Jenmenke

Road Warrior

Road Trip

Big Bend NP-3

This entry is part 2 of 6 in the series Big Bend National Park

Well… I’m sad to report we did NOT stay in Roswell with the ET’s. We were making too good of time and blasted right on through. Mostly I’m sad because that’s also where we left civilization. We should have stopped there for dinner but we weren’t hungry. Instead, we continued on to Artesia, NM and ate at what appeared to be the only open restaurant in town: La Fonda. We were in and out in a matter of 30 minutes, gobbling chips and salsa (decent), a carne asada burrito (decent — tho, since we expected it to be newborn-baby-sized like most burritos these days are, we split it. It was not newborn-baby-sized so neither of us was very full, which was FINE. Dave declared the margarita was NOT decent. Much to my dismay, he only drank half of it. Oh yeah— and he also got CARDED!

And we were back on the road.

Holy cats! The Permian Basin of southwest New Mexico and west Texas is no April Fool’s joke. I truly think it must have to be seen to be believed. Hour after hour of driving past nothing but natural gas wells, oil drilling, semi after semi hauling endless loads of ??, water tank stations, zigzags of electrical poles, refineries, massive clusters of microgrids (an oxymoron, i know…) — all as far as the eye can see. I’m embarrassed to admit I have never even heard of the Permian Basin (Dave was agog). Certainly I know about Texas oil country…Maybe “Permian Basin” is the Latin term for it…?

When I IMAGINED what oil country looked like, it was NOT like this. I guess I’ve only seen pockets of oil drilling using old One-Arm Bandits. The situation we are driving through now is totally unlike those bucolic little oil pets. I would describe it as the dystopian version. I’d maybe even say it’s the SIXTH Circle of Hell. Or maybe I’d even shift the Eagle post office to the sixth circle and move this area the seventh… And that’s saying something.

I know I’m being extra hard on Texas right now, but I am honestly a bit shell-shocked. I realize “someone’s gotta do it” and that my whining is comparable to an omnivore complaining about hunters and thinking it’s ghastly — I do heat my house and I do drive a car, so… I am a hypocrite. I hate being a hypocrite, so I will work on my attitude.

In other exciting news, we also played our annual “Let’s see if we can make it to the gas station game!” Always a crowd pleaser. 

We did. (Make it to the gas station. Twice. This was the first picture. The second time it was even worse.)

And the fridge continues to work, so that’s good. 

So, back to the trip an my job as navigator…                   

… well, let me just segue to one tiny detail from earlier in the day. Dave asked me to drive so he could do some reading before making a call. OF COURSE I WAS FINE WITH THIS (in case any of you dare to assume otherwise). However, DAVE thinks that when HE’S in the passenger seat, it’s all just rainbows and unicorns. “Time off”, so to speak. As such, he eschewed his navigation responsibilities — while I on was on the phone with my MOTHER, no less! Which caused a brief flaring of tempers when the route did something unpredictable and he was annoyed by my annoyance — and where it was established that Dave “hates it” when I “scream” and I “hate it” when he makes “dismissive gestures” and “false claims”.

That out of the way, I resumed my call with my mother and he resumed reading. In earlier Road Warrior Days, as my kids can attest, this would have resulted in a 2 day standoff (on my part, to be clear). So, yeah, I’m a big girl now. A solid teenager, emotionally…

Back to my navigator duties — which i take very seriously, in case you didn’t notice. MY job, after dinner, was to find a place to sleep. No, this isn’t a campground situation. This is a free, not-far-off-the-highway, no-chance-of-getting-in-trouble, preferably-quiet situation. Which is a lot harder to achieve than you might imagine. Especially in the Permian Basin.

Red Bluff Dam Park.

1.5 hours beyond Artesia. Inside Texas boundary — putting us in the Central Time Zone, so 10:30pm — 4 miles from the highway… on a reservoir… free camping… 

PERFECT!

I mean it was… and it really really wasn’t. It was pitch black out so we wouldn’t really get the full effect until morning. And neither will you.

RWGHE: Upper Frying Pan River, Day Two

4/29/2023

We had a great night sleep and a great breakfast. Then we went up past the reservoir to fish the Upper Frying Pan. There were a couple campgrounds which I knew were closed but we still thought we should check them out. We parked at the first one and fished the river right off the campground road. The river was quite clear, a little thin, and the rocks were more slippery than I would expect for early spring. Dave fished up from me and got a few — browns, which totally surprised us. He was yelling something at me but I couldn’t hear a word so I made my way closer. I stepped off the bank into the water and fell over – that clear water is so deceptive! I thought it was like 8″ deep and it was more like 18″ deep… I filled my waders with water and got soaked. I spent the next 20 minutes undressing, emptying my waders, etc. etc. Thankfully, it was sunny and calm so I wasn’t freezing. When I finally waddled up to Dave to find out what was so imPORtant, I learned he just wanted to tell me that he caught a couple fish. Good grief. 

I did eventually catch ONE. (Also a brown.) So that was good. 

We went back to the camper to nosh and were surprised to find two pickups that had just arrived to open the campground up — or so we thought. It was actually the campground host coming to see if HE could get in there and stay yet. He was very nice and we chatted for a long time. He said there were a few turn-offs we could camp at a few miles up the road, so we took out the bikes and rode up to check them out. We saw a couple good options, had a nice ride, and in the end decided to simply stay where we were–by the gate of the still-closed campground–knowing that IF the host came back, he wouldn’t care. 

I made a a bizarre dinner of pasta, pesto, sausage, garbanzo bean, cauliflower, pine nut, Parmesan. Does that sound good? No? It was fine. Not my greatest concoction, tbh. But you have to understand: we have this back-and-forth thing from Minnesota to Colorado and back down to a science. We are (I am) EXPERT at cleaning the fridge out and almost NEVER throwing ANYTHING away. Not kidding. It’s a bit OCD if I’m to be honest. If not OCD, then let’s call it a genius-level hobby. And that, my friends, is how that meal came to be. It sounded better in my mind than it looked in the pan. But it tasted fine. and I think Dave actually liked it.

The best part of dinner might have been the vodka tonics for me.

vodka tonics

4/30/23

Another Surprise: When we woke up it was 27 degrees.

Our wading boots were frozen bricks. Dave thawed them out by the fire and we had avocado toast while we waited. Eventually we were able to get the boots on and hiked a couple miles up beyond the campground to some very nice bends of the river we had spied from our bike ride the day before. The water looked amazing. 

We fished it hard. Dave said he saw two dart from the bank–super spooky-like. Our guess is that they were there, but just too spooked to bite. Actually… to be honest, I can’t even say I believe that. Maybe they go down to the reservoir until it warms up? Like Minnesota snowbirds? I dunno. It was so quiet and peaceful and pretty, I was enjoying just that aspect. Easy walking in the river. Warmish. And good snacks in my pack. Eventually, I heard Dave somewhere very distant yelling some indiscernible stuff (once again) and I assumed he was ready to go. And, Of COURSE, right at that exact moment, a nice fish came to the surface and ate my dry fly! HOURS of fishing and the ONE SECOND you take your eye off the ball, hollering your fool head off at your missing husband… #@!^%$! It was on for a few seconds and came off. Still fun though. 

I eventually found Dave in the willows – easier said than done — and we hoofed it back to the car, posting-holing through deep snow for long, trying sections. Nothing worse than trying to stay on top of snow, thinking you’ve made it and falling two feet down. Over and over again.

Eventually, I will stop extolling the amazing delight of not having to pop-down the camper. And then pop-up the camper upon arrival home… the Topo2 is just really fun. And easy. And we are still glowing and crowing at being able to just drive away with it. 

Interesting fact: as the crow flies, our house in Eagle is only up and over one ridge, about 30 miles away. There is a (currently closed, of course) forest road that connects the two that we’ve driven two or three times. But today we head back the way we came. As we drove by, now a Sunday afternoon, the lower Frying Pan River was up to its normal tricks with all the turn-outs holding a car or three with lots of fishers in the water. Gorgeous weekend. 

Road Warriors Four. Day Six!

Wednesday 8/12.

We got up bright and early to hike to the highest peak we could see from our site. There was no trail, so we blazed our own.

The Reluctant Hiker became the Angry Hiker about half way up.

We find it best to leaver her to wander, bringing up the rear, where she can talk herself into the benefits of an active lifestyle. It usually works and it did today as well.

At the top of our fire scarred peak, we took a bunch of self timers… (sorry in advance. got lots of pictures – finally)

 

 

and headed down for a big breakfast — to include BACON! Charlie manned the “toaster,”

Dave cooked the bacon and Morgan…

I can’t remember. I do know she briefly toasted, but lost that duty when she presser her hot poker into Charlie’s knee.

I have no idea how she did it, but amidst all the yelling and drama, somehow she turned it in to Charlie’s fault. He didn’t miss her when she wandered away. Probably to apply make-up in the back seat again…

Morgan had a BLT (where T=turkey). Dave had a BLT (where T=tomato). Charlie had E&T (where T=toast and E=eggs). Then Charlie had a BLS (where S=sandwich) and I had a massive, 2-egg bacon and cheese sandwich on a moldy ciabatta bun.

Sound gross?

Well it wasn’t.

Thunder sounded in the distance and we scrambled to pack up. Jen and Morgan used the leftover warm water from dishes (clean, unused water, that is) to quickly shave our beastly legs. Morgan lacerated herself in many places blaming the carnage on “too many goosebumps.” Honestly, she took like 15 minutes to shave her SHINS. I didn’t know this: you apparently must exfoliate before shaving. How can it be that I’m 47 and have been missing this pre-requisite for smooth legs? And still she managed to cut herself in about six places.

And speaking of exfoliation, can you please give Charlie a squirt of that stuff? He has found that he appreciates a good exfoliating face wash. He likes how it makes his face feel…

Oh Lord help me.

We headed out through Challis, toward Stanley and the “majestic mountains” we sought toward our next adventure.

Stanley was…hmmm….How shall I say? Disappointing. Kinda hot. Dusty. And just, well, hickish. The campgrounds sucked — from the Lakeside units to the corrals.

Yes, the scenery was lovely, but the road work, people, and campgrounds were not our “cup of tea” (to quote Carlos again). We considered dispersed camping again, but there really weren’t that many options. Finally I just said “let’s just get the Hell out of here.”

And so we did.

Hightailing it further down I75 and trying to get a little closer to Sun Valley, the designated shopping mecca of the trip.

It’s just crazy to us the campgrounds people choose. Ick. Ick. Ick. And crowded! We all just look at them and think — well maybe it’s only me who thinks this — “Where will I pee?” Or, “What if I walk out of the camper in my underwear?” Or even, “What if I fart too loud?”

You see the problem that a crowded campground presents?

And so it goes. We diss’ed all the lake campgrounds. Western state campers flock to lakes. We, of the 10,000 lakes, don’t need a lake to feel like we are on vacation. We rejected over six campgrounds on our quest, eventually reaching the Sawtooth National Recreation Center Headquarters building and found out that — surprise! — we could disperse camp anywhere! And even have a fire! (No wonder we didn’t get in trouble last night…).

So that’s what we did, finding a pretty good spot just a few miles down from the headquarters building. We passed some PRIMO spots right on the North Fork of the Big Wood River, but most were taken. There was one open spot, but Dainty Dave was too weeny to attempt it. waa! waa!

I will say this: the axel swap we did last year with the new bigger tires is AWESOME. The tires aren’t even bald yet, the camper bounces around like a real 4WD rig. Love it. We researched getting a new camper on the drive home last year and I spent probably 4 straight hours of the last leg that Dave drove reading online, eventually finding all kinds of sights detailing camper modifications. There are people who document every little thing they do to their campers. Can you imagine?

Ha. I only realized as I wrote that last bit how hypocritical I sound.

Anyway, we got the idea to put bigger axle on the camper while in Ouray last year during one of our tire blow outs. Last fall, I brought the trailer to Rodney at Highway 55 Trailer Sales in Rockford. He’s the best! It was a relatively inexpensive upgrade. The three new tires cost more than the actual axel. It really goes over the bumps and rocks well. Dave totally could have gotten into that spot…

INTERJECTION: As I write this, the kids are over by the camp stove brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. I just heard Charlie ask for Morgan’s exfoliating face wash again. When she said NO he said “But I like how it made my face feel.” END OF INTERJECTION

Anyway, the second best thing about the new tires and axel is that it looks cool. The third best thing is that you can now see it out of the back window and rear view mirror, which is ever-helpful for backing up.

I digress.

We went to a different spot NOT on the river because weeny Dave didn’t want to attempt the back our awesome little camper into such a narrow spot. –It totally could have snuck in there. I swear. It was our 5th night of camping and our fourth site. And even though we say — EVERY YEAR — that we aren’t going to move as much, we always do. We must like it.

One thing we have improved on this year is our timing. We have yet to come screaming into a site at dusk and eating in the dark. Bravo for us. It’s only taken us about ten years to get that part right. Here, outside of Ketchum, we set up camp about 4 pm, leaving us plenty ‘O time for drinks and appies. Charlie and I took a bracing river bath in the stream across the road. I must say, it’s a lot easier camping now that I’m way less vain about my hair. I can’t tell if it’s because I don’t care, but I actually don’t think it looks all that bad! [update: after reviewing the pictures, I must retract this statement.]

We cooked our last official meal: Flank steak kabobs with onions, peppers, and zucchini. We also had beets that we cooked in the fire a couple nights ago. Tomato/mozzarella/avocado/arugula salad. And a big, fat, happy belly.

Road Warriors Four. Day Four.

Monday, 8/6/12.

“Did you take a dump in my bathroom?”

Yes, folks, that was probably the first words out of the ever-rested Morgan Menke’s mouth this morning.

Good morning to you, too, honey! Morgan has taken ownership of the outhouse here at Miner’s Lake Campground. “It’s clean. It smells good. And there are no flies.”

But, apparently not so much this morning. And she — for some reason — blames me for that. I take no ownership, for what it’s worth.

Dave fried up the leftover baked potato from our Rib Eye dinner the first night and force-fed it to Charlie. He didn’t have to work too hard at it, as Charlie will eat anything that has Lawry’s on it when we are camping. Though he pronounces it “Lories.” We had forgotten about the banana bread until this morning, tucked as it was under the bin in the cooler that holds the fragile items like tomatoes, soft cheese, etc… So we toasted several pieces of that for breakfast. –a BIG improvement over eating it sliced cold.

After the obligatory feeding of the wildlife and another visit from Mr. Fox, we started packing up to leave. Much like in year’s past, we are udderless — mostly without direction — divided in our opions of which way to go next. Not surprisingly, Morgan is the loudest dissenting voice. She desires “majestic mountains.” But really, who doesn’t? And I find that, much as I want to, I can hardly disagree with her. Secretly, I keep wondering how we ended up where we are. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very pretty. I’m having fun. No complaints. I just wonder: there aren’t really any big distinguishing features to the area…

When I ask Dave (as nonchalantly as possible — these men can be so sensitive!), “So how’d you pick this place?” He doesn’t have much of an answer other than that we’d never been here before. Fair enough.

Dave had been studying his maps last night and this morning and had earmarked the Hamilton/Wisdom/Head North for our next leg, since the one thing we knew we wanted to do for sure this year was to fly fish on a river. The Bitterroot Valley is one of “thee” places to do that. So, from Jackson, we went north to Wisdom, west over Lost Trail Pass, past a ski resort of the same name, and on up to the Bitterroot Valley. Pretty road, but then it quickly and suddenly gave way to a very, very big burn area near Sula. I’d like to have looked a lot of this stuff up online, but we seriously continue to have no cell coverage at all. It’s shocking. No Verizon (dave). No AT&T (me and the kids). I’d like to say how awesome it is to be totally unplugged — in many ways it is — but in all honesty, I’m just as bad as my kids. I’m not a texter, but a life without Google is not a life worth living. So remind me to google “Sula fire” when I get home.

[ MONTANA FIRES: Federal and state land management organizations recognized the wildfires of 2000 as historic in both extent and duration. Through late September, more than 79,700 wildfires scorched over 6.8 million acres of public and private land. This exceeds the 10-year average of 66,120 wildfires and 3.1 million acres burned annually. The number, size and intensity of these wildfires stretched land management suppression resources to the limit, threatened entire communities and caught the attention of the public and media throughout the world. The suppression effort was likely the largest peacetime mobilization of resources in our Nation’s history. The U.S. military provided valuable resources to the suppression effort.] 

We stopped at a ranger station and got very little info on campgrounds. Some ranger stations are great, some not. But they all have bathrooms, so it was not a total waste of time.

North just another 20 miles made a world of difference in the scenery. We checked out a few campgrounds. One was closed for beetle damage repair. Another was oh-so-depressing. The third, up the Nez Perce Road was called, unbeknownst to us, a “group camp”, which is never good, turned out to be OK. We found a solitary site away from the the big group camp area that backed up to a little creek. Not too shabby!

We set up camp and by the time we were finished, we realized our folly. We were camping in Hell — aka a horse camp. Black flies and black ants EVERYWHERE. Morgan was wild-eyed and freaking out. It was entirely too hot to even consider moving elsewhere. We soothed our nerves (as we stomped our feet and flailed our arms) by telling ourselves it would get better as evening progressed. I remembered an ancient can of Raid in the camper that has seriously been in there since maybe before we even took possession of it more than 10 years ago. I sprayed the “Circle of Death” on the ground all around the picnic table and fire ring, which took care of the ants, more or less. The flies, not so much.

We decided to bring our chairs, books and many, many snacks down to the creek and relax and to escape the flies which were surely so bad because of the horse poop so near to our camp.

Only they weren’t any better there at all. Odd. Creepy. Makes me think there are dead bodies in the woods somewhere.

We all doused ourselves in Repel 100% feet. Who knew they even made such a thing. 100% deet? Is that even legal Who on earth would by something so toxic? Why did we buy it?

Nevermind. We used it. No one died. We were thankful to have it.

It was an idyllic afternoon, if you could get past the satanic flies.

Some of us did better than others. And after a ridiculous amount of snacking, which included but was not limited to: beer, pop, cowboy caviar, salt and vinegar chips, trail mix, cambozola, and maybe even a special K bar.

I started cooking dinner: Spaghetti with 4-cheese (provolone, cambozola, mozzarella, parmesan!) bread and arugula/tomato/mozzarella salad. Yum.

Morgan spent as little time outside the camper as possible. I must say though: aside from the flies, the site was awesome. The camper fit into this perfect little camper-sized grotto (see pic above) of trees which kept us nicely shaded. It was totally private, no one around. You could hear the babbling creek. Beautiful! Just a little Hellish at the same time.

The plans were to fish the next morning with Osprey Outfitters — meeting them at 8:30 am in Connor, MT after buying licenses, and of course, loading up our texts and emails in the 1 mile stretch of town that provides cell service!

Oooooh. So. Full. No dessert for me. No dessert. …well, maybe just one Baby Ruth… And then to bed. Once again, no headlamps were necessary as we were all in bed by dark.

Road Warriors Four. Day Two. Part Two.

Continued from previous post: Saturday, August 4, 2012.

[very few pictures. but I promise. it get’s better after today.]

It was warm, but not ridiculous hot, and after sitting around for a while snacking — why, after 20 hours of driving does sitting down feel so good? — we walked down to the lake. [I know. I fooled you in the previous post by saying “I started dinner.” But that was a typo. We actually walked down to the lake.]

Wait. I remember: we walked to meet Morgan on her way back from a run and THEN we walked to the lake to check it out because she was going to take a lake shower. Dave and I got there first and waded around a bit admiring the views.

Just when I thought, “Oooo. Nice. We should swim, too,” I looked down and saw a 4″ leech attached to my ankle bone. Trying really hard not to freak out, I swooshed it away. Only it was stuck on and wouldn’t swoosh away. Still trying not to freak out, I gritted my teeth and pulled at the free end that was waving around in the water. I don’t know why I can’t allow myself the simplicity of being a normal person and come out of the closet on my distaste for leeches, but there is a small part of me who still tries to impress Dave. I know, I know. It’s been 23 years. He’s on to me by now. But you know? Maybe he’s not. He’s not all that perceptive.

And Dave seems to like the fact that I can bait my own leech on a hook. So I assume he also would like it if I can get my own damn leech off my own damn ankle.

BUT I COULDN’T GET IT OFF!

They are slippery and squishy and just sick.

I finally got it off, stood up and casually — I imagine also very cooly — said — with a debonair chuckle, “Huh. I just had a leech on my ankle.”

We giggled at the prospect of Morgan heading down for her bath in the lake. No way were we going to tell her about the leech. She has none of my issues at being a normal person in regard to leeches.

She’s soaping up and screaming about how COLD the water is and she asks me to hand her the shampoo. So I wade over to the rock where the shampoo is and walk a few steps over to her and squeeze some in to her palm. I’ve got the towel draped over my head because the deer flies are just ridiculous. I turn around to walk out of the water, looking down because it’s slippery and see ANOTHER FLIPPEN’ LEECH on my leg!

Now I CAN’T be obvious, because if Morgan finds out, I seriously don’t know what will happen. For SURE she will run out of the water, full of shampoo and create a lot more work for us to get her rinsed out. So, I very casually bend over and begin my lame attempts to get the damn thing off. Only then, the end of the towel on my head– and our only bath towel — flops in the water and both Dave and Charlie start yelling at me. I’m busy trying not to freak out about the leech. And they are all yelling at me, “HEY, HEY! Hey!” And finally, I stand up and say “SORRY.” And they are like, “WHAT THE HECK?! Now the TOWEL IS WET.” And I let it slip, “I had to get it off.”

Immediately, laser-ears-for-bad-news-Morgan pops out of the water and says, “What? WHAT?! Get WHAT off?”

Usually lies just bubble up out of nowhere for me. I am seriously a great liar. But nothing. Nothing at all came to me. I just tried to act dumb. And she’s yelling in my face, knowing in her heart what I’m about to say, so I finally just say it: “A leech.” She just kept staring at me with her laser-blue eyes

trying to hypnotize me or something. Probably trying to unnerve me into telling the truth. So I say, “Yes. Yes. I’m serious. A leech. But it’s gone.”

We had to physically restrain her from exiting the water. I talked her off the cliff by assuring her they were only over by the big rock where I got the shampoo. As I looked down, I saw another one, bunched up and looking like a little stone, by my foot. I nudged it, not quite believing my eyes, and it swam away, looking for another leg to latch on to.

Thank goodness Morgan didn’t see it. I turned her around, she rinsed out her hair as fast as possible. She used the wet towel and is officially done with Miner’s Lake.

It should be noted that Dave stood in that water, in that same spot, for about 30 minutes fly fishing later that same evening. He never saw a one. I think his hairy legs must be a protective armor.

After getting back to camp, Dave went to help an elderly couple who had driven up to the campground to reminisce. They used to come here and spend whole summers camping. As he was backing in to their old site, he went over the top of one of the satanic concrete markers that rim the road and pads everywhere. He blew a tire (it literally exploded) and was actually hung up, on top of the marker, unable to move forward or back. Dave pulled him off with a strap and then helped him change the tire. His good deed for the day.

While that was going on, Morgan was nursing her wounds — big, quarter-sized water blisters on the bottoms of her feet and bloody older blisters on her heels. All from her lovely and stylish Sperry Topsiders, worn two days prior. When she told me the shoes were hurting her feet, I told her to change in to different shoes. She said, “No. I like this outfit.”

Today, she can’t even walk. But she wants it noted that she isn’t sorry. She still likes her outfit from that day and wouldn’t change anything. What a moron.

So then, I started dinner.

Dinner was decided to be the rib eyes with big bakers, green beans and garden tomatoes. Super yum. I was nervous about having any ripe tomatoes for the trip, but several came ripe right before we left, so I am happy to report we have plenty. It’s extra cool that they are our first tastes of garden tomatoes of the year!

Everyone was tired. Morgan was in bed I don’t even know what time. Charlie made a couple s’mores and we called it a night. We went to sleep before the sun even set.

Road Warriors is Back!

I been saving myself for the past two months. Gearing up for Road Warriors.

No. Not really.

Actually, if you want the truth, writing here is a luxury. I love it. But it feels…irresponsible, somehow, when all Hell is breaking loose elsewhere. So, it becomes a luxury I can’t afford. Is that the long-lost catholic guilt in me? I don’t think so. I think it’s the good ‘ol Aksteter martyr in me. Regardless. Something had to give, and as much I’d like for it to have been soccer, it was the blog. Summer is coming to a close, though — just this morning, Morgan trooped off to her first dreaded “two a day” soccer practices. –The start of school sports. Blech.

And, we just returned from our annual camping trip. It was HEAVEN to get away. *Spoiler alert* And nothing BAD happened. Which, I will admit in advance, makes for dull reading, but makes for an awesome trip.

As always, I will write directly from the journal. If anything needs to be explained further or clarified, I will use [brackets].

So, without further ado!

ROAD WARRIORS FOUR: ON THE ROAD AGAIN.

Prologue

Morgan tried, with no success, to enlist travel companions again this year. Seems she rather enjoyed the Kooistras last year. Not that I didn’t. (I did!) I just knew, from our own ridiculous schedule, that it was pretty unlikely that they would be able to go during the only week that we would be able to go.

And, as usual, I was right. [If you are new here, please note: this is a major theme.] Only, it took a few weeks for me to be able to say “Aha! I was right,” because, also as usual, it took Jan and Wes several more calls and texts — and weeks — to get back to us with that information. Once I delivered this devastating news to Morgan, the search was on for a new camping family. I, of course, knew that this was a virtual impossibility, but ahhhh the naiveté and hope of the young! So sweet.

And in the end, she was crushed like a bug.

But really. Who are we? Dave, Charlie and I? Are we chopped liver? Buck up, little camper. We are going to have SO MUCH FUN together!

CHAPTER ONE, DAY ONE.

Friday, 8/3/12, 5 pm

So. Much. Work. I really had it good this year. No panicking. No 9 pm rooster attacks while I frantically made the spaghetti. [El Señor has left the area. He is, as we refer to it, “on walk-about”. aka: dead.] I was pretty organized. I made and froze the spaghetti and tacos on Monday. Made and froze the banana bread over the weekend. Planned to — horrors! — BUY a rotisserie chicken instead of frying one. Had been setting things out in the laundry room for over a week. But today? Still ten solid hours of prep. TEN FLIPPIN’ HOURS! That doesn’t even count the stuff leading up to today.

Why is that? I seriously want to know. [Chris: this means you. I was at your house the day before you left for the week with five (or is it six? I can never remember) kids and you were playing checkers — CHECKERS — with Maili the night before you were to leave at 9 in the morning. And! Charlie was sleeping over that night! I would never let my kids have friends over the night before we left. God forbid they see what a freak-out bitch I can be! *breath* *breath* Can you see how hysterical I become? Does this happen to anyone else?] What the heck?

The meal line-up is: spaghetti, flank steak kabobs, tacos, green curry and rib eyes… I feel like there is one more, cuz that is only 5 meals… but I can’t remember. The garden, for all its issues this summer, was good to us in all areas except edamame. Which is a serious drag. — and also a first, if my bad memory serves me. In its place, I am lugging along a suitcase of cambozola. [Camembert/gorgonzola cheese, like a creamy blue. Worth dying for.] A delicious substitute that involves a 1500% uptick in fat grams and serves no nutritional purpose whatsoever.

Perfect.

Well, after telling everyone we were heading to Colorado again, we are currently headed west on I-94 towards western Montana and northern Idaho. That’s about all I know. So it’ll be as much a surprise for me as for you. I know this much:

….never mind. I guess he doesn’t really know where we are going either. I guess the plan is that we decide once we get to Bozeman. Which is a serious head-scratcher, really, since the guy has been pouring over maps every night for the past week. And he really doesn’t know where we are going? It isn’t like I care. I just find it… odd.

The plan is to drive through the night. We shall see…

[sorry. no photos from day one. I forgot to take any pictures.]

Road Warriors Three Day 8: FINALE!

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.