Yosemite Sam, Part 5 — Yosemite Day 2

Sam was an early riser, with no respect for the fact that it was freaking cold outside, the sun wouldn't come over the trees for another couple of hours, and I only got a few hours of fitful sleep. Except for Sam's yelling, the campground was otherwise silent, which made it clear that none of our fellow campers were crazy enough to be up yet. With the boy getting more and more obnoxious adamant about wanting to get up and eat, I came up with a plan: I jumped out of the tent, grabbed all of Sam's morning supplies (medicine, medicine droppers, Pediasure, cup, bib, diaper) out of the bear box and threw them in the car, went back to the tent and grabbed Sam and then we jumped in the car, at which point I started up the engine, turned the heater on full blast, and pumped some Raffi over the sound system. Sam sat on my lap and had his medicine and breakfast. Eventually we thawed.

Around 8:30 or so it was warm enough to venture back into the real world. It was still cold, so I put Sam back in his sleeping bag while I made my own breakfast and started getting organized for the day. Finally around 9:30 am the sun broke through the trees and I was able to find a sunny spot for Sam and his stroller:


This was going to be a big day, the first real trial of the Chariot: I planned to try hiking to an alpine lake with Sam in tow. Elizabeth Lake in Tuolumne Meadows is reached via a short (2.3 miles), highly-used trail, so I hoped that it would be wide enough to accommodate the Chariot. It also had the benefit of being relatively short, not too steep, and having a nice reward of beautiful scenery at the end. Of course, I had never hiked it myself, so there was no way of knowing what the trail was really like. Only one way to find out....

We arrived at the trailhead around 11:00 a.m. By this time, I had everything pretty well organized, so there wasn't much left to do but put Sam in the Chariot, strap it to my back and start hiking. After getting all set up we had a nice chat with some folks who had had just enough Bud Light that morning to think that the Chariot was the most brilliant idea they'd ever seen. Heartened by these lovely people, Sam and I set off.

Reality hit me upside the head almost immediately. Although the overall profile of our chosen trail was relatively mellow, the first few hundred yards turned out to be a boulder field set on a 20-degree slope. It was tough going to say the least; although the trail was plenty wide, there were few paths through the rocks that the Chariot could easily navigate. The Chariot's 20" wheels allowed me to pull it directly over many of the rocks, but the low clearance was causing it to get hung up every few feet, and the steepness of the slope meant that I had to lean forward with all my might lest Sam and I both go tumbling down the hill. This was something I hadn't really planned for — my optimistic mind had been remembering these popular Yosemite trails as being steep sometimes, but usually mostly dirt and duff, not so rocky.

Somehow I pressed on despite the sheer physical difficulty and increasing absurdity of the endeavor. I probably only continued out of stubbornness and a desire to avoid a bruised ego — I mean, I had spent weeks researching ways to go hiking with Sam, hundreds of dollars on equipment and supplies for the trip, and at least a half an hour training for this hike. No way was I going to let a little boulder field stand in the way of me and glory Sam having a pleasant hike. I also figured that given the trail's profile in the guidebook, it would likely get easier the farther we went.

Eventually, the trail did mellow a bit, to the point where I could actually take more than three steps without having to free the Chariot from being hung up on rocks. Feeling jaunty now — Ha! I have defeated the evil boulder field! Sam and I shall continue on to victory! — I had the presence of mind to capture some video of us on the trail (Flash Player required):




Doesn't look too bad, huh? It really wasn't, at least at that stage. Every 25 yards or so we'd come to an obstacle (big rocks too close together, a tree across the trail, etc.) that I'd have to maneuver around, which made our progress rather slow. But physically it wasn't too hard, which is saying a lot considering we're talking about me (a guy who's spent the last 10 years sitting on a couch or in front of the computer) pulling a 60 pound kid/trailer combo up a steep hill at 9,000 feet. I was in good spirits at this point, convinced that the worst was behind us and we'd cruise up to Elizabeth Lake by early afternoon.

Unfortunately, Sam wasn't enjoying it as much as I was. He was starting to complain from "the back seat," and the farther we went the more he complained with louder and louder yells of dissatisfaction. I think the trail was so rough that he was really getting tossed around in the Chariot (despite me trying to cushion his ride as much as possible by tweaking the Chariot's suspension), and it took me longer than it should have to realize that the scraping sound I was hearing as we passed over big rocks was caused by Sam's little butt, suspended in the Chariot's seat, which happens to be the lowest point of clearance.


Poor kid! Bad Daddy! Eventually we came to another obstacle:



The photo doesn't do it justice, but this rock was about two feet high, with no way to detour around it. I knew I could get the Chariot over this thing, but by now Sam had just about had all he could take:

"Argh! I can't take any more!"

So I decided that the first hiking experiment would have to end here. I think we had come almost a mile at this point, hiking for maybe an hour including all the stops for video, maneuvering the Chariot around obstacles, feeding Sam, etc. Not too bad.

For the return hike to the car, I converted the chariot back to jog-stroller mode, and the walk down the hill was quite easy:


Once we got down Sam was still pretty cranky from the bumpy ride so I decided we were done with hiking for the day. It was beautiful and warm out, so we drove over to Tenaya lake and lounged for the better part of the afternoon.



Sam dipped his feet in the lake:



So did Daddy:



Back at camp, we had an early dinner and then relaxed together while we waited for the temperature to drop enough to force us into the tent. Sam was getting kind of noisy, doing his usual loud moaning and occasional yelling, probably because he was tired from the long day. This presented the problem that I had most dreaded: what to do with a very noisy Sam in a very quiet campground. It was Friday night now, and our lonely corner of the big campground was now starting to fill up with people newly arrived for the weekend. For the time being, I let Sam listen to his iPod, which quieted him some.



Eventually a couple pulled into the site next to us, and unfortunately set up their tent just 20 yards from ours. This was going to be a problem.

Anyone who knows Sam knows that while he doesn't talk in the usual sense, he certainly has his own "language", and he vocalizes using a unique vocabulary of moans, grunts, and yells. Here's a brief dictionary of some of his most common words and phrases, listed in order of increasing volume:

• "aaaaaaaaahhh..." : I'm generally happy and content
• "AaahhhAAaahhhAAaahhhh..." : I'm tired and trying to keep myself awake
• "AAAAAAH. AAAAH!" : I'm annoyed, or possibly highly amused.
• "Uuhh! Uuhh! Uuhh!" : I'm hungry, thirsty, bored, or otherwise need attention. Ignore me at your own peril.
• "UUUUHHHHHH!!! UUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHH!!! UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHHH......!!!!" : That's it, no more Mr. Nice Guy! Your life will be a living hell until you satisfy my every desire!

We've come to recognize these cues from Sam, but the sounds he makes and his usual volume level can be pretty disturbing, especially for people who haven't had the chance to meet Sam and get a sense for where these sounds come from. The problem is magnified greatly when you really need some peace and quiet, or when the surroundings are relatively quiet, like when you're in a campground surrounded by other people who were expecting to spend a nice weekend listening to the wind blowing through the pines.

So as darkness fell, with neighbors moving in on all sides of us, and nowhere more isolated to move to, I realized that I was going to need a plan for dealing with Sam and his noise. I didn't think it would be fair for the other campers to have to endure Sam's yelling in the middle of the night or early in the morning.

The first thing I did was prepare for the morning. I packed all of our morning supplies and food into a single bag and put it in the bear box. I packed the Chariot in the car, and put all of the other camping gear away.

To deal with the coming night, I decided to try to get Sam to sleep earlier than usual, in the hope that he'd go to sleep before his nighttime noisiness became an issue for our new neighbors. I got Sam into the tent and all ready for bed by around 6:30 pm, and stayed with him, trying to calm him in various ways so that he'd go to sleep. Despite trying his iPod, singing to him, and holding him, Sam didn't go to sleep until around 8:00 pm. During that hour and a half, he made a lot of noise at various volume levels, some quite loud. I can only imagine what the other campers were thinking about the strange noise coming from inside our tent! It quickly became apparent that our closest neighbors, the couple with their tent pitched 20 yards away, were quite aware of Sam's noise, and a few times the man actually started yelling back at Sam! The only problem was that I could overhear their conversation, and it was all in a foreign language that I assumed was Russian. So I was faced with a choice -- go outside (in the freezing cold) and try to explain to this guy, who apparently didn't speak English, about Sam and that he might be noisy for a while and maybe you want to move your tent, or stay with Sam and not have to "reset" the process of trying to get him to sleep. I opted for the latter, and thankfully the Russians left us alone and Sam finally went to sleep.