Oatmeal Rebellion, A Green Trail and Shoes

Day 5.1

Flouting Authority with Oatmeal Bowls

As B, One and Two ate toaster pastries in the dim of an early morning hotel room, AJ went out in search of cash and breakfast. After staring longingly at an ATM through locked glass doors of the snack shop, she crossed a small cement courtyard to the food court. 

A giant pot of oatmeal sat untouched in the serving line with a stack of melamine bowls waiting patiently nearby, and a tray of brown sugar and raisins. It was a welcome sight, but there were no paper or plastic bowls for take-out.

“Are there bowls to take-out the oatmeal?” she asked a tired looking cashier. 

“You can get a large cup from over there,” he pointed to the long line of people waiting for their morning joe at the gourmet coffee stand. 

“Okay,” she said, unwilling to wait and still flummoxed at what to do. She wanted to take the oatmeal to the hotel room and eat breakfast with the family. But she had a problem with authority. 

Not in the usual way. It wasn’t that AJ constantly thwarted authority, it was that she was often at a quandary as to when to heed it and when to use it as a “guideline”. 

A good example was the “No Parking Firelane” in the front of supermarkets. Stopping her car or worse yet, putting it in park over these words on the pavement was enough to give her heart palpitations. When an invitation or summons of any kind says it starts at 2:00pm, did she get there at 1:50pm or 2:10pm? What kind of leeway was there on speed limits? To play it safe, she erred on the side of never parking in the fire lanes, always being early and going at most 5mph above the speed limit. 

But that day, hunger and the day's rigid schedule spurred her on to rebellion. She took a cafeteria bowl, plopped the gloppy, beige oatmeal in, grabbed two butters and a box of rice milk, paid, and headed out the door to her hotel room, intent on ignoring any looks of disapproval. 

“I couldn’t find a way to take out oatmeal, so I just took the bowl,” she said as she sat down to the savory mush.

“I am so proud of you,” B said. He was the more daring and minor-authority flouting of the two. 

“But I’m going to take it right back as soon as I’m done eating.” 

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 Whether it was because of unclear road signage or AJ’s poor map reading skills, there was confusion and frustration on the way to their first destination of the day.  And it had to do with authority. 

“The guidebook says there is a sign that says no parking ahead, but there is a parking lot open to the public a little beyond that. That’s where we want to go,” B said. AJ was bent over the map, trying to orient their position so she didn't see this sign as they passed it. 

AJ did see the next sign sitting smack, dab in the middle of the road, sporting a big red circle with a line through it, “No unauthorized vehicles, handicapped sticker required,” it posted. It was an ‘I mean it this time’ sign, but B drove past it. 

"That's not the sign, is it?" he asked, but slow the car down. 

 AJ sighed nervously. She sighed again, louder this time. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here,” she said. At a clearing at the end of the road, they caught the eye of a cleaning lady with an armful of TP heading into the outhouses. AJ opened the passenger side window. 

“Can I help you?” she asked. “Do you have a handicap sign?”

B played dumb. 

“No, but … Yeah, we’re looking for the parking lot.”

“You have to go back to the Trailhead Parking.”

B sheepishly turned the car around and drove back past the “I mean it” sign to the parking lot, then walked half a mile along the road before arriving at the trail head to Mirror Lake Trail.

AJ vehemently fought the urge to say, “I told you so,” and just grunted in frustration. 

The Green Trail to Mirror Lake

Mirror "Lake"

The hike up to Mirror Lake in Yosemite was not particularly strenuous, but it was memorable, as mementos of the hike persisted on the bottoms of the family’s shoes for many days after. They were following what  AJ dubbed "The Green Trail."

If the meaning of the strange green piles of compost on the trail was not understood when the family started down the trail, the answer was made clear when they came across a dozen saddled and ridered horses. 

The park guides stopped the horsey convoy to let the family pass as the beast of burdens, to the potty-humor delight of Two, let loose liquid and solid bodily functions. The horses stood shifting their muscular legs, blinking nonchalantly with long-lashed doe eyes as they yielded the trail to the puny bipeds.

 Then the race was on … there was no “slow and steady hiking” for AJ this time, she and the family, as a matter of good manners, had to keep ahead of the horses. With the sauntering beasts’ hoof clops and clips close behind, they moved with purpose from rock to rock in the trail, hopping over fresh, green road apples as they  climbed the steep rocky path. 

“Now we’ve got them,” she said as she made her way over a particularly rough terrain where the beasts would have to slow their pace to pass over safely. 

The family made it to Mirror Lake ahead of the horses, though what they found was no lake, but expansive dry patches of coarse sand you could easily walk across.

A giant boulder sat comfortably in the middle of Mirror Lake. Dead logs were propped up against it. Two didn’t need written or verbal instructions; he climbed up and became a mini King of the Boulder. 

“Take my picture,” he says in a willful and dutiful act in accordance with the Muir Woods Hat Act (See Day 3). 

If Two would have asked to climb the boulder, AJ would have said no. It was an overprotective motherly reflex pertaining to climbing rickety things to get onto tall, rocky things. No one said you couldn’t climb the rock, she assumed the park service didn’t want you to. It was a leftover sentiment from the big red, “no-no” sign they had violated before the hike. But as she watched Two perched on top of the boulder, looking down in satisfaction and pride, she was glad he had climbed up and even admired the daring, agility and routing of implied restrictions. 

Keep Your Shoes On!

Two had a love-hate relationship with shoes. Mostly hate, but they kept his feet from getting hurt, so he wore them sometimes. This animosity was highlighted in the past when, after arriving at a destination, AJ would discover that Two had no shoes. “Get in the car, we’re going now,” in her naive mind automatically meant that everyone would put on shoes. It didn’t always mean that to Two.

During the first part of the trip, Two got into the habit of taking his shoes off as soon as he was in the car, and then making the rest of the family wait while he put his shoes on again at the next stop. 

The subject was finally breached as B, AJ and One stood in the parking lot of Yosemite Village waiting and watching as Two fumbled with his shoes.

“Why do you keep taking your shoes off?” asked AJ. 

“Because I don’t want to get the car dirty.”

“How are you getting the car dirty?” 

“He’s putting his feet up on the seat,” tattled One. 

“Don’t put your feet up on the seat,” B chimed in. 

“But I don’t want to get the rest of my area dirty,” Two protested. 

“Look, I appreciate your consideration when you’re in my car, but this is a rental and although we don’t want to get it dirty on purpose, just keep your feet on the floor. We can’t wait for you to put your shoes on every time we stop somewhere. I’ll tell you when we have to drive a long time and you can take your shoes off,”  B said. 

They visited the Ansel Adams Gallery, museum, visitors' center and general store where AJ picked up a memento. Not a teddy-bear keyring, or picture, or book, but a reusable shopping bag, something she could use.

After a quick lunch at Yosemite Lodge Food Court, they stopped at Tunnel View turn off where fresh busloads of people were basking in the vista of the Yosemite Valley. AJ sat on a nearby stone wall watching the people. That afternoon, the individuals that made up the crowds were all beautiful to her, as beautiful as the view that stood before them. 

An older couple caught her eye. He had dark hair, a thin, beak-like nose, hunched back and black inky hair. She had light curly hair was shorter.

No doubt, she thought, these beautiful people had not-so-beautiful sides, but that didn’t matter at the moment. This sudden appreciation of people–their shapes, sizes, colors, sounds, languages– surprised her. It was beautiful sight, a little gift of positive perspective.

After B and Tripod had chronicled the view, and took a few goofy shots, the family piled back in the car.

“Can I have my iPod?” Two asked from the backseat. 

AJ and B exchanged glances and frowns, hummed and hawed for a minute before B came up with a good answer, “You are in one of the most beautiful and famous national parks in the country, we cannot allow you to spend the time with your mind stuck in tiny video games.”

“So, when can I have my iPod?” he asked, missing the point. 

“Only when it’s dark out and you can’t see anything outside. We want you to look out the window, let your mind explore and think of questions about what you see,” AJ responded, being the more contemplative of the two. “Or just be bored. It’s good to be bored sometimes.”

“Aww. But can I take my shoes off?” Two asked.

“No!” was the answer from B, AJ and One.