"Come to Yosemite tomorrow," Ari suggests. There's no need to think about it, no need to second guess, no need to plan. The time for a good adventure is now, it is always. Yosemite is one of my favorite places on Earth, I'd be hard pressed to turn away from a weekend in such a sublime temple of granite walls and momentous trees.
We woke up early to pouring rain. Weaker spirits may not have prevailed but as they always do, the mountains spoke louder than the tempest. Coffee, donuts, great music and stories filled the car as the bay turned to central valley, to foothills, to Yosemite.
Yosemite Valley is majestic in every regard, compelling everyone to cave to their primal sense of exploration, from legends such as Ansel Adams and John Muir, to hordes or tourists, to hiker, climber, biker, nature fans like Ari and I.
The trip was loosely a climbing trip, but any real hope of that went out the window with every pouring drop of rain. So be it. The spirit of adventure is in spontaneity and improvisation. Being too focused on anything sets you up for a real letdown if it doesn't pan out, so we were just as stoked for hikes, scrambling, fires and endless cups of coffee.
We may not have climbed any big rocks, but in the face of what surrounded us, I couldn't have cared less. To breathe in the fresh air, be overwhelmed by trees and mountains rather than buildings and traffic is a gift.
It has been a few weeks since Yosemite, I'm already yearning to go back