I don’t go backpacking with just any one. I’m not keen on inviting random glacial eradicates to go bikepacking or hoboing. I don’t like to have to take care of people or to listen to them bitch and moan about how climbing 5500 feet in ten miles is a bad idea despite the fact that they were totally in when they were invited. There are benchmarks and if you don’t pass them, I don’t invite. Come to think of it, I do most things alone.
So when Shelby said he had invited his friend Ben, I was a bit apprehensive. For the above reasons noted and the fact that just meeting someone new can put me into anti-social mode really fast. KB and I discussed it and we concluded that if there were any issues, it was Shelby’s problem. And then we ate breakfast while Ben brushed his teeth in the parking lot and he was instantly admitted to the Alliance, no more tests needed.
Yup, being a hobo gives you instant Alliance cred.
Bishop, California was a bit of a let down. KB’s words were, “I really thought Bishop was going to be cool. I’m really disappointed.” True story. Luckily, it twas not our destination and we prolonged our stay as little as possible, meaning that we ate some Denny’s and mosied the hell on out of there.
From there, our plan was pretty simple, get to Yosemite Valley, pick up some bear canisters and our permits. Camp out for a night and then hit the trail at the early hour of 1 pm. Of course, you can’t just enter Yosemite Valley. Any one who has dropped into that majestic landscape will tell you that you have to stop and just look. The stone is beyond awe-inspiring. So that’s kind of what we did.
First stop, the liquor store in Lee Vining because the previous night was rough. You know, with the brodies and flying rocks and shit.
Then we stopped at Lake Tenaya.
And we had to stop and photograph Halfdome.
The wonderment of the scenic overlooks was overtaken only by our hunger for sustenance. After a few stops we resigned ourselves to peer out the windows of the Mooseknuckler-mobile which veered from left to right as if the driver were inebriated, he was not. But the views were enough to get him there and we finally arrived safely in the valley. (Editor’s note: I was driving.)
Now we all know that I’m an alcoholic, I’m the first to admit it but that’s as far as I’m going down those steps. But my wife likes her beer when she gets excited or wants to celebrate as well, and she was on the prowl. As food was our first goal, we once again trusted Shelby and headed toward one of the sections of the valley with hopes of good food and good beer. The food was ok and the beer was not to be had. At least in conjunction with our food. And believe you me, as soon as the food was done we were on our way to the market for some beer.
Rule #1 of our Yosemite trip, “Don’t poke the bear.” And the bear wanted beer.
While procuring said mana from heaven, I heard a word that I hadn’t heard uttered in quite some time. I was standing in front of the regrigerated section, for whatever reason, and suddenly there it was, “Po.” It’s a subtle little word and unless you’ve been versed in Chilean diction, you would never notice it. A family walked by and my heart swelled because I knew they were Chilean and for some reason that made me feel at home. And then they were gone, too quick for me to even greet them with an, “Hola Po!” Opportunity missed, but we got some beer.
Somewhere around this time we also got our bear canisters and permits. The order of events is less important than the fact that they occurred. We were subjected to a barrage of “scare the tourists” do’s and do not’s. By the time we were released from the Wilderness Center, we were sure that we would have to beat the bears off with a stick at every turn. Ben was certain to make sure that we all knew which way to turn the tabs on the canisters and what items were acceptable for said purpose.
Time to find a place to sleep.j
Fortunately for us, they have a hobo camp set aside in the valley. Also known as the backpacker campground, we had spots waiting for us. We unloaded all the shit from the car and dragged it across the river only to notice how awesome the water looked and to plan our first dip in. None of us had showered in over 24 hours and a dip in ice cold water sounded spot on.
Our fabric shelters were erected. Then it was realized that someone forgot to snag a fishing license. So off they went.
KB and I popped the top on some cold ones and then went dipping in said river. This got me to thinking about the head and how our plan had us waking up early, driving to Tuolumne Meadows, getting on a shuttle and returning to the valley to then start our adventure, around 1 or so. Considering the level of heat we were experiencing and the fact that the first day was 11+ miles and around 5500 feet of climbing, that plan didn’t seem all that appealing. I was starting to feel pretty hobo and was willing to risk having to thumb it back to the valley to avoid the late start the next day. KB said she was in and then the guys returned.
They were in too.
KB and I walked to Mirror Lake.
When we got back Shelby introduced us to our new neighbors, who just happened to need a ride to the meadow and were willing to drive our car to the top to save themselves some time. We shook on the deal, ate some mediocre pizza and then drank on the deal over our neighbors campfire.
I was offered SoCo and was smart enough to find out what it was before accepting. I’m not a fan. Of course the bottle of Johnny I had purchased was passed around and enjoyed by all. We got a good buzz conversation going and built that uncomfortable trust that becomes a necessity when you are trusting someone you just met. Despite the fact that we were all in 100% for the plan didn’t mean that we all felt a bit uneasy with how easy it would be to take off with the car. Logic prevailed and we left it at that with hopes that humanity could be trusted.
We fell asleep in our hobo cocoons.