Yosemite

“I been thinkin’ about Yosemite,” I said to my friend *****, at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool.
***** is a lifeguard.
I count various pilgrimages throughout my life; Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Grand Tetons, the Front Range of the Rockies, Pikes Peak. But not Yosemite.
My wife died seven years ago — I no longer have her around to accompany me on such journeys. All jaunts were before she died.
Four years ago I did a railfan fall-foliage excursion — I’m a railfan. It was a year-and-a-half after my wife died, my first feeble attempt at returning to my former self.
After the train-trip, an organizer asked if I had fun.
“Well, sorta,” I said.
“What do you mean by ‘sorta’?” he asked.
“I miss my wife,” I said. “She woulda been with me, and she’s gone.”
Together we did a lot. Saluda Grade in NC, Tehachapi Loop and Cajon Pass, both in CA, Union Pacific’s Sherman Hill Crossing of the Continental Divide in WY, and of course innumerable times to Horseshoe Curve in PA.
“Vacation, eh?” a coworker asked. “Where ya goin’ this time?”
“The Mighty Curve of course,” I answered.
“I shoulda known,” he said. “What is it about that place? Yer always goin’ there.”
“Trains man,” I said; “smack in yer face. Wait 15 minutes and here comes another.”
“If my mother at age-88 can fly to Scotland,” ***** said; “you should be able to do Yosemite.”
“One problem,” I noted. “I no longer have my companion.”
“Which is why you should look into group-tours,” ***** said.
“Yeah, but I’m not a joiner, and my wife was the best companion I ever had.
You and your husband go to New Zealand, together as well you should. A group-tour is not a marriage-mate.”
Before my wife died we befriended a railfan in Altoona (PA), location of Horseshoe Curve. He did train-chases as a business for railfans like me. Trains galore up-and-down 50 miles of railroad.
He’d take along his railroad-radio scanner. Sudden bootleg turns in his aging Buick.
I scheduled another chase shortly after my wife died, and it became “The Train-Chase from Hell.” My camera died, and it started raining. I got very depressed — almost silent.
Since then, my brother started joining me on train-chases. We’d zoom up-and-down the railroad, and became much more knowledgable. It’s pleasant, probably more than my wife, who wasn’t a railfan.
But my brother isn’t my wife.
My wife’s mother made 100 in 2016 — she outlived her daughter. That trip to FL for her birthday was my first flight since my wife died. Almost four years after.
My youngest sister’s first-born, a son, got married not too long after my wife died. They wanted me to attend the wedding. That’s a flight or two-day drive to VA. I was in no condition to do it.
After my wife’s mother’s 100th birthday I tried flying to Fort Lauderdale, FL to visit a niece. That was 2017; almost five years after my wife died. I did that again last year, and will do it again, but via Amtrak this time.
Baby-steps, sorta, and Yosemite may be too late. I’d like to visit southern CA again, but would be more inclined to do so if my wife were still alive.
My wife wanted to do the AlCan Highway to Alaska, but cancer intervened.
On the other hand, I no longer am who I was while my wife was alive — better I hope.
In a few days it will be seven years. Only now do I feel like I’m returning to reality.

• I do aquatic balance training in the Canandaigua YMCA’s swimming-pool, two hours per week — plus a third hour on my own.
• “Saluda Grade” was the steepest mainline railroad-grade in the country. It’s currently dormant.
• “Tuh-HATCH-uh-pee,” and “Kuh-HONE,” (not “Cajun).