Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.
1 August 2010
I was, as promised, the first one up this morning at 5:45am, showering and taking a walk down main street. That journey didn't last long, though because my camera battery died on me two blocks from the motel. Although I didn't get far in my morning walk, it was obvious that there were many people already in town. The sun was still behind the arid White Mountains and Bishop's streets were still in the cool shade of the early morning.
Mary and Abid were still getting up when I got back. We didn't go downstairs for breakfast until 9am, allowing enough time to shower, load up our luggage and watch some news. There still wasn't much "news" other than the $2.5 million wedding of Chelsea Clinton and a massive flooding in northwestern Pakistan that claimed the lives of 15,000 people.
We made it to the Mountain Light Photography Gallery at 10am. Here is where the works by the late Galen Rowell, his son Tony and others are displayed. Rowell was an Englishman who loved mountain climbing the mountains of the High Sierras. And what a display of photographs! Every scene was highlighted with vibrant colors, intriguing subjects or unique angles. This was a gallery well worth stopping in.
Mary was much more fascinated in the gallery than I was. Although the photographs were exceptional, I also wanted to walk around outside and take shots of the town and its people. Abid was especially restless and seemed bored in the gallery. It was no wonder then that he spent more time outside reading a magazine and doing what he does best: striking conversations with complete strangers. He had an interesting conversation with an Italian Termignoni owner who proudly told Abid where all he had riden his red bike and how much time he spends on his wheels. I had never seen such a bike before!
We left Bishop by noon and drove northward toward Yosemite. Mary continued her historical narrative of the area, took us on a few side streets to show us historical buildings or scenic landscapes, and by 1pm we were at the Lee Vining Mobil Gas Station. This place was no less crowded than it was three weeks ago, and this time we were hitting the cafe during its late lunch rush. We were able to get a shaded spot outside.
I ordered a chicken BBQ sandwich but only ate the fries. I was too nervous to eat, nervous knowing that in a few hours Mary would drop me off, I'd be alone again, and then have to finish the rest of the trail by myself. After five days of great trail camaraderie, I wasn't willing to let go of that so soon.
We played some of Mary's CDs as we drove westward into the park. She had some good artists in her collection, including CDs by Bonnie Raitt and Bette Midler. Some of the songs we sang reminded me of the summer I went through my first divorce, others reminded me of my younger years when getting old never crossed my mind because I never thought I would get old.
A line of cars wanting to enter the park from Tioga Pass slowed us down and that delayed my departure from Mary and Abid. My van's right rear tire was, as expected, also very flat but my air compressor got enough air back in it to drive it to the gas station later for more air.
One thing I needed to get done today was getting another wilderness permit for tomorrow for the remaining 23 miles northbound. Ranger Danniq was still there, but this time Ranger Greg was replaced with a more stern-looking Ranger C who never once smiled. She overheard me tell Mary that I could sleep in my car for the night while waiting for sunrise tomorrow for a long hike.
"There is no sleeping in cars" she flatly told me. I was not about to pay heed to her. Of all the Yosemite Park Rangers I met while in the park, she was the only unfriendly one.
For now I just wanted to spend time with my new friends. We bought more time at the gear store where Abid bought us ice cream and we sat outside on an old picnic table to chat some more. A PCTer taking an "extended break" at the Grill and known as "Pajama" joined us for a bit. Disheveled and in need of a shower and laundry, he was quite the cheerful chap.
Mary and I teased Abid for looking like a terrorist, and indeed from some angles he did resemble Osama bin Laden. He was our "gay Pakistani," making light of his insistence in getting longer shorts for himself because the ones he borrowed from Mary were of the short female cut. I never should have told him that the pants looked gay; had he not told me he was wearing Mary's shorts, I wouldn't have noticed! Abid, however, took our teasing in stride. I'm sure after 911 he was the victim of enough violence against Muslims, even though he had forsaken his religion years ago.
But all things come to an end. Mary and Abid had a six-hour drive still ahead of them to the Bay Area and drove off at 4:20pm. I watched as the car drove off. I was now alone again; I felt my spirits take a nose dive.
Now what? I had no desire to finish the rest of the trail, but knew to be able to brag about "having done the entire JMT" I needed to get this over with. The JMT had become no longer an adventure, but a chore, and at this point all I had to show for it was a sun-burned face, chapped lips and baggy clothes.
There was nothing else for me to do tonight. I drove several times between the Grill and permit office, watching my tire pressure. I called Darlene at 8pm while parked to let her know I was out of the wilderness. She was in good spirits. "I should have stayed on the trail" she admitted. Her eyes were healed a few days after getting off the trail without any additional medical attention. She gave me a detailed report of her journey from Florence lake to Fresno. It took her most of the day to get to the bus station, missing the Greyhound bus that was to take her from Fresno to Sacramento. She is lucky she did miss that bus, as that bus crashed later on early on 22 July, killing the driver and several bus passengers when it it an overturned SUV. (That driver turned out to be a drunk 18-year-old woman coming home from a dance party in Fresno). Darlene could have been one of those fatalities but she remained optimistic. "But that's old news now" she concluded.
As planned, I slept peacefully in my van in a secret location, defying Ranger C's words. Despite being near a paved main road, the night was quiet. My plan in the morning was to get up as early as possible and to hike for as long as possible to finish off the trail.
http://articles.cnn.com/2010-07-22/us/california.bus.crash_1_greyhound-crash-bus-driver-minor-injuries?_s=PM:US
http://www.foxnews.com/us/2010/07/26/chp-suv-driver-fatal-calif-bus-crash-killed-influence-alcohol/
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