“Keep close to Nature’s heart…and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.”-John Muir
Visiting our friends in Sacramento was a wonderful respite. Mark got to reminisce about his residency years with his buddy and fellow surgeon Brian. We had some great sushi at a local joint but the best part was Jan made a delicious family dinner on Sunday and her lovely daughter and Jan’s Dad joined us. It was something we hadn’t done in awhile, sit around a table and share home cooked food and great conversation. To top it off, we got to watch the exciting Game 5 of the World Series. Simple pleasures.
Back on the road. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that we have been traveling for so many weeks. There’s a strange thing happening. Whenever we are out of the trailer for a few days, I develop a longing for our traveling bed, our tiny space. The first night back in the trailer is like coming home again. It makes sense, this has become our home. So, the return to the Cricket is always welcomed. It’s becoming worn out looking. We joke about washing the car and the cricket but then we always drive right past. I’m beginning to think it’s ok, the dried mud and grease, detritus from the road, is a badge of honor. Every time I add a sticker, I wash a little circle in the dust and grit and stick on the newest park sticker. All of this is to say, I’ve become very fond of our little trailer.
Where to? We considered heading back to the coast but Brian & Jan convinced us to go to Yosemite, it was close by and the weather looked great there. I was so excited, we didn’t think Yosemite would be doable due to snow but after an initial snowfall, the temps had risen and we looked good to go! The trip was only supposed to take a few hours, so of course, we took the scenic route. We stopped for lunch in a small town called Murphy’s in the Sierra foothills. Upon leaving, my GPS directed us to increasingly narrow roads. Soon, we were deep into ranch country, potholed rods, no street signs. On the GPS, the map was blank but for the blinking blue circle indicating our car was in the middle of nowhere. As I was trying to figure out where the heck we were, Mark slammed on the brakes, pointing to a sign. Winding, curvy road ahead. No trailers. Proceed at your own risk. Great. Honestly, this was the first time GPS has failed me on this trip. It was only now that I realized GPS doesn’t intuit what kind of vehicle one is driving OR if said vehicle is towing a trailer. We had to back up the Cricket and negotiate a hairy turnaround and somehow find our way out of the maze of ranch roads. The drive up to our campground outside Yosemite was wild. Hairpin turns and cliffside drop-offs. There are some crazy ass roads in this country.
Our campground was an hour from the Yosemite Valley floor so we got an early start in the morning. We lucked out with the weather. It was sunny and warm in the valley. My first glimpse of El Capitan was jaw-dropping. I grabbed my binocs and scoped the sheer 100 ft wall. There!! Four tiny ant figures crawling in the deep crevasses. There were small crowds of us land bound watchers oohing and ahhing. I’ll never understand the risk-takers who thrive on the adrenaline rushes that climbing sheer cliff walls, or balancing on thin ropes over high canyons brings to some folks. It’s a thrill to watch though I couldn’t help feeling as if I was waiting for something terrible to happen. Just the previous week, a British guy was killed by a rock slide on El Capitan, 35 years old, died doing something he loved, said his wife whom he saved by covering her body with his as the rocks fell. Is it worth it? Living your life tempting fate, even if that life is filled with moments that bring you closer to transcendence? I suppose it is for those five tiny figures dangling thousands of feet from Terra firma. I will have to find my bliss in other ways.
On a whim, I decided to call the Awahnee Lodge the night before, the iconic National Park Lodge in the Yosemite Valley to see if they had a room available. We discovered on this trip that it’s impossible to get a room at these beautiful historic lodges unless you booked a year in advance. Our campground was far enough away that our days would have to end early and I craved the opportunity to see sunrise and sunset on the granite walls of the valley. It was our lucky day. We scored a room for two nights! It is not cheap to stay a night in the National Parks and the rooms are usually just a step above an average hotel room. It’s the common spaces that you are paying for, the majesty of the architect’s vision, the history that reveals itself in the solidly built stone floors and redwood walls, the knowledge that many illustrious figures(queens and presidents!) have walked these halls and eaten in the magnificent dining room before you. Awahnee Lodge is a masterpiece of rustic construction and its setting nestled against the granite stone is perfectly idyllic. Autumn had fully arrived in the valley and the rustling reds and golds lit up the narrow canyon and covered the trails with jewel tones.
Because we were able to stay in the valley, a drive out to Glacier Point was first on our agenda. The road was due to close in two days for the winter season so we made the slow and snaky drive up to a dead end where one of the world’s most stunning vistas awaits: at an elevation of 7200 ft and with a commanding view of Half Dome, Yosemite Falls, Vernal & Nevada Falls. Walking out to the point, the feeling of floating on a precipice above the valley is exhilarating and just a little but unnerving. We also had time to bag a great hike to Taft Point. A mile high granite plateau that juts over the valley is carved in places by deep fissures one could easily fall into if one is not careful. I say this because I had read about the fissures and despite my fear of heights thought they sounded cool. Until I came upon one unawares and scared the bejesus out of me. Stupidly, I assumed they would be signed or a small fence would alert you to the chasms. One must pay attention in the national parks. The sun was setting and the light up here was so crazy magical, there was a lime green moss growing on all the trees, like fine handmade sweaters wrapping each trunk in neon warmth. Everything was glowing and as we were leaving, I kept glancing back, wanting to burn the image in my brain.
Dinner that night was a splurge. We dined in the grand dining room with 34 ft high ceilings, granite pillars, enormous pine trestles and floor to ceiling windows. Our evening was made special by our gentleman waiter, Howard. We immediately hit it off, bemoaning the youngsters who didn’t value the old style of wait staffing. He assured us we were going to experience dining at its best and he meant his service. He regaled us with stories from bygone days. I could tell he longed for a lost time, where his expertise was valued and recognized. By the end of the meal, I knew Howard’s life story and I was enamored. A true gentleman from another era, he made our experience so memorable.
We spent the remainder of our time there climbing vertical paths and intricately carved stone steps to get closer to waterfalls and jaw-dropping scenes. Towards the end of our afternoon, when we decided to wander along the path that follows the valley floor, I abruptly stopped. I wondered why a house cat was crossing the sandy forest floor directly in front of me. In a moment, the wires in my brain got crossed, the image did not compute. That’s when I heard Mark whisper, bobcat! The distinctive black bars on its forelegs identified it, but Mark knows his animals and this was on his life list. We paused and silently began to track his path through the trees, snapping photos excitedly. A rare sighting, we were elated. It was the cherry on the sundae. The haphazard way that we stumbled upon it only enhanced the whole experience.
Many travelers we met after we left Yosemite complained about it. One in particular, a Canadian, said to us, ‘What have you Americans done to fuck up Yosemite?’ I was taken aback. I understand that the National Parks can be true nightmares in the summer months. In fact, it’s become a bit of a joke with Mark and I, every time we leave a park, we say, can you imagine how horrible this would be in the summer? It’s true, Yosemite is crowded all the time. It’s that awesome. Maybe we timed it right. Maybe we got off the beaten path. But even the crowded valley floor couldn’t spoil the majesty. All I had to do was look up to the heavens and observe the way the light played on the granite, notice how the sun colored the canyon and how the deepening twilight transformed the sliver of sky into a brilliant pattern of connecting stars, and I was transported back to a time when a lone soul named John Muir found his own brand of bliss. And now I’ve found mine. 