After driving through a tree we merrily (yes, merrily) headed back to 101 and the Avenue of the Giants. But wait! Could it be? Ohmagawd. A true, honest to goodness roadside attraction – a funkydelicious place where some cornut of a human decided to get all kooky with their bad self and throw a bunch of stuff together and force people like me off the road on our quest for the wackadoodle. Yay. In this case it’s Confusion Hill. It’s the real deal.
Now, upon first perusal, one thing noticeably sticks out about Confusion Hill – the freakish number of signs all over the place. I assume this is to guard against any further confusion beyond the confusion that will envelope you from the hill.
Luckily, the confusion from the hill is not so great you forget how to read. Or how to work a camera. Or understand the meaning of that special sensation when your body tells you the elimination process has reached urgent proportions. Because if that happened, they’d have to post a sign warning the confusion may get so wacky you’ll pee your pants and not even know why. No, Gentle Woodlandfolk of the Blogisphere(tm), the confusion is not that great.