Did I mention that I like warm?
Did I mention I have strict boundaries?
Yet somehow I left my beloved San Diego on a weekend where we were promising to have 80 degree, flawless weather and journeyed to the far (okay, okay, not-so-far) north: Mammoth.
I must be crazy. Or just a mom, since I am going to get my son who has been with my mother for the past two weeks.
Oh, another thing about traveling to the not-so-far north: I hate road trips. I hate sitting still. I hate monotony. The movement of the car puts me instantly asleep, and then I wake up with nasty aches from being in a weird, awkward position. I fondly remember the days in our family '65 Impala, lying stretched out in the back . . . not a care in the world.
Anyway, to kill the ridiculous hours it takes to get to Mammoth from San Diego (this time issue is totally the fault of the driver . . . if I were driving, we would be there in at least one hour less than it took to get here today. However, if I were driving, I would have also fallen asleep and wrecked the car), I took a few photos.
Consider the following a travel journal of sorts (whose format I have shamelessly plagiarized from those more talented than I):
Note the accumulation of bug splatters. . .
I must be one of the few people who come to Mammoth regularly and don't actually visit the mountain itself. My mom's best friend owns a chalet here and most of my childhood has been spent visiting this amazing area of eastern California (and yes, I did look at a map today and noticed that Mammoth is, indeed, not part of Yosemite. Are you happy?). Though I have few memories of snowboarding or mountain biking on the mountain, the memories I do have are full of friends, family, Thanksgivings, fireworks, festivals, and love. . .
Did I mention love?
Mammoth is a lot like home, but still far far way. It is missing an essential element.
On a side note: my son did not greet me with joyous abandon. Rather, he exclaimed, "Mommy! Oh . . . no. I don't want to go home. I'm going back with Nani."
Ah, the unconditional love of a child. Why did I leave my boundaries again?