Mumbling something about "I wanted to stay another night, but nooooo mommy wants to hike the pass today..." Dawg and I cross the bridge as Andra says - "What? What did you say?" "Oh, nothing dear. Mumble, grumble."
Still mumbling something about "at least I'm not forced to carry a damn french press too," I stumble my tired legs across another creek.

I suppose it could be worse. We could be headed over Mono Pass at 12,075ft and a mere 12 miles that away.
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