Sequoia NP from Three Rivers to Morro Rock

Yosemite → Sequoia NP → Three Rivers → Visalia → Bakersfield → Lone Pine

Leaving Yosemite by way of the South Entrance, we wound past the towering sentinels of the Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias—like exiting through the back door of a cathedral whose pillars were alive and 2,000 years old. A few miles later the granite walls gave way to a plunging descent, and suddenly—bam—we were spit out into California’s Central Valley, that sprawling breadbasket nicknamed “America’s produce aisle.” The two-lane highway became a conveyor belt of abundance: endless rows of vineyards stitched across the hillsides, orange and almond orchards stretching to the horizon, and farm stands advertising peaches and pistachios.

Semi-trucks roared past, their trailers stacked high with onions, garlic, and tomatoes, perfuming the air with the sharp tang of an open-air kitchen. The valley heat shimmered on the asphalt, and even Bessie seemed thirsty. We topped off her diesel tank in Fresno (because she doesn’t sip delicately—she gulps), then steered her nose toward the Ash Mountain entrance of Sequoia National Park, where the road would trade citrus groves for canyon walls and, eventually, more giants.

Three Rivers & Lodging Roulette

By mid-afternoon we rolled into Three Rivers, a funky little gateway town lined with mom-and-pop cabins, inns, and lodges clinging to the roadside. Names like Gateway Inn, Buckeye Tree Lodge, River Inn, Comfort Inn all flashed past us. Alan, scanning like a hawk, declared, “We’ll be fine on lodging here.” His calmness was admirable—because inside the park, lodges were full, and there was no Wi-Fi to ninja-book a campsite on Recreation.gov.

The White-Knuckle Climb to Moro Rock

We tackled the steep switchbacks that claw their way up to the Giant Forest. Picture narrow lanes carved into the mountainside, your knuckles whitening on the wheel, and then—out of nowhere—a 30-foot RV bearing down like a charging bull, stealing half your lane. Alan muttered, “This is not driving, this is jousting.”

Past the Foothills Visitor Center, Hospital Rock, and Crystal Caves, we gained nearly 5,000 feet of elevation. By 5:30 p.m., Alan called it: “I’m not threading this back down in the dark. We’re done.” Lodging roulette turned into a scramble, and—of course—NO Vacancy signs lit up like Vegas. Alan scored us a room at the Comfort Inn. He was thrilled: clean beds, good Wi-Fi. I grumbled—it felt about as adventurous as staying at an airport Marriott. He reminded me the Gateway Lodge was triple the price. End of debate.

Sunrise Conquest: Moro Rock

Alan redeemed himself by promising a pre-dawn strike on Moro Rock. And he delivered. We had the winding mountain road to ourselves—just wild turkeys strutting and morning glories curling along the roadside. Alan crowed, “See? First ones up here. I can bite into their lane without worrying about head-on collisions.”

Moro Rock is a hulking granite dome rising to 6,725 feet. A staircase of 400+ stone steps zigzags up its spine, railings clinging to the rock like a lifeline. The air was hazy, but the views still punched—ridges rolling out like ocean waves frozen in stone. My legs wobbled on the final ledge, but touching the top felt like brushing the sky. High-fives from Alan and Kodi at the bottom sealed the win. (Moro Rock is even on the Register of Historic Places, so technically, I climbed into history.)

Big Trees, Bigger Perspective

From there, we wandered to Crescent Meadow where you can literally drive through a tree (Bessie was too big, but Kodi and I strutted through). We hit the Giant Forest Museum, passed the Four Guardians, and stood beneath the General Sherman Tree—the largest living tree on Earth. At 275 feet tall, 36 feet across, 1,300 tons, and 3,000 years old, it’s basically nature’s skyscraper.

Standing under it, I couldn’t help but think about the loggers who once cut these giants without a second thought. If it weren’t for Muir and the early conservationists, Sherman might’ve been someone’s front porch beam.

We hiked the Congress Trail weaving through the grove, each tree a silent elder keeping watch.

Must Be Movin’ On

We skipped the General Grant Tree this time (daylight fading, Alan’s mantra: “We must be movin’ on”). Down the mountain we went, through Visalia and into Bakersfield, where we refueled both Bessie and ourselves before making the long push east.

By sunset, the Sierras glowed pink in the rearview as we pulled into Lone Pine, gateway to the Alabama Hills, Mount Whitney, and Death Valley.

Kodi got her moment too—cut loose at a pull-off near the big trees, sprinting like a pup on caffeine. Her joy was contagious; even Alan cracked a grin after his white-knuckle driving.

👉 Next stop: Death Valley National Park. Early light on the dunes, anyone?