Eleven

I buy some sandwich as a lunch replacement in the small lakeside village of Lee Vining where the road up to Tioga Pass branches off of the highway to Bishop. The pass is 3031 meters high and thus requires a 900 meter climb from the lake. It also serves as the eastern entrance into Yosemite National Park. In 2005 Yosemite was the third most visited national park in the US.

Only few of them come down the road from Tioga Pass, anyways. Up here is the more calm part of the park. So, if you plan to visit and go hiking, do it up here. What put me off from a short trip, was the frequent warnings of bears. (Remember? Sissy.) The landscape is a bit twisted. At first it looks a lot like your average coniferous forest. At closer inspection you notice small and medium sized granite blocks strewn liberaly into it. A bit like some ancient god has spiced up the place with a giant salt shaker.

The mountains are granite as well. For the most part they seem to be carved out of a single block of granite. The most famous of them all is Half Dome. Although it is not the highest peak around, it sits very prominently at the end of Yosemite Valley which is where all the action is. Getting there is a forty mile ride from Tioga Pass along winding roads. Takes almost forever.

The valley indeed is quite spectecular. Seven miles long, about a mile wide and bound by granite walls up to 4000 feet high. The amount of people is also quite spectacular. To cope with it, there is two roads, one for each direction. Effectively, there is a freeway down the valley. Near the end, there are huge parking lots but since most people want to be where there is not enough parking space, free shuttle busses are busy running around. They are quite packed. And it is only Monday. I really don’t want to be here on a Saturday or Sunday. In point of fact, I don’t want to be here today either. So after some half-hearted attempt to get a parking space, I flee.

All I miss, is a couple of waterfalls. They are a short walk away from the last parking lots (or the shuttle bus stop if you happen to be late). Given the amount of cars, the walk can’t be much fun. Most likely you will have to avade kids bouncing along the path randomly taking care not to bounce into an armada of strollers yourself.

Lassen was altogether a much more enjoyable place. Maybe not as grand. But despite a myth all Americans seem to strongly believe in, the grandest ist not always automatically the best. It is probably a good idea to pick the smaller parks. Although I read that Yosemite is really nice in Winter. Driving, however, may be slightly problematic then. The road I choose to leave the park, route 41 south, is again winding and steep and closed in Winter. Given that the clock is now approaching five, it is also quite busy. My original plan was to take this road to Oakhurst, turn right there and go to Merced where it should be possible to find affordable accomodation. Sure, there would have been a more direct route to Merced, but it is most likely even more busy and direct routes are boring anyways.

By the proven method of not following my original plans, I decide on a whim to stick to route 41 and go to Fresno for the night. But the road gets even more busy in Oakhurst and is now effectively one long chain of cars. The map indicates that there should be a road branching off towards Raymond and from there to Merced. The former is easy to find. The latter turns out not to be paved. The next village is 18 miles away. That would be roughly an hour of rather slow driving. I could go back, but that would be boring, too. So I turn north and drive the 25 miles towards the road I would have taken had I stuck to my original plan.

Quite a detour, but a lovely one. The road leads through a lovely hilly landscape with farms here and there. It is also deserted—for half an hour I don’t see any other car. Which finally allows me to enjoy a winding road. Driving in North America is a very nice experience. People are generally very considerate. However, they seem to be having a inbred fear of curves. They happily go fifteen miles over the speed limit. But if they approach the slightest bend in the road, they break down to walking speed and crawl carefully around. With nobody around for miles, I can approach a road winding up and down the hills in the way it is meant to be approached.

Back on the original road, I descend down into San Joaquin Valley, the arrival being easily recogniced by the fact that the road goes dead straight for five miles. There follows a bend in the form of the village of Planada and then another three miles of straight road but now with the Santa Fe railroad to the left. Cruise control becomes a vital piece of equipment. If only theyy would invent steering control for these straight roads. I could take a quick nap, then.

So I have to stay awake until I arrive in Merced. After some random searching I find the area with the motels. It also has some fast food outlets which is fine with me just now.