We exited the hotel at a little before 11:00 amidst a wandering group of Miss California Teen competitors. It was not long before we found ourselves well outside of Fresno, heading right for the increasingly looming mountains. Much like yesterday, we went into the mountain range—but this time headed for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.

The road in goes straight up one of the biggest mountains in the area. We climbed up to around 6,000 feet and could see, amidst the hairpin turns, the valley out to our left, which was full of small groves and scrub brush on a golden surface.

Kings Canyon and Sequoia are two different parks, but for all intents and purposes they are considered one and the same. Our crack online research indicated that there was a shuttle bus system similar to the one in Yosemite, and so we had a day of good hikes and scenery ahead ... or so we thought.

After getting to the visitor center, we found out that there are no less than three of them throughout the two parks, and that no shuttle went up to the one where we had parked. The road we'd have to continue on was even worse overall than the one we had just traversed. (It's the only road in the system that, to my knowledge, the National Park Service actually tells people not to go on.) On top of this, the parks sign almost nothing; roads split off with little warning, much to the confusion of anyone looking at a map.

Our options were extremely limited: either go back out and along Kings Canyon for two hours or go along an ill-advised route further into Sequoia for two hours. Both routes would have led to an hour of backtracking along likely scary mountain roads, and we were already not excited about descending the road we had traversed to get up to the parks in the first place.

We split the difference and went along a two-mile round-trip hike to the General Grant tree, the second-largest tree in the world. (The largest, the General Sherman, was further into Sequoia along the notorious route.) A lot of our time on the hike to the tree was taken up by utter confusion as to where the trail went as it wound its way through a nearby campground, as the parks apparently are no better at general signage on trails any more than they are on the roads.

The giant sequoias in the park are a slightly different species than the ones that we'd seen along our trip up the California coast three years ago, which are coastal redwoods (and, as it turned out, taller). But the giant sequoias make up for what they lack in height for what width they gain throughout their lives. The General Grant is only a tiny bit smaller than the General Sherman and was named the "Nation's Christmas Tree" by President Coolidge.

While the General Grant tree is epic in its sheer width, I was less than impressed with it and the overall forest than I thought I would be and in fact preferred the redwoods along the coast for the ultimate Big Tree experience. Still, the attraction of the giant sequoias is palpable, and the forest makes you feel like a bit of an ant, for—in addition to the sequoias—the forest is filled with huge pine trees as well, which rivaled some of the smaller sequoias for height. All of this led to the always-neat experience of feeling a bit like an ant.

We took our time seeing what we could see around the General Grant tree and then assessed the situation. While we theoretically would have the time to do one of the two-hour down-and-back routes further into one of the parks, Yosemite had taken much energy out of us—not in any one muscle or group of muscles, but in the general energy level of our whole bodies. I felt rather better than my parents on the energy front and thus made it to the car well in advance of them, and since their exhaustion was becoming visible, I decided to take the wheel in the drive back down the mountain.

We geared the car down and I had a bit of on-the-job training with how to shift gears (with no clutch, it's easier than the stories I'd heard). The only real issues we had with the descent were crazy drivers intent on going 70 and flashing their lights at us.

After making it most of the way down, we got gas and then continued on back into the valley. The road made one last descent on a curve—one of the worst with which I've dealt—and then we were off through the arid San Joaquin valley, where the oranges are farmed, the roads gloriously flat, the traffic minimal, and the temperature constantly above a hundred. (It topped out at 105.)

We stopped by the stadium of the Visalia Rawhide and were able to secure a pennant despite their shop being closed because—while it was a Saturday—they had an evening game. The girl who was selling tickets went back and got it for us, and didn't hold anyone up since we were the only ones in the line.

Pennant in hand, we went back to our car on the other side of the stadium and continued on to Bakersfield. The traffic on the notorious state route 99 was actually not particularly bad, and we went on a few exits past our hotel in the quest for a California staple: an In-N-Out Burger. I'd heard of In-N-Out for years and saw many three years ago and this year, but the stars never aligned for meal times and thus I'd never before been in one. We found one and went in.

The place was absolutely slammed and a staff of a dozen or so teens ran the place, slamming out orders as fast at the Californians could put them in. All one guy did was use a machine to slam potatoes and create fries. We could see the entire operation from a nearby bench and were endlessly fascinated by the well-oiled machine.

In-N-Out seems to pride themselves on their freshness and quality. Their menu is small—in fact, a decent-sized copy could probably fit into my palm and be read without much need for squinting. We all got a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.

The jury's out on the fries and shake (I loved everything), but we all loved the cheeseburgers. Unlike many places which say "fresh" but mean otherwise, you could actually taste the freshness. The lettuce and tomato were thick and hearty, the onion not too strong, and the sauce some outlandish and delicious concoction reminiscent of tartar. Through all of this, I can see why their "double-double" (which looks a bit like a big mac) is popular, because the meat patty was rather thin.

We sipped on our milkshakes back across town and to our hotel, where we're looking at a very early night's sleep.

Tomorrow: across the Mojave Desert in an epic ride that will start when our alarms go off at 3:00.