Another birthday on the road: Redwoods, WinCo, and White Privelege

Oh, America. Somehow I feel compelled to write about the coastal redwoods and WinCo in the same post. Why do these two things even coexist?

I get ahead of myself. For my birthday on the road, I had arranged for a 4-day weekend (no teaching Friday or Monday), but I packed it with 10+ hours (over 3 days) of driving, much of it on the hilliest, curviest, bounciest, unevennest terrain I’ve taken the van on yet. Just about everything fell off, over, and out of the interior of the van. But other than that, the van held up great! And the result for my third night on the road was a peaceful 24 hours at a remote and isolated beachside campground on the Lost Coast. It was the highlight so far.

But for my actual birthday, I headed to the coastal redwoods further inland. And unexpectedly, I landed in 94 degree weather! Ugh!!! That’s what I was trying to escape. Plus poison oak! My nemesis!! (I avoided contact, but it was everywhere!)

I hiked very little. I avoided poison oak. But I gloried in the incredible redwood forests. I tried to describe them to my students, most of whom have never heard of them. Honestly, if someone tried to describe them to me (without the aid of a Google image search), I’m not sure I could imagine them. Here are a couple photos from Humboldt Redwoods State Park:

WinCo

I don’t know why I’m so worked up about WinCo. True, it is not my go-to for grocery shopping. I prefer smaller markets where I can find what I want and get out. And most especially where I can scan my phone to pay and be done. But WinCo requires cash or debit. And I never have cash and rarely use my debit card — meaning I use it 2 or 3 times per year. And the PIN was assigned by the bank about 25 years ago. Usually, once I’m at the keypad, I rely on muscle memory to type it in. But today, at WinCo in Eureka, CA, that failed me. Four failed attempts at the checkout line, then several attempts at the ATM (while the checkout lady kept my groceries waiting for me, bless her), I finally, actually, unbelievably found the right combination of numbers!! I still can’t quite believe I avoided the humiliation of telling them I couldn’t pay. Like, what is involved with that? Do I restock my unpaid-for groceries myself? Do the authorities get involved? #FirstWorldProblems.

While on the theme of problems only the overpriveleged consider to be problems: Today I parked at a sunny, exposed, not-forested-with-the-tallest-trees-in-the-world parking lot for my Starlink-enabled first class of the day. I knew ahead of time that my target parking lot was a sunrise-to-sunset deal. No overnight parking. But I arrived at 7:30 am to see a motorcylce parked next to a tent in the grassy area near the river. Not my problem. But from my ladder (positioning the Starlink on the van’s roof), I saw a ranger approach the illegal camper. A conversation ensued, but I was focused on my own preparations. Then, just before my class was due to begin, I saw the ranger walk toward the van. I stuck my head out the van door, and she asked me when I had arrived. “Just now,” I said. To make it sound as bougie as possible: I left my idyllic campground nestled in the redwoods so that I could set up my Starlink in an unobstructed location to work my dream job online, while I travel the country in my decked-out van. And since I seemed just that bougie, she took me at my word, no further questions, and told me to have a good day.

Oh, America. White privelege cannot be overestimated.

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