During the course of the forest and as we approached the coast the weather took a decided turn for the worse and within two hours of slapping on the sun cream in 100f heat we were shutting the roof and turning on the heating as the sea mist rolled in. The sea-view motel Karen had suggested in Brookings resembled a wet weekend in Margate more than a sun-kissed Pacific resort.
Not fancying the $180 a night view of where grey sky meets grey sea we turned round and headed south along the coast back towards the Redwoods National Park. We skipped Crescent City in the hope we’d get closer to the park and headed up onto what will forever be known as Hell Ridge.
As the coast road rose up into the mist, visibility dropped to about thirty feet, which at the end of a long day’s activities and drive was not what was required. But we pressed on higher over the ridge with white knuckles and brown shorts, swearing never to return if we made it out alive.
After 15 minutes of fear we finally dropped out of the mist and entered the park proper, only to realise that the range of motels we were used to on the interstate were not going to come toward us out of the gloom like the neon saviours we were praying for.
We turned off the 101 somewhere in the park and headed to what we thought was a town, before thinking better of a foggy cliff-side track to nowhere as our fevered brains began to hear the strains of banjos floating over the mist. We eventually found a full motel only to be told we had to go back the way we’d come to Crescent City or press on another 60 miles to Eureka. A rock and a hard place. Tired, pissed off and hungry we turned back to take on Hell Ridge once more.
Determined not to be beaten, we set our teeth, grabbed our balls and accelerated up the ridge into the fog. It was terrifying and exciting - being torn between the need to go as fast as the locals so we could see their tail-lights and the need not to die horribly on a freezing road we didn’t know and couldn’t see. Fortunately the Americans don’t believe in street-lighting, so that made it easier.
After 12 minutes of adrenalin-fuelled concentration we hit Crescent City again and I’ve never been so glad to see a neon light. We found a motel, checked in, had a crappy meal and a couple of beers, and retired knackered.
A full and adventured-filled day – God know’s what tomorrow will bring. But then that’s the fun.
