After leaving Yosemite, I had enough of the day to get close to the Sequoia National Park. I was hoping to find a hotel in Fresno, an hour from Sequoia. However, I was talking to my friend Pattie on the phone as I breezed through the city, and suddenly found myself way beyond any place to stay. Fortunately, the Squaw Valley Motel, 15 miles from the park had a vacancy. I got the last one just as the manager was turning off the Open sign. By that time, my cough had worsened and I was ready to get some rest.

The next morning I felt better, but knew I was still fighting more serious symptoms. I got an early start and made quick time. Unfortunately, most of Sequoia National Park was closed due to snow. I drove through the Avenue of the Giants and stopped at General Sherman, the famous massive tree. The trail to the tree was slick with ice, with everyone taking a looooooong time to get to the tree. That was the last exercise I was to get. After that, I drove. And drove. And drove.

Marilyn at General Sherman in the Sequoias

The route I took was due to all the passes over the Sierras being closed due to snow, with another winter snowstorm moving in on Sunday night. I went south, then decided to swing northward on the east side of the mountains, eventually arriving in Death Valley. I shot for arriving there before sunset. I hit the target, but by the time I came to Stovepipe Wells, the first stop in the park, the wind was rocking at 40-50 miles per hour. The temperature was dropping fast, and the dust was blowing strongly.

As I had made my way down, then up, then down again through the mountains, my ears had become increasingly painful. My cough had gotten worse, and I knew that the wind and cold would not be good. I decided to find a hotel and stopped at Stovepipe Wells. When I opened the door to the hotel, there were about 10 people in front of me. They were all in a group visiting from England. They had gotten the last rooms available.

By the time I reached the next stop on the road, all of the accommodations in Death Valley had been taken. I had three choices: pitch a tent in driving wind, sleep in the car (upright, since it was packed), or drive on to the next stop, which turned out to be Las Vegas, nearly two hours away. I opted for the latter.

And that’s when it hit me that Heyokah was reminding me to lighten up. After all, I had driven 600 miles that day, was coming down with a cold, and was seeing Death Valley in the dead of night. I had begun to get angry and frustrated, until I remembered the fireplug and dog.

I’ve been reading The Marriage of Spirit by Leslie Templeton-Thurston, a timely discussion for me. The section I’m in right now is about the cycles of up and down, that energy flows both ways and the better I become at moving with the flow instead of fighting what’s happening, of becoming an observer of my life, instead of engaging in the drama of what is happening “to” me, the more I’ll enjoy all the parts, good and bad, frustrating and joyful. Boy, was that ever relevant the past few days, in particular as I drove on through the drifting sand, tired, sore, and getting sicker by the minute.

By the time I reached Las Vegas, I was beat. The next morning, I awoke sick, my head stuffed and my lungs and throat sore from coughing. The storm was still dropping rain and the wind was still gusting to 40 mph. There would be no camping, but I wanted to at least get as close to Zion and the Grand Canyon as possible. So, I packed the car and drove to Utah, finding a modest motel room with a kitchen. I have been here for three nights, resting and recovering. The sun came out yesterday and they are predicting warm temperatures for the next few days throughout the region. Woo Hoo!

I’m feeling better, although still not 100 percent. But, I’m heading out tomorrow, and hope to make it quite a ways down the road. I’ll post more soon!