9.15am. I’d imagined that, having gone to bed so early, I’d be up at 5am, frying bacon and eggs, having trimmed my moustache and exchanged cricket scores with the nearest Englishman, and then that I would scale El Capitan in a rakish smoking jacket before abseiling down on a rope made of virgins’ hair, in time for lunch.
As it turned out, it’s 9.15am before I extricate myself from the gordian knot of clothes and blankets that imprison me, and stomp down to the “showerhouse” to get naked with a bunch of fratboys.
R and I saunter the mile to Yosemite Village, where we’re disappointed to learn that we’re a few days too early to be able to rent bikes. Instead we walk the Mist Trail to Vernal Falls, but the top is closed due to a rock slide. We push on for the further Nevada Falls but other walkers are coming back the other way, saying it was impassable due to snow.
The path, which apparently got worse further on.
Back to camp. Dinner in pavilion. There’s only so long we can eke out the drinks we buy from the bar and we head back to the tent of death about 8.30pm.
As we’re going to sleep, I think I hear a crack of thunder but then realise it must be some rocks shifting or falling nearby.
Day 26
Wish I'd seen this yesterday. I feel bad now.
Another very long sleep in the silent but busy camp. This morning’s (lighter) mission is a walk to Mirror Lake, which takes us through mountain lion country, or so the warning signs say. As with bears, you’re supposed to fight back if attacked. Okay then. As opposed to lying down and keeping still?
Rachel on the walk to Mirror Lake.
We walk quietly through the woods, hoping for a shot at being mauled, and there’s a scary moment when Rachel spots what looks like some feral feline skulking at the back of a boulder above us, but it turns out to be a broken tree.
Me at Mirror Lake. See the rock's reflection?
We see the lake and then begin a long journey away from the Yosemite, which is made slow and tedious (if stunningly beautiful) by roadworks and the hairpin bends already mentioned.
Stop for lunch at retro diner with dozens of 70s and 80s LP covers on the ceiling. Immediately after lunch, the roads become gorgeously straight and therefore straightforward as we pass through idyllic Californian small towns that tastefully play up their frontier history.
Again I want to push on for a really good night stop, rather than just making some arbitrary interstate stop that will cost us a day, and Rachel navigates us brilliantly around San Francisco rush hour so that we are en route for Napa Valley (including passing through Zodiac killer territory, notably past (distant) Lake Berryessa, but more on this will follow when we reach San Francisco, no doubt).
There are three main wine towns on the road to Napa Valley and after a very quick stop at pricey St Helena (think Hampstead) we end up at Calistoga, after somehow spotting a Best Western in the darkness on the edge of town (not a bad name for an album). A very long and tricky drive is over. At first we think it’s just a block of apartments but finally we discover it’s a hotel.
Into town for Italian, back home to watch nicely salacious documentary on Charlie Sheen.
Hotel the next day in daylight.
I'm not sure whether the photo in the bed is cosy or uncosy. Hilarious picture, whatever it is.
Posted by: Joan Johnson | 08/04/2011 at 07:52 PM
The jinx on bicycle-renting seems to follow Rach globally (remember the 'absent' velo man?)
Re: bears
I believe you're meant to punch them hard on the nose. Just saying.
Posted by: Anna K | 08/04/2011 at 08:59 PM