the first big rock, then we were home free. I held the fridge drawers shut as we romped down to river level and found a big open level spot with our names on it.
Our big reward was a wide knee-deep fast-flowing river. When we wandered over to it and I didn’t waste any time stripping down to my undies and laying down in it. It was blissful. I could see Dad was considering it and a few minutes later he did the same. What a glorious way to end our day in the car.
I finished up my work day while Dad set up camp then fixed yet another fridge latch. The night’s entertainment was the Brisbane Lions quarter final which took me a while to get setup through an Aussie VPN and Foxtel but even with buffering every few minutes, Dad was a happy customer.
After making dinner and chatting to Mum, the rest of the night was all footy with Dad calling Tina at the end of each quarter. I enjoyed it, having not watched an AFL game in many years, but I only lasted until half time. I did the dishes and called it a night with the Lions a few goals in front.
When Dad crawled into bed, he didn’t say goodnight, only that the Lions had bloody lost.
Drinks on the Back Deck
When I started giving Dad shit for something that morning, he didn’t take it well. He was sensitive because his team lost and told me that I should act accordingly. Of course I laughed at that. He made us some delicious bacon and eggs as we contemplated our day. I’d messaged Vanessa & Kyle last night to inform them of our impending arrival into Oakland but I hadn’t seen their reply until this morning. On their return from Belgium/Paris, they’d come down with Covid. As Dad neatly put it, “well, we’re not going there!”
It was a shame because we’d so looked forward to seeing them again after our European antics but we couldn’t take the risk with all the activities and people-seeing we had planned. That meant we were headed to Santa Cruz.
We were lazy leaving camp, getting out just after the usual 9am time and I figure we’d be in Santa Cruz in time for an afternoon bike ride. But nope, California is bloody wide, it was a long way to the ocean. The first part of our drive was the most beautiful as we climbed and then descended along Ebbets Pass. A road neither of us had done, it was barely more than a Bertas-width in some places and blissfully not too busy.
When we came across the lakes we found the crowds and while we talked about stopping for a cuppa, we didn’t want to be part of the circus so we carried on, thankful to be going against the Saturday morning traffic.
After an hour and a half of driving, we were out of the pines and into the heat and dry grass. It was gross weather and we both revelled in Berta’s excellent air conditioning. When I got desperate for a pee and a biscuit we stopped at a reservoir – its water level seemed miles away and out of reach from up on high the dry grass.
Dad took over the driving then as we climbed over another winding pass through more dry land and we listened to his podcasts about electric cars and all sorts. It was good fun but neither of us were used to driving this many miles in a day. It’s tough when you have a schedule to keep to!
It was past 3pm when we were getting properly desperate for a lunch stop that had some green and we finally found our spot in the town of Gustine which had a shaded town park complete with a public pool with kids all around but nobody in it. Hmmm.
We paid over $4/gallon for diesel (we wouldn’t see anything under $4 the whole time we were in CA) then carried on with me driving for the final push. At Watsonville I put Google Maps on because we were into the double lanes and old-school navigation was beyond both of us.
When we saw the ocean we were both happy and it was a big deal for Berta. She hadn’t been in California in over a year so a lot of memories were coming back. As we rolled into Santa Cruz and entered Paradise Park, I remembered to “go beep on highway 9” by blasting my horn and the Arthur family was waiting for us as we pulled into their neighbour’s driveway right at 5:30pm. Yes, my anticipated bike ride was a little optimistic.
After hugs all round, we didn’t waste any time getting out onto the back deck with the family, having a few beers and jumping on the trampoline with the kids. It was the usual laid back affair sitting around talking all night over a yummy dinner.
3 – 10 August, 2024