I have, for whatever odd reason, always had an abiding fascination with lava. Fortunately, this quirk is also shared by Bob. The west is very volcanic and along our travels there, we have managed quite often to find some. Now, we live on a big hunk of lava and in close proximity to the new molten lava pouring from Kilauea and slowly but surely increasing the size of our island. Of course we must go! Last week we rented a little house on the other side of the island for a couple of days and off we went.
This flow began last summer making its way down Kilauea. It crept on slowly over houses, roads, anything in its path until it reached the sea July 29th. And there it has been putting on a spectacular show. New Years Day a 26-acre lava delta collapsed into the ocean nearly taking three visitors with it. Cracks are currently forming parallel to the ocean signaling another collapse is just around the corner. So, this is a very new, very active event. And it's Hawaii, so if you are expecting signage, sturdy fencing, possibly a handicap ramp ... um, no.
The current viewing area is marked off with string (really) and located off a gravel road (not really). There are no cars allowed, so you can either walk or bike it by renting a bike from one of the
enterprising local businesses that have sprung up along the road. You can see the steam rising in the distance. It looks close -- close-ish. In point of fact, it is 4 miles -- something we will realize awfully well later.
Anyway, we decide to rent bikes. You never forget how to ride a bike, right? And, anyway, how hard could it be? Well, if you have not ridden a bike in, say, 30, 40 or more years, it turns out it's pretty hard. The stabilizing muscles you use to balance on a bike haven't had all that much to do in the intervening time. So picture your five-year old learning to ride. Abundant opportunities to look ridiculous. But surely we will get the hang of it. Did I mention that it's a gravel road? Some of it is hard, some is loose with the occasional rut and there are fist-sized lava rocks scattered here and there. And, of course, you are not alone out there. There are children, experienced bikers, straggling tourist who don't seem to be experienced at much of anything. And most disturbing -- vendor cars, tour vans. Driving, parked random fashion The purveyors of coconut refreshments along the way have to get to work, I guess.
My bike is too big for me and I can't touch the ground from my seat. I can barely get my leg over it to get off. I fix this later by throwing the bike down and stepping out. Works. But there are tires that seem too thin and gears. Challenging. And it's becoming clear that this was rather poorly researched. We discuss this several times along the road.
About two days later, we arrive at a point where there is string across the road and a lot of bikes laying about. From here you walk across the lava.
And we see it and are spellbound. To this point we actually didn't know what we would see. Pictures are usually taken from a helicopter and with a telephoto lens. Perhaps the lava would be sulky and refuse to come out of the steam. No! You can really really really see it! We're speechless. It's not even sunset and it's amazing! If you look with binoculars you can see boulders of dark rock in the liquid fire. I had no idea it would actually be a silky liquid thing! Flowing into the sea, it explodes sending billows of steam, burning embers are spit out and hurled back onto the black lava.
Other people were standing around chatting, taking pictures, snacking. Bob and I are clinging to edge of the cliff staring transfixed. The sun sets. It's amazing -- I need another word. Then darkness and it is beyond what I can describe.
(See more videos at the end)
No idea how long we sat there, but finally we realize it's -- really dark and we have to walk on black lava. Scary, but short. Then the real horror. We have to ride these damn bikes 4 miles in the dark. And it was SO much worse than it sounds. After five minutes, I consider breaking my ankle so I could be rescued.
There were lots of people now. They were leaving on bikes, arriving on bikes, on foot milling around, their headlamps shining in your eyes blinding you completely. And cars! How is that even allowed??? Hawaii, call me a cab, you idiots! We were so tired. We couldn't ride up the hills anymore and we push the bikes through the starry night. Stars? More than I have ever seen and I live in the land of stars! Magical, dazzling! But we know we haven't gone far and we are getting desperate. We keep trying to ride and running into more people. I am still annoyed with bikers, but now I am annoyed with pedestrians, too!
Finally there were no people in front of us and it was flat. We got on our bikes and rode like heck. It was the most terrifying, thrilling, surreal, nightmarish thing -- flying through blackness with only the faint outlines of black lava visible. We didn't know where we were. I lose Bob. He is behind me somewhere. I'll send help if you fall! Every now and then there are yellow flashing lights -- what? Is that your token attempt at a safety device? What does it mean? An iron gate across the road maybe?
It was insane really. We should have thrown the bikes down and walked. One rock and you could fly face first over the handle bars into the lava. I think we were a little crazy out there. Finally, we miraculously arrive at the end almost unscathed. Don't know how. We planned to go out to dinner. Ha! We were so tired and hungry and HAPPY to be in the car. And back at our house sitting in bed with chicken sandwiches and wine -- and Tylenol. And, you know, we weren't even sore the next day. No idea.
I did have a nightmare though -- flying through the air in the dark. Of course. I'll probably have it again. But it's okay. The Lord looks after the dim ones sometimes and I'm grateful.
OMG love this mom!!!!!!
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