Sequoia

October 3, 2025

Last night we camped in Sequoia National Park. Instead of King Canyon's non-existent staff, there was one lone ranger on duty, valiantly checking camping reservations. Gotta admire his work ethic! 

Because of the government shutdown, the visitor center was closed—but the general store and laundromat were open because they are privately operated. Capitalism never sleeps, even when the federal government does. Thankfully, so we could spend our glamorous national park evening washing socks instead of watching sunsets.There actually weren't any sunsets anyway because it was overcast. 

Once everyone everyone retired to their RVs and tents, the heavens let loose. And I don’t mean a gentle drizzle—I'm talking downpour. RIP to the tent campers who probably woke up floating on their air mattresses (that actually happened to me when I pitched my tent in the wrong spot at Slickrock near Moab). Boy was I thankful I didn't have to unzip a soggy tent at 3 a.m. to trek through mud for a bathroom break. To me, that’s the equivalent of being on Survivor, not camping in a majestic national park.

By morning, the serene little stream that ran through camp had transformed into a mini-river. While everyone else wisely packed up and left, we thought, “We're toughter than a little rain!” So we set up camp under the eave of the closed visitor center to take advantage of the free Wi-Fi...and tried to work.

This time, it wasn't connectivity issues that kept us from being productive. It was the rainy 42-degree weather, with bonus rounds of hail. My hands were so cold I couldn’t type. I finally told George, “I can’t take it anymore.” After thirty years of marriage, he knows when I'm about to lose it. We packed it up and left like all the other smart campers. Side note - although it was cold and miserable, it turns out I was getting sick and had a fever so that's why I was extra cold and miserable. 

On our way out, we made one last stop to visit the world’s largest tree—General Sherman. The line to take a picture in front of the tree was crazy long, so we just took a random picture with a random couple in front. The tree was indeed massive, but the real attraction was the bear. A crowd was gathered with phones out. George and I decided to join the throng (against park policy) because really, you don’t have to outrun the bear—you just have to outrun the slowest person. And we certainly can't be slower than the guy in flip flops! 

Between the rain and hail situation, there was no chance of hiking or biking in Sequoia. The week after we left, it actually snowed, confirming that our decision to flee was not cowardice—it was strategy. Still, Sequoia doesn’t disappoint, even from the comfort of a car. As we drove out of the park, we oohed and aawed from inside our warm, dry car at the towering trees, mountain vistas, and fog curling around the numerous switchbacks. 

That night we couldn't find anywhere decent to stay, so we turned to one of our favorite travel hacks—Boondockers Welcome. Basically, asking people on the app to “please let us sleep in your driveway.” We found a host in Pixley, California. 

We parked in the host’s driveway, leveled the rig, and felt absurdly grateful for pavement that wasn’t trying to swallow our tires. No rain, no mud, no rogue rivers—just the sound of big rigs zooming by on the road outside. 

That's adventure...sometimes you get Sequioa and sometimes you get someone's driveway on a bustling country road.