Day 3, part 1. Bishop, CA

'Wait a second', you say. 'I thought you were in Livermore on Monday the 11th, which would've been the Day 3?!?'.

My response: My blog, my rules.


So after the presentation on Monday (which will be the subject of it's own blog entry in a week or two (hint hint...)), I was actually a little worried - after two days of riding hard almost five hours a day, stopping can put your body into a coma. Nevertheless, I had already reserved a room in the little town of Bishop, CA - which was right at the base of some of the few climbs that weren't closed by six feet of snow.

An aside - Sierra Nevada literally translates to 'Snowy Mountains', and is home to the highest snowfalls in the contiguous US. I was aware of that, but not fully cognizant, as will soon be seen.

In any case, the five hour drive had the added benefit of about two hours driving through Yosemite; which I was looking forward to.

It's good to have a plan.


Now, plenty of people are cyclists in California, including some of the people to whom I was presenting. So when I enquired about how long it would take to get to Bishop, I was rather surprised when the response started with 'Well, this time of the year...'. Uh, what do you mean, *this* time of year?


Yosemite was closed. Closed. As in, we don't even try to keep it open, it's just not worth the effort. Wow.

And Bucknuts.

OK, no problem. Still 5:00 PM, and the hotel had a cancellation policy of 6:00 PM; I'd just go south - way south - to a cleared highway to make it over the mountains. I called the hotel. 'Oh... this was booked through Travelocity... you'll have to call them.'

I called Travelocity. Or, more accurately, I called their voice-recognition computer answering machine. They apparently got it on sale at Wal-Mart.

"Please state the name of the city in which you are staying".
"bishop, california".
"...Please wait... ...Beijing, China. Is this correct?"
"NO."
"Please repeat the name of the city in which you are staying".
"Bishop, California".
"...Please wait.... ...We're still pretty sure you said Beijing, China."
"$%^&*&#, I said BISHOP, CALIFORNIA"

After about five minutes of screaming "Bishop, California" into a voice-recognition system designed by heavily-accented software engineers with a very twisted sense of humor, I actually managed to talk to a real person.

"...Oh, I'm sorry, that reservation is for today. We can cancel it, but we won't refund your money."

Come again?

OK, Travelocity, now it's on. I will get to Bishop just to spite you.

I call the hotel again. I ask him how to get there, IN THE WINTER. He goes down the list...

"Highway XXX... oh wait, that's closed."
"Highway YYY... oh wait, that's closed."
"Highway ZZZ... oh wait, that's closed."


He finally gives me a route.


I love it when a plan comes together.


Before I leave Livermore, I stop at a grocery store. I pick up a week's worth of food in pre-packaged form... mostly energy bars. Eight gallons of distilled water (Many facilities in Death Valley don't have potable water). And a two-foot long extra wide sub sandwich, ostensibly meant for a family or a small festival.

Or me.

...and off I go. The last glimpses of sunlight cease. I stop for fuel. My headlights gradually start to illuminate different flora on the side of the road...

Grass yields to weeds.
Weeds yield to dirt.
Dirt yields to rocks.

Through the window, I see the Milky Way. I stop and turn off my headlights. I get out of the car, in awe of the stars. As far as the eye can see, there is no sign of life... no headlights, no town, no gas station, no street lights.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, I arrive in Bishop. All the lights are out; I have to wake the innkeeper. I stumble into bed.



The next morning the sun peeks in through the windowshade. I look out.



I'm here.