In three days, I had crossed through five states. I had started on the edge of the east, and was now deeply in the west. Despite traveling so far, I had yet to reach one of my destinations. On the morning of the fourth day, that would change. Before noon, I would be at Yosemite.
In order to maximize my time at Yosemite, I needed to leave early in the morning. The sun wasn't up as I packed up my car and headed back onto I-80. Therefore I was treated to a beautiful sunrise to the rear of my car as I headed west that Sunday morning. The colors of the desert mountains were striking, almost as much as the lack of traffic on the road.
Although the traffic on the interstate was sparse, it was nothing compared to when I turned onto US 95, the road towards Fallon, and ultimately Yosemite. For the miles between I-80 and Fallon, I met no traffic, although I did get stopped by a train. To the side of the road were the tracks of several historic trails, preserved by the dry desert climate. Eventually they would split off, heading towards the northern passes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and the promised land of California.
I was heading towards the Golden State as well, but by a different road. After passing through Fallon, the western end of the "Loneliest Road" and the current home of the Navy's Top Gun program, it was back into the deserts of Nevada.
After passing a severely depleted Reservoir, and the dismal ghostly buildings of an army storage reserve, I turned onto the road towards California. Along US 95 were several mountains, some of them even quite tall. It was here that I noticed pine trees, something in short supply along many parts of the road since Salt Lake City. The desert was coming to an end, and I would soon be at the Sierra Nevadas.
Just east of the Nevada/California border, I spotted them. They stood high above the arid desert, like a rock wall made by giants. It was the Sierra Nevadas, and the eastern edge of the Yosemite National Park.
My drive on US 395 was short but scenic. To the right was the wall of the Sierra Nevadas and to the left was Lake Mono, an ancient lake that was full of salt, so full that only a few hardy animals made a bleak existence below its surface. Once I left the shores of Lake Mono, I took notice that the next body of salt water I would set my eyes upon would be the Pacific Ocean.
At Lee Vining, I made the turn on the Tioga road, the great Road across the high mountains of Yosemite. After a short yet picturesque drive, I reached the entrance gate of the national park. Here, for the first time since Salt Lake City, was a large amount of traffic, enough to create a small backup at the gate. Despite this, isn't wasn't long before I paid my $20.00 and entered the park. I had made it to Yosemite.
Yosemite is truly a national treasure. From the floodplains of Tolumne Meadows, to the large Seqouias, to the grandeur of Yosemite Valley, it is easy to understand why John Muir fell in love with the place. Like Yellowstone, Gettysburg, and the Grand Canyon, Yosemite is a place all American should visit in their lifetime.
Being from Illinois, I have often been puzzled why so many people enjoy living in the fault zones of California. Although it still seems somewhat maddening to me, a little bit of that was answered when I gazed upon the valley from atop Glacier Point. Yosemite is only a few hours from Silicon Valley and the Bay Area, perfect for a weekend trip. And sure enough, the beautiful Sunday brought out the crowds. Student or stock broker, web developer or doctor, thousands of people were enjoying this gem of the Sierra Nevadas.
I saw everything I could that day, such as the valley, Half-Dome, and El Capitan. I saw the spot where Yosmite Falls would roar down the valley walls the next spring. I tried to visit the Sequoias, but wasn't able to as there were no parking spots. This was a minor disappointment, alleviated somewhat by the fact that two days later I would be visiting the redwoods of the west coast.
I was so enamored by Yosemite that I decided to take the extra time and mileage to return that next morning to get some more pictures. I was glad that I made that decision, as it gave me a chance to visit the park when it was not nearly as crowded. I basked in the tranquil beauty of the valley, watching the deer eating grass on the valley floor, as the sun slowly rose above Half-Dome.
Although I could have stayed at Yosmite for days, if not weeks, I had to leave it behind me. I had a schedule to keep, and I had to be on the shores of the Pacific by that night. Reluctantly I left the park, and headed down towards the low valleys of the San Joaquin and Sacramento rivers.
The drive down to the low farmlands of California was uneventful, save for the descent from the mountains. The road was incredibly curvy, requiring the judicious use of my brakes, and the attention of all of my senses. All along the road I had seen many large trucks. I was amazed at how skilled these drivers must have been to regularly drive this route, one which made me a nervous wreck.
The traffic along CA-99 and I-5 was a sharp contrast to the previous two days. This is a rather populous area, full of many decent sized cities surrounded by fields of many different types of crops. In many areas, the flat terrain, abundant farm implements, and cornfields reminded me of Illinois. Save for the occasional palm tree and the scarcity of other trees, I could have easily mistaken it for Vermilion County.
The drive through the dusty farmlands north of Sacramento was thoroughly uneventful. I was starting to get tired, and just wanted to get to my hotel. It didn't help that the terrain was about as exciting as I-74 west of Peoria. It wasn't until I first spotted the snow-capped visage of Mount Shasta that my spirits picked up. Although I wouldn't be driving by Mount Shasta, its appearance meant I was approaching Redding, the gateway to the Coastal mountains, the last barrier between me and the ocean.
The drive through the mountains west of Redding was about as exciting as I-5 was boring. The road was constantly swerving left and right, going up and down, from summit to valley. To make matters worse, the sun was going down in the west. My sunglasses were useless, and many times I would take the turns with only a general sense of the road and blind faith.
The adventures of the curves were starting to take a toll. I was starting to fade, and I also noticed my gas tank was starting to get close to empty. When I made it to an exceptionally large set of curves, I was getting a little worried, fearful that I still had a laborious climb out of the mountains.
These fears were never realized, however, as that set of curves was the last obstacle of the day. Shortly thereafter the road widened, the terrain flattened, and fog began surrounding the road. I had reached the west coast.
After having spent the past few days in the arid climate of the interior west, I found the wet coast near Humboldt Bay rather surreal. Surrounded by mountains, and a long distance away from any other city of note, the area exuded a sense of isolation. It is no wonder that U.S. Grant, away from his wife and family, would feel the need to drink while stationed at Fort Humboldt.
After eating a relaxing dinner in Eureka, I headed back across the edge of Humboldt Bay to Arcata, where my hotel was. I quickly headed to bed, as the next day would be another long one. Tomorrow would be the trip to the land of the Redwoods, and then a journey along the Pacific Coast Highway to the mouth of the Columbia River.
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