Sequoia National Park, man. That place is no joke.
We arrived in Three Rivers, Calif., after a four-hour drive from San Francisco. The road was long, the sun scalding . . . the day young. After learning we couldn’t check into our hotel quite yet, we set off for the park in search of the famed giant trees.
We made it.
Kind of.
Please observe:

There’s a road in there.
I have exactly one photo from our time climbing switchbacks up mountains in Sequoia — mostly because I’ve never been so terrified in a car in my life. My dad was behind the wheel with Mom beside him, and Spencer and I were clinging to life (and the door handles) in the back.
I should note that Dad is a very good and cautious driver (as evidenced that I’m alive to write this post), but there was…
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