Huge improvement in blood sugars under the redwood trees

The trip has been particularly scenic lately – the forests and other natural wonders of Oregon were inspiring – but my blood sugars have been bad. Today, as Masayo and I drove through majestic Redwood National Park, I finally had a day of comparatively excellent readings. They were all under 200, for one thing, which is a big goal for me.

We drove over the state line into California and the weather was nice and cool. We stopped at a post office to send a postcard to Japan and the woman working there said to us, “Hot enough for you out there?”

It was 82º. I had no idea what she was talking about. Do northern Californians think 82º is hot? Man, these people would melt if they ever traveled around the country. People in Georgia wish it was 82º in June!

Oh well. Chalk it up to local color.

The weather continued to be pleasant all day as we drove into Redwood, home to the tallest trees on Earth. The actual single tallest tree, called Hyperion, is within the Park although its exact location is kept secret to discourage people from flocking to it and harming it.

Before we entered Redwood National Park we stopped by the ranger station in Crescent City and spoke to a ranger on two particularly interesting subjects.

First, I asked about Hyperion, whose location (and even hiking directions) I had in fact found by sniffing around the web. I wasn’t planning on doing it (we are still trying to take it easy) but I did bring up the status of the great tree’s secrecy. The ranger averted her eyes and murmured that it was a secret, and didn’t seem to want to talk about the internet rumors. I pushed her a tad, smiling with mild conspiracy in an effort to get her to admit that one could indeed find it, but she wasn’t having it. I dropped the subject and moved onto one even nearer and dearer to my heart.

I asked her if Type 1 diabetics are in fact eligible for the Access Pass, which a ranger in Joshua Tree National Park had let me have at this trip’s start. Information has been vague about it – the National Park Service doesn’t specify exactly what conditions are eligible – and diabetics online seem divided about it. So I asked this ranger directly.

She unfortunately wasn’t sure – this particular ranger station doesn’t give out any passes so she didn’t have much experience with them – but she ultimately told me that the NPS probably just wants people to get out and see the country’s National Parks and offers the Access Pass as an incentive to those who might otherwise be reticent. In other words, worrying to death about who exactly is eligible is a fool’s game: whatever gets you into the Park is a-OK. (I pointed out how we always spend money in the visitor centers anyway, and in fact bought a wall map of the entire park system from her.)

And so, buoyed by this convivial chat Masayo and I drove into Redwood National Park and were instantly awed by the thin and impossibly elongated tree trunks all around us. While the shorter, fatter ones in Sequoia and Kings National Parks were impressive for their girth, these redwoods just explode out of the ground and disappear overhead in the sky.

We kept pulling the car over the side of the well-shaded, winding little highway and traipsing about between the spindly freaks. And it was only on these brief excursions that you notice how big and fat redwoods actually are – craning your neck and looking at the small shapes of sunlight several hundred feet overhead makes the trees’ massive bases a mere footnote.

That Access Pass came in handy when lunchtime came: it got us into a portion of the Park that is actually administered as a State Park by California and inside this section were picnic tables right in a grove of redwoods next to a big meadow.

And nobody else was at the tables. We jumped out and set our picnic cooler on a table and had a picnic for which I could barely sit still; I kept jumping up to take photos of nearby trees and run around their trunks.

My BG before lunch was 158 and I took a couple fewer units of Humalog than I would have otherwise because we were planning on doing something we hadn’t done since Masayo got sick in Utah: go hiking.

A 2-mile round-trip trail, leading from a visitor center to the flatly named “Big Tree”, was our plan. We’d get as far as we could, anyway, and if she had to turn back we would.

The walk turned out to be extremely pleasant – the temperature was cool, especially since the trail was entirely shaded, and the path was well-marked and the cool earth was soft under our new and too-little-used MontBell shoes. Everywhere was the scent of the forest, the shifting patterns of sunlight and shadow, and no other people and almost no sound. Just the rustling branches.

And Masayo was fine for the whole walk; it was only my diabetes that threatened it. Halfway along there was a stone bench and I felt low so I sat down for a check with my One Drop meter: it was 62, so I had three glucose tablets plus a protein bar.

Always carry too much blood sugar snack, especially on hikes like this!

We found the Big Tree, which was nice but not especially notable as far as I was concerned since they were ALL big trees. It reminded me of Homer Simpson’s daydream about the “Land of Chocolate” where everything is made of sweets and he gets excited about a store selling chocolate for half price.

By the time we got back to the car Masayo was worn out and my blood sugar was 79: a nice landing after everything, I think.

We continued slowly through the rest of Redwood National Park, still gawking and gasping at the gargantuan plants, and soon Masayo was sleeping as we pulled into the town of Eureka for the night.

My One Drop said I was 152 before dinner, which was a hamburger from Jack In The Box eaten in the hotel room. The streets of Eureka had a weird vibe that I couldn’t quite put my finger on – and the two or three agitated and rough-looking pedestrians I’d seen inspired me to do some online research which yielded the fact that Eureka is well-known for widespread heroin and meth problems.

That would indeed explain the curious air of decay on the bleak sunset streets of the town.

But neither that fascinating and sorrowful reality nor the carb-thick dinner was enough to badly derail the diabetic monster: before bed, as homeless guys wearing sheets strode quickly across the street outside our room with self-absorbed intensity, my final reading of the day was 196. Not excellent but as long as it starts with the right digit, I consider today a huge improvement over my recent readings.

And to top it all off, we have the ancient and fecund quietness of the redwood forest lingering in our senses. Very nice day today.

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