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Published: March 14th 2004
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Despite the early night we'd still drank a fair few beers with the plastic hippies back at the Green Tortoise and consequently everyone was feeling a bit dazed and confused. Max & Nathan went off to acquire our vehicle while Charlie and I minded the luggage in the common room. I was going to miss this place despite the fact that Nathan and I were to have two more nights here at the end of our Californian tenure.
Max and Nathan pull up in a silver Chrysler Sebring convertible. What beast was this? Yes, the man at the hire plant had failed to make the required currency conversion. But what's more, after throwing an extra $100 at him, he allowed us to 'upgrade'. Was he doing a dodgy deal on the side? Who knows, but when you're about to embark on a road trip along the western seaboard of the United States it pays to do so in style.
The temperature was hitting the thirties as we joined the highway and within a mile of crossing the bay into Oakland we had made a wrong turn. The place was very much low rise -sure sign that we'd ended up in some down town malady I thought. And on every corner there was a church with the sound of gospel emanating from within. It was a Sunday after all. For the less religiously inclined incumbents of down town Oakland I figured the four of us were rather less than inconspicuous in our Caucasian form and shiny converted beast of a machine. We asked some dude in a cowboy hat at the traffic lights for the best route back to the highway and he obliged. His instructure determines that we have to execute a U-turn in the 'parking lot' on the corner. The one occupied by a division of Afro-American youths in baseball attire. One wandered over. The 'gat' is going to be making a showing anytime now I thought. What's his weapon of choice going to be? A magnum, a shotgun or something semi-automatic perhaps? Not that I wanted to stereotype or anything but the years of my youth spent heavily into Hip Hop meant I knew the signs well.
But no! He wanted to help. And what's more he gives us directions that corroborates those given by the guy in the Stetson. Hallelujah! And all of that. We were back on the road.
The topography gets very flat once we leave Oakland and it's also ridiculously hot. We'd skipped breakfast so as to be on the road in good time but now we were vivaciously hungry. We pulled into a Kentucky and backed up our directions with the owner. Contrary to global opinion Americans are not actually that arrogant. Indeed they are a friendly people who like nothing more than to help those who have made the effort to come see their fair and pleasant land. They are proud of their country and are imbued with a self confidence that allows them to tell you so. As far as they are concerned they're simply telling it like it is. So when they inform you of how much you're gonna enjoy Yosemite National Park, they're not boasting, they're telling you the truth.
We stock up on beer in the garage next door, which turns out to be quite a surreal experience given that the place is run by a couple from Hounslow - my old student stomping ground. Indeed Nathan and I are residents of Isleworth, a fact which seems to excite our economic migrants to such an extent that it becomes clear that they miss England very much and, if it weren't for their kids, they would probably move back tomorrow.
We'd love to stop and chat but we really must get a move on.
As we gain altitude it gets colder. Nathan has asked us to keep an eye on the petrol gauge because we have been warned about the scant refuelling facilities in Yosemite. We pass a sign that states "Last Chance for Gas" but peering over at the gauge we've still got half a tank so are not duly concerned. Besides, it is starting to get dark and we are unsure how far we have yet to go before we reach Yosemite's hinterland.
But Nathan is concerned and keeps saying so... before it finally dawns on him that Max, Charlie & I have been looking at the temperature gauge. Too late now, we're heading down hill and dusk is almost upon us. Sure enough it is dark by the time we get there and despite being off season it's a close call finding a room to accommodate all four of us for the night. We head off to Yosemite Lodge for some food and a few beers and then elect to walk back to 'Curry Village'.
Depending on who you ask, bears are either not a threat at all or are very much a danger and should be kept a look out for at all times. This ambiguity makes for just the right level of trepidation when walking back trough the centre of Yosemite at 11:00 at night. We get back safely but decide to head off into the woods again so as not to disturb our neighbours. It's been a long day and we fancy drinking a little more of our stash before finally heading back for the second relatively early night in a row.
Max and I sit outside on the veranda for a few moments listening to a silence only occasionally disrupted by the sound of distant rumbles. We ponder this mysterious sonance for a while before concurring that it must be the reverberations resulting from huge slabs of winter ice thawing themselves free from the mountains around us.
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