2026--San Francisco
Prolouge
Margo and I have been trying to get to San Francisco for at least the last 20 years. It has been one reason after another, changes in priorities, or just deciding that this particular year was just not the right one. This year SF’s number has finally come up. I began actively planning this trip in early 2025, and it still feels like it snuck up on us. But, here we are.
I plan to tick several things off my bucket list, including seeing a redwood tree and visiting Alcatraz. Margo is going to get to see the Painted Ladies, the houses featured in the opening of the sitcom Full House. In addition to those, we are going to visit Fisherman’s Wharf, Coit Tower, ride the Cable Cars, and visit Wyatt Earp’s grave.
After San Francisco, the plan is to visit Savannah Reese, a young lady I used to work with, and Alice Pear Kraus, a long-lost cousin, who we reconnected with a few years ago. Then it is on to three different National Parks, and then fly home from Fresno. It will be a full eight days.
As has been the habit in the last eight years, Veronica is going to stay with Jackie. Her mobility and stamina are not up for any kind of trip. She gets winded going to the curb, and she is in pain with every step she takes. So, we load her and Veronica up with snacks, and Jackie gets a break from us telling her what to do. It has worked out so far.
I plan to tick several things off my bucket list, including seeing a redwood tree and visiting Alcatraz. Margo is going to get to see the Painted Ladies, the houses featured in the opening of the sitcom Full House. In addition to those, we are going to visit Fisherman’s Wharf, Coit Tower, ride the Cable Cars, and visit Wyatt Earp’s grave.
After San Francisco, the plan is to visit Savannah Reese, a young lady I used to work with, and Alice Pear Kraus, a long-lost cousin, who we reconnected with a few years ago. Then it is on to three different National Parks, and then fly home from Fresno. It will be a full eight days.
As has been the habit in the last eight years, Veronica is going to stay with Jackie. Her mobility and stamina are not up for any kind of trip. She gets winded going to the curb, and she is in pain with every step she takes. So, we load her and Veronica up with snacks, and Jackie gets a break from us telling her what to do. It has worked out so far.
Day One- Thursday September 10, 2026
We got most everything done by 11 PM last night. Margo had a few things to do finish in the morning, including one that was forgotten: her swimsuit. We will see how much of a damper that puts on things. But, it is not like we are spending our days on a beach.
I was up at 5:30 AM and slept as well as I usually do before a trip. The anticipation of what is to come, coupled with the nags of things I am leaving at work, usually conspires to if not keep me restless, or at least add some odd dreams, which thankfully, only leave the faintest impression on me.
We were on the road by 6:45 AM, with the intent of trying a new parking garage. The one that we had been using, USAirport Parking, was sold to the Parking Spot. They are not honoring the frequent parking program, so I felt I was gyped out of some free parking. So, elsewhere we look. I decided on a place called Fine Parking, which is off of 64th Ave. Margo insists on covered parking, so she does not risk hail damage, and valet, was about seven or eight bucks cheaper a night. So, I splurged, pre-paid, and we drove right in, and had someone unload us, deliver the bags to the correct curb, and we were on our way. They dropped us off at the pickup island, instead of the curb. I don’t know if that is now the norm, but it did not start our airport day very well. We each had a large suitcase. Margo had two carry-on types, and I had my computer bag. It was no fun hauling them across the ribbed crosswalks. But, we Southwest had their curbside check-in open, so we dropped off the two big ones pretty quickly.
I signed us up for TSA Pre-Check Touchless, which is fairly new. You go through a special line at security, which had no wait; they take your picture, compare it to the one on file, and then you go through. Your ID and boarding pass stay in your carry-on.
This is the second time we have been through DIA’s new security checkpoint. I have decided I like it. They have a continuous, if a little slow, supply of bins that pop up in front of you. You put your belongings in one or more, and then walk through the metal detector. I always must tell them I have metal and go through the other one, rather than plan scanner roulette. This time I had to take off my jacket and belt. But other than my pants wanting to fall, it was not too bad.
The rest of DIA and the flight were routine. With the exception that our seats were not together. I am still not sure if it was mine or Southwest’s fault. I know I chose seats in the same row, originally. Then they cancelled them, and I had to re-choose a month or two later. Again, I thought I chose them together, but our boarding passes said 2D and 3C. Margo had an aisle seat, and I had the window. We fixed that among ourselves, and both of us tried to sleep for the 2 ½ hour flight.
We got our bags, and rode the train to the rental car terminal. I chose Hertz this time because they offered a Chevy Blazer, which I had been wanting to test drive. I was more than a little concerned that they would sub it out. I joined Hertz Gold and pre-checked in. We got to skip the counter, which, when I saw the line, was a great idea. But we had to hike to the furthest reaches of the Hertz lot to reach our car. It was indeed a bright blue Chevy Blazer, basic edition.
We now had our first hiccup, as my GPS would keep acting like I was plugging it into a computer when we plugged it into the USB port on the Blazer. I switched to plugging it into a power bank. Then it would not connect to the satellites. My phone was also not getting service. I was starting to get pretty frustrated. Margo was able to get her phone connected to Sky, and we got moving. At a stoplight, I turned the GPS off and back on, and it connected right away. Now, if we can solve the USB problem. I need to replace the thing anyway. It has to be at least ten years old.
We found our hotel after driving past it, and arrived at about Noon. We have a $30 early check-in fee, the lady says. Is that all right? No, it is not all right. It is another money grab. We were hungry, so I told her we would grab some lunch and come back.
We made our way to the Boulevard Café. I had a Philly Cheesesteak, and Margo picked at a meatloaf dinner. She said she was full. She also said her stomach was bothering her again. She had not slept well, and the fatigue was getting to her. But, as there was a Target nearby, we decided to go get supplies.
Daly City and San Francisco do not have Walmarts. They have decided that Walmart is evil, so they have basically zoned them out, or come up with other ways to keep them out of the cities. The Target we found had a small footprint and was on two levels. I wanted some snack cakes, Hostess or Little Debbie. Even TasteKakes or Entenmann's would be fine. They must be evil, too. We found some store bakery cookies, so that will have to do. There was a Walgreens next door, so we tried that, too. Nothing. We were in and out in less than 10 minutes.
We drove back to the hotel and checked in. Margo made it clear she needed to lie down, and was crashed by 3:30. I figured we would have plenty of time to get to the cemetery, but when I looked about 4:35, Google said it was closed. What cemetery closes before dusk? This is a Jewish cemetery, so maybe that has something to do with it. They close at 4:30 and open at 8:30 AM, and they are closed on Saturday. Maybe we can make it tomorrow.
There is a Chinese place right next door to our hotel, so we tried that for dinner. It was called Canton Restaurant. We liked the food, but the service was odd. We asked about drinks, and the lady, with a very heavy accent, made it sound like hot or not hot water. We eventually got ice water, but only about ¾ of a glass. I always go through a lot of water when I eat, so I asked for more, and finished that. Before we could ask for more, a guy with a pitcher came over and refilled us. I had lemon chicken, and Margo had sesame chicken. As I said, both were good. We shared a large vegetable fried rice, and left half of that to be tossed, because it was so large.
Then it was back to the hotel to type, watch some TV, and unwind. We plan to be up very early, so we can
beat the traffic and get down to the pier in plenty of time. I have waited a very long time to check “Visit Alcatraz” off of my bucket list. Tomorrow is the day.
I was up at 5:30 AM and slept as well as I usually do before a trip. The anticipation of what is to come, coupled with the nags of things I am leaving at work, usually conspires to if not keep me restless, or at least add some odd dreams, which thankfully, only leave the faintest impression on me.
We were on the road by 6:45 AM, with the intent of trying a new parking garage. The one that we had been using, USAirport Parking, was sold to the Parking Spot. They are not honoring the frequent parking program, so I felt I was gyped out of some free parking. So, elsewhere we look. I decided on a place called Fine Parking, which is off of 64th Ave. Margo insists on covered parking, so she does not risk hail damage, and valet, was about seven or eight bucks cheaper a night. So, I splurged, pre-paid, and we drove right in, and had someone unload us, deliver the bags to the correct curb, and we were on our way. They dropped us off at the pickup island, instead of the curb. I don’t know if that is now the norm, but it did not start our airport day very well. We each had a large suitcase. Margo had two carry-on types, and I had my computer bag. It was no fun hauling them across the ribbed crosswalks. But, we Southwest had their curbside check-in open, so we dropped off the two big ones pretty quickly.
I signed us up for TSA Pre-Check Touchless, which is fairly new. You go through a special line at security, which had no wait; they take your picture, compare it to the one on file, and then you go through. Your ID and boarding pass stay in your carry-on.
This is the second time we have been through DIA’s new security checkpoint. I have decided I like it. They have a continuous, if a little slow, supply of bins that pop up in front of you. You put your belongings in one or more, and then walk through the metal detector. I always must tell them I have metal and go through the other one, rather than plan scanner roulette. This time I had to take off my jacket and belt. But other than my pants wanting to fall, it was not too bad.
The rest of DIA and the flight were routine. With the exception that our seats were not together. I am still not sure if it was mine or Southwest’s fault. I know I chose seats in the same row, originally. Then they cancelled them, and I had to re-choose a month or two later. Again, I thought I chose them together, but our boarding passes said 2D and 3C. Margo had an aisle seat, and I had the window. We fixed that among ourselves, and both of us tried to sleep for the 2 ½ hour flight.
We got our bags, and rode the train to the rental car terminal. I chose Hertz this time because they offered a Chevy Blazer, which I had been wanting to test drive. I was more than a little concerned that they would sub it out. I joined Hertz Gold and pre-checked in. We got to skip the counter, which, when I saw the line, was a great idea. But we had to hike to the furthest reaches of the Hertz lot to reach our car. It was indeed a bright blue Chevy Blazer, basic edition.
We now had our first hiccup, as my GPS would keep acting like I was plugging it into a computer when we plugged it into the USB port on the Blazer. I switched to plugging it into a power bank. Then it would not connect to the satellites. My phone was also not getting service. I was starting to get pretty frustrated. Margo was able to get her phone connected to Sky, and we got moving. At a stoplight, I turned the GPS off and back on, and it connected right away. Now, if we can solve the USB problem. I need to replace the thing anyway. It has to be at least ten years old.
We found our hotel after driving past it, and arrived at about Noon. We have a $30 early check-in fee, the lady says. Is that all right? No, it is not all right. It is another money grab. We were hungry, so I told her we would grab some lunch and come back.
We made our way to the Boulevard Café. I had a Philly Cheesesteak, and Margo picked at a meatloaf dinner. She said she was full. She also said her stomach was bothering her again. She had not slept well, and the fatigue was getting to her. But, as there was a Target nearby, we decided to go get supplies.
Daly City and San Francisco do not have Walmarts. They have decided that Walmart is evil, so they have basically zoned them out, or come up with other ways to keep them out of the cities. The Target we found had a small footprint and was on two levels. I wanted some snack cakes, Hostess or Little Debbie. Even TasteKakes or Entenmann's would be fine. They must be evil, too. We found some store bakery cookies, so that will have to do. There was a Walgreens next door, so we tried that, too. Nothing. We were in and out in less than 10 minutes.
We drove back to the hotel and checked in. Margo made it clear she needed to lie down, and was crashed by 3:30. I figured we would have plenty of time to get to the cemetery, but when I looked about 4:35, Google said it was closed. What cemetery closes before dusk? This is a Jewish cemetery, so maybe that has something to do with it. They close at 4:30 and open at 8:30 AM, and they are closed on Saturday. Maybe we can make it tomorrow.
There is a Chinese place right next door to our hotel, so we tried that for dinner. It was called Canton Restaurant. We liked the food, but the service was odd. We asked about drinks, and the lady, with a very heavy accent, made it sound like hot or not hot water. We eventually got ice water, but only about ¾ of a glass. I always go through a lot of water when I eat, so I asked for more, and finished that. Before we could ask for more, a guy with a pitcher came over and refilled us. I had lemon chicken, and Margo had sesame chicken. As I said, both were good. We shared a large vegetable fried rice, and left half of that to be tossed, because it was so large.
Then it was back to the hotel to type, watch some TV, and unwind. We plan to be up very early, so we can
beat the traffic and get down to the pier in plenty of time. I have waited a very long time to check “Visit Alcatraz” off of my bucket list. Tomorrow is the day.
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Day Two--Friday, September 11, 2026
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Day Three-Saturday, September 12, 2026
We spent yesterday around the pier area. Today we would do everything else. Or at least everything else that interested us. That meant the Cable Cars, the Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Coit Tower, and the Painted Ladies.
The day began like yesterday, with us getting up at 5 AM. Margo was up a bit earlier and got in the shower before I did. She commented in her most colorful way that she could pee harder than the shower. She wasn’t wrong. But there is nothing to be done about that. We were down for breakfast at 6:15, and on the road an hour later.
First up to bat is the world-famous San Francisco Cable Cars. I can remember the first time I heard of them. It was as a boy, watching TV, and an ad for Rice-a-Roni would come on. Its tagline was “Rice-a-Roni, that San Francisco treat”, and there would be a cable car ringing its bell several times.
I later saw a news segment that explained how they worked. They are not powered by electricity. There is an underground cable that moves in a continuous loop. Through a system of two levers and a pedal, the cable is grabbed by the car, and brakes are applied or released. Today we would get to not only see them in operation, but to ride the cars themselves.
We arrived, after parking at a lot on Beach Street, at about 8 AM. There was a car waiting to be filled. I had planned to pay the conductor, but they had a kiosk selling tickets, which drew Margo’s attention. I knew it would likely be simpler to buy a ticket here, but I was unsure which of their many choices to buy. But a very helpful transit employee named Annie helped us breeze through the process, and we soon had two all-day passes. Those would be more than we needed, but still cheaper at $15 each than two separate rides ($18) would have been.
We found seats on the driver's left, on the outside, and we left around 8:20 or so. We left the Powell & Hyde station, by Fisherman’s Wharf, and headed up the hill. San Francisco is not for those averse to walking uphill. Somehow San Francisco manages to be uphill both ways, or at least it feels like it. This journey was without a doubt gaining elevation.
Margo and completely enjoyed the trip up, passing by the famous Lombard St and equally famous Chinatown. We ended our journey at Powell and Market, downtown. I learned a few things. The conveyances have a two-person crew. They did not introduce themselves, but one drives, and the other rides in the back, makes sure things are secure back there, and takes fares.
Then at the Market and Powell location, they have a turntable. The car rolls to a stop, and each of the crew pushes on their ends of the car, and spins it on this wooden turntable. The car rolls off onto the down set of tracks, and then the table continues its spin back to the up side.
Oh, and I learned another thing. The line at Market and Powell starts immediately. Margo needed to find a bathroom, and we were both a little hungry, so she stopped at Caffe Central. They looked to have a lot of nice sandwiches. But I got a cookie, and Margo got a croissant. We ate them outside and then went back to the staging area. We waited about 30 minutes and three cars before we got on to ride back down.
The ride down should have been more scenic and fun. We couldn’t see anything. We had the same seats, but this time we also had outside riders. I honestly could not believe the city allows this. As controlling as the government is in general, this seems unsafe in theory, and in practice there would be times when they had to suck in to avoid the parked truck mirrors, or an opposite-bound cable car. But it was an interesting experience.
We arrived safe and sound, and retrieved our car. Our next stop was the Golden Gate Bridge. It was time to get up close and personal with San Francisco’s iconic landmark.
Margo was still driving, so she had the distinction of driving across the bridge. It has a pedestrian/bike path on either side, and it had plenty of people who thought walking or biking across was a good idea. Maybe it is, or was in another decade. Now Margo and I just watch with a bit of jealousy as those who can do so.
Traffic was starting to awaken, so some stop-and-go was starting to happen. When we got on the bridge, we saw a sign that was partially down, saying that Vista Point, our destination, was closed. Thankfully, it wasn’t, and we parked in the lot.
It did not take long to get a few pictures of the bridge. What we also discovered was a street vendor grilling up large all-beef hot dogs with grilled onions. It smelled amazing, and we were hungry all of a sudden. Today, or maybe every day, it was very windy, so we ate our impromptu lunch in the car. It was a decent dog, but like everything else, ridiculously expensive. Two dogs, two Cokes, and a generous cup of watermelon sticks were $35.
As we finished up, Margo asked what was next. I had decided to work Lombard Street into our day. Originally I had planned to visit another Golden Gate Bridge overlook, Battery Spencer, but the cable car took longer than planned, and we were behind. Lombard Street would not take long and was more iconic than another spot to see the bridge.
I had fixed my issues with the GPS, with a little help from Google’s Gemini, so I set a course for the top of the Russian Hill neighborhood and the street that went through it. Margo knew about a Crooked Street but did not know that it was Lombard Street. I don’t know if she will remember the street name tomorrow, but she will never forget the drive.
This section of Lombard Street is one way, downhill, and a 16% grade. Floyd Hill back home is only 8%, so this thing is steep. To make it manageable, back in 1922, they added eight hairpin curves, earning the title of the Crookedest Road in San Francisco. The speed limit is 5 mph and is radar-enforced. Just kidding. I don’t think anyone moves very fast down that hill. It just is not straight enough to gain any speed.
It is lined with homes on each side, and each has a garage. Each of those doors looks like it could accommodate a car no bigger than a Mini Cooper. But, in truth, I was watching the road more than the house. It was over pretty fast, and another SF bucket list item had been achieved.
“What’s next?” came the question from my one-girl peanut gallery. Well, continuing downhill, on a much straighter and less steep segment of Lombard St is Coit Tower. I would like to say that this was some sort of observation tower dating back to the Civil War, or had served as some sort of maritime beacon, but no. Coit Tower was the gift of a wealthy socialite who wanted to add beauty to the city. It stands 210 feet tall and offers the best views in the city. Thankfully, it was built with an elevator.
We arrived, parked, and began walking up the stairs to the entrance. We made it to the first landing, and I could swear I was seeing a sign that said the elevator was not in service. I told Margo this, and she turned around and said she would wait in the car. She had already climbed her allotment of stairs for this site. I was just dumb enough to go see if the sign was accurate.
Margo texted me and asked if they had a gift shop. She had made it to the parking lot and earned her magnet, so as long as I was there…
They did have a gift shop, and I found a suitable magnet. Now, I decided to see if the elevator really was down. I was 85% certain it was. I would have won that bet. I also would have bet they were discounting admission to the observation deck. I would have lost that bet. Magnet, a $10 admission fee, and taxes came to $19.99. I kept my penny in change as a protest against the injustice.
The lady behind the counter handed me the ticket and pointed me in the right direction. She added, “It’s thirteen stories and takes about 5 minutes to walk up”. Maybe this skinny, toothpick-sized lady could walk it in 5 minutes. I could make it to the top in five minutes if the elevator was working. Otherwise, that time limit was not going to be met. I walked two flights of stairs, rested. Then my legs and lungs said, “Dude, if you do any more than one flight at a time, we quit”. They were not lying. By the time I made it to the top, my legs were rubbery.
The views were every bit as good as they said it would be. I wished the window had been larger and had not been covered in plexiglass. But the wind was really howling, and I imagine without those covers it would be miserable up there. I took plenty of pictures, but forgot to find our car in the lot. Margo was not looking anyway. When I texted her I was at the top, it was not “Cool!” or Well done”. It was “Already?” She has tremendous faith in me.
We had one more box to check today: the Painted Sisters. These seven Victorian homes, each painted a different color, stand side by side across the street from Alamo Park. They are featured in the opening sequence of the 1990’s sitcom, Full House. We parked on Fulton Street and had to hike up. Margo gave up about halfway there, feeling that my pictures and a drive past them would suffice. And that would be all we would see in San Francisco.
We drove back to our hotel and decided on the Boulevard Café for our early dinner. I had fried chicken, and Margo had pasta with butter and parmesan cheese. We both enjoyed the meal and not being in traffic.
The second half of our day was like a Saturday night in downtown Denver. But this was Noon to 2 PM. The whole city was out. We saw a 100-person outdoor yoga class down in the Marina District. Joggers and bikes were so thick you would have thought gas was at $6 per gallon. Which it was. Californians must love to pay taxes.
Then it was back to the hotel. Margo did a load of laundry. I typed, and then we played a round of cards. Bed was about 9:30. We will be getting an early start tomorrow.
The day began like yesterday, with us getting up at 5 AM. Margo was up a bit earlier and got in the shower before I did. She commented in her most colorful way that she could pee harder than the shower. She wasn’t wrong. But there is nothing to be done about that. We were down for breakfast at 6:15, and on the road an hour later.
First up to bat is the world-famous San Francisco Cable Cars. I can remember the first time I heard of them. It was as a boy, watching TV, and an ad for Rice-a-Roni would come on. Its tagline was “Rice-a-Roni, that San Francisco treat”, and there would be a cable car ringing its bell several times.
I later saw a news segment that explained how they worked. They are not powered by electricity. There is an underground cable that moves in a continuous loop. Through a system of two levers and a pedal, the cable is grabbed by the car, and brakes are applied or released. Today we would get to not only see them in operation, but to ride the cars themselves.
We arrived, after parking at a lot on Beach Street, at about 8 AM. There was a car waiting to be filled. I had planned to pay the conductor, but they had a kiosk selling tickets, which drew Margo’s attention. I knew it would likely be simpler to buy a ticket here, but I was unsure which of their many choices to buy. But a very helpful transit employee named Annie helped us breeze through the process, and we soon had two all-day passes. Those would be more than we needed, but still cheaper at $15 each than two separate rides ($18) would have been.
We found seats on the driver's left, on the outside, and we left around 8:20 or so. We left the Powell & Hyde station, by Fisherman’s Wharf, and headed up the hill. San Francisco is not for those averse to walking uphill. Somehow San Francisco manages to be uphill both ways, or at least it feels like it. This journey was without a doubt gaining elevation.
Margo and completely enjoyed the trip up, passing by the famous Lombard St and equally famous Chinatown. We ended our journey at Powell and Market, downtown. I learned a few things. The conveyances have a two-person crew. They did not introduce themselves, but one drives, and the other rides in the back, makes sure things are secure back there, and takes fares.
Then at the Market and Powell location, they have a turntable. The car rolls to a stop, and each of the crew pushes on their ends of the car, and spins it on this wooden turntable. The car rolls off onto the down set of tracks, and then the table continues its spin back to the up side.
Oh, and I learned another thing. The line at Market and Powell starts immediately. Margo needed to find a bathroom, and we were both a little hungry, so she stopped at Caffe Central. They looked to have a lot of nice sandwiches. But I got a cookie, and Margo got a croissant. We ate them outside and then went back to the staging area. We waited about 30 minutes and three cars before we got on to ride back down.
The ride down should have been more scenic and fun. We couldn’t see anything. We had the same seats, but this time we also had outside riders. I honestly could not believe the city allows this. As controlling as the government is in general, this seems unsafe in theory, and in practice there would be times when they had to suck in to avoid the parked truck mirrors, or an opposite-bound cable car. But it was an interesting experience.
We arrived safe and sound, and retrieved our car. Our next stop was the Golden Gate Bridge. It was time to get up close and personal with San Francisco’s iconic landmark.
Margo was still driving, so she had the distinction of driving across the bridge. It has a pedestrian/bike path on either side, and it had plenty of people who thought walking or biking across was a good idea. Maybe it is, or was in another decade. Now Margo and I just watch with a bit of jealousy as those who can do so.
Traffic was starting to awaken, so some stop-and-go was starting to happen. When we got on the bridge, we saw a sign that was partially down, saying that Vista Point, our destination, was closed. Thankfully, it wasn’t, and we parked in the lot.
It did not take long to get a few pictures of the bridge. What we also discovered was a street vendor grilling up large all-beef hot dogs with grilled onions. It smelled amazing, and we were hungry all of a sudden. Today, or maybe every day, it was very windy, so we ate our impromptu lunch in the car. It was a decent dog, but like everything else, ridiculously expensive. Two dogs, two Cokes, and a generous cup of watermelon sticks were $35.
As we finished up, Margo asked what was next. I had decided to work Lombard Street into our day. Originally I had planned to visit another Golden Gate Bridge overlook, Battery Spencer, but the cable car took longer than planned, and we were behind. Lombard Street would not take long and was more iconic than another spot to see the bridge.
I had fixed my issues with the GPS, with a little help from Google’s Gemini, so I set a course for the top of the Russian Hill neighborhood and the street that went through it. Margo knew about a Crooked Street but did not know that it was Lombard Street. I don’t know if she will remember the street name tomorrow, but she will never forget the drive.
This section of Lombard Street is one way, downhill, and a 16% grade. Floyd Hill back home is only 8%, so this thing is steep. To make it manageable, back in 1922, they added eight hairpin curves, earning the title of the Crookedest Road in San Francisco. The speed limit is 5 mph and is radar-enforced. Just kidding. I don’t think anyone moves very fast down that hill. It just is not straight enough to gain any speed.
It is lined with homes on each side, and each has a garage. Each of those doors looks like it could accommodate a car no bigger than a Mini Cooper. But, in truth, I was watching the road more than the house. It was over pretty fast, and another SF bucket list item had been achieved.
“What’s next?” came the question from my one-girl peanut gallery. Well, continuing downhill, on a much straighter and less steep segment of Lombard St is Coit Tower. I would like to say that this was some sort of observation tower dating back to the Civil War, or had served as some sort of maritime beacon, but no. Coit Tower was the gift of a wealthy socialite who wanted to add beauty to the city. It stands 210 feet tall and offers the best views in the city. Thankfully, it was built with an elevator.
We arrived, parked, and began walking up the stairs to the entrance. We made it to the first landing, and I could swear I was seeing a sign that said the elevator was not in service. I told Margo this, and she turned around and said she would wait in the car. She had already climbed her allotment of stairs for this site. I was just dumb enough to go see if the sign was accurate.
Margo texted me and asked if they had a gift shop. She had made it to the parking lot and earned her magnet, so as long as I was there…
They did have a gift shop, and I found a suitable magnet. Now, I decided to see if the elevator really was down. I was 85% certain it was. I would have won that bet. I also would have bet they were discounting admission to the observation deck. I would have lost that bet. Magnet, a $10 admission fee, and taxes came to $19.99. I kept my penny in change as a protest against the injustice.
The lady behind the counter handed me the ticket and pointed me in the right direction. She added, “It’s thirteen stories and takes about 5 minutes to walk up”. Maybe this skinny, toothpick-sized lady could walk it in 5 minutes. I could make it to the top in five minutes if the elevator was working. Otherwise, that time limit was not going to be met. I walked two flights of stairs, rested. Then my legs and lungs said, “Dude, if you do any more than one flight at a time, we quit”. They were not lying. By the time I made it to the top, my legs were rubbery.
The views were every bit as good as they said it would be. I wished the window had been larger and had not been covered in plexiglass. But the wind was really howling, and I imagine without those covers it would be miserable up there. I took plenty of pictures, but forgot to find our car in the lot. Margo was not looking anyway. When I texted her I was at the top, it was not “Cool!” or Well done”. It was “Already?” She has tremendous faith in me.
We had one more box to check today: the Painted Sisters. These seven Victorian homes, each painted a different color, stand side by side across the street from Alamo Park. They are featured in the opening sequence of the 1990’s sitcom, Full House. We parked on Fulton Street and had to hike up. Margo gave up about halfway there, feeling that my pictures and a drive past them would suffice. And that would be all we would see in San Francisco.
We drove back to our hotel and decided on the Boulevard Café for our early dinner. I had fried chicken, and Margo had pasta with butter and parmesan cheese. We both enjoyed the meal and not being in traffic.
The second half of our day was like a Saturday night in downtown Denver. But this was Noon to 2 PM. The whole city was out. We saw a 100-person outdoor yoga class down in the Marina District. Joggers and bikes were so thick you would have thought gas was at $6 per gallon. Which it was. Californians must love to pay taxes.
Then it was back to the hotel. Margo did a load of laundry. I typed, and then we played a round of cards. Bed was about 9:30. We will be getting an early start tomorrow.
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Day Four-Sunday, September 13, 2026
We were up at 5 AM, and I felt very rushed. We did not get nearly enough packed, and I wanted to be on the road by 7 AM. We had over six hours of driving to do today, and about 12 hours of daylight. That left about six hours for visiting, and we really wanted to do that visiting. The way I was envisioning this day was that we had five segments, and I was only looking forward to two of them.
We left about 7 AM and made a stop at Speedway to pick up ice and top off the tank. I probably had enough gas to make it where we were going, but why chance it? Things can happen, and having insurance seems to work like a scarecrow warding off the bad luck.
Then we were on the road, and the first thing I noticed was that my GPS was giving me an ETA that was at least 1 ½ hours off. I didn’t do the math, but I was expecting sometime around 9 AM, and it had something much greater than that. I did not know why. I asked Margo to use her phone to come up with a route and ETA. It was routing us up north to I-80, as I expected. There was something wrong, and instead of being able to focus and diagnose the problem, I was driving and had to focus on the sanity of the San Francisco drivers.
Margo was soon telling me, “Ignore that”, as the GPS barked another command to take an exit that had to be wrong. I-80 was going to take us almost to Savannah’s doorstep; there was no reason to exit. Savannah and I had worked together for most of seven years. Margo and I had both grown very fond of her, making this visit a must.
Finally, as we approached the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, the reason became evident. A message appeared on my GPS screen that said ‘toll on this route is no longer avoidable’, and I was asked to acknowledge this message. I had the GPS set to avoid tolls, because back in Colorado that meant avoiding I-470, and there are always similar routes available. Avoiding the Bay Bridge meant a long detour to another bridge. Once we passed the toll plaza, the GPS corrected itself.
The rest of the drive to Citrus Heights, actually, Roseville, was uneventful. It was also going to be the easiest of the three segments I was not looking forward to. But we arrived at Maidu Regional Park, chosen by Savannah because it was close to her and was still easy enough to get going back on our route.
Margo had texted at the 30-minute mark that we were that far away. At the ten-minute mark, another update was sent, this time telling her about the bright Blue Blazer we were driving. Savannah then turned and directed us to her general direction. I saw them first and parked. The first hugs were tight and long. Savannah and I had been corresponding for months, with Margo jumping in on occasion to add her perspective. We had all been looking forward to this meeting since April.
Savannah was in the middle of a split with her ex and father of her two-year-old, Savannah. So, she filled us in on all those details while chasing her very energetic son, Florendo. I don’t remember my daughters having that kind of energy, but I worked nights back then, and Margo got stuck with the day-to-day details. I filled in on mornings and weekends, but it was not the same.
There was a farmer’s market going on just feet from where we were, so Margo decided to take Florendo shopping and give Savannah and me a chance to catch up on McLane gossip and news. When the two shoppers returned, I could see them over Savannah’s shoulder. Florendo looked like he was carrying a lizard in one hand. I did not think that Mato would let him pick up a dead lizard, but he is a two-year-old, and it is possible that there could have been a momentary lapse in attention to the toddler. But I figured if he really had a dead animal, Margo would notice in short order and there would be an ear-splitting shriek. But that did not happen. Florendo did have a lizard, the plastic kind, in each hand. He also had a grin.
It was actually Florendo’s second birthday tomorrow. Margo and I were aware and had brought him several gifts. He is potty training, so Margo bought him some targets to aim for. She also got him stickers and a book to reward him with a job well done or sat. We got him a few more conventional gifts: crayons and a book, a Leap Frog for teaching animals, and a piano with pop-up notes. He pounded happily away on the piano. Somehow we all kept him happy and entertained for 2 ½ hours.
About the same time, he was running out of patience with the adults. Mickey's hand had reached the We-got-to-go number, and we had to say goodbye. Savannah hopes to be out to Colorado soon, but only time will tell. We are all anxious for the next reunion.
We put ourselves in the Blazer and began segment three. Segment One was the drive to Roseville. Segment two was our visit with Savannah. This segment would be a two-hour drive to Twain Harte to visit Alice Krause. Alice, born Alice Pearl Schenfeld, is my first cousin, once removed. That means she and my mom were 1st cousins, and we are one generation removed from that relationship. There is your genealogy lesson for the day.
Alice moved to California with her parents back in 1942, when she was still a small child. She was going to tell us that there was a rift between her dad and her grandfather Schenfeld over how the funeral for her deceased older brother was handled. He had been killed in an accident. There were competing religions involved, and when it did not go the way the Schenfeld side wanted, there were very hurt feelings. Alice’s mother had always wanted to go to California, so just like the Clampetts, they loaded up their truck and moved. The Clampetts went to Beverly Hills and the Schefelds to Los Angeles. A marriage and many years of work led Alice and her husband, Ed, to end up in Twain Harte, in Tuolumne County.
To get to Twain Harte, which we were to find out was named after Mark Twain and Bret Harte, two American authors who had made their homes in the general area, you have to go through Calaveras County. Which any Mark Twain fan will recall as the location of “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”. It takes place in Angel Camp, which has a place in my story as well. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Anyway, back to our story. We began Segment Three by programming the GPS. It was behaving fine. Traffic was not. We were delayed at one light after another. We sat at one for close to ten minutes. I thought that there had to have been an accident, but when we finally got to the front, we did not see anything. Once we finally got out of the Sacramento area, our speed picked up.
We drove through several small towns, including one called Angels Camp. This one was built very close to the road, and as such, traffic was slow. It took us longer to get through there than I thought. It was probably one car blocking the intersection.
We pulled into Alice Pearl’s driveway at about 3:30. I was disappointed in how long it took to get there, and how short a time we would have to visit. We rang the doorbell, and Alice answered, and here were hugs all around. We sat down, and Alice immediately brought out her quilts. She knew Margo was a quilter and that our time was a bit short. So she showed us six quilts, each more intricate than the last. She is very talented. She told us one was done in log cabin style, and another was appliqué style. The last one she showed us she had entered into a county fair and won best of show.
After the quilts, she showed us her house, including her quilting room. She said she is addicted to quilting, and true to her word, the beginnings of another were on her sewing machine. She showed us her backyard, which has a couple of coastal redwoods that were planted when they moved in. They are getting quite tall. She tells us she has great neighbors, and just down the street is a fabric store, which I am guessing is their biggest customer. All in all, it was very comfortable and quiet. It is a place where a person could truly relax.
It was past time for lunch. Alice had waited for us to arrive before eating, so we could all sit down together and visit a bit longer. She had suggested a local Mexican restaurant, El Jardin, and Margo loves Mexican, so that is where we went. It was not busy yet. This was mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and we enjoyed telling stories about family and travel.
I had not known that Alice was such an extensive traveler. She had gotten a job at Flying Tigers when she was in Los Angeles. They transported cargo via air all over the world. They also had an agreement with Pan American Airlines to give the employees of Flying Tigers discounted fares. She and Ed used those to go to Europe several times, Asia, and all over the US. She had been to 46 of the 50 states. She told me the four, of which I remember three. North and South Dakota, and Rhode Island.
At some point I excused myself to go to the restroom. They had a door which opened to a hallway that had three doors: two for the Mens and Ladies rooms, and a third I assumed went outside. After taking care of business, I stepped back into the hall and tried to enter the restaurant. The door, which I had closed, locked behind me. There was no turn switch on the knob to get back in.
At this point I had two options: knock and yell, or hope that I was right about the other door being an exit, and that it was unlocked. I got a yes to both questions, and was soon walking in the front door and past the unmanned hostess stand. Margo gave me a glance that said she noticed something, but she did not ask. I told her about it once we were on the road.
Alice knew I was running on a schedule and she helped end the day, so we could leave something just shy of 5 PM. She was certain we would reach El Portal by nightfall. I was less sure, especially since we needed to stop for gas. Gas in the National Parks is few and far between, so I wanted enough to get us through all three, if we had to. So, we said our goodbyes and we all hoped that another visit was in the cards.
Alice had told us which route to take, and as she has visited Yosemite in excess of three dozen times, I was inclined to take her word for it. But neither Margo nor I wrote down the two highways, not the one she said we must avoid. We thought we had them, but we were only close. Luckily, the GPS agreed with Alice, and it mostly pointed us along the correct route.
The GPS deviated when we got to a place called Old Priest Grade. Highway 120 went left, and Old Priest Grade went left, and it rejoined Highway 120 at the small town called Priest. The GPS knew that this route was shorter. It was also very steep, very narrow, and full of switchbacks. At least I was paved. Both Margo and I wondered what the hell our electronic guide had gotten us into this time, but as there was no way to turn around, we just kept going uphill. I started cussing when I saw the sign indicating we were about to rejoin Highway 120, but I was also grateful. That was our adventure for the day. I hoped.
We stopped not long after that at Miner’s Mart and topped off the tank. We had been on the road for about an hour. I was noticing we were losing time on the ETA clock. I also noticed that it seemed to think we should be doing 55. We were not, and we would not be, so that time kept creeping deeper and deeper into the evening.
The remainder of the drive itself was straightforward. It just seemed to go on forever. We did not arrive until after 8 PM, at which time we were wondering if our dinner plan was in danger. There was an on-site restaurant at our hotel, Yosemite View Lodge, but we thought it closed at 8:30. When I went to check in, we found it closed at 9 PM, so we were fine.
We checked in, left our luggage for later, and went to eat. We were more afraid not to eat than we were hungry. I don’t recall what I had, chicken of some sort, and then we went back to the room. It was a bit dated, but comfortable, with an air conditioner that we probably did not really need. Our back door opened to a 150 sq ft balcony, with a table and four chairs. We could also hear the Merced River at night. The brochure made it sound like it was close. We confirmed it was pretty close when we checked in the morning. It was too bad that we would not get to enjoy the view more. We were both pretty tired, so after unpacking the minimum, we were off to bed. I think it was about 9:30 or 10 PM.
We left about 7 AM and made a stop at Speedway to pick up ice and top off the tank. I probably had enough gas to make it where we were going, but why chance it? Things can happen, and having insurance seems to work like a scarecrow warding off the bad luck.
Then we were on the road, and the first thing I noticed was that my GPS was giving me an ETA that was at least 1 ½ hours off. I didn’t do the math, but I was expecting sometime around 9 AM, and it had something much greater than that. I did not know why. I asked Margo to use her phone to come up with a route and ETA. It was routing us up north to I-80, as I expected. There was something wrong, and instead of being able to focus and diagnose the problem, I was driving and had to focus on the sanity of the San Francisco drivers.
Margo was soon telling me, “Ignore that”, as the GPS barked another command to take an exit that had to be wrong. I-80 was going to take us almost to Savannah’s doorstep; there was no reason to exit. Savannah and I had worked together for most of seven years. Margo and I had both grown very fond of her, making this visit a must.
Finally, as we approached the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, the reason became evident. A message appeared on my GPS screen that said ‘toll on this route is no longer avoidable’, and I was asked to acknowledge this message. I had the GPS set to avoid tolls, because back in Colorado that meant avoiding I-470, and there are always similar routes available. Avoiding the Bay Bridge meant a long detour to another bridge. Once we passed the toll plaza, the GPS corrected itself.
The rest of the drive to Citrus Heights, actually, Roseville, was uneventful. It was also going to be the easiest of the three segments I was not looking forward to. But we arrived at Maidu Regional Park, chosen by Savannah because it was close to her and was still easy enough to get going back on our route.
Margo had texted at the 30-minute mark that we were that far away. At the ten-minute mark, another update was sent, this time telling her about the bright Blue Blazer we were driving. Savannah then turned and directed us to her general direction. I saw them first and parked. The first hugs were tight and long. Savannah and I had been corresponding for months, with Margo jumping in on occasion to add her perspective. We had all been looking forward to this meeting since April.
Savannah was in the middle of a split with her ex and father of her two-year-old, Savannah. So, she filled us in on all those details while chasing her very energetic son, Florendo. I don’t remember my daughters having that kind of energy, but I worked nights back then, and Margo got stuck with the day-to-day details. I filled in on mornings and weekends, but it was not the same.
There was a farmer’s market going on just feet from where we were, so Margo decided to take Florendo shopping and give Savannah and me a chance to catch up on McLane gossip and news. When the two shoppers returned, I could see them over Savannah’s shoulder. Florendo looked like he was carrying a lizard in one hand. I did not think that Mato would let him pick up a dead lizard, but he is a two-year-old, and it is possible that there could have been a momentary lapse in attention to the toddler. But I figured if he really had a dead animal, Margo would notice in short order and there would be an ear-splitting shriek. But that did not happen. Florendo did have a lizard, the plastic kind, in each hand. He also had a grin.
It was actually Florendo’s second birthday tomorrow. Margo and I were aware and had brought him several gifts. He is potty training, so Margo bought him some targets to aim for. She also got him stickers and a book to reward him with a job well done or sat. We got him a few more conventional gifts: crayons and a book, a Leap Frog for teaching animals, and a piano with pop-up notes. He pounded happily away on the piano. Somehow we all kept him happy and entertained for 2 ½ hours.
About the same time, he was running out of patience with the adults. Mickey's hand had reached the We-got-to-go number, and we had to say goodbye. Savannah hopes to be out to Colorado soon, but only time will tell. We are all anxious for the next reunion.
We put ourselves in the Blazer and began segment three. Segment One was the drive to Roseville. Segment two was our visit with Savannah. This segment would be a two-hour drive to Twain Harte to visit Alice Krause. Alice, born Alice Pearl Schenfeld, is my first cousin, once removed. That means she and my mom were 1st cousins, and we are one generation removed from that relationship. There is your genealogy lesson for the day.
Alice moved to California with her parents back in 1942, when she was still a small child. She was going to tell us that there was a rift between her dad and her grandfather Schenfeld over how the funeral for her deceased older brother was handled. He had been killed in an accident. There were competing religions involved, and when it did not go the way the Schenfeld side wanted, there were very hurt feelings. Alice’s mother had always wanted to go to California, so just like the Clampetts, they loaded up their truck and moved. The Clampetts went to Beverly Hills and the Schefelds to Los Angeles. A marriage and many years of work led Alice and her husband, Ed, to end up in Twain Harte, in Tuolumne County.
To get to Twain Harte, which we were to find out was named after Mark Twain and Bret Harte, two American authors who had made their homes in the general area, you have to go through Calaveras County. Which any Mark Twain fan will recall as the location of “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”. It takes place in Angel Camp, which has a place in my story as well. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Anyway, back to our story. We began Segment Three by programming the GPS. It was behaving fine. Traffic was not. We were delayed at one light after another. We sat at one for close to ten minutes. I thought that there had to have been an accident, but when we finally got to the front, we did not see anything. Once we finally got out of the Sacramento area, our speed picked up.
We drove through several small towns, including one called Angels Camp. This one was built very close to the road, and as such, traffic was slow. It took us longer to get through there than I thought. It was probably one car blocking the intersection.
We pulled into Alice Pearl’s driveway at about 3:30. I was disappointed in how long it took to get there, and how short a time we would have to visit. We rang the doorbell, and Alice answered, and here were hugs all around. We sat down, and Alice immediately brought out her quilts. She knew Margo was a quilter and that our time was a bit short. So she showed us six quilts, each more intricate than the last. She is very talented. She told us one was done in log cabin style, and another was appliqué style. The last one she showed us she had entered into a county fair and won best of show.
After the quilts, she showed us her house, including her quilting room. She said she is addicted to quilting, and true to her word, the beginnings of another were on her sewing machine. She showed us her backyard, which has a couple of coastal redwoods that were planted when they moved in. They are getting quite tall. She tells us she has great neighbors, and just down the street is a fabric store, which I am guessing is their biggest customer. All in all, it was very comfortable and quiet. It is a place where a person could truly relax.
It was past time for lunch. Alice had waited for us to arrive before eating, so we could all sit down together and visit a bit longer. She had suggested a local Mexican restaurant, El Jardin, and Margo loves Mexican, so that is where we went. It was not busy yet. This was mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and we enjoyed telling stories about family and travel.
I had not known that Alice was such an extensive traveler. She had gotten a job at Flying Tigers when she was in Los Angeles. They transported cargo via air all over the world. They also had an agreement with Pan American Airlines to give the employees of Flying Tigers discounted fares. She and Ed used those to go to Europe several times, Asia, and all over the US. She had been to 46 of the 50 states. She told me the four, of which I remember three. North and South Dakota, and Rhode Island.
At some point I excused myself to go to the restroom. They had a door which opened to a hallway that had three doors: two for the Mens and Ladies rooms, and a third I assumed went outside. After taking care of business, I stepped back into the hall and tried to enter the restaurant. The door, which I had closed, locked behind me. There was no turn switch on the knob to get back in.
At this point I had two options: knock and yell, or hope that I was right about the other door being an exit, and that it was unlocked. I got a yes to both questions, and was soon walking in the front door and past the unmanned hostess stand. Margo gave me a glance that said she noticed something, but she did not ask. I told her about it once we were on the road.
Alice knew I was running on a schedule and she helped end the day, so we could leave something just shy of 5 PM. She was certain we would reach El Portal by nightfall. I was less sure, especially since we needed to stop for gas. Gas in the National Parks is few and far between, so I wanted enough to get us through all three, if we had to. So, we said our goodbyes and we all hoped that another visit was in the cards.
Alice had told us which route to take, and as she has visited Yosemite in excess of three dozen times, I was inclined to take her word for it. But neither Margo nor I wrote down the two highways, not the one she said we must avoid. We thought we had them, but we were only close. Luckily, the GPS agreed with Alice, and it mostly pointed us along the correct route.
The GPS deviated when we got to a place called Old Priest Grade. Highway 120 went left, and Old Priest Grade went left, and it rejoined Highway 120 at the small town called Priest. The GPS knew that this route was shorter. It was also very steep, very narrow, and full of switchbacks. At least I was paved. Both Margo and I wondered what the hell our electronic guide had gotten us into this time, but as there was no way to turn around, we just kept going uphill. I started cussing when I saw the sign indicating we were about to rejoin Highway 120, but I was also grateful. That was our adventure for the day. I hoped.
We stopped not long after that at Miner’s Mart and topped off the tank. We had been on the road for about an hour. I was noticing we were losing time on the ETA clock. I also noticed that it seemed to think we should be doing 55. We were not, and we would not be, so that time kept creeping deeper and deeper into the evening.
The remainder of the drive itself was straightforward. It just seemed to go on forever. We did not arrive until after 8 PM, at which time we were wondering if our dinner plan was in danger. There was an on-site restaurant at our hotel, Yosemite View Lodge, but we thought it closed at 8:30. When I went to check in, we found it closed at 9 PM, so we were fine.
We checked in, left our luggage for later, and went to eat. We were more afraid not to eat than we were hungry. I don’t recall what I had, chicken of some sort, and then we went back to the room. It was a bit dated, but comfortable, with an air conditioner that we probably did not really need. Our back door opened to a 150 sq ft balcony, with a table and four chairs. We could also hear the Merced River at night. The brochure made it sound like it was close. We confirmed it was pretty close when we checked in the morning. It was too bad that we would not get to enjoy the view more. We were both pretty tired, so after unpacking the minimum, we were off to bed. I think it was about 9:30 or 10 PM.
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Day Five-Monday, September 14, 2026
Today is Yosemite day, the first of the three National Parks we are visiting. I purposely put the National Parks after San Francisco, because I knew that SF would be stressful, and going to see nature would help settle us back down. While I enjoyed visiting Savannah and Alice Pearl very much, Sunday was not a leisurely drive. So today we would get to relax a bit.
We were up at 6:30 AM with the goal of being on the road an hour later and at the Yosemite Valley Lodge at 8 AM. And it worked. I think we pulled out at 8:05. Margo wanted to drive because, one, I scare her on the mountain roads, and two, she says she gets motion sick if she is not driving. These were not highway miles, which put her to sleep, so I was fine with it.
I did not mention much about our room, as we got in late (for us) and were in bed not that long after arriving. The room comes with a view of the Merced River and a large balcony with a table and four chairs. It looks like it would be nice to relax during the evenings. I requested an accessible room, which usually means things like the first floor when you don’t have an elevator, a shower so you don’t have to step high to get in, and maybe a high-rise toilet, for those of us with leg issues. They got one of those, but it was the important one. First floor. It came with a Jacuzzi tub and a grab bar by the toilet. We will be OK. The water pressure is only marginally better than the Hampton.
Back to Yosemite. We planned to eat breakfast in the park, because the on-site restaurant did not start serving until 7 AM. My thought was that with this park, minutes count, because even in September it gets a lot of pressure. I was right. The parking lot was already filling up, but we did find a spot reasonably close and walked into the Base Camp Eatery, next to the Yosemite Lodge. The Lodge was actually my first choice to stay, but it was expensive. If I remember is was something around $500 per night. Maybe after I hit the lottery.
We were done with breakfast before 9 AM, and our tram tour was to leave at 10 AM. At about 9:25, I remembered that this was an uncovered tram, and asked Margo about a hat and sunscreen. She had neither, so off to the gift shop to get her a $50 cap. There I am supporting our National Park system.
Our Ranger narrating this trip was Zach Foss, according to his badge. He told the crowd that his name was Ranger Zach, but we could call him Ranger Zach. His jokes continued. When speaking about something falling from the tram, his instructions were to raise your hand, point, and wave goodbye to it. The tram would not be stopping for items regardless of cost, sentimental value, or whether it was newborn. We would not have needed to test him on that.
The two-hour tram turned out to be a great idea. We were taken to the same spots that the other tourists were taking pictures of, but we got stories to go with them, and we did not have to worry about a parking spot at those sites. The one at Tunnel View was packed, but the driver just moved a cone out of the way and pulled our tram right into a reserved spot. We got out and took our pictures.
We were pointed to the geological features: Sentinel Rock, Cathedral Rock, and the Three Brothers. The daddy of them all, however, was El Capitan. This piece of granite is 3,000 feet tall, and it looks to be a sheer cliff. It goes straight up. You know what else goes straight up El Capitan? Climbers. We saw at least three, and these guys are certifiable. Unless you solo free climb, which means with no safety equipment other than a chalk bag, it takes days to make an ascent. That means either finding a ledge to spend the night on, or bringing special gear to create your own spot on the rock wall.
Both Margo and I took pictures, but in looking back, not enough. Maybe together they will tell the story of the two-hour tour. I was wishing by the end of the tour that it would be going to other places, like Glacier Point, but that was too remote. Yosemite is a large park, about 760,000 acres, with over 800 miles of hiking trails. You could live there for years and never see it all.
The only disappointing part was that due to the time of year, there were almost no waterfalls to see. Bridal Veil was the only one with some flow. The others were dry. If Margo and I ever go back, it will likely be in the spring.
Once finished with the tram, we ditched our jackets because the weather was actually getting warm. We were hungry, so we went back to Base Camp Eatery for lunch. Breakfast had been surprising they good. The scrambled eggs were not runny, and the bacon was crispy. Lunch, which for us was a cheeseburger and a hot dog, was OK. Presentation was a C-, but the food taste was a B. Not bad for cafeteria food.
Our adventure continued with a drive to Yosemite Village. Research said it had a large store, the Welcome Center, a couple of places to eat, a museum, an Indian Village, and the Ansel Adams Gallery. There had to be something I would find interesting. But first we had to get there.
My GPS is old. I told you about the problems we had yesterday. Well, another issue cropped up. When my map was last updated, which was the 1st of Never, the two main roads, Northern and Southern, were two-way. Now they are one-way and make a loop, with an escape route to go to Yosemite Village. Margo and I were listening to the GPS tell us to go the wrong way on a one-way, and to make turns that don’t exist anymore. We should have been watching the signs, which would have gotten us there easily. Instead, we made a loop, and I was back in San Francisco with my blood pressure moving the needle up, up, and up. Margo stayed calm, and on our second attempt, we made it.
Margo hiked to the Welcome Center, where we got a few things, and then to their store, which was very nice. Lots to see and buy. I think we only brought one item to take back to my team, and then we were done. Margo was getting tired and had hiked all that she was going to without a very good reason. Getting Exercise and self-gratification were not in the Good Reason.
Column. Things like The Park is on Fire. Or, they are giving away free puzzles. Or, look, they built a casino in the park. Those are in the Good Reason column. So, I was on my own while she sought the comfort of our bright blue Chevy Blazer.
In looking at the map of Yosemite Village on one of the paths, I noticed that they have the Yosemite Cemetery. I am a sucker for cemeteries. To me, those are history. Those are the end of so many stories, and the inspiration to look up the beginnings. One, for instance, was a grave marked “A Boy”. I had also seen a company by that name that made very expensive keepsakes and bookmarks. When I got back to our room, I did a Google search and uncovered a well-researched story that concluded “A Boy” is Willie Wyatt, a 17-year-old who was killed by an accidental gunshot. His family lived in Oakland and basically died off without offspring, so there was no one to maintain the grave, the headstone, or even the story. There is another story, disproven, that says it was a different boy who drowned. Because of the lack of certainty, the NPS chose to label the grave “A Boy”.
The cemetery was at the edge of the village. On the way back, I made a quick tour of the Indian Village and saw the bark huts that they used to make. I read a story about these Indians turning acorns into flour, and then a kind of mush. It did not sound appetizing. My final stop was at the Ansel Adams Gallery. He was a famous Western photographer, so I stopped to see what they had. They had plenty of postcards with his images on them, but they also had a pottery section. They had some reasonably priced pieces, so I bought a bowl for Charity at work. She is having a birthday party, and it would make a nice gift.
That was it for Yosemite National Park. We got in our car and were back at our hotel in about 20-25 minutes. We had a nice dinner at The River Restaurant, concluding with a most excellent piece of chocolate cake. Margo helped with the whipped cream on the side.
We spent the rest of the evening getting the suitcases ready for our departure in the morning, and me writing up today in my travelogue. Tomorrow is King’s Canyon and a lot of driving, again. But I am looking forward to seeing my first giant redwood.
We were up at 6:30 AM with the goal of being on the road an hour later and at the Yosemite Valley Lodge at 8 AM. And it worked. I think we pulled out at 8:05. Margo wanted to drive because, one, I scare her on the mountain roads, and two, she says she gets motion sick if she is not driving. These were not highway miles, which put her to sleep, so I was fine with it.
I did not mention much about our room, as we got in late (for us) and were in bed not that long after arriving. The room comes with a view of the Merced River and a large balcony with a table and four chairs. It looks like it would be nice to relax during the evenings. I requested an accessible room, which usually means things like the first floor when you don’t have an elevator, a shower so you don’t have to step high to get in, and maybe a high-rise toilet, for those of us with leg issues. They got one of those, but it was the important one. First floor. It came with a Jacuzzi tub and a grab bar by the toilet. We will be OK. The water pressure is only marginally better than the Hampton.
Back to Yosemite. We planned to eat breakfast in the park, because the on-site restaurant did not start serving until 7 AM. My thought was that with this park, minutes count, because even in September it gets a lot of pressure. I was right. The parking lot was already filling up, but we did find a spot reasonably close and walked into the Base Camp Eatery, next to the Yosemite Lodge. The Lodge was actually my first choice to stay, but it was expensive. If I remember is was something around $500 per night. Maybe after I hit the lottery.
We were done with breakfast before 9 AM, and our tram tour was to leave at 10 AM. At about 9:25, I remembered that this was an uncovered tram, and asked Margo about a hat and sunscreen. She had neither, so off to the gift shop to get her a $50 cap. There I am supporting our National Park system.
Our Ranger narrating this trip was Zach Foss, according to his badge. He told the crowd that his name was Ranger Zach, but we could call him Ranger Zach. His jokes continued. When speaking about something falling from the tram, his instructions were to raise your hand, point, and wave goodbye to it. The tram would not be stopping for items regardless of cost, sentimental value, or whether it was newborn. We would not have needed to test him on that.
The two-hour tram turned out to be a great idea. We were taken to the same spots that the other tourists were taking pictures of, but we got stories to go with them, and we did not have to worry about a parking spot at those sites. The one at Tunnel View was packed, but the driver just moved a cone out of the way and pulled our tram right into a reserved spot. We got out and took our pictures.
We were pointed to the geological features: Sentinel Rock, Cathedral Rock, and the Three Brothers. The daddy of them all, however, was El Capitan. This piece of granite is 3,000 feet tall, and it looks to be a sheer cliff. It goes straight up. You know what else goes straight up El Capitan? Climbers. We saw at least three, and these guys are certifiable. Unless you solo free climb, which means with no safety equipment other than a chalk bag, it takes days to make an ascent. That means either finding a ledge to spend the night on, or bringing special gear to create your own spot on the rock wall.
Both Margo and I took pictures, but in looking back, not enough. Maybe together they will tell the story of the two-hour tour. I was wishing by the end of the tour that it would be going to other places, like Glacier Point, but that was too remote. Yosemite is a large park, about 760,000 acres, with over 800 miles of hiking trails. You could live there for years and never see it all.
The only disappointing part was that due to the time of year, there were almost no waterfalls to see. Bridal Veil was the only one with some flow. The others were dry. If Margo and I ever go back, it will likely be in the spring.
Once finished with the tram, we ditched our jackets because the weather was actually getting warm. We were hungry, so we went back to Base Camp Eatery for lunch. Breakfast had been surprising they good. The scrambled eggs were not runny, and the bacon was crispy. Lunch, which for us was a cheeseburger and a hot dog, was OK. Presentation was a C-, but the food taste was a B. Not bad for cafeteria food.
Our adventure continued with a drive to Yosemite Village. Research said it had a large store, the Welcome Center, a couple of places to eat, a museum, an Indian Village, and the Ansel Adams Gallery. There had to be something I would find interesting. But first we had to get there.
My GPS is old. I told you about the problems we had yesterday. Well, another issue cropped up. When my map was last updated, which was the 1st of Never, the two main roads, Northern and Southern, were two-way. Now they are one-way and make a loop, with an escape route to go to Yosemite Village. Margo and I were listening to the GPS tell us to go the wrong way on a one-way, and to make turns that don’t exist anymore. We should have been watching the signs, which would have gotten us there easily. Instead, we made a loop, and I was back in San Francisco with my blood pressure moving the needle up, up, and up. Margo stayed calm, and on our second attempt, we made it.
Margo hiked to the Welcome Center, where we got a few things, and then to their store, which was very nice. Lots to see and buy. I think we only brought one item to take back to my team, and then we were done. Margo was getting tired and had hiked all that she was going to without a very good reason. Getting Exercise and self-gratification were not in the Good Reason.
Column. Things like The Park is on Fire. Or, they are giving away free puzzles. Or, look, they built a casino in the park. Those are in the Good Reason column. So, I was on my own while she sought the comfort of our bright blue Chevy Blazer.
In looking at the map of Yosemite Village on one of the paths, I noticed that they have the Yosemite Cemetery. I am a sucker for cemeteries. To me, those are history. Those are the end of so many stories, and the inspiration to look up the beginnings. One, for instance, was a grave marked “A Boy”. I had also seen a company by that name that made very expensive keepsakes and bookmarks. When I got back to our room, I did a Google search and uncovered a well-researched story that concluded “A Boy” is Willie Wyatt, a 17-year-old who was killed by an accidental gunshot. His family lived in Oakland and basically died off without offspring, so there was no one to maintain the grave, the headstone, or even the story. There is another story, disproven, that says it was a different boy who drowned. Because of the lack of certainty, the NPS chose to label the grave “A Boy”.
The cemetery was at the edge of the village. On the way back, I made a quick tour of the Indian Village and saw the bark huts that they used to make. I read a story about these Indians turning acorns into flour, and then a kind of mush. It did not sound appetizing. My final stop was at the Ansel Adams Gallery. He was a famous Western photographer, so I stopped to see what they had. They had plenty of postcards with his images on them, but they also had a pottery section. They had some reasonably priced pieces, so I bought a bowl for Charity at work. She is having a birthday party, and it would make a nice gift.
That was it for Yosemite National Park. We got in our car and were back at our hotel in about 20-25 minutes. We had a nice dinner at The River Restaurant, concluding with a most excellent piece of chocolate cake. Margo helped with the whipped cream on the side.
We spent the rest of the evening getting the suitcases ready for our departure in the morning, and me writing up today in my travelogue. Tomorrow is King’s Canyon and a lot of driving, again. But I am looking forward to seeing my first giant redwood.
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Day Six-Tuesday, September 15, 2026
Today had at least as many frustrations as it had fun. We were up at 5:30 with the intent of finishing the packing, loading up the car, and being ready for breakfast when they opened at 7 AM. It worked. I even had time to check out, so we could leave right after we finished eating. We had a better-than-three-hour drive, and I wanted an early start. We were ending the day early and heading to our final hotel. There was not a lot to do in Kings Canyon that did not involve either a big hike, a big drive, or both.
Breakfast was buffet only, at $25 per person. That is never a value for Margo, who eats like a bird when mealtime comes around. That was a bit frustrating. We finished eating and took out my wallet, and my credit card was missing. It took us a few minutes to realize we were at the exact last place I used it, so they must have it, right?
It was not the same staff as last night, but they looked and did not see it. Our waiter said that the manager was due in very soon and had the money bag, and maybe it was in that. So we waited about 15 minutes. Nope, not in the bag. Wonderful. I got online and, using the website, I locked usage of the card and gave him another card to use. He brought it back, and I signed for the meal. I was putting away that card and gathering up my phone when the waiter appeared asking if “this” was my card. Seeing as it had the name I had written down for him, it was a fair bet. I should not sound bitter, but as I said, I was frustrated. But we were nearly on our way.
We needed ice, so we stopped at the store at our hotel. No ice. But we were now on our way, about 40 minutes behind my schedule. We still had plenty of fluff. Ice was not an immediate need. It could wait.
I knew we were going to have to make a bathroom pit stop, but I figured it would be Fresno, about two hours into our trip. Nope, Margo needed to go before then. We had been traveling on Triangle Road and came to this market. We still needed ice, so this seemed like a good fit. They had ice, which I purchased, but no bathroom. Wonderful. Where do you pee, I thought. We asked where the nearest one was, and she gestured in a direction that suggested back the way we came, about 2 miles or so. I was skeptical, because I did not see anything. There wasn’t. We turned back around, and Margo began using her phone to find one.
She came up with one about five miles down the road. A Valero gas station. That will work. We pulled in, and I decided to get gas. I figured it could not hurt since the National Parks don’t have gas stations. I had it nearly full when Margo came out saying the bathrooms were out of order. What the hell? We moved on down the road.
Another two or three miles, in the town of Oakhurst, Margo saw a sign for an Ace Hardware off to the left. 50 yards past that was the second fuel station Margo’s phone had found. It was on the right side of the road, so I turned in. Fuel Only. There was not even a building for a convenience store. We turned around. The Ace Hardware turned out to be a Tractor Supply. Bingo. They always have customer bathrooms. Now, if they were in order. They were. We bought some Cow Tails on the way out. We were on our way again. We were over an hour behind, but that was not a big deal.
We got back on the road and about two hours later, at about noon, we pulled into Grant’s Grove Village. I had originally planned to hike to the General Grant tree first, but we were hungry, and a restaurant and the gift shop were right there. We ate at the restaurant. Duh. Sometimes I can’t get out of my own way. I do recommend this restaurant. Margo had a grilled cheese, and I had a margarita pizza. We both had the same complaint. Too much cheese. Can you believe that? Were we complaining about having too much cheese on a grilled cheese and a pizza? They were both very good.
We picked up our requisite magnets and hiking staff medallions, and Margo found a Lego-like puzzle she could not live without. With that purchase, we were ready to drive less than a quarter mile down the road and see the General Grant tree, one of the two largest trees in the world.
When we had pulled into the General Grant Grove Village, there was a giant redwood right there. So that was technically the first giant redwood we saw. It was impressive, but I was not going home without seeing the General Grant tree. It was literally a two-minute drive. Margo was willing to hike the quarter mile to see it, until she saw that it was all uphill. Her asthma and knees don’t like uphill. Still, she made it to the first giant redwood, which was standing beside the Fallen Monarch.
I don’t know when the Fallen Monarch, which is a long-dead giant tree that had fallen and whose middle had rotted away. But there was a picture reproduced right beside it, showing the same hollow log, beside the same standing giant. It was taken in 1902. The bark on these trees is very resistant to bugs, rot, and the elements, and withstands hundreds, maybe thousands, of years of nature's attempt to reduce it to fertilizer.
Margo turned back after many pictures, but I went on. The trail was uphill. But I arrived in short order and was able to pick this giant out from the other trees. It was not that it was taller. There were other trees that were and were not redwoods that were nearly as tall. It was the base that stood out. It was huge. The sign said it would take twenty med hold hands to encircle it.
I took my pictures and backtracked to climb some man-made stairs which promised a view of the General’s backside, which contained a burn scar. It was an impressive burn mark, but there was nothing telling the story. I will have to look that up when I get home.
I walked back, and Margo and I were back on the road with Inspiration Point being the destination. I knew little about this, and as it turned out, less than I thought. The exact longitude and latitude coordinates that I had keyed in took us to a turnout that led nowhere. When I looked on the NPS map, it looked like it would be a bit of a hike.
Kings Canyon has things to see, but most of them involve a big hike or a big drive. I did not want to do either. So we got back in the car and told the GPS to head to our hotel. It said we would get there in two hours. That sounded like double what I was expecting. So, I keyed in an address in Sequoia NP. Same story. I assumed I had gotten the arrival times wrong. We were still going to arrive nearly an hour and a half before they served supper, so we drove on.
The GPS said 66 miles until the General’s Highway. We were on Highway 180. I had Margo read the written directions to our lodge. They said to take 180 to the General’s Highway. IF we were going the wrong way, the GPS reroutes you constantly until you comply. Mine was just counting down the miles.
We drove up the mountains and stopped at Vista Point. I had read about Vista Point, but I seemed to recall it was out of the way, and that was why it was not on our itinerary. But I still trusted the GPS; we came down to the South Fork of King’s River. I asked Margo to check the map to see if the river followed the highway. She confirmed it did. Then we came across a sign for Sheeps Campground or something. I asked her to find it on the map. She did. The next landmark on the map confirmed we had been driving the wrong way for the last 40 minutes. Crap. I’m replacing this GPS. We stopped at Cedar Grove so I could confirm with a human what I already knew. We would be turning back and retracing our steps. Yup, the man said. Turn around and go back. Crap. Crap. Crap.
We did, and I made good time going the other way. It was about 26 miles. We stopped at Grant’s Grove to go to the bathroom and pick up a souvenir for Cooper that Margo had regretted not buying. I was able to go to the bathroom and get the thing before Margo had finished her nature break. No time lost for the scarf.
We were 2.6 miles from Kings Highway when we turned the correct way. The GPS was working fine. I had programmed it for the detour we had to take for our hotel, because there had been a flood a couple of years ago, and it had washed out a key road and bridge. Insurance was no help, so we were taking a forest service road.
It was 1.1 miles past the regular entrance, which was about 15 minutes down Kings Highway, when we turned onto that. The sign as we turned said something like 2.5 miles, and I don’t recall how many minutes, but it seemed a lot for 2.5 miles.
We soon found out why. The service road was paved about halfway there, then it turned to dirt, which was ribbed and at times rutted. 15 miles per hour was too fast. But we bumped down it, watching for signs. The route was well marked. Margo did not like it, but I was happy just to be nearly to our destination.
When we arrived, there were teenagers everywhere. It looked like a middle school was at recess. Parking was paved, and we parked near check-in. Our room is on the first floor. This was good because, judging by the age of this place, there was no elevator anywhere. I seem to remember that from when I booked, so the ground floor was probably thanks to me.
Next we had the problem of luggage. While the parking area was paved, the route to our lodge building was not. It was about 50 yards of dirt, and it was going to take me multiple trips, carrying these things. I was not looking forward to this.
But in between our lodge building and our car was a table full of able-bodied teens. Margo wanted to just leave the car and go eat. We had arrived at 5:25, and they started serving at 5:30. I was not against the idea, but I told her I had another idea. What if I offer two of those lads $10 each to do the heavy work for me? I never knew a teen who did not need cash, and then I was to find out 15 or 16 years old. They could carry luggage uphill all day and not need a week to recover. I had more volunteers than I needed, and five minutes later all luggage was in the room. Money well spent.
Breakfast and dinner are included in the room price, and are served in the main lodge building. It is also served family style from a buffet. So people just sat wherever. The kids were also filing in to eat, and again, noise and energy went up. We were not bothered. They were just being kids, and no one was being rude or obnoxious. We sat with the staff and had a decent buffet meal. Then it was back to the room to unpack, start charging electronic devices, and for me, type my story. I was crawling into bed about 9 AM, because I was tired. We will see how I sleep. But regardless, tomorrow is our last real vacation day.
Breakfast was buffet only, at $25 per person. That is never a value for Margo, who eats like a bird when mealtime comes around. That was a bit frustrating. We finished eating and took out my wallet, and my credit card was missing. It took us a few minutes to realize we were at the exact last place I used it, so they must have it, right?
It was not the same staff as last night, but they looked and did not see it. Our waiter said that the manager was due in very soon and had the money bag, and maybe it was in that. So we waited about 15 minutes. Nope, not in the bag. Wonderful. I got online and, using the website, I locked usage of the card and gave him another card to use. He brought it back, and I signed for the meal. I was putting away that card and gathering up my phone when the waiter appeared asking if “this” was my card. Seeing as it had the name I had written down for him, it was a fair bet. I should not sound bitter, but as I said, I was frustrated. But we were nearly on our way.
We needed ice, so we stopped at the store at our hotel. No ice. But we were now on our way, about 40 minutes behind my schedule. We still had plenty of fluff. Ice was not an immediate need. It could wait.
I knew we were going to have to make a bathroom pit stop, but I figured it would be Fresno, about two hours into our trip. Nope, Margo needed to go before then. We had been traveling on Triangle Road and came to this market. We still needed ice, so this seemed like a good fit. They had ice, which I purchased, but no bathroom. Wonderful. Where do you pee, I thought. We asked where the nearest one was, and she gestured in a direction that suggested back the way we came, about 2 miles or so. I was skeptical, because I did not see anything. There wasn’t. We turned back around, and Margo began using her phone to find one.
She came up with one about five miles down the road. A Valero gas station. That will work. We pulled in, and I decided to get gas. I figured it could not hurt since the National Parks don’t have gas stations. I had it nearly full when Margo came out saying the bathrooms were out of order. What the hell? We moved on down the road.
Another two or three miles, in the town of Oakhurst, Margo saw a sign for an Ace Hardware off to the left. 50 yards past that was the second fuel station Margo’s phone had found. It was on the right side of the road, so I turned in. Fuel Only. There was not even a building for a convenience store. We turned around. The Ace Hardware turned out to be a Tractor Supply. Bingo. They always have customer bathrooms. Now, if they were in order. They were. We bought some Cow Tails on the way out. We were on our way again. We were over an hour behind, but that was not a big deal.
We got back on the road and about two hours later, at about noon, we pulled into Grant’s Grove Village. I had originally planned to hike to the General Grant tree first, but we were hungry, and a restaurant and the gift shop were right there. We ate at the restaurant. Duh. Sometimes I can’t get out of my own way. I do recommend this restaurant. Margo had a grilled cheese, and I had a margarita pizza. We both had the same complaint. Too much cheese. Can you believe that? Were we complaining about having too much cheese on a grilled cheese and a pizza? They were both very good.
We picked up our requisite magnets and hiking staff medallions, and Margo found a Lego-like puzzle she could not live without. With that purchase, we were ready to drive less than a quarter mile down the road and see the General Grant tree, one of the two largest trees in the world.
When we had pulled into the General Grant Grove Village, there was a giant redwood right there. So that was technically the first giant redwood we saw. It was impressive, but I was not going home without seeing the General Grant tree. It was literally a two-minute drive. Margo was willing to hike the quarter mile to see it, until she saw that it was all uphill. Her asthma and knees don’t like uphill. Still, she made it to the first giant redwood, which was standing beside the Fallen Monarch.
I don’t know when the Fallen Monarch, which is a long-dead giant tree that had fallen and whose middle had rotted away. But there was a picture reproduced right beside it, showing the same hollow log, beside the same standing giant. It was taken in 1902. The bark on these trees is very resistant to bugs, rot, and the elements, and withstands hundreds, maybe thousands, of years of nature's attempt to reduce it to fertilizer.
Margo turned back after many pictures, but I went on. The trail was uphill. But I arrived in short order and was able to pick this giant out from the other trees. It was not that it was taller. There were other trees that were and were not redwoods that were nearly as tall. It was the base that stood out. It was huge. The sign said it would take twenty med hold hands to encircle it.
I took my pictures and backtracked to climb some man-made stairs which promised a view of the General’s backside, which contained a burn scar. It was an impressive burn mark, but there was nothing telling the story. I will have to look that up when I get home.
I walked back, and Margo and I were back on the road with Inspiration Point being the destination. I knew little about this, and as it turned out, less than I thought. The exact longitude and latitude coordinates that I had keyed in took us to a turnout that led nowhere. When I looked on the NPS map, it looked like it would be a bit of a hike.
Kings Canyon has things to see, but most of them involve a big hike or a big drive. I did not want to do either. So we got back in the car and told the GPS to head to our hotel. It said we would get there in two hours. That sounded like double what I was expecting. So, I keyed in an address in Sequoia NP. Same story. I assumed I had gotten the arrival times wrong. We were still going to arrive nearly an hour and a half before they served supper, so we drove on.
The GPS said 66 miles until the General’s Highway. We were on Highway 180. I had Margo read the written directions to our lodge. They said to take 180 to the General’s Highway. IF we were going the wrong way, the GPS reroutes you constantly until you comply. Mine was just counting down the miles.
We drove up the mountains and stopped at Vista Point. I had read about Vista Point, but I seemed to recall it was out of the way, and that was why it was not on our itinerary. But I still trusted the GPS; we came down to the South Fork of King’s River. I asked Margo to check the map to see if the river followed the highway. She confirmed it did. Then we came across a sign for Sheeps Campground or something. I asked her to find it on the map. She did. The next landmark on the map confirmed we had been driving the wrong way for the last 40 minutes. Crap. I’m replacing this GPS. We stopped at Cedar Grove so I could confirm with a human what I already knew. We would be turning back and retracing our steps. Yup, the man said. Turn around and go back. Crap. Crap. Crap.
We did, and I made good time going the other way. It was about 26 miles. We stopped at Grant’s Grove to go to the bathroom and pick up a souvenir for Cooper that Margo had regretted not buying. I was able to go to the bathroom and get the thing before Margo had finished her nature break. No time lost for the scarf.
We were 2.6 miles from Kings Highway when we turned the correct way. The GPS was working fine. I had programmed it for the detour we had to take for our hotel, because there had been a flood a couple of years ago, and it had washed out a key road and bridge. Insurance was no help, so we were taking a forest service road.
It was 1.1 miles past the regular entrance, which was about 15 minutes down Kings Highway, when we turned onto that. The sign as we turned said something like 2.5 miles, and I don’t recall how many minutes, but it seemed a lot for 2.5 miles.
We soon found out why. The service road was paved about halfway there, then it turned to dirt, which was ribbed and at times rutted. 15 miles per hour was too fast. But we bumped down it, watching for signs. The route was well marked. Margo did not like it, but I was happy just to be nearly to our destination.
When we arrived, there were teenagers everywhere. It looked like a middle school was at recess. Parking was paved, and we parked near check-in. Our room is on the first floor. This was good because, judging by the age of this place, there was no elevator anywhere. I seem to remember that from when I booked, so the ground floor was probably thanks to me.
Next we had the problem of luggage. While the parking area was paved, the route to our lodge building was not. It was about 50 yards of dirt, and it was going to take me multiple trips, carrying these things. I was not looking forward to this.
But in between our lodge building and our car was a table full of able-bodied teens. Margo wanted to just leave the car and go eat. We had arrived at 5:25, and they started serving at 5:30. I was not against the idea, but I told her I had another idea. What if I offer two of those lads $10 each to do the heavy work for me? I never knew a teen who did not need cash, and then I was to find out 15 or 16 years old. They could carry luggage uphill all day and not need a week to recover. I had more volunteers than I needed, and five minutes later all luggage was in the room. Money well spent.
Breakfast and dinner are included in the room price, and are served in the main lodge building. It is also served family style from a buffet. So people just sat wherever. The kids were also filing in to eat, and again, noise and energy went up. We were not bothered. They were just being kids, and no one was being rude or obnoxious. We sat with the staff and had a decent buffet meal. Then it was back to the room to unpack, start charging electronic devices, and for me, type my story. I was crawling into bed about 9 AM, because I was tired. We will see how I sleep. But regardless, tomorrow is our last real vacation day.
Day Seven--Wednesday, September 16, 2026
I was up at 6:30 AM. Margo was having a rough morning. She was nauseous and had diarrhea. I was preparing myself for a bad day. She took some Tylenol, and then we had coffee that seemed to chase away most of the issues. She was also complaining of a headache. Margo may be a caffeine addict. She claims to get headaches that go away with a Pepsi or coffee. If it was the Tylenol or coffee, her headache was at least manageable by the time we left.
In between coffee and leaving, we ate breakfast in the lodge. Same style as last night, buffet and family style. The kids were already lined up, and we dutifully went to the back of the line. Several of the teachers chased us to the front of the line, where the kids did not even have to be prompted to make way. So we went right to the door and got in line.
We spent breakfast talking with a camp counselor. His name was Knuckles. I did not ask about his moniker or how he got it, but he did not look imposing, so that was likely not it. He was very knowledgeable about the area and the camp. I asked about the washed-out bridge. It happened in 2023, and they have had to close in the winter ever since. They have a crew pouring concrete for several days (weeks?), and it is getting close to being done. It will still have to cure and be inspected, but they might actually be able to stay open year-round.
The three-year problem had to deal with government permitting and other bureaucracy. We discussed that, agreeing on all points without getting into politics. We lingered longer than I was expecting, and it was after 8:30 that we got moving.
The drive to Sequoia National Park was pretty quick, about half an hour. We were a little behind schedule. But today’s schedule was designed to beat the crowds. We have plenty of time to do everything.
The first thing that I had us doing was going to see the General Sherman tree. I mentioned this tree yesterday, and I was excited for Margo to see it. She missed the General Grant tree because it was too far and too uphill. But this hike was supposed to be much easier and shorter. They even have an Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) lot to make the hike as short and flat as possible.
We parked and started on the hike. It started gently uphill, and we came to a log that had fallen over the trail. It had been cut out so we had a path. It was a bit under six feet high, so I could walk through it without stooping. Kind of cool, huh?
We saw giant tree after giant tree. They were still a novelty, and they stuck out because of their size. I was soon wondering how I could tell which one Sherman was. I assumed it would be labeled. It did start to stand out as you got closer. You could see a wider tree a bit uphill, but you were not sure until you got closer. The crowd, about ten people, was a giveaway, and there was a sign. Its base was what really stood out. It was huge. It must have been approaching 30 feet across. We had a couple of pictures taken. One from far away to get a portion of the tree and the sign in it. We look like a fat Ken and Barbie. We got one closer, and all you see is the width of the tree. We continued on the loop and made our way back to the car.
I had two hikes planned for today, and I wanted to break them up. So we continued down the road to the Giant Forest Museum. It was interesting, telling the story of how fire is important to the trees, because it burns away accumulated fuel and small plants competing for water and nutrients. The redwoods grow fast, so having ash-fertilized soil and no competition for resources gives them a leg up. The heat from the fire signals the cones to open and drop seeds on the freshly cleared ground. When you see a clump of redwoods, that is what likely happened. A fire cleared the area, and those trees started together.
We could have walked right to the museum to a trail that led to the Big Tree Trail, but there was an ADA lot just up the road that would cut that distance for Margo. So that is where we went. This trail was a little steeper, but not much more than the Sherman Trail, and it was about twice as long. I knew Margo was not going to make it, but she did get about a third of the way.
The trail circles a meadow with no trees. Signs said it was too wet for them to grow; there were not even pines or oaks. But there were giants and smaller ones all around. One sign at the museum said that it has the highest density of Giant Sequoias in the world. It took several pictures, and soon joined Margo back at the car.
She wanted to know what was next, and as it was nearly noon, lunch was in order. We backtracked to Lodgepole Visitor Center, which we passed this morning. They have the Visitor Center, a restaurant, and a market/gift shop. Somehow we missed the Visitor Center, but we ate and shopped. I got my T-shirt. We had gotten magnets and hiking medallions earlier at Giant Trees Museum.
It was now after 1 PM, and I only had one item left on my itinerary: Tunnel Log. Most everyone has seen or heard of a standing redwood tree that had a tunnel bored through it, wide and tall enough to drive a car through. It exists. Or, it did. In Yosemite National Park. It fell back in 1967, almost 60 years ago. But what still exists is Sequoia’s Tunnel Log. A Giant Sequoia fell across Crescent Meadow Road back in 1937. In 1938, the NPS bored a tunnel through this dead tree. It has been around for nearly 90 years, and by the looks of it, will be there for at least that long again.
It is a little off the beaten path, on the way to Moro Rock. There is a bypass road to the left; you take that, take the right fork to circle back, and drive through. Takes about a minute if there is no waiting. We did encounter traffic, but it was nothing. Margo videoed our trip through, and that was basically it. We set the GPS back to our hotel.
The drive back was about 30 minutes. We made one stop to take a picture of what I call the Stick Forest. It is the remnants of the 2021 KNP Complex fire, which also killed 3%-5% of the known Giant Sequoia. Then about 20 minutes later we were back at Montecito.
It was about 3 PM, so Margo did some packing. We decided we would be more comfortable lounging in the lodge. So she grabbed her Kindle, and I got my laptop. We found a table. Margo worked on her electronic puzzles, and I worked on the travelogue.
Today was the last real day of vacation. I have a surprise for Margo. I should have researched this before today, but I had been mulling over a way to kill some time tomorrow. Check-out is at 11 AM, but as early as we have been getting up, we will be ready to check out at least an hour earlier. The drive to the Fresno Yosemite Airport is about 1 ½ hours. Our flight leaves at 5:10, meaning we need to be there at about 2:40 to turn in the rental car. Do all that math, and we have two to three hours to kill. I found a casino that would add an hour of total drive time. So if we check out at 10 AM, Margo can gamble and have lunch for two hours. I’ll bet we can leave earlier and make her happy.
In between coffee and leaving, we ate breakfast in the lodge. Same style as last night, buffet and family style. The kids were already lined up, and we dutifully went to the back of the line. Several of the teachers chased us to the front of the line, where the kids did not even have to be prompted to make way. So we went right to the door and got in line.
We spent breakfast talking with a camp counselor. His name was Knuckles. I did not ask about his moniker or how he got it, but he did not look imposing, so that was likely not it. He was very knowledgeable about the area and the camp. I asked about the washed-out bridge. It happened in 2023, and they have had to close in the winter ever since. They have a crew pouring concrete for several days (weeks?), and it is getting close to being done. It will still have to cure and be inspected, but they might actually be able to stay open year-round.
The three-year problem had to deal with government permitting and other bureaucracy. We discussed that, agreeing on all points without getting into politics. We lingered longer than I was expecting, and it was after 8:30 that we got moving.
The drive to Sequoia National Park was pretty quick, about half an hour. We were a little behind schedule. But today’s schedule was designed to beat the crowds. We have plenty of time to do everything.
The first thing that I had us doing was going to see the General Sherman tree. I mentioned this tree yesterday, and I was excited for Margo to see it. She missed the General Grant tree because it was too far and too uphill. But this hike was supposed to be much easier and shorter. They even have an Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) lot to make the hike as short and flat as possible.
We parked and started on the hike. It started gently uphill, and we came to a log that had fallen over the trail. It had been cut out so we had a path. It was a bit under six feet high, so I could walk through it without stooping. Kind of cool, huh?
We saw giant tree after giant tree. They were still a novelty, and they stuck out because of their size. I was soon wondering how I could tell which one Sherman was. I assumed it would be labeled. It did start to stand out as you got closer. You could see a wider tree a bit uphill, but you were not sure until you got closer. The crowd, about ten people, was a giveaway, and there was a sign. Its base was what really stood out. It was huge. It must have been approaching 30 feet across. We had a couple of pictures taken. One from far away to get a portion of the tree and the sign in it. We look like a fat Ken and Barbie. We got one closer, and all you see is the width of the tree. We continued on the loop and made our way back to the car.
I had two hikes planned for today, and I wanted to break them up. So we continued down the road to the Giant Forest Museum. It was interesting, telling the story of how fire is important to the trees, because it burns away accumulated fuel and small plants competing for water and nutrients. The redwoods grow fast, so having ash-fertilized soil and no competition for resources gives them a leg up. The heat from the fire signals the cones to open and drop seeds on the freshly cleared ground. When you see a clump of redwoods, that is what likely happened. A fire cleared the area, and those trees started together.
We could have walked right to the museum to a trail that led to the Big Tree Trail, but there was an ADA lot just up the road that would cut that distance for Margo. So that is where we went. This trail was a little steeper, but not much more than the Sherman Trail, and it was about twice as long. I knew Margo was not going to make it, but she did get about a third of the way.
The trail circles a meadow with no trees. Signs said it was too wet for them to grow; there were not even pines or oaks. But there were giants and smaller ones all around. One sign at the museum said that it has the highest density of Giant Sequoias in the world. It took several pictures, and soon joined Margo back at the car.
She wanted to know what was next, and as it was nearly noon, lunch was in order. We backtracked to Lodgepole Visitor Center, which we passed this morning. They have the Visitor Center, a restaurant, and a market/gift shop. Somehow we missed the Visitor Center, but we ate and shopped. I got my T-shirt. We had gotten magnets and hiking medallions earlier at Giant Trees Museum.
It was now after 1 PM, and I only had one item left on my itinerary: Tunnel Log. Most everyone has seen or heard of a standing redwood tree that had a tunnel bored through it, wide and tall enough to drive a car through. It exists. Or, it did. In Yosemite National Park. It fell back in 1967, almost 60 years ago. But what still exists is Sequoia’s Tunnel Log. A Giant Sequoia fell across Crescent Meadow Road back in 1937. In 1938, the NPS bored a tunnel through this dead tree. It has been around for nearly 90 years, and by the looks of it, will be there for at least that long again.
It is a little off the beaten path, on the way to Moro Rock. There is a bypass road to the left; you take that, take the right fork to circle back, and drive through. Takes about a minute if there is no waiting. We did encounter traffic, but it was nothing. Margo videoed our trip through, and that was basically it. We set the GPS back to our hotel.
The drive back was about 30 minutes. We made one stop to take a picture of what I call the Stick Forest. It is the remnants of the 2021 KNP Complex fire, which also killed 3%-5% of the known Giant Sequoia. Then about 20 minutes later we were back at Montecito.
It was about 3 PM, so Margo did some packing. We decided we would be more comfortable lounging in the lodge. So she grabbed her Kindle, and I got my laptop. We found a table. Margo worked on her electronic puzzles, and I worked on the travelogue.
Today was the last real day of vacation. I have a surprise for Margo. I should have researched this before today, but I had been mulling over a way to kill some time tomorrow. Check-out is at 11 AM, but as early as we have been getting up, we will be ready to check out at least an hour earlier. The drive to the Fresno Yosemite Airport is about 1 ½ hours. Our flight leaves at 5:10, meaning we need to be there at about 2:40 to turn in the rental car. Do all that math, and we have two to three hours to kill. I found a casino that would add an hour of total drive time. So if we check out at 10 AM, Margo can gamble and have lunch for two hours. I’ll bet we can leave earlier and make her happy.
Day Eight-Thursday, September 17, 2026
I told Margo about my idea last night, and she made sure to get as much packing done as was practical, and she was in bed early. We were both tired, so that was a factor, too. I set an alarm for 7 AM and was in bed at 9:30. But I could not sleep. I was tired, but I also had cramps in both hands and my right forearm. I also could not get comfortable for some reason. The night before, I crawled into bed and was out in 10 minutes. Tonight, I tossed. I got up to stretch out a cramp. I got up to get water. I got up to pee. By 6:30 AM, I just got up and started to get ready.
Margo was up, off and on. She watched something on her phone while relaxing, so she would fade in and out. She got up while I was in the shower. We got ready and packed until 7:30, which was when breakfast was served. I figured we would beat the teenagers, who were from Flint Ridge Academy, by the way. But they had already gone through the line and were happily chatting and having a good time. We had a more leisurely breakfast than the circumstances should have dictated, and were back in our room sometime after 8 AM.
We finished packing, and this time I commandeered a garden wagon to haul our luggage. I had seen one other guest use this yesterday and was happy to copy the idea. After our final room sweep, check-out, and loading the luggage, it was after 9 AM when we were finally on the road. We had enjoyed the Montecito Lodge except for two things. The detour into the lodge added time, aggravation, and a bumpy ride. I understand why it had to be, but that did not make it more endurable. The second was the shower water pressure. As all three of our hotels suffered from this malady, either water consumption is taxed heavily or there are onerous restrictions put on water usage by the government. Sucks no matter what the reason.
It was over 2 ½ hours to Table Mountain Casino and Resort. The GPS did not calculate the ETA very well. It was factoring in speed limits that I felt were too high. But I was likely in the minority, as I used pull-outs on several occasions to let the guy behind me pass. But we arrived none the worse for wear. Margo was in good spirits. This is the kind of activity she envisions when we go on vacation. We gambled for about 45 minutes and broke for lunch.
I had gotten a text from my boss, Mike, earlier, alerting me to the fact that Pam’s mom was not doing well, and he wanted to make me aware. I told him I would call Pam. This was a good opportunity. Pam’s mom, Alice, was now entering hospice. Her visiting nurse came over yesterday and noticed a serious decline, so she put her on the priority list for a hospital bed and more care. Pam is thinking she will still be around when I am done with my vacation. She plans to work from home until I get back, and then take some time off. I don’t think she will last. She was super thin in the pics I have seen. But I told Pam I was fine with her working from home, and I would talk with Mike when I get back. She did tell me that Coco’s last day is tomorrow, just as I feared.
Lunch was OK. Margo picked at her nachos, and I did not finish my Korean Fried Chicken Sandwich. It wasn’t spicy, but it also wasn’t that good. Lunch also came with a text from Southwest Airlines. Our flight was delayed by half an hour. Margo could gamble a little longer. I told Margo to go have fun while I waited on the check. They had a Carlo’s Bakery right by the café, so I treated myself to a cannoli. It has been a while, and it was as good as I had remembered.
We packed it up about 1:45 PM and got in the car. We made a pit stop to fill up the tank. That was more of an adventure than it should have been. At first, it did not seem to take my card. No error message; the pump would not turn on. Then, with gas running $6.19 per gallon, and me at a quarter tank, the pump stopped at $75.00. For a fleeting second, I thought I was full. Then the possibility of hitting such a round number, compared to the possibility of a limit, weighed in my head. I tried to restart the pump, and I had no luck until I tried another card. Then magically, another $10.00 worth was needed. We got to the rental car lot about 2:30. I was expecting the normal shuttle to the airport, but Fresno has the car rentals on site. That’s always a win.
Security was fun. My hip always sets off the detectors, so I have to go through the special one where you put your hands up. I told this to the first TSA agent, and he pointed me to the right line. I got up close, and the guy operating that line announced, “Metal in your body,” and pointed to the original line. He was not signaling what I thought he was. I must have missed the word “unless”. But I got through it and did not die.
We were not hungry and waited with only some water until we boarded. It was only an hour to San Diego. I don’t recall if I mentioned we did not have a direct flight. We don’t first down to San Diego, and then San Diego to Denver. The San Diego leg was a full flight. We had a 20-something young lady between us, who did not say a word, and most importantly was height-weight proportional. I am not, but it is my shoulders that hang over. That is one of several reasons why I get an aisle seat.
We landed in San Diego and found our nearby gate. Margo found it. I was starting to fade. My fitful sleep was catching up to me. I had a sandwich and chips for dinner. Margo just snacked on things she already had. We boarded and found, to our delight, that this was not even close to full. We had no one between us, so it was relaxed enough that I nodded off a bit. Mostly, I just enjoyed the wifi that being a Rapid Rewards member allowed me.
It was very reassuring to finally touch down at home. Margo, as she always is, had our car claim ticket for the new lot we were trying. There was a shuttle waiting for us as we walked out of door 507. He loaded us up and called in our valet number. I thought that meant that our car would be waiting for us. I was not wrong. He unloaded our luggage. Another guy loaded it, counted to make sure it was all there, and we were nearly on our way.
Margo climbed in and noticed a rose on the dash. I’m thinking I am going to have a hard time going back to being a peasant with this kind of service. The drive home was uneventful, just like we like it. Cooper was very happy to see us. I could hear him barking as soon as the garage door had closed. He jumped on me, asking me to bend down, so he could lick my face. I did, then he darted over to the other side, shrieking with excitement the whole time. He greeted Margo the same way, and then came back to me. He did that several times until we made it into the house.
After bringing in the luggage and unwinding, we went to bed. Cooper usually sleeps with me, but instead of a single lick, asking for the covers to be lifted, he tried to drown me. It was lick, lick, lick, Ok Boy, lick, lick, yes, Coppie, lick, lick, You’re drowning me, dog, lick, lick, “Go see your mama, lick, lick, lick. I think we traumatized the poor dog. We eventually calmed him down, and we were both out.
That was our trip to Northern California. Margo and I talked later about our favorite parts. We agreed. It was Alcatraz, one; the Giant Redwoods, two; and our Yosemite tour coming in at three. We did not see a lot of homelessness in SF, but there was some. It was much more prevalent in LA, but we saw more of LA. There were plenty of shady characters, but we were always in a crowd, so we did not feel unsafe. Would I go back? Not without a very good reason. It’s not our kind of town. That’s not bad; it’s just not what we would enjoy a second time. There is plenty of America left for us to see. Not that our next trip is going to tick any of those boxes. Next up is the Panama Canal via a Princess Cruise. See you in April.
Margo was up, off and on. She watched something on her phone while relaxing, so she would fade in and out. She got up while I was in the shower. We got ready and packed until 7:30, which was when breakfast was served. I figured we would beat the teenagers, who were from Flint Ridge Academy, by the way. But they had already gone through the line and were happily chatting and having a good time. We had a more leisurely breakfast than the circumstances should have dictated, and were back in our room sometime after 8 AM.
We finished packing, and this time I commandeered a garden wagon to haul our luggage. I had seen one other guest use this yesterday and was happy to copy the idea. After our final room sweep, check-out, and loading the luggage, it was after 9 AM when we were finally on the road. We had enjoyed the Montecito Lodge except for two things. The detour into the lodge added time, aggravation, and a bumpy ride. I understand why it had to be, but that did not make it more endurable. The second was the shower water pressure. As all three of our hotels suffered from this malady, either water consumption is taxed heavily or there are onerous restrictions put on water usage by the government. Sucks no matter what the reason.
It was over 2 ½ hours to Table Mountain Casino and Resort. The GPS did not calculate the ETA very well. It was factoring in speed limits that I felt were too high. But I was likely in the minority, as I used pull-outs on several occasions to let the guy behind me pass. But we arrived none the worse for wear. Margo was in good spirits. This is the kind of activity she envisions when we go on vacation. We gambled for about 45 minutes and broke for lunch.
I had gotten a text from my boss, Mike, earlier, alerting me to the fact that Pam’s mom was not doing well, and he wanted to make me aware. I told him I would call Pam. This was a good opportunity. Pam’s mom, Alice, was now entering hospice. Her visiting nurse came over yesterday and noticed a serious decline, so she put her on the priority list for a hospital bed and more care. Pam is thinking she will still be around when I am done with my vacation. She plans to work from home until I get back, and then take some time off. I don’t think she will last. She was super thin in the pics I have seen. But I told Pam I was fine with her working from home, and I would talk with Mike when I get back. She did tell me that Coco’s last day is tomorrow, just as I feared.
Lunch was OK. Margo picked at her nachos, and I did not finish my Korean Fried Chicken Sandwich. It wasn’t spicy, but it also wasn’t that good. Lunch also came with a text from Southwest Airlines. Our flight was delayed by half an hour. Margo could gamble a little longer. I told Margo to go have fun while I waited on the check. They had a Carlo’s Bakery right by the café, so I treated myself to a cannoli. It has been a while, and it was as good as I had remembered.
We packed it up about 1:45 PM and got in the car. We made a pit stop to fill up the tank. That was more of an adventure than it should have been. At first, it did not seem to take my card. No error message; the pump would not turn on. Then, with gas running $6.19 per gallon, and me at a quarter tank, the pump stopped at $75.00. For a fleeting second, I thought I was full. Then the possibility of hitting such a round number, compared to the possibility of a limit, weighed in my head. I tried to restart the pump, and I had no luck until I tried another card. Then magically, another $10.00 worth was needed. We got to the rental car lot about 2:30. I was expecting the normal shuttle to the airport, but Fresno has the car rentals on site. That’s always a win.
Security was fun. My hip always sets off the detectors, so I have to go through the special one where you put your hands up. I told this to the first TSA agent, and he pointed me to the right line. I got up close, and the guy operating that line announced, “Metal in your body,” and pointed to the original line. He was not signaling what I thought he was. I must have missed the word “unless”. But I got through it and did not die.
We were not hungry and waited with only some water until we boarded. It was only an hour to San Diego. I don’t recall if I mentioned we did not have a direct flight. We don’t first down to San Diego, and then San Diego to Denver. The San Diego leg was a full flight. We had a 20-something young lady between us, who did not say a word, and most importantly was height-weight proportional. I am not, but it is my shoulders that hang over. That is one of several reasons why I get an aisle seat.
We landed in San Diego and found our nearby gate. Margo found it. I was starting to fade. My fitful sleep was catching up to me. I had a sandwich and chips for dinner. Margo just snacked on things she already had. We boarded and found, to our delight, that this was not even close to full. We had no one between us, so it was relaxed enough that I nodded off a bit. Mostly, I just enjoyed the wifi that being a Rapid Rewards member allowed me.
It was very reassuring to finally touch down at home. Margo, as she always is, had our car claim ticket for the new lot we were trying. There was a shuttle waiting for us as we walked out of door 507. He loaded us up and called in our valet number. I thought that meant that our car would be waiting for us. I was not wrong. He unloaded our luggage. Another guy loaded it, counted to make sure it was all there, and we were nearly on our way.
Margo climbed in and noticed a rose on the dash. I’m thinking I am going to have a hard time going back to being a peasant with this kind of service. The drive home was uneventful, just like we like it. Cooper was very happy to see us. I could hear him barking as soon as the garage door had closed. He jumped on me, asking me to bend down, so he could lick my face. I did, then he darted over to the other side, shrieking with excitement the whole time. He greeted Margo the same way, and then came back to me. He did that several times until we made it into the house.
After bringing in the luggage and unwinding, we went to bed. Cooper usually sleeps with me, but instead of a single lick, asking for the covers to be lifted, he tried to drown me. It was lick, lick, lick, Ok Boy, lick, lick, yes, Coppie, lick, lick, You’re drowning me, dog, lick, lick, “Go see your mama, lick, lick, lick. I think we traumatized the poor dog. We eventually calmed him down, and we were both out.
That was our trip to Northern California. Margo and I talked later about our favorite parts. We agreed. It was Alcatraz, one; the Giant Redwoods, two; and our Yosemite tour coming in at three. We did not see a lot of homelessness in SF, but there was some. It was much more prevalent in LA, but we saw more of LA. There were plenty of shady characters, but we were always in a crowd, so we did not feel unsafe. Would I go back? Not without a very good reason. It’s not our kind of town. That’s not bad; it’s just not what we would enjoy a second time. There is plenty of America left for us to see. Not that our next trip is going to tick any of those boxes. Next up is the Panama Canal via a Princess Cruise. See you in April.