Welcome to Complicated by Choices.
A multi-media journal that blends my original art, photography, and writing to delve into a diverse range of thought-provoking social and personal topics.
INTRODUCTION
This week, I’m going to share a story from a life-changing trip, when I visited the Sequoia National Forest and unintentionally found myself driving alone on a narrow and perilous 35-mile long dirt road.
WHEN, WHERE, AND WHY
It was May 2021, just a few weeks before my birthday, and I found myself in the quiet little town of Kernville, nestled on the southwestern edge of the Sequoia National Forest.
This sleepy town, home to fewer than 1,000 people, has origins dating back to the Wild West days and, most notably for me, is within driving distance of several amazing hikes and other natural wonders.
One of the hikes I was most interested in, also happened to be one of the tamest I’ve done on one of these adventures. At a serene length of 1.3 miles and boasting a gentle elevation, it can be completed in 15 minutes if you’re a fast walker. But of course, that’s not the point.
The ‘Trail of 100 Giants’ is a meandering paved trail that leads you through a grove of one hundred magnificent Sequoia trees that reach heights of up to 220ft tall, and have an average age of 1,500 years.
So, after a tough couple of days of exhilarating hiking early on in the trip, I figured it was about time for me to go and meet these giants face to face.
Little did I know that, that day, would turn into one of the greatest tests of survival of my life.
MY FIRST BIG MISTAKE
My first big mistake happened fairly early on in the day.
When I typed ‘Trail of 100 Giants’ into Google Maps and pressed ‘start’, I forgot to toggle off the ‘avoid highways’ option, which had been left on from the drive to Kernville. I quickly found out that ‘avoid highways’ in the Sequoia National Forest meant avoiding paved roads. So, before long, I ended up off-road, heading north towards the giants.
Things quickly got more complicated when I realized I had no signal on my phone, and I wasn’t sure where I lost it. Fortunately, Google Maps was holding strong, but I knew that I couldn’t redirect myself without driving all the way back to Kernville, and I didn’t want to risk losing Google Maps current directions. So, despite the unpaved road, I persuaded myself that if Google was directing me that way, it couldn't be that bad. That was my second big mistake of the day.
Now, the road north wasn’t actually that awful. There were a few difficult moments where my front-wheel drive struggled to get up steep, windy roads, and I occasionally had to get out of the car and clear the path of debris and pointy branches. It also helped that I had a good amount of space on either side of my car, so I didn’t fear the occasional massive drop off the cliff if I went a little off track.
However, 5-10 miles into the journey north, I realized I had made a third mistake: I was running out of gas. While I had another 20-25 miles to my destination, I also had to get back, and the gauge was telling me I only had enough gas for about 65-70 miles.
While I wasn't overly worried about the terrain at this point, I was certainly conscious of the situation I had gotten myself in to and debated whether to just chalk the day up to experience, and turn back.
Whether it was my ego, the adventurer in me, or the curious part thats always wondering how far I can push myself, I ultimately decided to push on and see what was around the next corner.
THE NEXT CORNER
While the journey north was filled with a sense of anxiety, the landscape was undeniably beautiful. As I wound my way up and over the mountains, the valley seemed to stretch on endlessly, and although I didn’t cross paths with any other people, I did come across a wild cow grazing by the side of the road.
Set against the ominous backdrop of scorched and dead trees, it felt as though I could hear her thoughts when our eyes met. She seemed to be saying, “What the hell are you doing here, idiot?” In her defense, I had asked myself that same thing already that day.
As I waved goodbye and continued on my journey, I was reminded of the daunting potential of things to come.
Amazingly, I made it out the other side totally unscathed, and exhilarated from the unique and unexpected experience.
Unfortunately though, my hopes for a less stressful drive home were hindered when I reached my destination and still found no phone signal. As my body released the tension from the drive up, it began to tense up again in anticipation of my journey home.
Despite my concerns, I decided that since I had made it this far, I should at least do what I came here to do. So, I set my worries aside and headed towards the trail, half-joking that the wisdom of the ancient Sequoias might guide me on the best route home. With a sense of adventure, I stepped onto the path to meet these giants, knowing that the experience would be worth the uncertainty that lay ahead.
THE TRAIL OF 100 GIANTS
Seeing the Sequoias for the first time was akin to witnessing the Grand Canyon or any other natural wonder you’ve only ever seen in pictures. No matter how many photos or videos you’ve seen, it’s impossible to truly grasp the magnitude and the emotions they might evoke until you experience it in person.
As a nature lover, being in the presence of these ancient marvels was mind-blowing. I was struck by their beauty and magnificence while simultaneously attempting to comprehend their 1,500-year lifespan, which, for me, seems impossible.
What I find most intriguing about moments like these, which often occur when I’m out in nature, is the introspection they inspire. Whether it’s the quiet of the natural world, the distance from other people, or my affinity to nature, I can delve deeper into myself and my understanding of the world more than at any other time or in any other place.
The experience was surreal, and allowed me to momentarily forget the uncertainty of my return journey. But as I meandered along the short trail, the time quickly came for me to face reality once more.
THE DILEMMA
At the time, it seemed clear to me that taking the main roads to get back to Kernville was the logical choice. However, I was concerned about the lack of amenities in the area, particularly my inability to find a gas station without a phone signal.
I knew for sure I had enough gas to make it over the mountains once more, and after having just completed the journey unscathed, I felt confident that I could do it again. In hindsight, I would make a different decision, but back then, it seemed to make sense to go back the way I’d come.
So, with a few hours of sunlight remaining, I decided to retrace my steps and return to Kernville the way I’d come.
THE FOURTH TIME I MIGHT HAVE DIED
Yes, this was another of my big mistakes that day, and as a result, the return journey was nothing short of terrifying.
Even though I managed to find my way back to the entry point where I’d exited earlier, I am certain I took a wrong turn somewhere early on in my journey south. To this day, I can’t pinpoint where I went wrong, but I can be sure it was the most significant mistake I made that day.
Before I knew it, I was on an increasingly narrow path. Unlike the journey north, where I had ample room for error, I now found myself driving along a sometimes precarious cliff edge with just inches to spare. As I cautiously navigated the daunting route ahead, the scorched, bone-dry dirt trickled over the side as I passed, giving me a sense of what might happen to me if I made any more mistakes that day.
At that moment, I decided to turn back, feeling that with no signal, limited gas, and the road literally crumbling around me, it was my best option. But as adrenaline drove me further, I discovered there was no escape. The road had become too narrow to turn around, and all I could see ahead was the solitary path, it’s destination unknown.
It was around this time I encountered the first fallen tree blocking my way, which put my survival instincts on high alert. Despite my fears and questions, I knew I had to keep going, so I got out of the car and I removed the tree, and would do so several more times during the grueling journey ahead.
As I pressed on, laser-focused, I constantly feared my car would falter on the steep, rocky inclines. I had to carefully gauge my speed on certain ascents, ensuring I didn’t lose control on turns or damage the suspension on the uneven terrain.
MY GOLIATH
The most harrowing incline stretched for about 200 feet, with a narrow, hole-ridden path littered with debris and loose dirt. At its peak was a sharp turn, hiding what lay beyond. To get the RAV4 up the hill, I needed to go faster than I was comfortable with, while avoiding slipping over the edge or falling victim to the treacherous holes.
As I surveyed the road ahead, I couldn't help but wonder if this might be the end for me. If something went wrong, the best-case scenario involved a totaled car, while the worst case would send both me and the car tumbling down the cliffside. I had no choice. Using the downhill momentum, I accelerated towards my Goliath.
Though the time from hitting the gas to reaching the turn likely lasted only 20-30 seconds, it felt like an eternity. I skidded a few times but managed to stay on track. Just as I thought I'd made it, another fallen tree appeared as I rounded the corner. I hit the brakes hard.
I took a minute to calm myself and assess the situation before lugging the tree to the edge of the cliff and pushing it over. But when I got back in my car and pressed the gas, I didn't move. The steep, loose dirt road offered no traction for my front-wheel drive.
I quickly realized that my only option was to reverse all the way back down the hill and back up the other side for a running start.
Reversing along the cliff's edge felt like an out-of-body experience, as if I were guiding myself from above to make the precise turns needed for survival.
Despite the slow descent, I eventually made it back down. After collecting my Self and positioning the car, I charged towards the hill once more. This time, I made it to the top much smoother than on my first attempt.
The rest of the journey offered similar challenges, and with the knowledge that I still had many miles to go, I knew I must maintain my hyper-focus to avoid further mistakes that could cost me my life.
THE COWS
After 25-30 miles, my fear transformed into optimism, tinged with arrogance. "I'm so close, and I made it this far. What's going to stop me now?" I thought. However, arrogance rarely pays off, and when I rounded a corner and found a herd of cows blocking my path, I realized my difficulties weren’t over just yet.
My primary concern was where the cows would go if I tried to move them. I hoped they'd run up the hillside since the drop-off on the other side was too steep. But I worried my actions might cause them to panic, so I had to find a balance between my own survival and their safety.
Ruling out the option of leaving the car, I decided to slowly drive towards the cows, hoping they would move. But they just continued to graze, seemingly indifferent to my presence.
As I honked my horn and applied more pressure, the cows eventually started to shuffle around the bend. Following them, I discovered that the herd was twice as large as I had initially assumed.
With both light and gas dwindling, I couldn’t afford to spend hours gently nudging them along. Reluctantly, I began making sharp, sudden movements towards the cows, which finally prompted them to disperse up the hillside.
As I maneuvered around the bend, several cows still blocked my path. Concerned about anger and retaliation from the cows now on higher ground, I kept honking and making abrupt bursts forward. Eventually, the remaining cows cleared, revealing a bull preparing to charge with its head lowered and foot scraping the ground.
Recognizing the threat, I instinctively honked more aggressively and lurched the car towards the bull. After some posturing, the bull finally retreated up the hill.
Not wanting to risk further confrontation, while also hoping to let the cows continue their day in peace, I put my foot to the gas, aware that I was almost out of danger.
THE PUNCTURE AND THE POOP
That's when I encountered one of the most disruptive and perilous parts of my journey.
While most fallen trees were relatively easy to move or could be nudged enough to let gravity do the rest, I was stumped when I came across one that seemed impossible to move entirely off the path.
This posed a dilemma, as the gap between the cliff's edge and the sharp fallen tree wasn't wide enough for my car. With the math not adding up and knowing that turning back wasn't an option, I decided to approach the obstacle with speed, favoring the tree side of the road just enough to stay on track. I knew this would damage my car, but I had little choice.
After gaining some momentum, I plowed through the tree, and as I felt the branches scratch the car, I squeezed by, and miraculously remained safely on the road. However, just a few hundred feet later, I felt the car start to sag.
Upon inspection, I realized the tree had punctured my tire. I knew I only had a couple of miles left to go, but with the sun setting and the replacement "donut" tire ill-equipped for the treacherous terrain, I had to act quickly.
However, the forced stop caused my adrenaline levels to plummet, and as my body relaxed, I was suddenly hit with an urgent need to the use the toilet. Given the day’s trials, it seemed my body was purging more than just waste, so I wasn’t surprised to discover it was the largest poop I’d ever done.
After attending to nature's call, I changed the tire and continued onward. Despite my vehicle's limitations, it persevered, and I soon found myself on a blissful, paved road. With no cell signal, I instinctively headed south and eventually picked up the trail to Kernville.
RELIEF AND REFLECTION
When I got back to town, I felt famished and knew I needed a hot meal. I headed to a local bar, ordered some food, and treated myself to a cold beer. That beer, the first thing to touch my lips after my ordeal, was probably the most memorable drink I've ever had. Even though I'm not a huge fan of alcohol, in that moment, it tasted like pure magic.
As I sat there savoring my beer and devouring my food, a wave of relief washed over me - I'd made it. Reflecting on the day, my mind returned to the awe-inspiring ancient Sequoias, a memory now juxtaposed with the anxiety and adrenaline-fueled journey I had just endured.
Despite the challenges, I felt pure joy in that moment. Although I would never make many of those choices again, I was left with a profound sense of gratitude for the experience. I knew that this harrowing adventure would continue to offer me valuable insights into both myself and the world for years to come.
USING NATURE TO HEAL AND GROW
These solo journeys serve as an intensive crash course in self-discovery, and expediting growth and change in my life that otherwise might have taken years longer to achieve.
While it's possible to reflect at home, true peace can be hard to find amidst the constant movement of city life. That's why I cherish my ventures into the great outdoors. Nature provides an unparalleled opportunity to escape the daily grind, reconnect with my inner self, and marvel at the awe-inspiring world around me.
Whether I'm standing on a mountain peak, listening to the songs of birds, or cracking open a delicious cold drink at the end of a unique day in the wilderness, being in the great outdoors evokes a primal sense of wonder in me that has, without a doubt, transformed my life on numerous occasions.
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