Getting to the Point

Karen’s parents —

(Karen is my wife, in case you’re not one of the three non-family members or close friends who read this Substack.)

— spent much of their upbringings in Yosemite National Park. My father-in-law John’s family would spend two months at a stretch in elevated platform tents, in the literal shadows of Half Dome and El Capitan. We’d call it “glamping” today, though I don’t believe it was terribly glam. But what the digs lacked in glamour, the surroundings made up for in glory: some of the most stunning views anywhere.

Yosemite is the treasured place of their shared history as well: John and Marilyn met beside a footbridge that spans the Merced River: John scared away a bear that was drawing close to Marilyn, sitting beside the river; they remained in touch, and then courted, and wed, and then Karen and her brother Evan spent many childhood days beneath Yosemite’s granite glories.

This painting of the bridge where John and Marilyn met hangs in John’s apartment.

Their last trip together to Yosemite was in the fall of 2020. Marilyn had been diagnosed with cancer some months earlier, and Karen planned what she understood would be her mom’s final trip to what she called her favorite place in the world. We drove up — in separate cars; this was the thick of the Pandemic — and spent the day beside Tenaya Lake, beneath half-mile-high edifices. We could see that Marilyn was uncomfortable and preoccupied, and was struggling to enjoy the views, and the mountain air, and being together. She passed away six months later; John hasn’t avoided Yosemite since then, but also hasn’t suggested suggesting visiting, though the park is just two hours from the senior community where he moved a couple of years ago.

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A couple of weeks ago, heading into Mothers Day, I asked Karen how she wanted to spend it. She told me she hoped to ride up Glacier Point Road — in Yosemite — while it was open to bikes, but not yet to cars. Glacier Point Road is one of several mountain highways that are first cleared for bicycles every spring, just for a couple of days. We’re aware of a few more: Tioga Pass, also in Yosemite; McKenzie Pass in Oregon, not far from Bend; Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park. I’m sure there are others.

Alas: we missed the bikes-only window. But Karen hoped still to take the ride on and — I’m sure you’re surprised — I was happy to join.

We decided on the weekend after Mothers Day, as we were already planning to drive in that direction to see Karen’s dad, plus some extended family in the Central Valley. Karen asked her dad if he then wanted to join us on a Sunday drive to Yosemite. At first he said yes, sounding practically giddy, but soon bowed out. He wanted us to enjoy ourselves, he said, and for Karen to get her Mothers Day wish, and didn’t see how he would spend the time while we rode. Karen promised that we’d bring him up there soon.

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Karen and I said good-bye to John Sunday morning and made the trip to the park, just the two of us. We drove through the entrance and around the first few bends, where granite outcroppings, the kind of feature that themselves would attract crowds were they anywhere else, serve as hints of the grandeur to come. We parked at the turnoff onto Glacier Point Road, pulled our bikes off of the car, and started up.

The sixteen-mile road is mostly a steady climb, lined with trees and passing by lush, deep green meadows. Occasionally it dips, just a quarter mile at a time; we’d fortunately thought to bring arm warmers: We sped by patches of snow in the forest’s shadows.

One of the “lesser views” from the ride up Glacier Point Road

About halfway up the climb I asked Karen whether there was much of a view at Glacier Point: We’d selected this ride for the route, not the destination, and I realized I didn’t know exactly what we were aiming for. Karen appeared…kindly incredulous. “Yes,” she responded. “There’s a nice view.”

A mile before the road ends it plunges down through a series of switchbacks; at the apex of the penultimate curve the trees open and — I was quite literally awestruck. I’d been to Yosemite several times before, but didn’t understand: Glacier Point is the view. The brochure photo. Half Dome and Clouds Rest and three — no, make it four waterfalls at springtime volume. A cerulean sky, and the clouds had just parted, and I climbed off my bike, and I burst out laughing. Other tourists turned at the sound, but I couldn’t stop; I was practically giggling. Karen followed 30 seconds later, a grin on her face, and I kept laughing — at my misunderstanding, and because, as Karen said, it’s the kind of view at which you exclaim, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

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The ride last Sunday wasn’t the carless one we’d read about and hoped for; we both rode nervously along the very narrow — sometimes nonexistent — shoulder, and were surprised at the crowds lining the railings overlooking Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point. But that view was well worth the price we paid in buzzing cars and the buzz of fellow tourists.

On the way home, once in cell range, we called John, and told him about our day, and Karen mercifully told him simply that I was surprised at just how spectacular the view is.

Spectacular indeed, especially when you can share it with someone who deeply appreciates it. We’ve thus added two activities to our empty nesting plan: About 50 weeks from now, start watching for the bikes-only opening, and fake a sick day or do whatever else it takes to be one of a very few enjoying the Glacier Point view — but well before then, spend the day in Yosemite with John.