Lemons into Lemonade, Part 1

I'm sure you've heard the saying, "If life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Well, I had the chance to make some lemonade last night.

First, the context. My wife and I visited Yosemite National Park yesterday (Monday, July 3rd). There are four ways to drive into this Sierra wonderland. Tioga Pass, the only access from the east, is a 9,000-foot-high tightrope walk through gorgeous mountains. The other three roads come from the west, hugging precipitous canyon walls and winding through dense forests. Well over a million visitors to Yosemite brave one of these four roads every year.

But in April there was a major landslide on Highway 140, one of major western routes into Yosemite. It was so large, and is still so dangerous, that California transportation officials haven't even begun to clear it. I've read that they're considering leaving the slide in place indefinitely, and building a bridge to the other side of the canyon on the western edge of the landslide, and then, after building a short road on the other side, building another bridge back to Highway 140. Because of the landslide, traffic on the other roads into Yosemite has increased, especially on Highway 41, which is closest to Highway 140.

My wife and I entered Yosemite by way of this southern access route. I was nervous that the traffic would be terrible, especially given the fact that we were visiting the park on July 3rd, the Monday of a four-day holiday weekend famous for its crowds. But the flow of traffic along 41 was reasonably swift. The folks at the Yosemite entrance gate were ready for the crowd. So we made the 45-mile drive from our motel to Yosemite Valley in just over an hour.

The return trip at night was another story, however. We were exhausted by the time we headed for home. Linda and I had hiked over ten miles during the day, including a tough climb from the valley floor to Nevada Falls and back. (The picture to the right is of Nevada Falls. The falls are full this year because there's been so much snow in the Sierra.)  Since there was a lot of traffic, we waited until about 9:00 p.m. to leave. I couldn't wait for a hot shower and a welcoming bed.

But as we were leaving Yosemite Valley, I got behind a slow driver. He or she was obviously uncomfortable driving on a serpentine, narrow road in the dark. For about ten minutes I sat behind this person, thinking all sorts of terrible thoughts about him or her. But, finally, the car pulled over so I and several other drivers could pass.

I rolled along at the speed limit for about ten minutes before I came upon another pack of cars. This group was going even more slowly than the last slowpoke, averaging less than 25 miles per hour on a road with a conservative 35 mph speed limit. The driver of the van leading the pack would slow down, almost to a stop, before every curve, and there were hundreds of these.

Both the law and common courtesy require the lead driver to pull over so other can pass. But this snail-paced driver never made even the slightest effort to allow the rest of us to get ahead of him. So we sat behind this car for 30 miles. There was no opportunity to pass legally and safely. I, and the dozens of other cars now lined up behind the slow car, were stuck for a 40-minute drive that had now been extended to 60 minutes or more.

I quickly figured that all of this was adding a half-hour to our return trip to our motel. I must confess that I wasn't very happy about this. But, beyond my own frustration, I was astounded that any driver would just sit there with more than 20 cars on his tail, a couple of which were flashing their high beams in desperation. Such rudeness, I thought!

So here were my lemons. How did I make lemonade?

Well, first of all, my wife and I had a long, mock argument about what the slow driver was thinking. I conjectured that he was a macho type who wouldn't ever let people pass because he was too tough to be humbled by faster drivers. My wife countered that the driver was probably from another country, and that he or she was not an experienced driver, and was sacred to death of driving on such a winding road in the darkness. Yosemite draws hundreds of thousands of foreign visitors, so Linda's position had some validity, though I wouldn't admit it. Moreover, the car had its interior lights on, which added to the possibility that the driver didn't know what he was doing. (This is also illegal in California, by the way.) Linda and I argued our various sides for several minutes without resolution. Surely, even someone unfamiliar with such a road and with American driving laws would see the long line of lights in his rear-view mirror and pull over, I reasoned. But Linda held her ground admirably.

My argument with my wife managed to keep us both entertained for the better part of the drive. Somehow we had managed to turn our lemons into lemonade.

Finally, after an hour leading us through the darkness, the slow driver signaled that he was making a left turn . . . and pulled over to the right side of the road! Free at last, I exulted. The last fifteen miles back to our motel would pass quickly. My shower and bed were not far away.

Or so I thought . . . Come back tomorrow for the surprising conclusion to this happy story.