Pete was in Las Vegas last night and the plan was for him to get in early and grab us a spot in Crane Creek Campground and for me to call him when I arrived. If there was no cell signal, I was to drive around until I spotted his bike. How could anything go wrong with a great plan like that?
I managed to shut down the computer and get out of the office by 4 PM and it was getting close to dusk when I arrived at Crane Creek. My first miscalculation was how many campsites there were at Crane Creek. Turns out there are around 600.
The big sign out front said “Campsite Full.” Unworried, I circled through the campground in first gear. Lots of motorcycles, but no Pete. And every site was full. As I circled back out of the last site area, I carload of kids drove off and left a site empty.
I, being one who likes my sleep, pulled in immediately. I pitched my tent to save the spot and went off in search of a cell signal and some supper. I assumed Pete was arriving late and figured that I could at least leave him a voice mail with our campsite number.
About 10 miles down the road from Crane Creek toward Yosemite is a pull out that has cell service. I left Pete a message and then spent about an hour round trip to find a sandwich and a six-pack. Pete works up a serious thirst when he’s riding. Not that I don’t.
I stopped at my little “You almost nearly have an AT&T signal” spot on the way back. No message from Pete. I left another, and headed back to camp.
It’s now pitch dark, and I’m easing back to camp at around 25 miles per hour so as not to hit any four-legged creatures crossing the road to find water or a place to bed down for the night. About half way back, I pass another motorcycle headed the opposite way and I think “Could that Pete?”
I stopped at the next pull out just in case and thought about turning around and chasing the bike down to see, but decided that if it was Pete he’d either turn around and come back, get my message later and come back, or it wasn’t Pete and he was already back at camp. I waited five minutes and then found my way back to the tent.
No Pete.
With no fire to stare at, I ate dinner, drank my half of the six-pack, watched the stars and played with the camera. Here are a couple of the only shots that came out at all:
The view was beautiful, but I clearly need to work on my low-light photography skills.
Eventually, hoping that Pete wasn’t in jail or a ditch somewhere, I drank one of his beers, slung the hammock and crashed.
Today’s Route: 171 Miles
