The rest break ended this morning. After getting to Yosemite Lakes late Wednesday, I avoided looking at the motorcycle most of Thursday and didn’t want to think about it until today. Got up and did my usual sit, peeking at the time until the excruciating 25 minutes was up. I didn’t want to take a chance of being without my morning coffee so I packed a small water heater and some of the instant stuff. I stepped outside with my cup, shocked by the appearance of my breath, but I toughed it out, listening to the sounds of the waking forest as I slurped my java.

I came back in to my immaculate little, pre-fab cottage. I rolled out my yoga mat and did an improvised practice, even using the toaster as a prop. In spite of the episode with my breath, I decided to take my high altitude, low temperature run in only my shorts and shoes. It actually wasn’t that bad and I didn’t have to worry about packing wet shorts because sweating was not possible in the morning chill.

While we are on the subject of packing, each day is a circus. All of my things are stuffed in a dry sack and emptied at each destination. Maybe, after a few more days I will have a system, but right now chaos rules. This will likely be an ongoing theme, so I won’t exhaust it here. Packing the bag and yoga mat on the bike is a bungee free for all. Watching me twist them over, under and around, in an effort to secure my belongings, is a sight that can only evoke pity.

 I left this morning, bags packed and bungeed. Today’s ride was going to be a precursor of how the trip would go. The ordeal of leaving San Francisco and finally getting up into Yosemite was a painful birthing experience and I was now ready to begin. My level of comfort was going to be the test and it wouldn’t take long. I rolled back onto 120, continuing the climb that would go through Yosemite National Park, up and over the Tioga Pass and then down into Lee Vining and my next stop, Bridgeport.

Today was incredible and I felt the groove after only a handful of minutes. The turns weren’t too sharp and I maintained my speed going into them. I was able to settle in and relax. The closer I got to the park, the more magnificent the landscape. By the time I got to the entrance, I was feeling like a biker. I grabbed a melted Snickers from a sun soaked machine and had a short talk with Mark, one of the staff. He encouraged me to veer off 120 and ride down into Yosemite Valley. He also told me about a Mobil gas station that served margaritas and gourmet dishes.

I did take the 30-mile detour down into the belly of the park and it was spectacular. It was very crowded and I can only imagine what it is like before Labor Day. The best part of the ride was feeling like I owned the bike because I had genuine concerns about pulling off this whole adventure. The artistry of nature is without peer and I loved being able to inhale it, while at ease on the bike.

After getting back on 120, I rode over the Tioga Pass and dipped down and out of the park. There it was on my right, the Mobil gas station and the Whoa Nellie Deli that Mark told me about. I ordered a mango margarita and carnitas tacos and it was a great meal and one I deserved after the day’s accomplishment.

Replenished, I rode to my destination for the day, the Bridgeport Inn, another wonderful surprise. It is a charming old place, with a great bar and dining room. I am staying in one of the “cowboy’ rooms, two single beds and a bathroom down the hall. I like this town, even though I only had a glimpse riding in. The walls are paper-thin here and I am hoping the cowboys sitting outside and under my room don’t get too drunk and any louder than they are right now. Still at 6,000 feet, the nighttime chill will likely drive them indoors before too long.

Tomorrow, we ride up to Tahoe and it is a short one, which may give me more time to explore. I was sitting in the bar here, but had to cut it short to come back up to my cowboy digs so I could write this post. Believe me, I am not complaining because it was all my idea to do this part of the ride. After all, how will you know what’s going on if I don’t write you?