My wife and I are driving to Yosemite National Park. It’s been a warm, dry winter in Tucson, so we thought we’d go spend a few days in a place where it’s cold and wet and green.
We made it to Bakersfield tonight. Lots of elevation changes. Indio, California, is on the Salton Sea where the land drops to about 50 feet below sea level. North of Los Angeles, the highway curves up through the Tejon Pass at about 4,100 feet.
I always enjoy driving through Palm Springs, where the highway cuts through a thick forest of wind turbines of every description, all rotating like giant pinwheels driven by the winds that come off of the Pacific Ocean.
Californians love their cars, probably because they’re forced to spend so much time in them. We were passed by a beautifully restored Â’65 Chevy Malibu and a gorgeous blue Shelby Cobra. More tricked out Hondas than I could count. Everybody moving fast, of course. You have to stay alert—a driver here will change lanes at the drop of a hat for a half-second advantage over the rest of the herd.
I knew we’d entered LA when we passed a billboard showing a beautiful young woman leaning forward seductively, her low-cut blouse spilling open to advertise breast enhancement surgery—for the low, low price of only $50 per month. America, where any woman, no matter how humble her means, can look like a Hollywood starlet.
Yosemite is where Ansel Adams took so many of his most famous photographs. We’re both excited. It’s supposed to rain, or snow, but it doesn’t really matter. It should be a chance to see some of God’s most beautiful workmanship, and to come away with some great photos and memories.
I hope to have more tomorrow from Yosemite.
