We are on our last day for Anne Lauren blog tour.
Please enjoy her post WILL.
|Yosemite Valley with Phoebe and Ericka.|
Friday quickly came and I arrived at Phoebe’s apartment tired and doubtful that this would be a fun weekend. Four of us were supposed to make the four hour trek from Palo Alto to Yosemite in Phoebe’s old, basically two-seater, silver Toyota pick-up truck. However, one of the women dropped out of the trip due to heartache: she had just been broken up with. According to Phoebe, this was a justifiable reason to bail last minute, so she was spared from the verbal shaming and allowed not to come. The remaining three of us, Phoebe, Ericka, and I, headed to the parking lot.
We opened the back hatch to put in our luggage and immediately I saw a variety of large weights. Being from Newport Beach and never having driven a truck or really experienced bad weather, I naively asked, “What are those for?” Phoebe rolled her eyes and retorted like it was no big deal, “They keep the truck’s weight evenly distributed so it doesn’t spin out on the ice.” “Greeeaaattt,” I thought, “14-miles in the rain AND a chance of spinning off the road? This is exhilarating!” I rolled my eyes in return and nuzzled into the tight cabin of the car.
|The infamous truck.|
We arrived to the trailhead with no water fountain, drops beginning to trickle from the sky and began our 14-mile walk waterless. The road started pretty flat, but quickly escalated into steep and rocky terrain. Phoebe sensed my thirsty despair and in an effort to distract me, started to tell a terribly long story called, “The 'Tis Bottle.” I will spare you the lengthy details of this fictional tale about an animal in search of a bottle to complete a handmade instrument so that it could play “My Country 'Tis a Thee” without interruption. Well, though the story was terribly long and even more terribly boring, it did keep my mind focused on Phoebe’s enthusiastic voice and unbreakable spirit. Her story got me through the first three miles.
By mile five we were soaked: our food, spare clothes, snacks, and toilet paper were all drenched. We stopped to ask ourselves if we wanted to continue forward. We had two miles before we arrived at Cloud’s Rest with a remarkable view, and seven miles to get back. All three of us expressed the desire to go home, but all three of us also expressed the stronger desire to beat this rainstorm and finish what we had started. We were willful women and, as Phoebe threatened me over the phone a few days before, we weren’t going to let a little bit of rain keep us from completing this journey. So Ericka, the cheerleader of the group, encouraged us to keep going, and keep going we did.
Then suddenly we were there! So excited to see the view, I ran ahead legs shaking, thirst unquenched, mind focused. I got to the top of this famous peak and saw...NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY F***ING NOTHING! You can see from the picture below what we saw when we arrived: more clouds resting on the mountain top that was supposed to be a view worth hiking 14 miles for. Surprisingly, I was everything but disappointed. I felt that arriving to this place was a sacred moment, like I was apart of something much bigger than myself. Many before me had made it this far and many had not. I sensed how high up I was even if I couldn’t see. There was a majesty to that space and I had made it there.
|The foggy top of Cloud's Rest.|
|What the view should've looked like.|
|So tired, yet so proud.|