Jenmenke

Road Warrior

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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 5

Day Five

8/2/2010

No Signature Toast this morning. Charlie slept later than everyone. Another FIRST for 2010. Dave made bacon. Not bacon and eggs. Just bacon. I had granola and this new brand of greek yogurt I got at Cub Foods. It was so disgusting looking that I could barely eat it. It looked exactly like gloppy tofu. And I LIKE tofu! Pretty sour too…

Oh, who really CARES about my stupid yogurt?!

Our campsite was pretty humorous, since we were almost sitting on the road in our chairs, due to the fire pit placement. We felt like that sad-but-happy couple from the Montana campsite mentioned earlier in the trip. The place was packed, too, though we overlooked the indignity since we liked all the dogs.

Interesting (and freakish) is that speed boats can go on this river. And they do: roaring up and down on a fairly regular basis. It’s so weird! You look at the river, with all the swirls in the the current and the shoreline and you just don’t think it can be possible because it looks so shallow!

We were on the road at 10 am. We headed back in to Thompson Falls to pick up a prescription for Charlie’s new affliction: swimmer’s ear. (Not a first, btw). I was so thankful that we were staying in a place close enough to a town with a pharmacy AND that I actually had a cell signal to call Curt Whisler and Catalyst Clinic in Watertown. Thanks guys!

While I milled around the drug store waiting for the ear drops (what in HEAVEN’S NAME takes so long at pharmacies?), I managed to spend another $30 on: magazines, lip balm, and three different products for Morgan’s toxic feet. (I think I just answered my own question.)

Dave drove north on Hwy 200 about 30 minutes before we blew another car tire.

Simply inexplicable.

And, we had forgotten to buy more of the magical Fix-A-Flat. (Not inexplicable.)

We did a 180 and headed back to the town of Clark Fork to a Chevron Station where they said they could work us in in about an hour. We ambled off to do errands (like buy more Fix-A-Flat). We went to a feed store and met a cross-eyed cat (I swear it is true) and went across the street to dine at Mom’s Cafe.

The cafe garnered mixed reviews from the tough crowd. I thought it was fine, but Dave didn’t like his “baby burger,” declaring it, “cooked to annihilation and barely edible.” Such an elitist. Maybe he should stop ordering kid’s meals.

The car was ready just as we arrived, so the timing was perfect. And the cost? $10.

We’ll take it.

How is that even possible, $10?

In the car again at 3:30 and Dave is saying we won’t make Banff by nightfall. I say he’s wrong. It’s Canada or bust.

We drove by Lake Pend Oreille in Idaho and it was AH-MAZING. Insanely beautiful. We had no idea. And it’s a REAL LAKE and not a reservoir! It’s over 1000 feet deep. Truly beautiful. Now we are thinking the lakeside campgrounds in Coeur d’Alene Idaho might not have been as lame as we thought, if it is anything like this lake.

I bet you would assume I would post a picture or two here, right?

Nope. It’s CANADA OR BUST, remember?

**** R E C A L C U L A T I N G ****

One hour delay at the Canadian border customs station…

**** R E C A L C U L A T I N G ****

Yah, so it was a total delay of about 3 hours when you added the tire and customs together, so it’s true. We didn’t make it to Banff.

It was a seriously sad car full O’Menkes. [editors note: do I even need to say anything about “car full O’Menke’s? I don’t think I was even drinking.] Honestly, we are better Road Warriors than this journal portrays. Four days from Wyoming to Banff?

Unacceptable.

Making matters more precarious was the fact that our trusty Rand McNally Road Atlas seemed to give up its accuracy after crossing the border. Either that, or these Canadian’s are messing with us by moving major landmarks around. We missed the two campgrounds we planned to stay at about an hour south of Banff. Of course, I am too cheap to have the data roaming turned on for my iPhone so I can’t consult my maps there, and everyone knows how bad Blackberries suck(Dave’s phone). We did have a GPS with maps of Canada along that we had given to Dave for Father’s Day, but Dave absolutely loathes it. And since I was driving, I couldn’t consult it myself. –Oh believe me, I tried, but I have to concur that the GPS is a frustrating little device when you are used to the touch screen on an iphone.

After some (very) terse words. (I mean, for LORD’S sake, just turn the damn thing on and look at it! Maybe we’ll be able to find the fricken’ CAMPGROUND). I finally fumbled around with it myself enough to seriously freak him out and make him look at it and lo and behold it took us right to the last provincial park on the map before Radium Hot Springs and the entrance to Kootenai.

The only problem was that the last provincial park on the map did not have any camping. It was a picnic grounds.

Excited eruptions from the back seat immediately followed (I forgot they were even back there) along the lines of “Yea! We get to stay in a hotel!” You’d think they’d know us better than that by now.

The plan now was to cross our fingers and bomb it for Banff and take the first site we could get. However, along the way, crazily enough and like a mirage, Dry Gulch Provincial Park Campground appeared unexpectedly out of nowhere about 5 miles later and we snagged one of the last sites. It wasn’t pretty, but we weren’t complaining.

We set up and had the most anticipated meal of the trip for everyone except for me: Spaghetti.

I made the “seasoned toast” and pretty much ruined it. I added way too much Lawry’s. It’s true.

I’m damned near perfect, but I’m honest, too. And I screwed up. Which makes me realize I didn’t document my worst camping screw up in years: I forgot to stow the pop-up crank handle when we left the last campsite. I left it attached to the outside of the camper as we drove away. Luckily it was discovered in Thompson Falls while I was in the pharmacy spending Dave’s hard-earned money.

OH THE SHAME! The potential DISASTER! I hang my head. What more can I do but confess it here.

…and move on, pretending it never happened at all.

So the spaghetti was fabie. I still brought too much, though. My notes said to bring exactly “4 cups of sauce.” But as usual, it just didn’t seem like enough! The kids are bigger! Hell, I’m bigger! And how much did we eat?

Four cups.

We had to throw the other cup and a half away. It pained Dave greatly. But there are to be no leftovers while camping. It was a lot harder for me to throw the extra green curry from last night.

Mosquitos were a significant factor again, which we just don’t understand, never having run into it before.

Tucked in and lights out by dark. Lightning in the distance.

…that brewed into a full blown thunderstorm an hour later. It poured! I had to crawl over Dave to zipper-shut the screens on the kid’s side. He did give me a loving pat on the butt as I straddled the gap. And I wonder what would happen if I hadn’t gotten up. Would the kids wake up and shut them? Would Dave? I just don’t think so. I crawled back over him and back into my sleeping bag, stewing about the rain and how it complicates the packing of the camper in the morning and then…

I REMEMBERED ALL THE SHOES OUTSIDE THE DOOR!

I grabbed a flashlight and crawled back over Dave to try to fish them into the camper without actually having to go outside in the downpour and getting all wet. I rescued the shoes, but I also had a pretty wet head.

And then I crawled back over Dave and into bed and stewed some more, trying to just enjoy the rain. Eventually it stopped and I slept like the dead knowing the shoes were dry and that we were close to our destination.