It will be dusk soon.
I drive off the pavement towards the escarpment. I want to camp near the creek about a half-mile up. The roadbed is soft and rutted. Much worse than I remember. I speed up; if I slow, I'll get stuck. I steer like a mad to stay out of the brush. My dust wake drifts towards the row truck campers that line the creek. If the windows were down, I would surely hear the cursing.
I had nothing but grief getting out of town. First there was network trouble. The router got smoked. I just couldn't leave Lilalee without a network for a week. I have nothing but animus for computer problems. It took about 5 dozen 'fucks' to get the new router working. And, then I noticed the tortillas for the trip had turned a deathly blue-green. So there was a bonus trip to the market.
I left in a fugue. It doesn't take a genius to know when you are being thwarted by fate; it's knowing why that takes genius. I couldn't blame Lilalee for keeping a distance. She did send me off with a kiss but tasted more of sympathy than tenderness.
No doubt I have over reacted. I'm feeling the pressure. Thursday, I had dinner with Duane. He asked if I would like a hiking partner on the JMT. I was thrilled at the prospect and agreed on the spot. Yesterday, I applied to Yosemite to add Duane to the permit. I had the approval before lunch. We're set. On September 4th we will step off the trail head at Mono Meadow. Now I must lick the altitude problem. This time I must get it right.
I have a good plan to acclimatize. Tonight I'm at 4,000 feet. Tomorrow I camp at White Wolf; the night after at Tuolumne's Backpackers Camp. That's an average ascent rate of 2,000 feet over 3 days. If that doesn't do it, I don't know what will.
The road curves over to the creek. I'm in luck. No one is camped up this far. I find a cozy spot in a copse of cottonwoods. The creeks spills gently past in glistening pools just a few yards away. There's still a bit of pink in the sky and cool air is coming down the canyons. I decide to cowboy camp. I throw out a tarp, my pad and sleeping bag. Before settling in, I filter some water from the creek into my new Platy Bottle to hydrate my Minute-Rice, Harmony-House-red-bean and chili-powder concoction. While the beans soak, I lean back and listen to the creek and the flutter of the cottonwoods. Then I remember there is a $10 camping fee. I should go back and pony up, but don't feel like it. Better to stay here and watch Vega, Deneb and Altair emerge from the Sierra sky.