The flight was hardly full to capacity, but I decided to sit near the front anyway. I went for the seat between two women. Women are usually a little smaller than men; there would be less jockeying for elbow room on the all-too-scarce arm rests. Turns out, I guessed wrong. The woman on my left, about my age, turned out to obsessively-compulsively apply hand sterilizer to her hands. Did she know something about the bacteria on the chairs that I didnt? And so the hours passed, buzzing through the sky at a million miles an hour, with the pugnant smell of rubbing alcohol, killing, and then re-killing the bacteria on my neighbor’s fingertips.
Needless to say, meeting Naomi and Katie with big hugs and welcoming smiles at San Fransisco International airport was quite a relief to the eight previous hours spent getting there. Naomi and Katie are both instructors who I met last August when I was here for training. On the August trip, these were two of the intrepid souls who ventured with me up clouds rest, then half dome, past vernal and nevada falls, and on into Yosemite Valley in an epic 20+ hour, 20+ mile hike. But that is another whole story that I forgot to blog about when it happened.
Meanwhile, back at the airport, some cop is giving Naomi a hard time for parking in the waiting area for too long as Katie and I are using our best tetris skills to fit my rediculous amount of stuff into the back of Naomi’s car. I thought for a second we might have to sell the bicycle. But soon enough, the 30 or 40 boxes of bikes and useless household crap, and three people were in the car and cruising down highway 101.
Flying past cars and palm trees and the easy 58 degree weather, the next thing I knew, I found myself in the great central valley. Orange trees, and almonds, and olives were everywhere. And of course, the other best reason for coming to California: the taco trucks parked on the side of the freeways.
The one we stopped at happened to be Ramon’s. Katie did not recommend the burrito, much to my dissapointment, but I heeded her advise and ordered three veggie quesadillas. (No, not all for me–one for each of us).
And then we were off again, to the great place called Yosemite. It was a long day of travel; after the hillcious flight, the driving part took another four or five hours. Up mountains. Past the beautiful Merced River. Into canyons. Past the famous rockfall area that has forced drivers onto a one-way stretch of highway for the past three years now. And then we were there. My new home, my old friends from last August. My new life, and nothing but eagerness and excitement to get it all started.
