Do I Hear Waves?

Two days ago, I returned from what appears to be our 2nd Annual Fall Pilgrimage to Yosemite Valley.

I thought last Fall if I went once, every one would be happy I finally took a trip away from the Ocean. I thought they would never make me do it again. Actually, a shark attack, where I had been surfing daily preceded my agreeing to go inland on that trip last year. I left the Ocean to get away from the shark. Now look what I started. Give 'em an inch and they go inland for miles and miles with no hope of an Ocean in sight.

Now my husband is claiming, "part of my soul lives in Yosemite Valley. But I wouldn't want to live here," he says reassuringly. Although I am not sure I believe him.

I agreed to go on the second annual pilgrimage to Yosemite on one condition.
"I am only going if my bike can come, too," I say stubbornly.


"No problem," my Mom agrees, buying us a bicycle rack before I change my mind. Thanks Mom. Bicycling is kind of like surfing. If I don't ride in a straight line, every embankment transforms into a wave to carve and slash. "Do ta do," is the song that plays in my head when I ride my bike according to Stefan. Although what I really hear is No Doubt's, "Just A Girl."


While riding around the Valley I easily imagine Half Dome (above) and El Capitan(below) are giant waves cascading down on me. And this might explain the recent Yosemite Valley landslides.

At least twice while we were there on October 7th we heard a sound that could easily be mistaken for giant waves breaking, or even thunder. But my brain was definitely going with sound of pounding, enormous waves. After the second booming sound we saw dust. Then we heard sirens from various rescue vehicles.



The whir of the helicopter replaces the sound
of thundering waves as the musical backdrop
in God's playground. (Trust me the helicopter
is there you just can't see it. And yes I accept
free digital cameras with 10x optical zoom.)




"There was a landslide in Curry Village," my Mom informs us. "Thank God you weren't still there."

We had all just been there together eating lunch. My Mom took the shuttle bus to the Ahwahnee looking for earrings. Vinny ditched his bike in Curry Village, to tag along with her remembering the delicious licorice he got there last year. Apparently it is a grandparent's duty to spoil her grandchildren. Just as it is a child's duty to drive her parent crazy.

Stefan, Gio and I lingered in Curry Village, hitting the gift store for t-shirts and dark chocolate espresso beans. We gave Gio one bean, and he begged for more as we headed back to Yosemite Village saying, "please Mommy chocolate coffee."

After realizing the thunderous noise was a landslide and not a humongous, crashing wave, we raced to the bridge behind the Ahwahnee on our bicycles to meet my Mom and Vinny.

"I feel like we are always on the edge of impending doom," I say to Stefan's shock. At this point, we weren't yet worried that Curry Village might be closed preventing us from getting Vinny's bike.


We set off to the museum at Yosemite Village, us by bike, Vinny and my Mom by shuttle. When we arrive at the museum we realize we might not be able to get the bike. "Curry Village is closed," states an informed shuttle driver.

We leave the kids with my Mom in Yosemite Village and shuttle over to retrieve the bike. As we cross the yellow police tape we see rangers heading our way.

"I'm going to quickly grab the bike before they stop us," says Stefan as he sprints to get the bike. "Look they're after us," he says.

Jesus saves the bike. (I tried to get
him to pose without his shirt for this
picture, but obviously it didn't work.)


"You wish," I say looking back, watching as they remove the police tape implying a safe passage. False foreshadowing, in my opinion.

I went with Stefan to get the bike, mainly so I could get out of a trip to the museum. The problem with museums is they are so inside and full of people. "I could have gotten back to Curry Village so much faster without you," Stefan complains.


We returned home, after spending only two days in Yosemite. We came back for Stefan's doctor's appointment. Of course, I complained how I much I missed riding my bike in Yosemite all the way home. By the way, I decided part of my soul may reside there as well. I was sad to leave and would have loved another day on the Valley floor.

Until two nights ago, that is. I was reading the newspaper online and discovered there was another landslide Wednesday morning in Curry Village. This time it was more serious, with a few people sustaining minor injuries. Campers were roused out of their sleep around 7 a.m. by another landslide that reportedly smashed tents and desroyed cabins.

"It's good to be back at the Ocean," I say to myself, quickly recovering from my Yosemite crush.