Road Warriors

Day 7 and Conclusion. And, yes, we are… Panning for Gold

September 28, 2009

Wednesday, 8.26.09.

Cold night, for sure. We’d guess it dipped into the 30’s, but quickly warmed up with the sun. Dave came through again, this time with coffee and fried potatoes with onions and chicken sausage. It was good, but had the added benefit of using up some heavy groceries. You gotta love that!

Our fate for this day was sealed on day two, early in the trip, when Charlie and Jennie were complaining about always having to go horseback riding. Dave, ever the Yes-Man to Morgan was goading me by asking, “Well? What do you want to do? I haven’t heard you offer anything up.” Very confrontational, indeed. Never one to bow under pressure, and wanting very badly to burst Morgan’s smug bubble, I blurted out — having just passed a sign that said “Rock Shop” and getting a great idea — “I WANT TO PAN FOR GOLD!”

Instantly, like some magic dust sprinkled from the sky, Charlie came out of his Firestar book catatonia (fill in underlined area with any of the following: iphone, Gameboy, Calvin and Hobbes, Garfield, Call of Duty 4) and said “Panning for gold? Panning for Gold? Where? What do you mean? Did you say panning for gold? Can we? I want to pan for gold.” And, he pretty much adopted that as his mantra until this morning, when — you guessed it — we were scheduled to pan for gold.

Ironically enough, I was excused from the exercise when I volunteered to make tacos and pack up the camper for the long drive home. A seriously brilliant move. I had an enjoyable hour to myself, chopping and packing and organizing.

There wasn’t much information offered up when they all returned, so I suspect the panning wasn’t all it was imagined to be, but Morgan wasn’t pissing and moaning about it either, so it couldn’t have been that bad. Charlie bought a geode and cracked it open and it turned out to be a very perfect and cool one, so all-in-all, he seemed quite satisfied with the outcome of the morning.

While waiting, I had cooked the last of the edamame (why can I not remember how to spell that stupid word?!). My GOSH we brought a lot along! [note: it’s a good thing, too. Friend and frequent responder to this blog, Michelle, took a great liking to this particular garden crop of mine and shared it with all of Watertown both in my absence and after my return. So I was happy to have had any at all. On the up side, I have spread the good and healthy news of soybeans in the home garden.]

I all but force-fed the pods to the kids and when that didn’t work, hid piles around the campsite telling myself the little chipmunks would just love it!

We were all hooked up and ready to go, pulling out for the trip home around 12:30 pm. We drove north to Montrose, then east on hwy 50 toward Gunnison. Incredibly, we passed the very place I had been just thinking of where we bought the Green Tea ice cream on the way out. I could not believe my luck. I’m not an ice cream person, but this stuff was amazing. (Don’t let the sign sway you, the green tea was much better than the pad thai frozen yogurt. At least I think it was.)

We also stopped to fish in Salida along the Arkansas River. Morgan caught a rainbow (or something that looked like a rainbow) on her first cast! She had another one on right away on her second cast, but lost it. Everyone was so excited to get their line in the water, but that was pretty much it. I think, when trout fishing (and I’m pretty much an expert on this subject), you gotta keep moving. Why do I know that? Well, something tells me that the trout know when the Loud Family is fishing in their neighborhood.

First Cast!

We were back in the car for a few hours, and then a stop in — and this really was serendipity — Canon City at a big Shell Gas Station to microwave our taco meat (a new low for us), and pull all my chopped veggies from the cooler to eat at a picnic table in their parking lot. I say serendipity because when Dave and I were cooking up this plan and trying to sell it to the kids (who love this driving trip almost exclusively for the chance to eat at crappy fast food joints on the way out and back), I said, “We can heat the taco meat up in a microwave at a gas station. It’ll be easy!” And Dave added, “Yeah. Maybe we can find one with some picnic tables nearby.” At the time I was thinking fat chance on that. Honestly, I can’t think of another gas station with picnic tables in their parking lot. And yet, there we were in Canon City.

Charlie was so worried people would think we were homeless and feel sorry for us. He was very relieved when I went to get my big camera to take pictures that he told me to keep it around my neck since, after seeing the camera, people would realize we really weren’t homeless after all.

Almost done!!!

Actually, I just read the rest of the journal and it’s really boring stuff about who drove how long and how great I am because I drive so much, blah blah blah. You all already know that by now, so I will spare you the details.

Within an hour of home, I made one more co-pilot navigational error, setting us back a whole five minutes. Morgan is freaking out and hanging over the seat, fretting about making the bus for her soccer game at 4pm and wondering whether or not she owns the right color socks for the first game.

It’s official. The vacation is over. And I’m back in Hell.

Road Warriors Day 6: 4WD Adventures and Naked Strangers!

September 21, 2009

8/25/09

We all slept well. No spider bites, no bed bugs!

Dave had gone out early to investigate the town of Ridgway. The report? Very cute, indeed. He failed to bring us anything of value when he returned, however, and that should be noted here. I mean, who doesn’t wake their loving family with fresh donuts and a latte?!

Never mind, we packed up and nagged him until he complied. Really, when any three of us band together against the fourth, we really are a force to be reckoned with. Actually, we should try that more often.

We stopped at a cute little coffee shop. The kids got both muffins and a double-whammy cute dog/cute cat fix.

And I got my latte. The sun was shining again and all was well in the world. We headed back toward Ouray and Ampitheater Campground where we had stayed 5 years ago. On the way, we stopped and rented a Jeep for four wheeling.

At the campground, we settled into site #6 and took everything out of the camper to dry out from the morning before. Then, we buttoned everything back up and headed out on our 4WD adventure to Telluride.

(Anyone getting that irony? You know, the one from a few days back when I said “let’s just go on to Ouray and do the 4WD thing and skip backpacking?” hmmm. Seems we could have saved ourselves a lot of grief if he had just listened to me in the first place…)

Good thing we buttoned the camper up, too. Because exactly eight minutes into our glorious adventure over the pass, with the top off our Jeep, it began to rain… which then turned into a furious snowstorm at the top of Imogene Pass. It was NUTS!

The kids had their usual psychotic fascination with the wildlife, namely the much-loved Picas, who are always busy carrying things around in their mouths and darting into cracks in the rocks. [this is a photo of a marmot. picas are just too darn fast]

The kids were, as usual, unphased by the fantastic. I mean to tell you: it is absolutely crazy that you can drive a car literally up and over the top of a mountain 13,314 feet high on nothing more than a glorified trail! What did they have to say about the experience later that day? “Yeah, it was OK. I liked the Picas.” Honestly. That was exactly what they said. And after six or seven years of this, Dave and I are unphased by their ambivalence.

They did seem to enjoy the mining town we stopped to explore at. Maybe that’s the problem: we never actually stop anywhere…

Telluride was, as we imagined it would be, very cool. I pretty much wanted everything I saw in shop after darling shop. Coincidently, that is why I don’t like to go shopping.

It rained steadily the whole time in town, and bigger, more ominous clouds appeared to be moving in, so we headed back to Ouray via Ophir Pass. Not nearly as rugged as Imogene and much shorter. Why, I think even a Suburu could’ve done it! (That’s my way of working in something I forgot: There was a Suburu at the very top of Imogene Pass. It defies imagination how it got up there. Really. It would be easier for us to believe that someone helicoptered it in as a prank that to believe someone actually drove it there.)

From Ophir, we popped back out onto the “Million Dollar Highway” between Silverton and Ouray and noted that the highway was completely dry and unrained upon. Course, by the time we got back to the campground, the clouds had followed us and started spitting rain yet again. Happily for us that’s all it did. We had my favorite Tastefully Simply White Chicken Chili with rice and a big tomato mozzarella salad.

After cleaning up, we headed for Orvis Hot Springs because the town hot springs were closed for cleaning. Dave had used the previously mentioned Colorado Guide to pick another winner. Upon walking in and paying our fees, the girl behind the counter explained the layout. Turns out the hot springs, with the exception of the one indoor pool, were “clothing optional.”

I’m not sure our kids will ever recover.

Want a technique to throw your over-confident, independent kids off their game? Knock ’em back a peg or two? Have your teenager clinging to your side like she did when she was 6? Then force them into a dark pool with a bunch of hairy, fat, naked strangers.

It worked for us!

But what Orvis Hot Springs lacked in clean-cut American modesty, it more than made up for in warm, mineral rich waters. We lasted about 40 minutes before we were all tired and ready for bed.

Which we did!

Road Warriors Day 5 Part 2. Rain, Rain Go Adobe Inn.

September 16, 2009

After leaving Durango around 6pm, we backtracked north once again. The rain was hard and unrelenting the whole way. Knowing we wouldn’t get to Ouray and Ampitheather Campground before deep dark, we started calling places to stay recommended in our book, The Colorado Guide [highly recommended]. We couldn’t get through to the place we really wanted to stay, so we kept calling others. Because food is always a top priority –ranking higher, even, than accommodations — one particular entry stood out:

Where To Stay
The Adobe Inn – $$. Although better known for its restaurant, the well-named Adobe Inn serves as a good value for overnight stays as well. 970-626-5939 Ridgway, CO

Where To Eat
The Adobe Inn – $$$. Joyce and Terre Bucknam serve up some of the most delicious and creative Mexican food you’ll find anywhere…Entrees (most everything is homemade) include enchiladas served six different ways…also has excellent margaritas and a large selection of Mexican beers.

The Colorado Guide has become known to us for some sort of “out there” recommendations. But we trust it. What can I say? Adobe Inn’s price swayed us. It was less than half the price of anywhere else. ($56 for all of us!) How bad could it be? We’ve stayed in some pretty crappy hotels on all night drives and survived. We figured, if the food was good, we wouldn’t care what the rooms were like.

We made a pact as a family that, “no matter what The Adobe Inn looks like, we’ll stay.” Dave was the instigator of the pact, and the rest of us quickly agreed. We know what it’s like when Dave is on a mission to find “the perfect spot” and the idea of hotel-hopping until he found it didn’t sound like fun to any of us.

I turned out to be a very good thing that we made the pact. Without it, I’d have put the car in reverse all the way back to Ouray. The one encouraging sign: lots of cars in the restaurant parking lot.

I’m happy to report though, that once inside, things improved dramatically. Very cute. Very quaint and cozy. A little odd, sure. But soooo much better than any of us expected. Our room was this awesome three-tiered bunk house. The full sized sleeping platform was the highest, reachable by a ladder. Two twins were below it at different angles. Super cute.

The crazy part was that there was a shared bath with the other two rooms (there were no other guests) and the restaurant. Imagine going to the bathroom while out at a fairly nice place to eat, and running into a naked guest of the hotel. I don’t know, is it me? I simply can’t picture a restaurant where that would even be possible. I can’t imagine how surprised I would be to push open the bathroom door of a restaurant and find someone naked and blow-drying their hair. I’ll stop trying to imagine it now.

Dave and the kids went down the hall to the restaurant and I stayed back a few minutes to wash my face and organize the room. I got the soap and towel, opened the door to head down the hall to the bathroom, and… TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! In the puff of wind caused by the shutting of the door behind me, a huge spider repelled down a string of web right in front of my face.

I ran to get my camera and he started climbing back up.

I’m not even afraid of spiders and it unglued me. I wasn’t expecting it — imagine Little Miss Muffet. Frozen in my tracks, with the spider inches from my shoulder, I tipped my head back to look up at the web, and saw to my horror, another spider twice the size.

I tipped my head back and saw the big daddy spider. eek!

It is inconceivable to me, how we could have walked down the hall to our room, stood directly below these arachnids, their massive webs, and not noticed them. How is that possible?

Sadly, in my haste and horror, I did not get a good picture of the squatters before they were evicted. I tried. But I failed in at least two photography fundamentals: correctly exposing a backlit subject and including an object to show scale. The true picture will reside in my own internal hard drive forever. I’m sure you will want to know that the spiders were humanely caught and released (by the chef). I’m serious.

Dinner was fab, with one exception: Dave found a twisty tie in his tostado. We were all oohing and ahhing over the food and Dave was chewing laboriously over one bite. And being sort of obnoxious about it. Suddenly, out came a twisty tie like you would pull a fish bone out of your mouth. Pretty funny. Still, like I said, dinner was great. It cost twice as much as our room, but it was worth it, twisty tie and all.

Each of those events on their own might have hardened our hearts toward the Adobe Inn. But they didn’t. From the minute we stepped inside the place we loved it. The hostess was so sweet and cool at the same time. The chef/spider dispatcher was awesome at both tasks. Even the bathroom was sorta fun. It probably helped that we had the place to ourselves, but even still, I have to say, there was something magical about the Adobe Inn. [note: first two pictures of the place above, were our first impression — which wasn’t great. The following shots were my attempts to capture the cool feel of the place, but looking at them now I can see that they could also be viewed as sort of run down and creepy. It wasn’t. It was perfect.]

Charlie, though, was a little unnerved by the spider situation (yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have dragged everyone back to the hallway to see them) and was obsessing a bit about the possibility of there being more, lurking in the shadows of our room, or even in his bed! “Don’t be ridiculous! The rooms are spotless.”

Anyway, we are just crawling into bed now. Charlie and Morgan are reading and Dave just whispered to me, “There was a tiny spider in our bed. I got rid of it.”

Shhhhh! Don’t tell Charlie!!!!

Road Warriors Day Five: Silverton to Durango and Back

September 12, 2009

8/24/09

It started raining in earnest sometime during the wee hours. Not hard, hard; just a steady, socked-in rain. Dave got up early to drive back to Silverton — where he last had cell service — to make some urgent work calls. Since he had the car and all the food, we opted to stay in bed until he got back. About an hour and a half later, he was back — on an ATV some guy loaned him– to get his work gloves. He was soaking wet and told me he got a flat about a mile after leaving. He hadn’t even been to town yet.

You don’t ask questions at a time like that — well, Charlie does — but the rest of us, we know when to be quiet. And just like that, he was gone again.

With the food.

So we stayed in bed longer.

Until we just couldn’t take it anymore.

Actually, I could take it just fine. It was the kids in the camper with me that I couldn’t take. But that’s just splitting hairs. There was nothing to do but wait.

He drove in about 9 am. Not a happy camper. (heh heh. Get it?) Charlie’s sad muttering from the evening before — prior to my truce with Dave — seemed prophetic: “This is a bad day. This is a bad campsite. This is a bad sign.” Blah, blah, blah. (And just so you know, it was this endless litany that prompted me to end my mad with Dave).

No one wanted to do anything to further upset Dave, so none of us wanted to ask him what the plans were for backpacking. Were we gonna go? In the rain? No? Who knows?! Funny how I suddenly felt so sorry for Dave that I became the backpacking advocate. I was committed to going, come Hell or high water. In our case though, it seemed we were already in Hell and high water…

The kids were unmoved, though, and that bears documentation here: they were firmly on record as a NAY vote for backpacking. Dave said, I and quote: “NO WAY are we going walking today.” What does that mean, “going walking”? Is that some insider’s term for backpacking? Again, I didn’t want to stir the pot, so I kept uncharacteristically quiet, except to point out that, once again, he was making the decision for all of us. Because I, for one, wanted to go backpacking. He has a lot of nerve.

Dave didn’t give a rat’s ass what I wanted. He simply didn’t care. And on this rainy day, neither did I. After a long and leisurely breakfast and a lot of work to get a fire going in the rain, we decided that — with all we had to do — get tire fixed, return packs to Durango (!), and get back to Ouray — we better pack up and get moving.

Kids willingly hike up in in downpour to escape camp chores.

Cue the thunder and instant downpour. DIATHA! [acronym for favorite childhood rant of my mother’s: “Damn it all to Hell, Anyway!” Sorry Mom. We actually got into a fight about this over Labor Day when Charlie brought it up to her. She thinks I live to make her look like a bad mother. I just think she’s funny. She said “You better not put that in your blog.” I said, “What do you care, you don’t even read it.” She said “Your father reads it to me.” I said, “Well, if I do, I certainly won’t mention you!” I was lying. I also digress. (Dad: don’t read this part to her.)]

We packed up while it poured on us. I flipped the cushions over to protect the sleeping areas from getting wet, but I have no idea how it worked [update: it worked. I’m brilliant] Man, did I get crabby in that process. We sent the kids to explore a waterfall up a big hill behind camp while we packed up. They went willingly — even the reluctant hiker — because they knew what miserable work they were avoiding.

A very slow drive out of that hell hole (sans spare tire) on that crappy road.

We left the camper in Silverton and high-tailed it back to Durango for those stupid packs. (I had to bite, bite, bite my tongue.) Morgan was thrilled because she would get to shop in Durango while we waited for the tire — which ended up taking forever. Did I mention that these were brand new Goodyear tires when we started out? Three tire places later… Of course it was irreparable. Of course no one carried that pansy-ass “road” tire. We ended up getting a close match and swapped it with the spare since it was a better match.

Got the kids t-shirts in town, charlie got his stupid knife that he had been ranting about since Pagosa. Man, those kids can be single minded!

The rain finally hit Durango around 6pm and we still hadn’t left. We just knew we weren’t gonna get back to Ouray in time to get a camp site and eat.

[This day is just too damn long. I’m gonna break it in two because even though it’s already 6pm, the best is yet to come: Adobe Inn in Ridgeway, CO! Next post I promise to stop saying damn so much.]

Road Warriors Day Four. Pagosa to Silverton, back to Durango. Or, To Hell And Back. You Pick.

September 9, 2009

8/23/09, Sunday.

Bacon and pancakes (finally). We walked the back fence of the Pagosa property this morning looking for property lines. Didn’t find any, but saw a cool, permanent section marker. Unfortunately, what with the coffee and the walking, nature unflinchingly called. And, no GoGirl was gonna fix this problem! What do you think they would call a device for that? A toilet?! Bummer on that, is all I’ve got to say on the subject.

We lolled around and Jen washed her hair with the new shower. Sublime. And much better than Dave heating water in the dishpan and sending me behind a tree, only

Section marker in Pinion Hills, Pagosa Springs

to take covert photos and post them all over the web. OK, so he didn’t post them on the web, so, I will ’cause I have it, it’s funny, and I look pretty damn svelte behind that tree:

Kids read. Jen fixed/fixated on the camper door that blew open and broke during the Incident of the Moth the night before. We packed up around noon (Jennie doing so reluctantly) and took the long way to Durango, thru Pagosa Junction and up past the Navajo Reservoir. Really not much to see, but pretty all the same.

Discord struck in Durango. I like the sound of that, if not the memory, so I’ll say it again: Discord struck in Durango when it was decision-making time for whether or not we were really going to go backpacking. [not sure how to write this section of the journal, as I switch in and out of present and past tenses, and 1st and 3rd person narration, due to extreme adrenaline levels, so bear with me.] [Present tense journal entry] I’m pretty pissed right now, so I’m not going to write much, other than to say, it’s lame when one person gets to make all the decisions for the rest of the group. Is it that hard to believe that I don’t like the idea of carrying our stupid, behemoth, Eureka, vintage 1990, 4-person tent and my toddler-sized, -30 degree sleeping bag five miles uphill with no idea where we are going? NOT TO MENTION the fact that we will have to drive the rented packs an hour and a half back to Durango when we are done, backtracking a needless three hours of our trip?! All for one night of backpacking? Still, I suppose it could be fun…

[shift to past tense journal entry] Mind you, I didn’t actually say to Dave it might be fun, but I didn’t say no. What I said was, “Why don’t we just go on to Ouray and spend the time 4 wheeling over the pass to Telluride instead?” In my mind, that was the equivalent of saying “No. I don’t want to go backpacking.”

Anyway, on we drove, to the store, to check out renting the packs. Once there, I heard Dave and the store clerk laughing. When I walked up (and yes, I was sulking), the clerk said “So, I hear you don’t want to go backpacking!” I honestly don’t know if I have ever been so transparently mad in front of an innocent third party. Being a good Gemini, I like to appear sane and fun in public, reserving the most horrid and wicked personality traits for those I love the most — in private. At that instant, however, I leveled a look that unnerved this particular clerk so badly that he started trying to tell me why I would like backpacking: “It isn’t that hard.” and “YOU can DO IT!” These are the things I remember him saying to me. Truthfully, memory of the whole incident is colored by a literal white haze of rage. How DARE he assume I am not the king of fitness? The super-mom of adventure and fun? That was not the problem! But Dave, knowing I didn’t want to go — due to logistics and the lack of planning — throws me under the bus to make himself look good: A man taking his family on a backpacking adventure. And let me tell you. This deed will not go unrewarded.

Did I say something, nine paragraphs ago, about not saying much because I was too pissed? Yeah, well. I’ll stop now.

______
[later that day] My mood continued in this fashion until just before dinner time. I must say first, however, because this is our travel journal, and not just Jennie’s journal, that despite my murderous thoughts as I listened to my audiobook (in order to avoid any verbal communication with Dave, what-so-ever), the views and scenery as you drive north on 550 out of Durango rivals that of any other road. Simply spectacular all the way to Silverton and beyond. That said, things continued to get worse for us as the day progressed, even as the views got better.

Dave was driving and on task to find a camping spot described by a forestry officer he talked to on the phone. I had no further information on this as I, 1) was not speaking to him; 2) was pretending not to hear anything he said, and 3) refused to engage in any attempt by him to catch my eye. Between you and I however, I can tell you this: we were looking for one of “several nice spots to camp along the Cunningham River.” Although I had vowed to speak nothing; to react not-at-all, I simply could not help it when the gravel road became suspiciously 4WD-like and began to climb up, and decidedly away from, the river. Involuntarily, a short, snippy “Exactly where are we going?” escaped from my mouth (dammit!) Dave admitted, “This doesn’t look right, does it?” Just then, a Woody Haralson look-alike on an ATV happened by (every 3rd guy out here is a Woody Haralson look-alike, btw) and Dave asked him where Cunningham Creek and the trail head was, which of course was, “Way back where the road forked…. blah blah blah.”

The road was so narrow we had to unhook the pop-up to turn around. We made our way back to the described fork and headed up an equally shitty road. And yes, you guessed it, I was moved to speak again: “Who told you there were places to camp on this road?” followed by an “Are you sure?” This attitude of mine went on all thru the camp set-up in a ridiculously ugly spot — the only place we could find to put the camper — along the stupid creek that crossed the “road” preventing us from exploring further camping spots. [I would like to point out, that this would be our fourth night camping in a spot with nary a bathroom, outhouse or designated pit, bringing a whole new sub-definition to my self-proclaimed supermom status.]

Ultimately, it was poor Charlie’s distress at my mute campaign that caused me to end it with one final and satisfying verbal barrage with (OK- at ) Dave. That behind us, I decided to embrace the camping spot and the idea of backpacking. The weather was threatening, as it had been all afternoon, and everyone was excited to finally have the much-requested spaghetti that had been lurking at the bottom of the cooler. The kids roasted our stale baguettes in the fire and we raced against both the dark and the rain. We achieved neither. I brought the table in from outside and we ate in the camper while it rained. I think we have only eaten in there three times and I think that each time it has been spaghetti. How weird is that?

The rain let up long enough to make a fire, roast a few marshmellows and then to bed.

Tomorrow: Cunningham Creek Saga Continues.

Road Warriors Day 3: Astraddle-A-Saddle with Hot Bareback Rodeo Champ!

September 3, 2009

August 22, 2009

We were up “early” to get ready for horseback riding at 8:30 with Forest Bramble (what a name!) of Astraddle-A-Saddle Outfitters! (“Early” means I didn’t get my second cupacoffee in bed.) We were late, what with the need to stop at a gas station to pinch a loaf at the flush toilets and all. [That is what my journal actually says. I seriously debated the appropriateness of this term for all the world to see and have decided to Hell with it. That is why were were late: we were all holding out for the flush toilets — finding them preferable to squatting amid the sagebrush– which I had already done, thank you very much — and it took a bit longer than we had budgeted for.] It didn’t matter; Forest wasn’t bothered none.

What a cutie!! Shockingly young and handsome cowboy with blue/green eyes. Just the right height and temperament for our own blue-eyed Morgan! Imagine the babies! [yes. more inappropriate comments from the journal writer]

It was another hot, hot day. Dave rode Bandit the paint, Jen rode Patrick with the sore leg (“gol dang it”), Morgan rode Norman, a wild horse rescued from the US Gov’t and Charlie rode naughty Midnight. Five hours is, we have determined today, the Menke horseback riding limit. Fur Sure. We all loved Forest though, whose name turned out to be BRAMWELL, not BRAMBLE, which isn’t nearly as interesting. He ended up being, in addition to simply adorable, this hot dawg, World Class, Professional Rodeo Star! Great stories, super nice guy. And I just can’t wait to call him my son-in-law. Did I mention he is setting off for a new adventure in November? Le Cordon Blue Cooking School! [I kid you not. Can you imagine that reality show?] I’m sure he will teach Morgan everything he knows once they are settled in a few years. She can marry when she’s 16, right?

I digress. After riding [my butt and only my butt was sore for the next 5 days], we poked around Pagosa for a bit and then hit my all-time favorite restaurant, Kips Cantina. Everyone was very happy with their taco selections and we finished the meal by stealing a few packets of mayo from the table for sandwiches and listening to Paul Guillian… (?) an acoustic guitar/singer/songwriter. Very nice.

Storms looked to be moving in as we headed “home” to Pinion Hills. Sitting by the campfire, listening to thunder, watching lightening and trying to discern just how far away the “ghost singer” that we could intermittently hear was. Course, I could never actually call him a “ghost singer” out loud with Charlie in earshot. We’d a never been able to calm him down and get him settled. The baby tarantula was traumatic enough.

Morgan was blowing one greasy fart after another saying how full she was. Meanwhile Charlie said “I’m hungry.” Dave said, “Why don’t you have a piece of bread?” And Charlie replied, “Bread? At this hour?” Which for some reason struck me and insanely funny. Needless to say, he promptly trooped off and got himself a piece of bread and made some Signature Toast. While Charlie was gone, and after a particularly impressive lightening bolt, Dave said, “Good thing we’re sitting on these metal chairs in the middle of nowhere.” Morgan and I both freaked out and said “Shhhh! That’s the last thing you can say in front of Charlie, the StormWorrier!” His eyes get as round as saucers whenever really bad weather moves in. If he had any idea that we could be struck by lightening, well… You might as well just shoot me in the head now. Maybe he’ll grow up to be one of those StormSpotter people who call into WCCO during thunderstorms saying things like “I’m on 494 and it’s raining real hard. And it’s dark, too…”

8/23/09 Before I get to 8/23, there is one more thing that happened: The Incident of the Moth. Charlie (poor Char, he is really getting picked on today) was in bed reading aloud this very tome, when he sort of coughed and laughed and then coughed again. We all waited for him to continue, but instead he sort of started moaning. He was like, “oh. my gosh. It’s a huge moth! ….” then, “ooooh ooooh, oooooooooooh…”(moaning) Lots of chaos later, Dave got the moth outside. Charlie had apparently inhaled and sort of bit and choked on the moth, then spit it out and laughed until he realized it was a moth. We couldn’t stop laughing and he couldn’t stop crying. He was so upset and grossed out and we just kept on laughing.

We don’t raise no sissies in the Menke family, no sir.