Jenmenke

Road Warrior

Road Warriors

Road Warriors Three, Day One, Part Two

It is still 7/29/11 and we are still barely out of the driveway.

As I mentioned, the plan was to leave at 5 am and caravan with the Koo’s. But since we left almost an hour late, and since they live almost an hour south of us, they had a healthy head start on us. We almost caught up with them in South Dakota at Kadoka. Our route was 169 south to I-90. Then we decided to take the scenic route and go south on 73 at Kadoka and spill in to Ogallala at I-80 and head into Colorado that way.

So anyway, it was looking like we’d meet up with them around lunch-ish, but the Menke car uncharacteristically made several random stops (for gas, for potty, for food — so you can pretty much know I was not at the wheel) and so, we never quite met up with them along the way.

The food options for lunch were slim in Murdo and Kadoka, so we ate the “oven-fried” chicken* and fruit and veggies out of the cooler. The kids, who yearn for the fast food and crap that simply IS this part of our road trip were dismayed. I was dismayed to discover that my beloved baby cucumbers from CostCo, purchased just two days before, were slimy and disgusting. That has never happened before. They were dispatched to the slimy and disgusting gas station garbage can. I am heartbroken. I will now have to eat the only other beloved thing at hand. Special K bars.

* * *   I N T E R M I S S I O N    W H I L E    I    E A T     A    S  P E C I A L   K    B A R   * * * *

* * *   A N D    A N O T H E R  * * *

It was a happily uneventful drive. We finally met up with the Koo’s in Sterling, CO at The River Grill & Bar for dinner. Beer, margaritas and a burrito for me made it a successful event.

During dinner, we debriefed and compared notes: on the prep, on the drive. Who was mad at who. Are they really as perfect as they seem? Stuff like that.

Grace and Lydia (15 and 13 respectively) tend to fight — as most sisters do. So Wes and Jan were pleasantly surprised that they pretty much got along during the 15 hour drive. Wes then spontaneously rated them a 7 out of 10 and Jan concurred (What a lovely couple.). Morgan and Charlie don’t really fight all that much. They just tend to verbally spar about issues such as Morgan’s incessant singing and Charlie’s stupid questions and general cluelessness. This is annoying for sure, but not so bad as to call it fighting. I rated them a 9.

Then, hearing what was taking place at our end of the table, because my kids have a bionic noise filter that digitally identifies the voice pattern when their names have been whispered from across a noisy room, they started talking over each other to tell the Koo’s how bad Dave and I had behaved on the 15 hour trip. Charlie quickly rated us a 4 out of 10 while Morgan countered that she wouldn’t even give us that much. You see? They can’t even agree on that.

But OK, I admit it is true. We were naughty. Everything Dave did bugged me today. And while I would never presume to put words in Dave’s mouth (irony, sarcasm. he has no words in the first place. if i didn’t put any in there, there would be no words at all.) I would venture to guess that everything I did bugged him, too.

I can’t imagine a scenario where I could possibly bug anyone, but I must record the truth.

I vowed to be nicer.

The other main dinner topic was that we found ourselves to be a couple hours behind where we really wanted to be and were trying to recalculate our plans for the night and the next couple days.

Initially, we had planned to make it to a campground outside of Boulder and Rocky Mountain National Park and spend two nights at what we envisioned to be a lovely locale. We’d visit Colorado University one day and Rocky Mountain National Park — where, ironically, we have never been — the next day, before heading to the Dunes for the 3rd night.

The main idea was to spend two nights without having to move. We knew we’d be moving a lot on the trip and it was thought that after a long drive it would be nice to be able to linger at our first destination. But (and this is just me talking now) whoever came up with that plan musta been on drugs. It’s high season. It’s Friday night. We are outside the Outdoor Capitol Of The World and a National Park. We were banking on leaving at 5 in the morning, experiencing no delays and arriving at 8 pm with no reservations in the best of circumstances. What do YOU think our chances of finding a bucolic site in a beautiful campground to be?? Since I was not the planner I made my feelings known TO the planner and Dave and I continued our 4 out of 10 (or less, depending on the judge) behavior.

Obviously, I am failing at my vow to be nicer.

Instead, we got the last spot at the North Sterling State Park Campground on a popular reservoir. And let me tell you something. Minnesotan’s despise reservoirs. We’re not a mean folk, but we do have our standards.

It was astonishingly buggy and we were all pretty tired. We didn’t last too long around the fire. The neighbors are loud, the generators are a-humming from the RV’s parked… everywhere.

Still. It’s a place to lay our weary heads. And we did.

Oddly enough, it was a good night’s sleep. It cooled off nicely from the low 90’s down to the 60’s for the night, and the Family Circus next to us actually slept in till about 7am. We won’t, however, be lingering for a second night. It’s off to Roosevelt or Arapaho National Forests which surrounds RMNP at first light.

*Oven Fried Chicken

This is spectacular, even if it is a complete misnomer. Well, not a complete misnomer, as it does go into the oven to bake, but you still have to deal with deep frying in the beginning. I had found this recipe and failed to read it through before committing to it at 10:30 pm the night before the trip. Still, now that I’ve tried it, I am hooked. It is FABULOUS and worth it, even for those who despise deep frying as much as I do.

  • Soak 1 cut up chicken in 1 quart of buttermilk for 10 hours or overnight.
  • Preheat oven to 350
  • Mix 1 cup flour, 1 cup panko crumbs, 2 teaspoons coarse salt, 2 teaspoons fresh ground pepper in a dish
  • Coat the chicken well on all sides with mixture
  • Heat 1″ oil in deep sided, heavy pan to 360 degrees
  • In two batches, frying half the pieces at a time, Fry about 3 minutes on each side and remove to a wire baking rack set over a roasting pan. Bring oil back to 360 degrees before beginning second batch
  • Bake in oven for 30-40 minutes until juices run clear
  • Serve hot or cold.
Ah-mazing.

Game On. Road Warriors Three, Day One, Part One

Friday, 7/29/11

We begin. On the road at 5:50. Were shooting for 5 am but who were we kidding? The cooler needed to be packed, which always takes more time than you think, regardless of the fact that I had everything ready to go inside bags inside the fridge and freezers. I don’t know why. It just does. But probably most relational to our delayed departure time was the fact that I refused to get out of bed before 4:45.

I mean really.

This year, for what I believe is the first time, we began packing and preparing for the trip the weekend before. This was a revelation. While probably most of the sane world’s occupants have been doing this for most of their lives, it is not something I have ever subscribed to and simply had no idea. I never realized how calm things could be, on even the day before the trip, when you begin pulling things out and taking stock of — shoes, do they fit? — pancake mix, we’re out? — lantern, we don’t have @#$% mantles?! — days in advance.

Stress levels go down and time efficiency goes way, way up. The very odd and telling thing about this/me is: I don’t like it. As I sit here and write this, only an hour after leaving the house, everything feels wrong. Nothing is fresh in my mind, because I didn’t do it all in the past 16 hours. It goes without saying that my short term memory is abysmal, but to not be able to answer a single question lobbed to me from the back seat like, “did you bring my soccer ball,” is very disconcerting indeed.

Further, I have no apologies to make about my mental breakdown. No pep talk about “Let’s not hang on to grudges and have fun.”

I don’t like it. Not at all. What’s a trip without the screaming and chaos that goes before it? And what does that say about me?

There are also two back stories that need telling. First and most important, we are leaving exactly 36 hours after Morgan was in a terrifyingly serious car accident. She is amazingly well. Hardly sore. She has a bad bump on her head, some “memory disturbance,” and some cuts/scratches on her hand. The only thing she is really complaining about (besides her brother in the backseat)

…is her fingernail. “It hurts soooo baaaad.”

A fingernail? After rolling your car twice? We will take it.

We. Will. Take. It.

A second and less important, but potentially more devastating issue are my injuries as we leave on this trip. Injuries sustained at the hands of my rooster, El Senor. Well, literally the feet. He attacked me yesterday when I was replacing the giant waterer that I need to use when we are gone for any amount of time. It is no small feat of danger to waddle into his territory, awkwardly dragging a 5 gallon feeder while simultaneously holding a shield to protect yourself.

I made it in just fine, but on my way out, while he was throwing himself repeatedly against the shield, I took my eyes off him for just one second. When I looked back up, he had gotten around the side of the shield just as I was backing out the door. I didn’t want to deal with him chasing me to the house, so I was frantically trying to keep him inside the run. During the scuffle, I somehow ended up trapped in the area behind the fence door. After launching him into the air with a mighty kick (yessss!), I realized the door was stuck on a rock which was on the other side of the door. I simply could not shut the door without breaking it. So, he repeated flew at my bare legs and flipflop-shod feet while I tried to get the door shut.

After about four attacks, I was able to launch him into the air again long enough to bend down, stick my hand through the fence and move the rock that was keeping me from shutting the door. Meanwhile, he ended up on the other side of the door and started flying against the door instead of me, which allowed me to shut the door with him inside the run.

It was all very comical. Really, I tell you it was. I was even laughing. –In between bouts of bending over, all sweaty and dizzy, and saying out loud, “Muther F•cker that HURT! Oooooh mannnnn. That HURT!”

[insert non-road warrior journal information. I should point out here that everyone mistakenly thinks that roosters attack with their beaks. They do not. They use the long bones that protrude from the back of their legs called spurs. The older the bird, the longer the spur. I’m not sure where El Senor got a wet stone to sharpen his, but they are also quite sharp. But let me tell you something: it isn’t the cut that hurts. It’s the impact of the hit. I had, quite literally, instant swelling and bruises at the areas of the punctures. It was these that hurt so bad. I would compare it to being hit with a hammer. No, I am not kidding. Now, back to the journal.]

I like to think I am tough, but man. I almost cried. *almost*

I iced the wounds and took some Advil. I did everything but CLEAN them. I was so busy running around doing chores before we left that I kept putting it off.

Well, to be honest, I did think the blood running down my leg looked super-cool and I did want everyone to see that first. Then I cleaned the punctures. But by then it was hours later. In fact, it wasn’t until about 11 pm while I was waiting for the chicken to finish “oven-frying” — a complete misnomer — that I cleaned the blood off, sat down, took some Advil, and iced my knee and my foot.

I do admit that, although the wounds continued to hurt like Hell, throb, and bother me to no end, there was a part of me that just could not accept that a stupid little rooster could bring me down. It was just too much to bear. Only now, as I write this a day later, with my foot the size of Michelle’s Shrek feet, am I taking it seriously and contemplating the ramifications of a full-blown infection.

Here is my normal, non-attacked foot for reference:

And, here is my Shrek-Foot:

I keep telling myself it will be fine, but I’m not so sure.

It doesn’t help matters to have the anti-chicken-hater-of-all-time sitting next to me saying things like, “Chickens have salmonella you know. You probably have salmonella.”

Really, Dave? Really?

Another first this year is that we are traveling with the Kooistras, Dave’s sister. This will be a tricky line for me to walk since I’m a tell-all kind of person. Can I really tell all when it involves another family? We will see. We will see…

 

Epic Vail

I’m only updating this from Vail because

  1. I can. (thank you macbook air!)
  2. my dear friend Pam’s daughter asked me to, stating, she is “tired of looking the bladder thing”
  3. i realized she is right
  4. i got such funny photos today, I had to share.

So on with the show.

First, understand that skiing for spring break is not always an easy pill to swallow for a Minnesotan. Even harder for a 16 year old girl Minnesotan. Marginally less so for her mother and probably equally less for the younger brother.

Vail Dave, however, has no problem at all. So it is off to the airport that his little squad of ducks follow him.

Did you know that Vail Dave actually bought a Colorado season ski pass this year? Yes, he did. That should tell you how much the man skis. It was a better deal to buy a season pass. Is it me, or is there something wrong with that?

It’s usually a stretch to plan a ski vacation in early April. You just never know if there will be snow, and if there is snow, will it be good enough to make an expensive vacation worth skiing on it?

No worries this year. Colorado, and particularly Vail, is having an — to use an overused cliché — epic year. And today was no exception.

It started snowing on and off yesterday (our first day of skiing) and it never stopped. We woke up to about 10″ on the ground outside our hotel at the base. There was easily 12 or 14″ at the top.

And powder is the best, right?

Not to the uninitiated.

Good skiers make powder look so easy to ski in. So fun!

(Like Dave.)

His squad of ducks quickly wanted to leave the nest. After only 2 or 3 runs, the smiles were gone. Well, I’m exaggerating I guess. My smile was still there. I’d fallen two or three times, but there was so much snow it didn’t hurt. My smile was vanishing quickly though, when the kids went south on us. There’s nothing like a $100 lift ticket in the back of your mind to make you say to your kids,

“Get over it! This is supposed to be fun! We are spending way too much money for you not to have fun! No, you are not going in!”

Then, Charlie fell and hurt his ankle. Not too bad, but enough to be bummed. Morgan has been battling an illness. The wind picked up:

…and we decided it was time for an early lunch.

I’ve always loved Two Elk Chalet. (It’s where I first had my beloved Posole.) But now I love it for another reason. It is like the band-aid for a tough ski morning. About $500 in lunch expenditures later (I didn’t say it was cheap), all warmed up, it was like a new day!

Everyone had their mojo back. We went back into Blue Sky Basin, and even though a lot of the powder was skied out, it was still unbelievably soft and light. We went on tree runs and steeps that we could never go on without all that deep snow to slow us down.

(Like this run called Skree Field with actual cliffs.)

Normally, I stay out of the trees. I fancy myself a pretty good skier (advanced, not expert) but I am a serious disaster in the trees. I also fancy myself a pretty smart person  and therefore when Vail Dave leads the other two ducks into the trees, I stick to the edges.

But today, I threw caution to the wind. And I must admit: I was a rock star.

Here a picture of one of the trails leading out of Skree Field

…Oh, wait… Is that Vail Dave stuck in a tree well? It just might be!

(That’s the beauty of having possession of the camera: no one captured my wipe-outs.)

It was a great day. First chair at 8:30 am and skiing almost to the bell at 4pm. Dave insists I try fat skis tomorrow. I’m not so sure. I’ve got a pair of Rossignol S7’s all ready to go. I just am so used to my vintage K2 T9s, I’m a wee bit scared.

But it’s nothing Two Elks can’t fix.

Morgan is busy planning our meals out. And she tells me it’s time to go to La Bottega. But first she is doing my make-up. So I must go. We are having a blast. Just don’t leave any comments about beach vacations, OK? I’m not having that much fun.

Road Warriors 2010 Day Nine

Day 9, The Conclusion

8/6/2010

Everyone was up by 8 am and we puttered around not too enthused for either packing up for home or heading out for a last hike on the Marble Canyon trail.

Lethargy.

We finally got to the trail about 9:30 and scurried along the well-signed interpretive trail without pause, since the sky had suddenly started to threaten rain.

No WAY was I packing the trailer up in the rain!

Or so I thought.

The trail wove along the ever-deepening canyon, through the most recent fire.

In the beginning, the river is level with the path. By the end, the water was so far below, deep in the canyon and brilliant blue

The trail ends with this beautiful waterfall

This is the growth of a lodge pole in just four years!

We raced back after completing the hike in probable record time, but the rain had already come through the campground. Everything we’d taken out to pack up for home and left out was soaking wet. Towels, chairs, shoes, backpacks, rugs…

ARRGH.

What could I do?

I packed it up in the rain.

We headed back to Banff for — surprise! — another dip (and shower) in the Banff Hot Springs. (note the luxurious and clean golden waves in the photo below. That’s hair I’m talking about and not water. My hair to be more specific.)

We also had a delightfully delicious lunch at the Coyote Cafe — the place we were going to eat originally on the ill-fated Pierre-The-Waiter day, but it was too busy. I would have happily eaten there twice.

And… we also successfully exchanged the bad geode (turns out they were “guaranteed”) and got another round of bubble teas.

As I write this, I can’t even remember why Morgan was sulking, but — as usual — I was trying to jolly her out of her mood. This time, by sucking a bubble from the tea into my straw and shooting it at her. Those babies can fly! This, as you might suspect, erupted into a truly horrible spectacle with all of us (except, of course, Mr-No-Fun) shooting black tapioca bubbles at each other. Not only do they travel remarkably far, but they also stick to anything they hit. Hence the fact that the next day, I found a desiccated bubble stuck to the top of my flip flop. It gave me quite a scare until I realized it was not a leech, but a shriveled ball of gelatin.

So we were headed for home, via the ultra un-extraordinary  Canadian Highway 1 and approximately 22 hours of non-stop driving.

We left Banff at about 3pm. We hoped to get home in time to pick up Lola at the kennel on Saturday. That was really our only timeline-induced goal. And not a goal worthy of resisting a stop to sleep if we wanted, in my opinion. If it were up to me, we’d have stayed another week. I’m not ready to head back to the grind. [editor’s note: I am now more than two weeks into the grind as of this posting and it really does stink as much as I thought it would.]

There is not much to relate on the drive home across the Canadian plains as it pertains to scenery, so I had to focus on events in the car.

I had finished my book the night before and with no internet (due entirely to my cheapness at not wanting to pay international AT&T data charges) to download a new one. I thought I would work on my laptop, as there is always some work waiting for me there. But no, the kids had comandeered that and were watching all the old episodes of Top Chef. And, because Dave was driving, I (generously) gave him the use of my iPhone to listen to an audiobook.

What did I do, pray tell?

I read Discover, National Geographic and finishing those, The Road Atlas. I swear it is true. Six hours of nothing to do!

It was almost with relief, then, that I was set to take over the “early late” shift in Swift Current, where we stopped for gas and some dinner.

And I’m here to tell you, there’s nothing swift about Swift Current. We waited a loooong time to pay for gas (no credit cards at pump). We waited for the bathrooms (“you can use it in 10 minutes after I’m done cleaning it.”) and we waited and waited and waited at the drive through for our KFC Twisters. I’m pretty sure the dynamic duo working that Friday night were high. There’s no other explanation for their sloth-like movements, moronic smiles and the fact that the manager called Dave “dude” and “bud” and “man” all in the same sentence.

When crabby, and ever-more-bold, Dave tried to finagle an extra milk (really? milk?) out of the guy for our patience, we received — to Morgan’s initial delight — cellophane wrapped “brownies” instead. It is a testament to their inedibility that even Morgan did not have more than one. We threw the other three away. [editor’s note: typing this, I realize there should be a good marijuana joke in here somewhere, but alas, it is not to be.]

I settled in to the driver seat with my Coke, eager to resume listening to The Devil in the Junior League audio book on the iPhone. Dave, meanwhile, settled into the passenger seat with all his shit, and commenced switching power cords around to his liking. When he took the iPhone charger out of the outlet nearest me and moved it toward him, I tensed up and asked “What are you doing?”

“I’m listening to an audio book,” he said with an air of impatience and disdain.

The nerve!

“The driver gets the phone. You know that.”

He seriously didn’t know what I was talking about. How can that be? 3000 miles under our belt and he hasn’t picked up on the fact that the driver gets the iPhone?

Then I relented because he looked so bummed. And really, I want him to love my iPhone as much as I do. Plus, I knew I had a long night ahead of me. I could share.

He listened for about 30 minutes before nodding off to sleep. Well, not nodding really, since he wears his lime green neck pillow. But his head still falls forward at an awkward angle. I extracted the phone and settled in for the night.

We crossed the border into the US at Portal (an appropriate name, don’t you think?) in North Dakota at — I don’t even know when. 3:30 am? You’d think a Suburban towing a cute tiny pop-up with sleeping kids in the back at the ungodly hour of 3-something in the morning would garner at least a sympathetic smile out of the border patrol. Nope. They must take classes in stoicism. He made me roll the windows down, wake the kids and answer a whole lot of really stupid questions.

I had a marathon drive, stopping only to clean a truly sick amount of bugs off the windshield so that I could see. There was lots of lightning that was fun to watch, and eventually lots of rain and wind to complete the storm. We changed time zones ahead one hour and taking that into account, I drove 10:45 to 4:30. Almost 6 hours.

When I handed the baton to Dave in Minot, ND, I even fell asleep for an hour or two.

Dave struggled on in his “late late” shift and I re-took the wheel at 8am, rather than try to sleep at a rest stop, since Dave couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

My stint at the wheel was brief, however, as we blew yet another camper tire in Alexandria on I-94. I do believe this was our first-ever tire change on a full-blown highway with semis blowing past us at 80 MPH only feet away. Not cool.

That woke Dave up!

And he drove the rest of the way home.

And I had nothing to do. Because he took the damn phone again.

[editor’s note, and conclusion: We ate a Perkins in Alex, which was yuck-o, and made it to pick up Lola at the kennel. Much cleaning, unpacking and chaos ensued when we arrived home around 1pm. It was 90 degrees and humid, which was the start of an insufferable 7-day humidity/heat wave which we Minnesotans are not too fond of. I even turned the air on, which is a rare event indeed.

In retrospect, the trip was a great one. I savor these days of waning summer with my kids getting older as much as I am capable. I’m not the blubbering type, but I love my kids and we are so lucky and fortunate to both be able to take trips like this, and also have kids that want to go on them. I know that may change, but for now, today, at this moment, I don’t even mind The Reluctant Hiker’s sulky attitude or the incessant robotics chatter (that I have banned) spewing forth from Charlie’s mouth, making little sense to me.

Just don’t hold me to this reverie, because I think it might just be hormones.

Road Warriors 2010 Day Eight

Day 8

8/5/2010

NEWS FLASH: Dave slept until 9am.

Never in the history of the camping world has that happened before.

I was up and sort of wandering the empty campsite wondering what to do. I haven’t a CLUE how to make coffee in our camping coffee pot. I get where the water and coffee goes but don’t know how much of either to use or how long to cook. Stuff like that.

There are very few things in my life that I deliberately make dumb on, but I’m entitled to at least two or three and camping coffee is one of them. Well, any coffee pot, other than my own, I guess. I’m just a bad coffee maker.

In the midst of my wandering, Charlie stuck his head out of the camper and cried, “No fire?!”

And I realized I don’t do fires, either.

Not learning how to use Dave’s coveted new zero-turn mower is the third. I spent 11 years mowing our yard and garden with a push mower and revel in my new role as sunbathing onlooker.

And I think that’s about it. I think I pretty much can do anything else. Test me. I dare you.

I did get to work on blueberry pancakes with those amazing local blueberries, only to be told by the emerging sleepers that it was “a little too early for pancakes.”

What?

We leisured our way through the morning, eventually making sandwiches and packing up for a day in the car and on the road.

You see, Dave wanted to see the Columbia Ice Fields, located midway between Banff and Jasper. Being the most experienced Banff traveller from my many forays to the park with my family growing up starting in the 70s and ending in 1981, it was natural for Dave and the kids to know if I had been to the ice field.

Yes and no.

Here’s what I remember:

I remember driving in the car with my family on the way to the ice field with the idea of possibly going even further to Jasper. I remember at some point, a mutiny occurred. Whether it was my mom, brother and I against my dad or if it was us against my mom (highly unlikely, as it was always my dad who was the idea-man back then), I can’t be certain. But I remember that we had all had it. And started begging my dad to turn the car around.

I do know that we got to the ice field — which in my opinion is a total misnomer since you can’t actually SEE the ice field. Instead, you see one or two fingers of the ice field (glaciers).

I remember getting out, walking on the glacier and overwhelmingly vetoing the option to ride in a Sno-Cat on the glacier.

And mostly I remember that we all thought it was a waste of a day in the car.

After all, four or five hours roundtrip (depending on stops and traffic) is a lot of driving for a Minnesotan to see snow.

However, that was somewhere between 30 and 35 years ago. Now I had the chance to torture my own kids with the experience. Who was I to deprive them of this opportunity? Plus, Dave was throwing down the gauntlet. It didn’t matter how much I dug my heels in. He was determined to go to the ice field whether I came or not.

But that didn’t mean I had to be pleasant about it.

So I wasn’t.

I still say it’s a long stinkin’ drive to see some snow. But, to be fair, I have to admit that parts of the drive itself are pretty impressive. The vistas are huge. Not craggy and steep, so much as long and unbroken continuous slabs of rock; tilted and touching the sky. Nice.

The Columbia Ice Field — Athabasca Glacier to be more precise — is the destination stop for the ice field and it was crawling with people. We aren’t used to camping during “high season” so we aren’t the most patient (or kind) carload of people. Sadly for our immortal souls, some of our best laughs and fondest memories come at the expense of the colorful or interesting travelers that we meet along the way. People are just too funny not to make some fun. I suppose I shouldn’t admit that, but it’s true.

From the parking lot, the people walking up to the glacier looked like ants in my kitchen. After pounding our sandwiches out of the back of our car (who needs a picnic site?!) standing in the parking lot, we joined the pilgrimage . It was pretty interesting to see the year markers denoting where the glacier had been — going all the way back 150 years.

I wondered if I had been remembering it wrong that — when I was there years ago — the glacier had been almost to the parking lot. But no, the recession has been that dramatic. From the marker closest to the time I was there, you couldn’t even see the glacier.

The other big change was that you couldn’t walk on the glacier any more. Actually, that only changed a couple years ago. Due to the rapid melting, there is now a river and a lake under the toe of the glacier that makes it too dangerous. Most of the signs on the walking paths were — not about the history — but about the hysterical danger warnings and deaths that have occurred.

The interpretive center (also new since I had been there) was very cool. It had historical videos, displays and other stuff to help you grasp the immensity of the ice field that you don’t ever get to see. And it had an evergreen with purple pine cones. I’m not kidding. This photo was not retouched at all:

Worth the trip?

No.

Can’t say I didn’t tell him so.

A long drive “home” with another late-in-the-day side trip to Yoho to see Takakaw Falls and Emerald Lake. We missed the turn for the falls, so went to Emerald Lake first instead.

Rather than a hike, the Boss Man made an impulse decision that we would canoe instead.  Charlie was ecstatic, having been on a continuous loop during our time at Lake Louise:

“We should rent a canoe. Dad. We should rent a canoe. Hey Mom. We should rent a canoe.”

Repeat.

I’m not sure , but I think The Reluctant Hiker was elated too — though she hid it well underneath the crabby facade we are becoming used to in her 15th year…

I canoed with Charlie…

and Dave with Morgan.

It was really fun, I have to admit. (So long as I made an effort to forget how much the hour was costing us…)

We left to hit Takakaw (which I insisted on saying loud like a crow’s caw every time I said it) Falls on the way back. There was a view of the fall on the road in that was spectacular. I wish we had stopped to get a picture. We parked and after the obligatory feeding of the Ground Squirrels

we started on a short walk to the base of the falls which I had to keep assuring Morgan was not a “hike.”

The falls were ridiculous. Truly unbelievable. Huge and cool. It slays me that the guide book treats it like any other site. This one should at least say something like “A must see” or “Don’t miss!”

It helped that a brilliant rainbow highlighted the bottom of the falls.

It didn’t even seem real. Unfortunately, we missed the perfect Christmas card photo by seconds. Just as we realized the “magic hour” color of the sunlight with the rainbow behind it was captured perfectly on camera…

the sun sunk behind the mountain. We were in the process of frantically trying to get someone to take the picture for us.

But no one spoke english.

That is the truly crazy thing about these Canadian Parks. Everyone is from Europe or Asia.

Damn them all!

I had to talk Dave out of stopping at Lake Louise for some chicken to cook with the Tastefully Simple White Chili on the menu for our last camping dinner. “We don’t need it! Don’t stop! Let’s just get back! It’s late!” — I hate grocery shopping as much on vacation as I do at home, it seems.

We got back to camp around 8:30pm and quickly made the white chili, corn on the cob and fire-toasted flour tortillas (a great idea!). It was great, even without the chicken.

Everyone was dog-tired, and headed off to bed, one by one, leaving me to toil over this very journal late into the night with my headlamp.

Road Warriors 2010 Day 7

Day Seven

8/4/2010

We got up around — well, starting with Dave at 7 and finishing with Morgan at about 8:30. Dave had coffee waiting for his stinky princess and we hit the road before breakfast for an early hike to the Paint Pots before the crowds hit. We aren’t used to vacationing during peak season, as we usually travel late in August after most travelers have gone back home to school, sports, etc. So, we are likewise not used to dealing with neighbors in campsites and interlopers on the trails.

It was a short and easy walk, relatively flat. Crossing a rushing river…

to cool, vibrant yellow dirt and mineral-ish looking water

bubbling up from the ground like an oozing volcano.

I found about five flowers I’d never seen before and picked them to I.D. later.

I figured out three of them, but never the other two. Hooded Ladies Tress was my favorite, reminding me of a little troll person:

I picked these flowers on hikes and made them talk to Morgan to try to jolly her out of her various hike-induced funks. As you might imagine, these efforts proved fruitless.

When opened up, they look like this:

We came back for eggs and brats, take 2 — ironic, since Dave refuses to eat eggs at home. Our own, freshly laid eggs from our own chickens. It’s a long, long story that is most easily explained by saying Dave does not like our chickens.

Then — the moment we’d all been waiting for — we packed up with suits and towels, soap and shampoo — and headed for the Banff Hot Springs! And more importantly, a HOT SHOWER!

The town of Banff — an oasis for Morgan’s retail-deprived eyes — beckoned to her longingly as we whizzed through, without pause, to our destination. Only one about-turn (and it wasn’t for Lululemon) when we passed a local farm stand with fresh local fruit and veggies. We bought peaches, plums, cherries, blueberries and corn.

The cherries — OH! So good. And if you remember from years past, also so DEADLY. (aka “fart balls”)

Then, on to the Springs.

They’d upgraded the facilities considerably since our last visit in 1987 and going back to my first visit in 1977. Not gross at all. Nice, even. My first memories of the place were of a giant changing room that had a perpetually wet and slimy floor and fat, naked, hairy European women standing all around — and me trying my darndest to change into a swimsuit without exposing any privates. My how things have changed: beautifully dry floors, lockers, benches and me –walking around like a fat, naked, hairy European woman.

That is to say, the floors were beautifully dry until Morgan and I walked through from the showers dripping our wet hair all over it… And the pool was different too: sparkling clear — not murky — and smelling faintly of chlorine instead of Sulphur. Call me a pool-spoiled snob, but I don’t care. I’d rather smell like Chlorox than a big fart.

Morgan and I took our time showering, shaving (!) and I even dried my hair. Ahh, ahh, and triple-ahh. (I make audible groaning noises when I brush my hair that disturbs Morgan a great deal and today was no exception.)

As expected, Charlie was wild-eyed with impatience when we finally emerged. “What the HECK?” is his most overused phrase, which he repeated over and over while I ignored him as long as I could, finally turning to him with wild-eyes of my own, whistling, “CHILL OUT” through a fake smile (for the onlookers) and gritted teeth (for emphasis and to scare him into submission).

And then, it was off to Banff for lunch and the coveted, much-anticipated SOUVENIR SHOPPING!

We might have done a tad-bit of research on restaurants before selecting an inviting little place with a large deck that had tables available outside. The food was “meh” but the waiter was something out of a Seinfeld episode. None of us caught his name — if indeed he even told us his name or wore a tag — but all of us, independently, thought of him as “Pierre.” Why, I have no idea. He never actually even said enough for us to determine his country of origin. He did, however, have very expressive eyebrows which he used as his primary means of communication. When we received — after a very lengthy wait — our $12 calamari appetizer with 12 squid rings on a plate and nothing else and gobbled it down in less than 45 seconds, Pierre did a double-take; first, shooting his eyebrows up in surprise, then down in confusion.

He hesitated before clearing the plate that just moments before had been set down. Dave uncharacteristically asked “Is that the normal portion size for the calamari or did it seem small to you?”

“Hmmm?” (eyebrows up)

“Was that the normal amount?” (Dave repeats question)

“Sorry?” (eyebrows even higher)

“I’m just saying it seemed like a really small portion for $12” (kids have almost slithered out of chairs on to deck under table in embarrassment)

“You think so?” (eyebrows furrowed)

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh.” (eyebrows up again) and off he went.

The kids immediately erupted into gaggle of “Dad! I can’t believe you said thats!” I was only disappointed not to have been able to pinpoint his accent — if he even had one. Dave fell ill a few hours later, all of us speculating Pierre may have had the last ‘word’ after all.  Either that, or it was all just a ploy by Dave to sit out the last hour of shopping at a nice shady table in front of a coffee shop in Banff. Actually, the more I think about it…

Morgan basked in the glow of Banff, honing in on the two most expensive shops at hand: Roots and Lululemon. She finally settled on a Roots zipper top and promptly fell in love. Why I don’t stop trying to foster a good relationship with her by means of meaningful conversation and togetherness, and instead, just buy her love with material goods is a mystery. It would certainly save me a lot of time and make her a lot happier…

Meanwhile I slipped off and made a impulse purchase of my own — a salmon (orange/red) Patagonia zip hoodie. I couldn’t wait to show everyone. But when I did, I only received a collective sigh. Apparently they all think I already have that top. Apparently, everything I own looks the same?

Charlie, of course, was in his customary hand-wringing state of wanting everything but worrying like a little old lady about what everything cost. If only I could melt my two kids together… Sadly for him, because Dave was feigning illness, it was me who marched him into The Rock Shop to force a decision. Remember, I’m the one who hates knick knacks, hates to dust unnecessary items and can’t stand frivolous purchases. So I talked him into buying, not some pretty rocks that will sit around driving me crazy, but pretty rock BOOK ENDS. At least it is USEFUL. He also bought a $5 geode to crack open at the campsite

that ended up being nothing more than a solid rock.

Ohhh the TRAUMA! The disappointment!

Dave, funding it all, bought nothing. And he calls me the martyr?

A stop at Cow’s for ice cream (Morgan is still swooning over memories of her coffee ice cream as I write this hours later) and a book shop for a guidebook to the Canadian Parks. Then some last minute Bubble Tea. Amazing! Our’s was pineapple and soooo good.

On the way home we opted to cash in on the Reluctant Hiker’s shopping afterglow and make a spur-of-the-moment decision to continue on to Lake Louise for a late afternoon and hopefully crowd-free hike. When we pulled in, cars were parked at least a mile away from the main parking lot, but there was a constant stream of people walking to them. The lot was almost empty!

We lured The Reluctant Hiker up the hill to Mirror Lake, just short of Lake Agnes and the Tea House.

Mirror Lake was such a disappointment after such a long way up

that we bait and switched her and decided to go all the way up to the Tea House. The Reluctant Hiker dug her heels into the horse-manured sand and abjectly refused. No amount of cajoling and guilt-tripping worked. She sat her sulky butt down on a rock and wouldn’t budge.

So we left her there.

It was only another 1/2 mile to the top. When we were almost there I had a brilliant idea. I hung my head over the cliff when I judged that she was almost directly below us and yelled at the top of my considerable lungs:

MORGAN… IF YOU COME UP, WE’LL GO OUT FOR DINNER.

With almost no pause at all for consideration I heard a faint “OK!” (I think I’m finally getting the hang of this Mother-ing thing.)

And she appeared at the base of the Tea House less than five minutes later, huffing and puffing.

I kid you not. I think she might have broken a land speed record. I’m going to have to tell her soccer coach this technique for motivating her.

The funny thing was, it only occurred to her right then that perhaps we would have gone out for dinner regardless of her decision to join us. I refused to answer on the basis that it might have incriminated me.

After many excrutiating attempts at a self-timer family photo shot for Christmas cards,

we arrived back at the base of the lake and climbed in the car to find a suitably over-inflated priced venue for dinner, finally settling on a pizza joint inside a lodge, the name of which I can’t remember.

The wait was loooong, but the service and food were good. So I guess we didn’t mind the Lake Louis upcharge. We were so tired that we skipped dessert, even though they looked soooo good: sorbet, panna cotta, cheese cake, etc.

I drove us home and everyone was quickly asleep.

Dave had a mini-Hitleresque  outburst upon our arrival at camp. It’s a common one: Morgan, Charlie and I tend to agree that it is OK, on rare occasion (for example, after waking from a 40 minute sleep) to skip brushing teeth before bed. Dave does not agree.

Really? One flippin’ night?

(It’s been a long 15 year argument)

As usual, he “won.” Even though by “winning” it meant that no one else was talking to him. I might not even have said good night to him.

Take that!