Breaking down my tent was much more pleasant than the day before, though the footprint was now heavy with a mixture of moisture and sand. For the second day in a row, my morning tea set the right tone:

"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me"
- Ayn Rand

Inspired and excited for day four, I began what would become my longest day on the road.  I headed out, listening to Beck's Morning Phase (which became an almost daily tradition) as I passed through the plains, farmland and low hills of Idaho. Flat, peaceful, beautiful in its simplicity.

Many hours were spent driving in silence. I began to view these hours of silence as driving meditation, as I primarily spent the time being fully present, watching the landscape change with an awakened curiosity. Later, when I returned home to Minnesota, I found meditation to be much more centered and focused than before, with fewer interrupting thoughts. It was almost as if by learning to appreciate the world around me, moment by moment, I had taught my mind to simply be.

Crossing the line into Nevada it was immediately clear that I had entered another territory, between the transition to desert landscape and the abundance of opportunities for gambling. I stopped at a gas station, knowing that the availability of gas would be limited as I continued through the state, and was met by a kitschy adventure park-themed interior with bright, noisy slot machines. It felt like the energetic youngest child of the Rainforest Cafe and Vegas casinos. Such a jarring environment after so much quiet introspective time soaking in the natural beauty in this world.

I had been warned about the dull drive ahead of me. Perhaps if this were a familiar state, I might have been bored by the endless hours of desert. But instead I was fascinated by the subtle tones of yellows, pale green, and burnt orange, sagebrush for miles, and mini-mountain ranges of brown dirt and dried grass. 

For the majority of the 10 hour drive through this state, I felt like I was in the middle of nowhere. There was little evidence of human inhabitants for hours on end. Most of this time, I mused about life in the desert, wondering things like:

• Where do people even live out here? Where are the towns? Are there any towns closer than 3 hours away from each other? 
• How does the FedEx truck work? Are they paid to drive for half a day just to deliver a package to one person?
• How do I have cell service? I see no cell towers...
• A mailbox in the middle of the desert - where is the house?? Does the mailman spend all day to get to 3 mailboxes out here?
• How do people get groceries? Do they have to make a day trip every week into a more populated area? 
• Okay, really, how do you live without Target?

Thankfully, I needed no bathroom breaks between civilizations, and my gas tank never hit empty. If a call to AAA had been necessary, who knows how long I might have been waiting for help!

Nevada contained mysterious encounters, including a series of unmarked white vans I would pass periodically (Is that the same van as before? No, it must be different - what are they doing out here??), what appeared to be a bunker on military property, and signage warning travelers away from a military testing area. It was a strange place, yet intriguing with its own sense of character and spirit. 

Then, moments after crossing the border into California, the desert began to become more vegetated, somewhat less brown. A new mountain range rose before me. I came around a bend and stopped for construction, waiting for my turn on the one-lane road. To my left, a clear, blue lake. To my right, the monumental Sierra Nevadas. Not a bad place to be stuck in traffic.  

When traffic picked up, I began to climb. The elevation increased aggressively as massive mountains of rock rose around me. I entered Yosemite via Tioga Pass - what a sight to be seen! I stopped at a vista, appreciating the perfect afternoon sun, how it brilliantly illuminated portions of the view, casting other areas into high-contrast shadow. No words can adequately describe that moment when your heart swells with wonder, gratitude and awe. Is this real life? This view, this moment, was well worth every hour in the Nevada desert, the sunburn I had acquired on my chest thanks to the sun piercing through my windshield, and my aching body from so many hours of sitting in the car.

I made my way through the park, stopping at several vistas for more moments of pure joy. My campground (Crane Flat) was closer to Yosemite Valley, and my drive along 30 mph roads took the next hour. Here, just like Yellowstone, cars followed close behind me, their drivers likely impatient and frustrated as I stuck to the speed limit. "What's the hurry guys? Relax and enjoy these stunning views!" Just before sunset, I arrived at my site and set up camp. After dinner, I put my food into the bear locker and settled into my tent. Taking out my journal, I reflected on the journey so far.

In four days, I had traveled 2,120 miles, covering six states. Another day, another park, and ever-growing gratitude and bliss. Yes, this is real life. And it's absolutely worth living.