Yosemite by Thumb

Bree, me, and my little cousin Anna. Oakdale, CA (map). June 4, 2006.

There are three main routes into Yosemite from the west: Highway 120 from Modesto, Highway 140 from Merced, and Highway 41 from Fresno. The route from Merced is usually the most convenient for train travelers, and was our originally intended entrance. Conventional travelers can even book an Amtrak ticket all the way to Yosemite Valley, with the journey from Merced to the park on a YARTS bus.

For us it looked like a good candidate for hitchhiking as well, with the bus available as a backup plan. Checking out Merced on Google Maps, it looks like the train station is near the edge of town where 140 comes out. We planned to walk from the train station, make camp in an agricultural field, then hitchhike up the highway to Yosemite. (Later, in Yosemite Valley we met two Slovenian girls who told us of a Merced Hostel which I hadn't known about, and the presense of a new University of California campus in Merced might lead to additional opportunities.)

A cheaper alternative to Amtrak for getting out to Modesto might be to take BART all the way out to Pleasanton station ($3.80 from Berkeley) and then take the Modesto Area Express (MAX) bus to Modesto and then find some local bus to Oakdale. By comparison, Amtrak from Oakland to Modesto is still a pretty good deal, about $25, and certainly grander. Tickets to Merced are a few dollars more.

We were propelled up and out of the Bay Area and into the central valley with the conductor coloring each station stop with homemade alliterative concoctions. "Marvellous Martinez, Home of the Martini," "Scintillating STOCKTON, Pearl of the Delta." Our trip was one of serendipity, and, time after time, it seemed that the right decisions just played themselves out in front of us. En-route to merced, we heard that Highway 140 had been closed by a huge rockslide, and is likely to be closed for months, maybe even a year! Fortunately Modesto is on the same train line and we could just step off the train a few stops earlier. I called up my aunt and uncle in Modesto and asked if we could spend the night—thankfully my relatives have come to tolerate, possibly even appreciate, my surprise visits, and, though surprised, they sounded eager to have us. The train came to Modesto (announced as a "Monument to Modernity"!) (map) and we stepped off to find my waiting uncle and cousins.

My relatives were all very antsy about our determination to hitchhike, with everyone describing Modesto as either the serial killer capital of the U.S. or the methamphetamine capital of California, and multiple offers to pay for a rental car. But we were, of course, determined, and tried to be nonchalant about concerns and confident in our plan. In the morning we enjoyed San Joaquin hospitality in the form of a lazy and delicious corn pancake breakfast, then my uncle drove us out to Oakdale on the fringe of the metropolitan area.

Highway 120 is the main street for downtown Oakdale. We fastened our packs and walked to the end of town, then down to the highway just far enough to a good place for hitchhiking: plenty of space for the driver to pull over, plenty of visibility for oncoming drivers, and a slow speed limit. It was a Sunday and campers were pouring out of the mountains, one gigantic RV after another, huge SUV's pulling boats, and smaller passenger cars stuffed with gear. This was heartening: Yosemite campgrounds fill up very quickly, and most require reservations; I hoped that getting into the park just after the weekend would make finding a campsite easier. There was also plenty of traffic into the mountains. We set ourselves by it, thrust out our thumbs, and began our first experiment in American hitchhiking.