Yosemite National Forest

My bike seat got stolen today. This is disconcerting. I mean, I've had stuff get stolen off the green Kona before. One time, somebody with absolutely no regard for my personal safety took my front and back lights in Portland while I was inside Hungry Tiger on SE 12th during dollar beer night. Low visibility + probable inebriation = dirty, dirty thief. Still, my seat? That's the keeper of precious cargo. Congratulations, you've seriously impeded my ability to cruise.

San Francisco; it's a jungle out there. I'm by no means down and out, but in regards to the whole "job hunt" thing I will say that the only people thus far that are willing to pay me in monetary funds for my services is a chicken and waffle counter in SoMa. Apparently when it comes to organizations better suited to utilizing my wide-reaching, literacy-oriented skill set, the unpaid internship is the new entry level position.

Which is probably why our camping trip to Yosemite National Park this weekend felt so palate-cleansing. Totally worth the nominally interesting (almond farms! rural traffic jams!) five hour drive out there. Kudos to our crazy rock climbing buddies for suggesting the sojourn.

For those of you who haven't been out there hear me this: go now. Yosemite is the quintessential American Outdoors. It's breath-taking and huge- huge like you can explore it for 40 years and there still will be corners and peaks and glades you haven't seen.

There's a lot in Yosemite to gawk at, but it's rocks are pretty high up on the list. Our party engaged them in different ways. By day, the vertical diversion set was mounting 900 foot pitches while the rest of us entertained ourselves with hiking mountains more suitable for foot traffic.

Like this one. Made halfway up Mt. Dana in my slip-on Vans and a tank top, so extreme.

But by night, we all snuggled together at the totally bootleg campsite Marcello found. Now don't tell them who sent you, but here's directions: you drive through Tioga Pass and take a hard right at the sign for the "Senior Citizens' Summer Camp." Set your tent up by that post that says "No Camping." No one's gonna bother you. Seriously, have you heard about California's budget situation? You think Inyo County is paying rangers to patrol it's far nooks and crannies?

The answer's no. Here's a map. Go to the right of the little people.

So being the Smokey the Bear conscious children of the 80's we are, we totally were not going to have a fire. Dry brush? July in California? Not a good idea, no way... but then we chatted up some fly fishers from Southern Cali, who, charmed by our banter, thoughtfully donated a slew of trout to our cause. What to do? Couple hours later, Team Yosemite was assembled around a cheerful flame, passing nacho pots, fish nuggets and that ever-loving campsite accessory, Vitamin W (that's whiskey, for the non-medically inclined).

Two rules around the campfire:

1. You must take a little of whatever is passed to you.

2. You must pass everything.

Follow these guidelines and you will make fast friends. I met a bunch of fine souls around that flame, all San Franciscans, all transplants from different parts of the world. And none of them had a job on arrival to the big, bad city. Most were sleeping on their sister's friend's neighbor's couch, or some such place. I didn't ask them, but I'll wager at least one of them has had their bike seat stolen.

Come check me at the chicken shack! Limited time only... maybe.

love,
cd