Once again, we followed the solid advice from our navigational expert, Captain Paul Sanden, and we took CA 395 south out of Tahoe.  The point being, the traffic would be lighter on the eastern side of the Sierras and the scenery is supposed to be cool, and after all, Captain Sanden doesn’t make it to Amsterdam and back several times a month because he’s just lucky.  We made the hairy climb over the Sierras and into the valley on the east side and picked up 395 South a couple dozen miles later.  Oddly enough, before getting too far south, we ran into a California port of entry in the middle of nowhere, even though we had been in California for sometime.   Okay, I get it, it’s a reminder that the Republic has its own rules, much like an independent country, and we needed to abide by them.  Besides that, it keeps a few Californians employed while they get to harass other members of the Union.  We guided the rig under a canopy and inspection station at the insistence of one of the Border Cops, which in of itself was quite humorous.  But the humor didn’t last long as one of the other Border Cops said quite loudly “they’re from Utah”.  And instead of welcoming me into his fine Republic to pay his hefty prices for fuel and other supplies, he sternly began to ask me a thousand different questions about what I was carrying in my rig, not once cracking a smile or saying anything cordial.  I even tried a short display of my boyish charm to loosen him up, but nope, zero response.  Midway through the interrogation, I realized this guy was totally serious.  Honestly, we passed over the Canadian border twice, with passports disclosed and the whole works, and those guys were totally cool on both sides.  And the drill needed to be more intense on the way into California?  I don’t know who in Sacramento is dreaming up all these rules and controls, but my goodness, one clearly begins to understand why the state is bankrupt after getting held up unnecessarily by interior Border Control Cops.  By the way, I warned you earlier that the California bashing would continue until morale improves, well there you have it.  Anyway, back to the journey.  We stopped and bathed in some crazy hot springs along the way in broad daylight with a bunch of other hippies, and we grabbed some smoked tri tip at a roadside BBQ joint that suggested they were “voted best BBQ in the country”.  The tri tip was snapped up by these two hungry kids on the side of 395 South, but we’d hardly call it the best in the country.  Funny thing is the Traeger pumped out a delicious tri tip while we camped up in Teton National Park, and it was easily better than the “best BBQ in the country”.  We rolled into the back entrance of Yosemite National Park through the small town of Lee Vining.  We found a cool little campground at the base of the foothills leading into the park.  We made the steep climb into Yosemite from the east on the day we arrived to do some recon of the park, and managed to hit some low clouds, rain, and snow as we passed into the park above 10,000 feet.  The visibility stunk, so we returned the next day and did the obligatory tourist thing by visiting Half Dome and El Capitan over on the west side of the park. The weather cleared for us a little bit, or at least enough to get some good photos.  We did the steep hike down into the grove of giant sequoias called “Tuolumne Grove” which was totally cool, except that we got stuck in a pretty good downpour on the way out and up.  And although we hadn’t seen rain in several weeks, we (Maryjo) were (was) prepared.  The rain persisted when we arrived back at the site, so we were afforded the opportunity to test out the foul weather equipment on the trailer.  It was good practice for us, particularly as we begin to enter the Pacific Northwest, and the equipment performed quite well as we enjoyed tacos and cocktails under the trailer canopy as it poured all around us.  We managed to watch our Patriots eek out another win at the local gas station grill in Lee Vining.  Yes, I wrote “gas station”.  What a cool spot in the back corner of the convenience store.  Beer on tap,  bottled beer and wine from the store’s coolers, and great food from the busy little grill behind the corner.  We chatted it up with the chef and the two waitresses, and had a blast hanging out and watching the game.   All said and done, we spent 3 nights in the outskirts of Yosemite and loved every minute of it.  With a chill in our bones, and with an expectation of warmer weather down south, we hauled ass out of Lee Vining.  I am convinced that Maryjo can smell salt water and beaches from a thousand miles away.  And for the record, I cannot.  Not surpisingly, I head the other way.  Cheers!