Thursday, May 24, 2007


We drove south down the Napa Valley, thirty miles of vineyards, then headed east, finding our way to State Route 120 which takes you to Yosemite.

It's all farming country, industrialised and not all that pretty, the landscape flat and monotonous.
We drove from small town to small town, and wondered what it must be like to live here.
Our favourite place name was Potato Slough. It was very hot.

East of Oakdale, as you approach Yosemite, the road becomes what you might describe as preposterously winding. We called it The Road Of Death, because it seemed like terrible unpleasantness could happen at any moment. If you dare take your eyes off the road for a second, you look to the right and far, far below you see a looping stretch of tarmac and realise you've just driven up it.
There was a lot of nervous laughter.

We're staying in an incredibly beautiful, peaceful place twelve miles from the park entrance. Our room is huge, the bed big enough to sleep three or four if that's your thing, and best of all, there are hundreds of hummingbirds feeding on the veranda. We can hardly believe it.

We sat on the swing and drank tea, later moving onto beer and nachos, and generally flopped.
I passed a couple of hours trying to photograph hummingbirds.
They have to feed every fifteen minutes, you know, in order to keep their metabolism going. Apparently, at any time they're just one hour away from starving to death.

Here's one, and here's another. And here are three.

Miles of the day: Ooh, about 250.

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