Yosemite

September 29-30, 2025

We moved to a new campground for our second night in Yosemite—not because we wanted a change of scenery, but because we didn’t plan ahead and are flying by the seat of our pants. I’ve never seen so many RV and van rentals in one place. It felt like a renters' convention! 

We "worked" in the morning (meaning we accomplished slightly more than zero). Unfortunately, our Starlink worked about as well as a cell phone in a cave. Trees and satellites are not friends, even if you can see the open sky. Mostly we kept saying, "I've lost service again." 

In the afternoon, we decided to see Yosemite on bikes. The only problem? The park’s definition of “bike path” is basically: here’s six mile of pavement—good luck! Everything else is “hiking only.” I mean, who wants to hike 20 miles when you could bike the same twenty in a fraction of the time? Plus, I'm not even sure I can hike twenty miles in one go. So, in a bold display of efficiency (and questionable legality), we took our bikes on the hiking trails.

 

It was glorious—gorgeous scenery with just the right amount of dirt, rocks, curves, and rolling ups and downs . No traffic and only six startled hikers in twelve miles. We were perfectly polite when we encountered hikers, slowing to a respectful crawl as we passed, pretending we were totally supposed to be there.

When we were back exploring in the main part of the park (where we were allowed to bike), we found a federal courthouse. In the middle of Yosemite! I thought maybe it was an interpretive display, but no—the security guard confirmed it was very real. There are only two national parks with federal courthouses: Yosemite and Yellowstone. The judge even lives in the park, which sounds like the setup for a Hallmark movie Kate Blatter would watch titled Justice Among the Pines. 

We also learned that every infraction in the park—yes, even a parking ticket or, hypothetically, biking on a hiking trail—is a federal offense. So if I ever have to explain my criminal record to an employer, it’ll be, “Yes, ma’am, I have a federal offense… for biking on a hiking only trail in a National Park.”

That evening, we met up with our acquantance (now friend) Paul Whyncoop from the ZSCCA (our BMW Z-series car club). He was volunteering at Yosemite for the entire month of September and invited us to dinner with his group. We got all sorts of insider scoop—and, more importantly, the sacred Aramark Wi-Fi password. Supposedly it works anywhere Aramark does. I can't wait to test it at the next stadium or airport we encounter.

Back at camp that evening, our luck took a soggy turn. George decided to “adjust” the hot water settings in the trailer, which quickly escalated into a small indoor geyser. After mopping up and hanging every towel and rug out to dry, our car alarm started screaming into the peaceful Yosemite night. We scrambled to find the keys. Silence. Fifteen minutes later—HONK HONK HONK. Fifteen minutes later another round. And then another. We eventually consulted the manual, which basically said, “Good luck, sucker.” We had to deactivate the entire alarm system, but by then, we were Yosemite’s least popular campers. We have three competing theories for what’s triggering the midnight cacophony:

1️⃣ A mischievous camper with a twisted sense of humor.
2️⃣ A bear with a taste for German engineering.
3️⃣ A rogue fly trapped inside, repeatedly triggering the motion sensors while living its best life.

As if to seal our fate, the sky opened up that night in a torrential downpour with thunder and lightning. By morning, everything we’d hung to dry was wetter than when we started. Between the water explosion, the car alarm rebellion, and the biblical rain, my anxiety started to creep in again that these were omens telling us to go home.

However, everything looked better in the morning when we cozied up with our newly acquired Aramark Wi-Fi code like it was the secret treasure of Yosemite and got some real work done. It hands down beat our Starlink’s “Now You See Me, Now You Don’t” routine from the day before.

Once our productive morning wrapped up, we packed up camp and started heading out of Yosemite, determined to hit every scenic overlook on the way. Naturally, Glacier Point was a must. When I realized I had service at the top, I FaceTimed Celeste and Alan, showing off the jaw-dropping view. 

   

That night, we boondocked just outside the park—free, quiet, and once again surrounded by pines. Unfortunately, George had a work deadline. To escape the trees that were sabotaging our Starlink connection, George set up his “office” (a stepstool in front of our car's tailgate) smack dab in the middle of the giant parking lot. For once, his work was hazardous—it was dark and all the boondockers were rolling into the parking lot for the night. They certainly weren't expecting to have to go around George and his makeshift office. 

Once we crawled into bed, the night was peaceful… until our car alarm decided to reprise its role as Yosemite's loudest animal. Thankfully, this time we knew how to silence the beast. 

Every story has a soundtrack: I hope you never hear this one when you are peacefully slumbering in Yosemite.