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No gas, bear tracks add up<br>to interesting afternoon

The day started out well enough. An interesting look at elephant seals on a beach below Hearst Castle. Wine tasting among the vineyards around Paso Robles. A scenic ride through colorful poppies on California’s back roads.

But wanting to experience even more of California’s "off-the-beaten-path" areas, we decided to head down a lonely highway through Los Padres National Forest.

Glancing at the map, the highway didn’t have a number assigned to it. As we entered, there was a warning sign that chains were required. But the sun was shining, the road looked fine and we wanted to experience the mountains ahead.

After only five miles, the road began to wind more and more. My girlfriend Stacey put on "Long and Winding Road" by the Beatles as we crept along between 25 and 45 mph.

We never did run into any snow. In fact, we never passed a single car. There was a truck ahead of us in the distance, but that was it.

As we made our way around and over Mt. Abel and Mt. Pinos — both with elevations over 8,000 feet — we noticed the gas light was now illuminated on the Amigo’s dashboard. Oh no, we hadn’t been paying any attention to our gas.

We were well into Los Padres National Forest and hoped there would be some sort of civilization ahead. But around each turn, only more lonely road and climbing upward.

The Amigo began to sputter as I pulled off to the side near a forest road that led to a campground. The gas was gone and our enchanting afternoon ruined.

Perhaps campground hosts would be on hand down the road. Maybe we could find a telephone. The cell phone refused to work.

As we walked down a dirt road, nature came calling. I needed to use the available facilities and picked out a tree. Stacey headed up off the road and did a little business of her own.

While I was standing there in the shade of this mighty ponderosa, I noticed some tracks in the road. My gosh, they were huge and deep. My first reaction was a bear!

I called to Stacey, but there was no answer. I listened hard, trying to hear her in the distance. Then I thought I heard the snorts of a bear who was probably keeping an eye on the man who seemed to be marking his territory.

Finally, Stacey made her way back to me on the road and I told her of my fears. She scoffed and said the tracks belonged to a big dog. I challenged those remarks as ridiculous. "Take a good look, the dog must weigh 500 pounds, look at how deep the tracks are."

All of a sudden, Stacey seemed to be getting nervous. She turned white in the face and remarked, "Maybe we should stay by the Amigo and wait for a car."

I agreed and we headed back toward the highway, realizing there would probably be no campground hosts out in the middle of nowhere during the off season.

Then a feeling came over me. I felt like we were being watched. Turning around, I took in the frightening vision of a bear making its way toward us.

"Run, run," I screamed as I sprinted down the road, trying to rediscover my track days. Stacey had a hard time keeping up and pleaded with me to slow down. The bear was gaining ground and let out a blood-curdling growl.

The Amigo was in sight and I knew I could make it inside. But Stacey fell down and decided to play dead. The bear sniffed and tore at her loose clothing. Then he glanced in my direction.

"Kill the man who relived himself on my favorite tree and then go back for the dead one," I imagined the bear was thinking.

"Stacey, I’m going for the Amigo, good luck," I yelled.

The bear came at me as if he was running the 100-meter dash coming out of the blocks. I made it to the car and dove inside just in time. Meanwhile, I could see Stacey looking up at me, possibly contemplating the future of our relationship.

Right at that moment, an elderly man came down the road on an ATV. He called out. "Hugo, quit scaring these nice people. They don’t want to play."

The man’s name was Levi Thomas and he knew where to get us some gas. After helping us out of our predicament, we were on our way to a gas station in a town called Lake of the Woods.

It was a harrowing day. That evening, we were thankful and actually laughed at our adventures.

Of course, I hope all of you realize I’m writing this in honor of a particular holiday.

April Fool’s (one day late)!

(Brad Fuqua is editor of the Grand Canyon News).


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