Jenmenke

Road Warrior

Banff

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!

Road Warriors 2010 Day Six

Day 6

8/3/2010


Didn’t get outta Dry Gulch until about 10:30 or 11 am. I hoofed it up to the hill to the flush (!) toilets to straighten my bangs (yes, I confess: I snuck the hair straightener along in my duffle bag) from the after-affects of sleeping with a pillow over my head with wet hair from last night.

Once on the road, we were shocked to realize we were only 2 kilometers from Radium Hot Springs and hence only 25 – 30 minutes from Marble Canyon Campground that we planned to stay at in Kootenay National Park [Editor’s note: in case you are confused, we consider the trio of parks to all be Banff: Kootenay, Yoho and Banff].

Oh well.

After a brief stop at the Radium Hot Springs Visitor Centre — where it must be noted that Canadians may, in fact, be fatter on average than Americans — we were finally in the park!! Kootenay, not Banff, but it’s all the same to us.

Dave was “willing to bet his life” that he and I stayed in Kootenay at Marble Canyon in …1987?  –when we came out here and camped while we were dating. I say it was Yoho. We got to Marble Canyon and it is confirmed: he is wrong. I can’t say for sure that I am right (but let’s assume I am for simplicity’s sake), but we know we didn’t stay here, as neither of us remembers it at all. What I do remember for sure was that we almost broke up on that trip. –Which made for a long and mostly silent 23 hour drive home. Let’s hope we fare better this year…

We drove around every single loop of the campground, beginning with A and ending with J. Ten loops. We even drove through a couple of them two and three times to narrow down the choice. We settled on D6. We love it. Which is good because we will be spending a record three nights here! The only downside is the sound of the main road, which we suspect will be a factor in every campground in Kootenay.

We set up and I aired the stinky camper out (it smelled like feet) and hung the bags and towels and other various damp items out to dry. We had sammies for the first time the whole trip (liverwurst for me! I know! That’s so gross!), then packed up to go (finally!) on a hike to Stanley Glacier. [Editor’s Note: exclamation points = excitement]

The route gains 1200 feet over 2.6 miles one way. At end of the designated trail, we parted ways with Dave and Charlie going up toward the glacier and Morgan and I climbing up to the base of the falls. The reluctant hiker wasn’t too happy on the way up, but perked up at the site of her favorite camping animal, the pica!

The trail was amazingly diverse because it starts off right off the road and takes you through the most recent burn area from 2006 when fire consumed 12% of the entire park. We were camping in Wyoming with the kids that year and remember the devastating fires out this direction.

Then, it goes over a very pretty and amazingly clear stream…

Then comes out into forests undamaged by the fire, what they call the “hanging valley,” though, for the life of me, I have no idea what that means… By the way, ignore Morgan in these photos, she tries to ruin every picture with her “hiking face” trying to communicate through images what we refuse to acknowledge in her words. Namely, that she “hates to hike.”

And came out here, where you can see the glacier peaking out over the top of the the cliff with that amazing waterfall underneath

Then, we parted ways, me trying to jolly Morgan out of her hiking funk by separating her from her overly enthusiastic brother, and Dave satisfying Charlie’s insatiable need to keep going and going and going…

No one can ever say that I’m not a fun mom.

I’m a fun mom.

We probably added another 500 feet and mile to the hike, so…

I FINALLY feel like earned my dinner! Pork chop foil packets with garden potatoes and peppers, onions and kohlrabi from Michelle’s garden (thanks michelle! you should try it grilled!) A hit!

And Morgan was fired up to grill her onions directly over the fire:

We added water to our solar shower, but I’m not very optimistic since we really aren’t in the blazing sun anymore. We might have to hit the Banff Hot Springs for a shower. Oddly, Dave has not been pushing the “I-heated-up-some-water-for-you-to-shower-Jennie” thing and I have to wonder if he has finally given up on me.

Lots of marshmallows were consumed this night. I credit the fact that there were no mosquitos to chase us inside. A rail from the fixed grate over the fire pit had come off and Charlie spent the evening “forging iron” eventually bending it to use a fire poiker.

We even stayed outside until it got dark outside.

Road Warriors 2010!

I seriously can’t believe people want to read about the hill-billy, road-trip travels of the Menke family, but there it is. They apparently do. It was a little weird keeping my journal this year, knowing I’d be retyping it here later, but it didn’t change things all that much. I might have left out all the talk of bodily functions (does anyone really want to know how many craps I take?), and certainly every time I pulled out my camera, I had Dave running away to hide, worrying beyond all reason that it would soon be posted here for all the world to see…

The trip this year was always meant to point us east toward Washington D.C., which Dave seems manically bent on dragging his family through for the ‘experience’. I say: go on the dang field trip with Charlie’s school next year if you want to go that bad. But that would leave Morgan (and me) out of the loop, so the discussion always ends there.

Anyway, I digress. Right up until two weeks before we were to leave on our trip, the plan was to go east. I had voiced my displeasure early and often throughout the planning, always ending with “But I’m sure it will be fun. Dave is totally in charge and I will make sure we eat good food. How bad can it be?”

Morgan was delighted with the plan, as she had it in her head we’d be making many stops to highly populated and urban areas rife with retail opportunities.

“This is a CAMPING trip,” I’d remind her.

Dave poured over maps and the internet, planning — no doubt — a fun filled adventure. I didn’t ask much: only to drive a northern route either coming or going to spend a day and night in Pictured Rocks Park for kayaking in the liquid green waters along rocks and caves of northern Lake Michigan. (It sounded cool when described in a recent Outside magazine.)

To my amazement, while in Hayward over the 4th of July, Dave said, “What do you think about going to Banff?”

Banff????

Am I dreaming?

I LOVE BANFF!

And so it was: I got my way by being totally easy going.

As usual, we made no plans or reservations, preferring to travel by the seats of our pants. Which I find always a good thing, since — how can anyone plan for disaster? At least when disaster strikes, you haven’t upset any plans or reservations.

It makes perfect and complete sense to me.

Banff is a long drive from Minnesota on even the most direct of routes. It’s an even longer drive when going by way of Wyoming. And no, not Wyoming Minnesota, as some of the people I told assumed I was referring to. The state of Wyoming. Specifically, the Wind River/Riverton area, where we would be picking up the young and traveled Charlie Menke from his stay with some good friends.

Also complicating the journey was the pain and suffering we’d feel at the separation from our beloved animals.

Not.

I did feel bad dropping Lola off at Bed and Bone Kennel, but that’s her own fault. If she wasn’t such a freakin’ Cujo, she could have had a lovely time playing with all the other dogs in their sofa-strewn “Big Dog Party Room.” No, Lola gets her own “special room” at the kennel. Which basically means solitary confinement.

I’m sure my parents reading this are cringing right now, expecting me to skewer them here for bailing out on taking Lola to the lovely locale of Round Lake for some one-on-one time with Granny and Gramps. I’m sure the dog they opted to care for in place of Lola (Holly, I believe her name is) was worth the devastation of our relationship.

Kidding. No hard feelings, guys. (Which they made-certain of with a timely cash payment for “the barn utilities.” Give it up. We all know it was guilt money.

Look at the time! And I haven’t even started the journal! Here we go!!

ROAD WARRIORS 2010, DAY 1

7/29/2010, 6:30pm


Dropped Chin (the chinchilla) at Scanlons and dropped Dave’s car off at the Buttenhoff’s, and we are OFF! Only 2.5 hours later than ‘tentatively planned’. We are getting so much better at this!

No one ate dinner and therefore we contemplated a stop in Waconia (only 10 minutes from home), like we did last year. We were discussing how we swiped a bunch of mayo packets for camping from Subway when… suddenly we are past Waconia and past all food opportunities. So I’ll give you one guess as to who was driving.

Two hours later — and only, I suspect because he had to pee — and we stopped in St. James, MN. It bears noting how things have changed in just a year or two of these road trips. (At least when there is a cell signal anyway). I grab the iPhone and choose an app: Bing or Where or iWant… tap “Local” and search restaurants. All the options pop up. You hit the map button and it opens the GPS and guides us there.

You’d think with all the technology we’d end up somewhere better than McDonalds.

It matters not. I love my iPhone!

Since Dave requested the “graveyard shift” (that would be the late-late driving shift 1 or 2am to whenever) versus the early-late shift (before the late-late), I took the wheel after McDonalds.

Morgan has the luxury of having the whole back seat to herself and it is piled high with crap.

I should mention, for the sake of history, should we ever forget, that Charlie is absent from this initial leg of the journey because he is out in Wyoming with Monchamps. We are “picking him up”, if such a thing is possible being that we are a thousand miles away and heading north to Banff.

Exciting this year is the addition of a MIFI! For Dave’s sake I will once again try to explain the concept (he still doesn’t get it). A mifi is a portable wireless hotspot that uses a cellular data signal and broadcasts it to people nearby — me on my laptop, Charlie on the iPad and Morgan on the iPod.

Oh my gosh. We sound like such LOSERS!

Anyway, I got the VirginMobile unit as opposed to the Verizon unit because VM is cheaper all the way around. You don’t have a contract, only paying for data as you use it. That’s the upside. The downside is that Verizon has better coverage.

So far, not so good. My AT&T iphone coverage has been better than the wifi. Me thinks this Sprint network that VM is on does not “rock” like the Best Buy salesgirl said it did… Time will tell.

I settled into the seat with my current audible book “Girl in Translation”, while Dave pulled out his lime green inflatable neck pillow (which he professes to love just as much as I love my iphone) and instantly nodded off to sleep. Morgan is watching Moulin Rouge and I fear her recitations of the songs from it will rival that of last year’s Road Trip movie of her choice, Rent. At least Charlie isn’t here to complain about her singing…