Day 480
Sequoiadendron giganteum
The day dawned. This was it. The reason we had punished ourselves. The reward for all those hot hellish hilly miles. Today we would be in the High Sierras and enter Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park. First though just the final 10 miles to ride. Uphill, naturally, but only a short ride, I mean how hard could it be? Take it from me it was hard. On a deserted backroad, thanks for the tip Daniel, we rode up and up. 3 hours of slog but finally we made it and all around us, looming high into the sky, so tall we could barely see the tops, were those giants of the tree world the mighty sequoias. They grow so fast in this area due to the rich nutrients in the soil, live so long due to their high tannin content and tough bark which resists both fire and insects. The science was interesting but the trees themselves spoke to us. This is what nature intended for our world. We thrive, you thrive, take heed. We saw General Sherman the largest tree in the world (by volume) and General Grant (3rd largest) both much admired but Tom’s favourite was a slightly smaller tree that somehow touched his heart. Me, I loved them all, and the kid that I am inside particularly enjoyed walking through a rotten trunk, so big that forestry workers camped inside it over 100 years ago. They can take 100s of years to rot away, those tannins at work still!
We were heading for an early night when a near disaster occurred at our campsite. Joan had driven for 8 hours, found a camp spot paid for it, only then to discover someone had beat her too it. As we have no vehicle, I offered to let her park on our site. She reversed neatly in a straight line, not noticing in the pitch darkness that the road did not. Her campervan went straight down the bank, the wheels sank into the deep sand, saving her from tipping over but also keeping her from driving out. Several hours of chaos ensued. Whilst Joan called AAA on a fellow camper’s phone, out of the darkness more campers arrived to help. We tried pushing the van out, contemplated reversing it out. With the aid of a red screw driver we took it in turns to demolish I mean disassemble the interior in the vain attempt to find the tow eye. We emptied Joan’s possessions all over the campsite. And all the time Joan was still valiantly on the phone to the AAA. She appeared completely unfazed by these complete strangers crawling inside and under her van. Then, being America, we found a camper that could tow her out. Just a tow eye needed now. There were cries of excitement when someone appeared brandishing a tow eye! I reluctantly relinquished the red screw driver whilst we all looked on with bated breath. It was the wrong size. The party was over, slowly we dispersed. AAA will hopefully save the day tomorrow. Just incase you’re wondering, it took until 4am for Joan to work out that if she lay, arms and legs akimbo, a bit like a star fish, she could lie in bed without falling and so finally was able to sleep!
So AAA to the rescue. Not before Joan had to ring again and find they knew nothing about yesterday’s call! Amazingly their guy on the ground lives a mere 10 minutes drive away. Well he was just a superstar. Just the sort of all American hero you need in a crisis. Tall, calm, handsome and, dare I say it, just the right side of rugged. I didn’t notice the colour of his eyes but I'm sure they were blue. We all stood around as he assessed the situation. No problem. He dismissed the suggestion of a tow eye as a dangerous diversion, looked horrified at the thought we might have tried reversing her out. He took Joan to one side and calmly took her through what she had to do. She listened intently, so did we. Then action stations. He directed Joan through a series of hand signals, tow rope attached, and smoothly and calmly the van was out! We whooped and hollered. Joan leaped from the van, and in a you had to be there moment sang ‘I am woman I am strong’ we all whooped a bit more! You’ve gotta love America!
Calm returned and we all carried on with our life. Tom and I headed out to cycle away from the park. More trees. Surprisingly quiet roads. We stopped to climb Mora Rock, which gives you one of the best panoramic views of the park. Then disaster. Another puncture. The same as before. Our spirits crushed we carried on, but the enjoyment of this wondrous place was gone. How could we carry on to South America with a bike that punctured every day?
We had naturally been climbing again, topping out at around 7,500 feet, twice the height of Britain’s tallest mountain. We had barely felt it. It also meant a 6,000 feet descent down a narrow hair-pinned road through the most stunning backdrop of the trip. We struggled to enjoy it, the worry of yet another puncture dominating our thoughts. Halfway down, it happened. Tom struggled to contain his frustration. Deep breaths, and them almost as quick as a Formula 1 pit crew we had the next rim tape and tube in. Would we never find a solution to this nightmare?
