Colorado

Road Warriors Three Day 8: FINALE!

October 21, 2011

Friday, 8/5/11

[non-journal addition: The time to which I’ve milked this trip is shameful. This is the end. Final. But don’t get excited. There is no Thelma & Louise ending.]

It rained again during the night. Probably just to keep up our streak of wet muddiness going.

While I tried to finish off the banana bread — I totally forgot about it! — Morgan was trying to finish off the marshmallows. Go figure. Cut from the same cloth, but she is on the bias: wild, stretchy, and smooth…

Initially, we were going to hike and then come back to camp and pack up. But after conferring, it was decided that might be too ‘risky.’ I’m not sure what the perceived risk was purported to be, but if I had to guess, it might have something to do with the Cat Lady Campground Host. Did I not write about her yet? It seems like a lot of work now to write about her… I’m losing my journaling steam.

Suffice it to say, the campground host has SEVEN cats living in her camper, along with a husband who — himself proclaimed, and I quote: “I’d check you in myself, but I’m too drunk” — when we arrived a couple days ago.

The kids don’t care. They love the cats — each with their own bell and disguishing feature.

Like crossed eyes.

Anyway. They seem just a little off base. Maybe the risk that Dave is speaking of involves them? I know not.

Check out is at noon, so we packed up, each of us, lost in our own thoughts about the end of vacation.

In keeping with our re-tracing of previous Colorado trips, we decided to hike the stupid Chief Ouray Mine and Lower Cascade Falls trail that we hiked in 2004. They can’t say I didn’t warn them: it was up, Up, UP.

And that was just from my failing memory.

In reality, it was even more. No wonder our kids revolted in 2004: Charlie was 6! It was a hard hike — I’m seven years older and I was feeling it in my legs for sure. It’s 1,500 ft over 2.5 miles.

We were looking forward to finding our name in the mining hut, written in coal from 2004, but we couldn’t find it. I’m sure it was in there somewhere.

Charlie opted to CARVE his name this time with his new blade.

And promptly cut himself.

I mean really.

There was the coolest rock cairn that we each added a rock to on the way up. And another on the way back down. It was like a game of Jenga.

…and Grace lost.

It was right about then that I realized I didn’t have my sunglasses. I had put them on top of my damn visor, then I whipped my damn visor OFF because it was so damn HOT. And apparently flung my glasses off into the brush somewhere. I kind of knew the area that I had done it and ran ahead with Charlie to look for them.

I really did think I would find them. We’ve just been so lucky this whole trip. But I didn’t. It’s my own damn stupid fault.

The hike took 3 hours total. I should note that Ampitheater campground, where the hike starts, was STILL full.

Afterwards, we went to Ouray for ice cream, lattes and ice. Dave had plans to go buy a shower at the hot springs, but opted out when he found out it was $12. So, instead, we hit the road home after consulting with the self proclaimed Route Nerd.

It was about 3:15pm.

We are heading north through Grand Junction to our home-away-from-home I-70. An early dinner was planned, but foiled when I misread my GPS in Glenwood Springs and missed the exit. If my kids could have roasted me alive and eaten my eyeballs, they would have.

Instead, we made it to Eagle on low, low gas and supposedly emptier stomachs. Wendy’s was an oasis.

We also decided to pre-empt fate, and changed the other camper tire before it had a chance to blow. It was so bald that you could see ripples in the rubber. Dave has been driving since we left at 3 and wants to make it to Denver. We are almost there. I hate it when he does this. It just puts more pressure on me to drive just as long.

I’m competitive, remember?

So I will most likely drive until we stop for the night somewhere between North Platte and Omaha. We shall see….

************

I took the wheel outside of Denver around 9:15pm. If Dave thinks I’m driving for six straight hours, he’s got another thing coming. I plan to drive for 6 hours and 15 minutes.

(not really. even I have my limits.)

We drove uneventfully to North Platte and pulled off to get a room. We went to FIVE hotels. And all were full. After some mad googling by Dave (which means not very fast) we figured out it was the start of Sturgis. Good grief.

The Koos planned to just keep driving and sleep in the car for a couple hours. I liked that plan better, but Dave was set on a hotel.

We got back on the road heading to the first town with an open room, which a kindly hotel employee had located for us. It was another hour to Lexington and wouldn’t you know, the tire pressure monitor started alerting us to low pressure in the left front wheel. We got off at the first exit to fill it, but it wasn’t low. Odd. We decided the computer sensor must be faulty and kept driving. The pressure finally stabilized at 20 (yikes). We made it to Lexington and got the last room at the Econolodge. It was 3 am. So I pretty much DID drive for 6 hours. Just sayin’.

I was just about to fall asleep when Dave flipped the covers off and turned the lights on.

Looking for bed bugs.

I mean really. He seriously did that.

Saturday 8/6/2011

We hit the road early. On our way out to the car, Dave mentioned that right rear tire looked low. We went to the gas station and sure enough it was: 20 lbs of pressure! But oddly, the computer said it was fine. Didn’t take me long to realize that my “bargain tire rotation” from a few weeks ago failed to also reset the tire monitors.

It felt like we drove and drove and drove and home was still far, far away. Dave was driving the first shift, which — having finished my books, I would really almost rather drive — I spent online researching cool pop-up trailer mods. I have ALL SORTS of ideas for our little friend…

The tire hung in there. Barely. We got home and unpacked. Everything was fine.

I wish there were more to say, but there isn’t.

Road Warriors Three, Day Six

September 16, 2011

Wednesday 8/3/11

OH WHAT A NIGHT!

(who can read that without thinking …Late December back in 63? Not me.)

Peace! Quiet! Solitude! This. THIS is what camping is supposed to be! A few coyotes in the night, a couple of distant cow moos and that’s it. No dogs. No generators. No babies!

Dave planned to make chocolate chip pancakes to cheer Morgan up. But, in the middle of the preparation it was discovered that Jan had the chocolate chips in their car at the resort. Morgan does not subscribe to the same set of camping beliefs as me — that, you know. But, Morgan also does not subscribe to the same set of pancake beliefs as me. She believes chocolate chips were made for pancake batter. This was going to be a serious problem, potentially setting back her recovery indefinitely…

What to do. What to do. If anyone else has a 16 year old daughter, then they can appreciate the situation for what it was: a true crisis.

I can’t remember if it was Morgan or Dave’s idea to use a Butterfinger. Genius or criminal? I can’t decide. She thought they were delicious. And, another crisis was averted.

We all relaxed with our various vices while we waited for the Koo’s to show up.

Dare I admit we had 4 bars of cell and data service? Is that criminal as well? The kids kept saying, “This is so STUPID! We are in the MIDDLE of NO WHERE and have FOUR BARS. We have NO BARS at home. This is so STUPID!”

I told them to stop complaining.

After enough relaxing we started calling the Koo’s. It was time to motivate. The plan was to either camp another night in this blissful oasis (or hellish nightmare, depending upon the speaker) fish & swim in the river, hike, etc… OR, hike the property, pack up and move out.

The Koo’s had decided they didn’t want to take the time to see Mesa Verde (we’ve seen it) which morphed our options yet again. With no Mesa Verde, there would be no need to go so far west before heading north. And while I looked forward to seeing some new scenery on the road to Telluride, we were thinking it might be smarter to stick to what we know because of the crowds (a relative term). Which would mean we would head north in Durango and go to Ouray as we have done before — which would shave at least a couple hours off the day’s drive — a good thing since, once again, we would be chasing the clock to get dinner cooked before dark.

I have to say that this “no planning” agenda that I claim to love so much becomes just a bit more stressful when there is another family involved. I have no idea why. I think it must be some form of guilt. Like we are in some way responsible for the chaos. Which, I suppose we are in a way, since they are adapting to our methods. Which makes me feel guilty. Which makes me feel the need for a beer. Which usually makes me feel better. And then we start all over again.. But I digress…

Due to unpopular demand, we decided to hike and leave. The kids — ALL of them — were pissing and moaning and pissing and moaning about the sandwiches I was making for lunch. They piss and moan about everything! We sent them off to the river with Morgan at the wheel. I mean really. Who invited them, anyway?

Meanwhile Dave, Jan, Wes and I hiked for about an hour. We didn’t see any wildlife, but Wes is certain he stumbled upon a mountain lion’s lair. Not a den, but an area it lounged and ate its kill. There was a fresh, semi-meaty bone nearby and other older ones. Needless to say, he didn’t tarry.

But he did catch a cactus.

Dave and I had continued walking the fence line, both of us lost in our silent reverie, and basically coming to the same conclusions as we did when first buying the land about where we would put a house. Isn’t that funny? –That that is what we were both thinking about? And I wonder why we do this if we never plan to do it! Maybe it’s just human nature.

My rooster wounds are much better, thank you very much. Though I still can’t wear my birkies, with the strap across the puncture area.

We packed up and said goodbye to Pinion Hills once again. It always makes me sad to go. 🙁

And yes, we stopped at stupid McDonalds on our way out of Pagosa for the stupid kids who have everything.

****

We blew our first camper tire about an hour out of Durango.

It wasn’t our best effort. The camper was at a bad angle and Dave couldn’t get the jack under the axle. All in, it set us back 45 precious minutes. We blasted through Durango and all the way to Silverton where we stopped for gas. Dave also wanted to put air in the new camper tire and was frustrated because the air stem was on the back side of the wheel (he put the wheel on backwards). So he’s under the camper, grunting and carrying on. And then I see the tire going down. So I say, “Hey Dave, You are letting air out!”

No yelling. No judgement. Just a declaration of fact.

No hysteria. No blame. Just an observation he may not have been aware of, since his head was under the camper.

You would not believe the diatribe of epitaphs he unleashed on me. And I will leave it at that.

I got in to the car, shut the door and rolled up the window. And I refused to engage. Even when he knocked on it.

It should be noted for future conflict resolution that this is not a particularly effective method. But I mean really. What is?

While I attempted to get over my mad-on, we began our hunt for a campground in Ouray. Amphitheater was the plan, but it was full. And had been since 10am when four spots opened up and were promptly claimed by the waiting line of cars that had started forming around 8am. 8 am!! It wouldn’t have mattered when we left Pagosa or if we had blown three tires. It was small comfort.

Ouray itself was crazy town! Crowds, cars, kids, tourists, Jeeps, Motorcyles, CRAZY!

And we decided right then and there: no more vacationing in late July/early August. No more.

Tensions were rising again since campgrounds are not exactly abundant in this area. Dave and I were madly googling National Forest options while Jan and Wes went to talk to the host at Amphitheater. Both sources pointed us up the 4-wheel drive Camp Bird Road to the primitive areas of Angel Creek and Thistledown. Angel Creek was too rugged for the Koo van, but Thistledown had ONE SITE LEFT (a lucky and recurring theme of this trip). The site was all by itself a bit further up the road. A little dank, but secluded and nice with a little stream running alongside it — so longs as you ignored the near-constant stream of ATV/4WD traffic coming and going from Imogene Pass. Since we, ourselves, would be heading up the road in the morning, we opted not to complain since that would make us hypocrites. And I really hate hypocrites.

After setting up, Jan started dinner and Dave, Wes and I went to pick up the Jeeps for tomorrow.

I was a bit concerned that Dave would push to go on Black Bear Pass since we had already done Imogene two years ago, but I didn’t need to worry. The Jeep place stopped allowing rentals to go on Black Bear. When we asked if it was because the Jeeps got damaged, she said, “No. Too many people died.”

I waited for her to look up and laugh, but she didn’t. Just, “nope. too many people died.” Period.

Dinner was spectacular. I can get used to someone doing the cooking. Wait — did I already say that before? Dave can’t keep his hands off anything in the fire though, so just like with the kebabs, he was the pit master, cooking the foil dinners to perfection once they hit the coals. Jan didn’t lack for ingredients. She brought 8 big yams, 5 lbs of potatoes, 2 lbs of hamburger (the total amount I brought for tacos) and about 1.5 lbs of pork. Oh, and a whole gallon bag of chopped onions.

Jan likes to have enough food.

We had enough.

More marshmallows, and?

Yes: bed.

Road Warriors Three, Day One, Part Two

August 19, 2011

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

August 16, 2011

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…

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 2009 Day Two

September 1, 2009

Colorado Camping Trip 2009, Day 2:

It’s amazing how easily we slide into our “camping roles” each year. This morning Charlie and Dave woke up early and started the fire. Charlie busied himself making hot chocolate and his “Signature Toast” which he roasts over the fire with a roasting stick, then slathers on butter and lawry’s seasoned salt. This, he serves up warm and toasty to Morgan, her majesty, in bed! I can’t be too critical though, as I think she must get it from me: I was directly across from her, snuggled into my own fleece-lined sleeping bag, propped up reading Shantaram, sipping my coffee that was made by Dave and served by Charlie! No wonder I love camping so much! It’s the best!

We lounged around and headed back to the Dunes around 10 am… or was it 9? I don’t know because I’m not sure which clocks have been set back and which haven’t. The Dunes are so amazing. Pictures don’t do them justice. Or at least MY pictures don’t do them justice. I remember being enthralled with them the first time we visited in 2004, but since that time, I’ve been to the Grand Canyon. And I’ve gotta say, I’m more impressed with the Sand Dunes than I was with the Grand Canyon. I can’t help it. I just am. Plus, they are just so fun! Maybe it’s because I had seen so many pictures of the Grand Canyon and knew what to expect and I really had no idea whatsoever that those sand dunes even existed. We saw a lot of Middle Eastern people there and I was thinking that maybe the dunes were less impressive for them…

Anyway, we came upon a family that we spoke with the night before in the sandstorm. Their kids and ours started talking and playing, even though the kids were much younger. The best one-liners from the trip came from Danté and Eric. Danté — “nearly 10” — educated Morgan and Charlie about the drought in Texas while Eric, who seemed quite taken with Morgan, kept calling her “Merlin” and making spitballs out of sand. Pretty gross, actually.

The dunes were getting pretty toasty on our tootsies by 11:30, so we headed back to camp, packed up and pointed the car west to Pagosa Springs, stopping at Wolf Creek for a brief lunch (yes, yes, out of the cooler again). In Pagosa, Jennie got her much-sought-after outdoor solar shower and Dave bought some fly-fishing flies from a guy who was over 7 feet tall. I actually grabbed my iphone to take a sneaky photo, but then I thought better of it. I figured people like me must make him feel like a freak all the time. Thinking back on it now, I just wish I had taken the stupid picture.

Anyway. We headed off to our land in Piñon Hills Ranch, which I hadn’t seen since we bought it about 4 years ago. I was excited, but the kids could not have cared less. As we drove over the creek and into the gates (everything is gated down there and it makes me wonder what they are all afraid of) Morgan was watching Rent for the 5th or 6th time and Charlie was pissing and moaning about her constant singing, facial expressions and hand movements. (Thinking back on this now, I wish I had counted how many times I yelled “JUST STOP LOOKING AT HER AND IGNORE HER.” Because that was day two out of 8 days and she never stopped watching Rent or singing.)

I do still love the land. I wasn’t sure if I would, but I do. What I find amazing is that after all this time there are still only 2 houses out of 42 lots. So you really can’t get a feel for what it will be like someday and whether it will still feel as remote and private. What sets it apart from any other place I’ve ever been right now, aside from great views, is the crazy quiet. Aside from the noise being made by us, better known as the Loud Family, there was nothing: no dogs, no birds, no planes, no cars, no water. Nothing. Charlie promptly stated, “I like this place because you can talk loud.” Need I even mention that he said it loudly?

We set-up in the “cul de sac.” (Sagebrush prevents any aggressive and inventive placement of the pop-up like normal). Then, we went to the river to fish while morgan washed her hair. I, however, waited until we got back to soap up and used my new solar shower. It was AWESOME!

We made green curry with chicken (my personal camping favorite), then hung around our first fire. Morgan saw what she thought was a firefly, but turned out to be what looked like a baby tarantula (its eyes blinked?). The spider totally freaked Charlie out, but we calmed him down enough to have a few s’mores. Then to bed! The day was hot – 90-ish. the night was cool – 45-ish.