September 27–28, 2025
After two nights beside Antelope Reservoir (or what’s left of it), we packed up and aimed our hillbilly trailer toward Yosemite National Park.
But first—McDermitt Hot Springs. They’re on private land, but the owner allows visitors so long as you close the cow gate when coming and going. Some enterprising soul once dug a two-mile-long trench to capture the steaming spring water. At the start, it’s practically lava. By a quarter-mile down, it becomes “pleasantly scalding.” Along the way are relics from its glory days: the crumbling foundation of a pool and a rusted-out bathtub for those who bring their own hose.
No one else was there, which gave George the opportunity to live out one of his dreams: going full naturalist in a hot spring. I, on the other hand, have no desire to expose my delicate parts to the wierd minerals in a hot springs (see picture above). Of course I had to sneak a picture.
Because we lollygagged in geothermal bliss, we didn’t make it to Yosemite that night. Instead, we stopped at Walker Lake, Nevada, just shy of the California border. We arrived after dark again, so we went to sleep wondering if there would actually be water in Walker Lake.
We awoke the next morning to water in the lake and a beautiful pink-and-gold sunrise over the surrounding mountains.
For all the Scout leaders among you, we also awoke to the realization that due to our new traveling circumstances we are going through the stages of team development all over again—forming, storming, norming, performing, and adjourning. And we are in the thick of storming! Storming is when small irritations can become epic. After thirty years of marriage, several of which I can proudly say have been spent in the performing phase, neither of us guessed we'd be storming again. Just recognizing this helped us laugh instead of bite, so...maybe we’re norming-adjacent?
On our way to Yosemite, we saw a sign for Bodie Ghost Town—ironically another 10-mile detour up a self-proclaimed “rough road.” Having unfinished business after the Great Ghost Town ride debacle in Montana, we decided to even the score. But this time we wanted the win (and we are mature adults who learn from experience) so we drove. Turns out California’s idea of “rough” is Montana's idea of “slightly bumpy.” We totally could’ve biked it and achieved redemption.
Bodie itself was amazing—preserved in that “everyone left in a hurry and no one dusted for 100 years” way. After wandering the eerie streets and cemetery for a few hours and taking a picture of a preserved can of spam for Jake and a picture of us at church, we finally entered Yosemite National Park.
Cue torrential downpour. We hiked anyway, because nothing says “vacation memories” like soggy socks due to the marital sharing of one inadequate umbrella. By the end, my shoes and entire right side were soaked, but hey—romance!
We camped that night at Hodgdon Meadow Campground, where the ranger cheerfully informed us that food was forbidden in the car but fine in the camper. Because, apparently, bears respect RV property rights. After reading that a bear can open the side of your trailer as if they had can openers for claws, I went to bed clutching my bear spray and picturing Yogi prying open our camper like a can of tuna.
Sleep was…light.
But hey—we survived. And next time we're at Walmart I’m buying George his own umbrella.
No comments:
Post a Comment