On the occasion and in terms of

On the occasion and in terms of
September 20 - 23, 2001
... our natural celebration of first wedding anniversary.



	Central Valley can be made more interesting by driving on byways. You will discover aqueducts feeding Los Angeles, and wind generators.

To be honest, if we did not get a few congratulation cards, we would have forgotten the first anniversary of our wedding. We had other things on our minds after September 11, and on top of that we were expecting Vlasta to return from Alaska.

To the last moment I was tense, wondering when he was to fly in and whether at all -- airline companies kept canceling flights, some even went bankrupt. I still drove out to SFO, mentally prepared for commotion and thousands of people who always hang out there. I got perhaps the best parking spot in the short term garage -- right next to the elevators, which were open and ready -- and just as devoid of people as the rest of the garage. I rode up with an emerging feeling that I suddenly found myself inside a dream, the one where you drift through empty corridors and ride deserted escalators in a maze that has no end.

The dream ended rather abruptly -- at the baggage claim carousels. We used to meet arriving domestic passengers right out of the airplane (at the telescopic "trunk"), but this time they kept announcing that nobody gets past security checks without a ticket - and I was out of luck. I was wearing my favorite "Farmer John" pants, with many metallic buttons and buckles, which are sure to trip every metal detector gate. It made no sense to raise alarm thus.

Vlasta emerged out with only a tiny delay. Back at our home, he took his bike out of a box, tightened all fasteners, and we were ready for a trip to Yosemite. We had to, after all, celebrate our anniversary somehow, and one can always use an extra charity point by transporting a poor biker over Central Valley -- a landscape that must be a cyclist's hell. It's flatland, full of fences, cows, with scattered farms and petrochemical refineries. The air is filled with a reek specific to lowlands -- part mud, part smog, part dung, all of which had been seeping under the lid of never moving low sky.



	Half Dome and sunset -- how about half pound of kitsch???

To make sure this good deed got noticed, we took Vlasta all the way to Glacier Point -- about thirty miles of switchback road from Yosemite Valley, up a terrible slope (ascending approx. 3,000 feet). The very lookout was heavily populated, so we backed off a bit, Vlasta began to pack his bags and stuff from our car. We wished him bon voyage and -- being full of energy -- hiked up the nearest hill (just to see what was behind the horizon). And back we ran, for better boots. We saw a rocky loaf in a distance that beckoned to be conquered, but it did not seem a good idea to do it wearing sandals. A glance at a watch made us take a flashlight along, for sunset was approaching and we estimated the hike to take about an hour.

But in Yosemite, you cannot trust anything (the least your own eyes). Sentinel Dome turned out to be much lower than we had expected -- we realized our mistake once we recognized a person standing on top -- we could immediately adjust our estimates to a half.



	At Buckeye Natural Hotel, you hot tub is always ready

There was no disappointment on Sentinel, though -- it offers a 360° view to Yosemite park (which is much more than a lower-situated Glacier Point does). You can watch Half Dome in full sunset illumination like a king. Then, there's the matter of human density there - there were two of us, a gang of four teenagers, a dedicated photographer, and Maxim with his family. The latter being one of those situations -- I climb a Sentinel Dome and the first person I meet there is my occasional climbing partner from Planet Granite!!!

Maxim's group left shortly before dark and adolescents started playing music on a boom box. It bothered us. Sid eventually went and asked them to turn it off, for this was a public, shared space. The photographer, who seemed to be about to leave, settled back in as soon as the noise stopped -- I reckon we were not the only ones who disliked it. A sunset in Yosemite really needs no extra coloring, or added commentary.

At nine thirty, we sadly passed our favorite motel Murphey's at Mono Lake -- no vacancy. It was same everywhere else, too. Going to Bridgeport, we had enough. There was one "motor lodge" still open, but we pictured ourselves haggling over a rundown room at some Bombay Star, where your neighbor's air-conditioner keeps rattling all through the night, and shower water begins to resonate the pipelines beginning five thirty a.m.
We never even stopped and went straight for a National Forest behind Buckeye Camp, parked our wagon between two pines and made our bed in the back.



	A fashion show, or Carol in Hippo's boxers (Bridgeport in background)

We must have gotten used to our spacious tent -- we woke up in the morning, all broken and twisted, slowly gathering ourselves to a short walk to our "bathroom". We dithered around our Wagon in half-dressed state, while a large mobile home parked some two feet away from us. You can imagine our enthusiasm - but then I said to myself that if some inhabitant of said vehicle feels the need to watch my bare butt while I change, I'd be far from denying it to them. They really only wanted to ask directions, and I must admit we were not completely nice, though we showed them the way in the end.

After that, everything went well. We found a trail along an awfully pretty river, and followed it upstream. In one of semi-natural pools, a tattooed couple were splashing, to our relief the did not bother to wear swimsuits. We jumped out of ours, and took another pool. I consider soaking in a hot spring a very dignified celebration of our first wedding anniversary -- ten minutes cooking in the spring, then splashing into an ice-cold river - back to cooking, river again -- much better than sauna!!!



	... Autumn arrived (still sunny in the desert around Mono Lake)

After bath, I discovered a major discrepancy in my organizing perfection -- I had managed to pack food, camping gear, various clothes for my husband, and our toiletries, but somehow I missed any clean underwear for me! The only redundant clothes available were Sid's spare boxers, so I took them, but they're so big I cannot wear anything over them. Well, I wore only them, plus a self-respecting air of Cindy Crawford at a fashion show (to make everybody think I chose to wear exactly this).

Hunger became imminent, and time has come for a brunch. This time, we took it in a real American style -- with a hamburger. If you now frown your spoiled little noses, be aware that at the only decent Cafe in Bridgeport, you get a patty of ground beef with a heap of veggies, a plate of fresh fries, and a piece of avocado. You can choose to assemble a sandwich between buns, or nibble at it with silverware. My coffee came in a huge mug (which for me is the measure of a good pub), and we had a great meal. Comparing that with McDonald's, it becomes obvious that even if two try the same, it never gets to be the same.

On our way home, we tried a freeway, but packs of hysterical pickup trucks and SUVs leaving Lake Tahoe soon convinced us that such behavior was foolish and dangerous. We humbly turned back to our proven byways, merrily slithering along rivers, through romantic gold-rush small towns (Downieville), past reservoirs and ponds. We stopped at one for a short walk, the sky was overcast, a cold wind chased fallen leaves on frothy water surface -- such a pleasantly depressive Autumn day.

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