Amy & Roger's Epic Detour

“We’re back,” he said, “you glorious old pile of rocks. Did you miss us?”

I’d like to dream my troubles all away on a bed of California stars.

—Wilco

“Wow,” Roger said as we stepped out of the reservations office. “Bears, huh?”

“Bears,” I confirmed. I was relieved that there had been a cabin available at all. Apparently, most people made reservations for their cabins months in advance, something that hadn’t occurred to me, as my father had always taken care of that. But they’d had a cancellation, and we’d gotten the last available cabin. Not the kind of cabin we always used to stay in, but one of the canvas-tent cabins. It had only one bed, which I was trying not to think about at the moment. But it had taken us so long to get there—and then an hour just to get to Camp Curry once we’d reached the Yosemite gates—that having to turn around would have been really depressing.

After we’d paid for the room, we’d had to watch a video of a bear mauling a station wagon, then sitting on the ground and eating the chips the owners of the station wagon had left behind at their car’s peril. Watching it, I actually wondered why the camera operator didn’t do something, or at least send someone to warn the station-wagon family. But the message we were meant to take away was that bears at Yosemite were dangerous, especially to vehicles. And then we’d had to sign releases saying that we wouldn’t sue if our car got mauled, even if we had taken the chips out.

We walked back over to the main parking lot, down by the Curry Dining Pavilion—what we’d always called the lodge. Although it was growing dark, there was still enough light to see to get around. Which was a good thing, because when it got dark at Yosemite, it got dark. There were no lights around anywhere, except by the lodge. Which made it easier to see the stars, but harder to find your cabin. As we walked down the paved path, I noticed Roger looking up, mouth hanging slightly open. I looked up as well, at the scenery that I could still make out. Even though it wasn’t my first time there, Yosemite was still stunning. There were mountains and huge, ancient trees everywhere, making you feel tiny. The air was clearer, and crisper, and had always made me want to take more deep breaths. It had always seemed to me to be a place apart, with none of the normal rules that applied elsewhere. For example, having to take your shampoo out of your car to stave off hungry wildlife.

We packed up all the snacks, and took my one suitcase and Roger’s two out of the car. Then we set off to find Cabin 9. I soon realized, when the paved path turned to gravel and wood chips, that there was a reason most people coming to Yosemite didn’t bring big rolling suitcases. Mine kept getting caught on the wood chips and flipping over, and refusing to roll. Not to mention the fact that the people walking by—the ones who’d prepared to be at Yosemite, carrying flashlights and wearing fleece vests—probably thought I looked ridiculous. But I finally got it up to the cabin, where Roger was standing outside, looking down at his phone.

“All set?” he asked, looking a little distracted.

“Yep,” I said, then inwardly cursed myself. The cabin, as advertised, was made of white canvas, with a green-painted door. A set of four steps and a railing, also painted green, led up to it. The bear locker was at the bottom of the steps. Roger and I went through our things and locked anything that bears might think was food—that is, everything—inside the metal box, making sure that it was latched closed. I looked at it a little dubiously. The cabins we used to stay in hadn’t had these, and I wasn’t confident that this little metal box could withstand hungry bears, especially when station wagons were no match for them. I also didn’t like the fact that it was so close to the cabin. Wasn’t that kind of like setting the appetizer right next to the main course?

Trying not to follow this line of thought to its conclusion, I took the small brass key they’d given me and opened the cabin door. I found the light switch just inside and turned it on. The cabin was very small, with the one bed taking up most of the room. The bed was metal, painted white, and unmade, with a set of sheets and two gray scratchy-looking blankets resting on top. Clearly these were not luxury accommodations. But the bed looked small. I doubted it was even queen-size.

“Rustic,” Roger said, looking around at the cabin, which was the same white canvas on the inside, with green-painted wooden beams crossing it. There was a chair in the corner, and a wooden dresser with a wood-framed mirror. And that was it. “But I’d expect nothing less,” he added, setting down his duffel bag and backpack and taking out his phone again.

I looked back at the bed, which seemed to be drawing all my attention. “Look,” I said haltingly, not exactly sure where I was going with this. “About the bed situation …” I didn’t want him to think that I’d wanted a cabin with only one bed. “I’m really sorry about it.”

“Why?” asked Roger. “Do you snore?” He smiled as he asked this, but I could see that he was blushing a little. “And it’s just for tonight.”

“Right,” I said. Since we hadn’t actually left the state of California, but had just moved up it—when we were supposed to be in New Mexico—I knew we were going to have to do a lot of driving tomorrow. But presumably, wherever we ended up, there would be two separate hotel rooms.

“My only thing is that I have to sleep on the right side,” he said. “My girlfriend—” He stopped and cleared his throat. After a moment, he continued, “Well, I mean my ex-girlfriend, she always had to sleep on the left. So I guess it’s just ingrained.”

“Oh,” I said, turning over what he’d just said. That right now he was single. But that there had been a girl in the picture, one who’d changed his sleeping habits. And that the way he said “girlfriend” sounded a lot like the way I said “parents.”

Even though I hadn’t realized I’d formed an opinion, I guess I’d just assumed that Roger had a girlfriend. He seemed too cute and too nice not to have one. And there was just something about him that made him seem taken. The fact that he wasn’t suddenly made me a little nervous.

“Well, the left is fine for me,” I said, hoping it would be. I had never stayed the night in Michael’s dorm room, so I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Julia, when we were in seventh grade and sleeping over at each other’s houses every weekend. I had no idea what it would be like to share a bed with a guy. Especially a cute, older, apparently single guy.