Jenmenke

Road Warrior

Road warriors four

Road Warriors Four. Day Three.

Sunday, 8/5/12

Charlie was the first up and had a fire built. I, of course, thought it was Dave out there. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I rolled over and he was laying inches away from my face, still sleeping. Yikes. A very odd occurrence, indeed.

Morgan, who went to bed at about… oh… 7:30 pm was the last to get up. I clock her at about 16 hours of sleep.

We lounged around most of the morning. Dave made some hash browns — the kind from Costco that come in a little milk carton you fill with water and then put in a fry pan. They apparently have an expiration date. yeah, yeah, yeah… THEY’RE FINE! That’s just a ruse. When is he going to start believing me?

Meanwhile, I got an egg and Charlie toasted a ciabatta bun, which might be a little too thick for his standard campfire technique, but do absorb an impressive amount of butter, which more than makes up for the thickness.

Eventually, we made some sandwiches and headed off in the car to the Continental Divide trail. It took us 20 minutes to drive three miles to the trailhead on the 4-wheel drive road, nervously testing the new Michelins. Dave was lamenting, yet again, the fact I hadn’t gotten the “big-ass knobby ones”. When I reminded him that less than 1% of my driving is off-road, he insisted that I still should have gotten the big ones and that the next set would BE the big ones.

First, don’t be telling me what kind of tires I’m going to be getting on a car I don’t even want in the first place. And, second, …there is no second.

I countered that there wouldn’t BE A NEXT SET. I reminded him of the deal we made a year and a half ago when we bought this Suburban: when Morgan goes to college, I get to kick my 16 year Suburban habit. Dave’s look told me a lot — like maybe he would be trying to, yet again, talk me out of our deal. No way buddy. We don’t need two huge SUVs, period. Correctly, he swallowed his words and instead asked, “So, what kind of car are you thinking you’ll get?”

“A small car. A wind-up car.”

He just stared straight ahead and pretended I hadn’t said anything at all — clearly perturbed.

Wait. That’s how he always looks. Never mind.

It was quickly determined that we wouldn’t be hiking the Continental Divide trail, since it was an 18 mile hike.

[Note the bag Charlie is carrying. For the LOVE of GOD, WHEN —when?— will Dave Menke stop making us carry fishing equipment on long hikes? At least now I have children I can force to do it instead of me.]

We headed instead for Rock Lake — a six mile hike. It was also quickly determined that Morgan wouldn’t be joining us. I began to suspect that she intenionally mutilated her feet to avoid hiking. I wouldn’t put it past her…

It was a hot and dusty trail. I don’t have much good to say about it, except that it made for some funny conversations with Charlie on the way up. We couldn’t help but comment about the absence of the Reluctant Hiker. We were certainly going a lot faster than normal (sorry Morgan!) and had some chuckles about that… The hot dust inevitably led to the a comparison with the Sperry Glacier trail that we did in Glacier Park several years ago. It was record heat there — in the 90’s, as it was today. That trail, too, was a horse trail with random horse poop and flies. (I’m making this sound worse than it was, but still.) Charlie said, “I HATE horseback riding. I hated every single horseback ride we ever went on.” —Seriously? “I hated every single minute of every single ride.” No way! Could Charlie be developing the exaggeration gene? When I told him I didn’t remember him hating it so much he said it was true.

Apparently, even when he was little he was “on edge.” and, “always stressed out” on “dangerous trails” worried when those “stupid horses stumbled.” I don’t know why it made me laugh so hard. The idea of Charlie being stressed out on a horse… it just made me laugh. –There was this time he almost got hit by a truck crossing the highway to get to a trail [a seriously bad deal of which he was completely oblivious at the time] which may have planted some deep-seated unease about the dangers of trail riding , but that’s a long story. [Maybe someday I’ll pull out all the journals and eventually post them all here. Like prequels to Road Warriors.]

The payoff — the lake — was very pretty.

We were so hot and sweaty.

Incredibly, Dave was the first to go in the water. [I have the pictures to prove it, but am forbade from posting. I’m sure they’ll show up — unintentionally — on the AppleTV, which auto-syncs from my computer. And that will be a grave day indeed. However, about damn time there are a couple incriminating ones of Dave, since there are plenty of me, which pop up at the most inopportune times and which I cannot find in the thousands of photos on there to delete and which torment Morgan to no end.] I followed, while Charlie freaked out on us. We couldn’t talk him in to the skinny dip club though. We lingered at the lake for about 45 minutes

[with our clothes on. it was all very tasteful.] and then headed back down.

At the start of the hike I had told Dave to, “Go at a good clip so we get a workout.”

Seriously, I didn’t know the guy with the bad hip could walk that fast. He’s certainly never done it with me on the gravel road at home. I was spent. He hasn’t ever out-hiked me before, but he did. And it made me pretty crabby to be bested. We power walked, even running at times, all the way back down to the bottom. Charlie and I tripping and stumbling to keep up with Ibuprofen-Enhanced Dave Menke.

Morgan welcomed us back to the car well-rested, well-feed, well-read and well-movied. Not well-networked though, because there is no cell service here. Ha!

I couldn’t figure out why she jumped at the chance to ride with Dave to Jackson for ice. I thought it was so nice of her. But then I realized it was to retrieve messages and get a few of her own out to the world beyond. [We later learned she also talked “daddy” into an ice cream cone.] While they were gone, Charlie and I split some Cambozola and ridiculously good Rosemary Raisin crackers from Trader Joes while I nursed my crabby with both a Bud Lite and a vodka tonic. Dave had handed them both to me as he left.

He’s a prophet.

After a proper amount of sulking and snacking, I started chopping stuff for tacos. I had realized we forgot to bring shredded cheese before Dave and Morgan left, so they were picking some up. Only Jackson didn’t have any shredded cheese. Just blocks. So I chopped it, which worked surprisingly well and made the natives very happy.

After a disproportionate amount of ribbing directed at Charlie for being “dramatic” about injuries and life in general, we finally tipped him over. It took about two hours to get the old Charlie back. During this time, I reflected on my own character flaws and came to the conclusion that I’m pretty mean. This isn’t new information, of course, but there is no sugar coating it. You gotta have thick skin to share a table with me.  Charlie — bless his heart — still doesn’t meet the grade. I want to be clear that this is a virtue rather than a flaw.

I am happy to report that by sunset, Charlie had returned to his happy self. My job is done here. There will be plenty of egos to bruise tomorrow. I will need my rest.

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 Four: Day Two.

Saturday, 8/4/12. PART ONE.

Cool Green Moss on a Stump

We actually did a pretty good job of driving thru. We stopped outside of Fergus Falls for fast food around 7:30. Arby’s, of all places. For years — forever, really — Arby’s has been the butt of jokes for the Menke family. Don’t get me wrong: I love me a Regular Roast Beef with one packet each of Arby’s and Horsey sauce. I was, in fact, weaned on them growing up. On very special nights (my parents going out, for example) my dad would drive from our little east Edina house all the way to the Penn Avenue Arby’s in Richfield and bring a sack home. It was a big treat, let me tell you. Who wouldn’t love it?

Imagine my surprise (or shock and dismay) upon discovering that Dave Menke put Arby’s in the same category as I put White Castle: fine for when you are drunk and in college, but not much else. So, over the years, Arby’s has become a fun joke. As in: “How about Arby’s,” when we are looking for a place to stop. Har dee har har. Cuz, like, we’d never actually GO there.

Ok. Fast forward to present time. We are looking for a spot and Dave says to us, “I don’t care. McDonald’s or Arby’s?” From the backseat: “I don’t care.” Dave says, “Arby’s?” Charlie says, “Ha ha. Yeah, right Dad.” I say, “No, really. Dad likes Arby’s now.” Charlie laughs. Morgan says, “No. Really, Charlie. He does.” And I add, “Seriously. Dad’s serious, Charlie. Do you care?”

But after an entire lifetime of this, Charlie isn’t so easy a target and he isn’t buying it. Dave turns into the lot and Charlie is still laughing. I don’t think he really believed any of us until we had actually placed the order. His anxiety level was quite high, I think. Worried we were going to embarrass him by turning around and running out, all just to fool him. I wonder just how much I’ve damaged him over the years…

What precipitated the change of Dave’s heart? No, not the ‘rubberized’ roast beef, as he likes to call it, but the “Market Fresh” deli sandwiches — one of which is a Reuben. Dave loves reubens. What I can’t figure out is how he figured out they even HAVE reubens. Anyway. Long, drawn out story for a 15 minute detour. Sorry.

As we got back on the road, with Dave driving again — he said he was good to drive — there was a huge storm brewing to the west. Fantastic lightening. It started raining right as we got on the highway and the wind was insane. A few miles down the highway, we saw an overturned trailer going the other direction. Made me worried about the garden and house.

Twenty minutes later — surprise! — Dave pulled off the road to let me drive. It’s classic Dave. I don’t even get mad anymore since I’m basically waiting for it to happen. He fell asleep instantly. I drove from about 8:20 pm till 1 am, stopping once for gas. I was pretty cross-eyed sleepy toward the end. Honestly, I was pretty cross-eyed sleepy for three of the four and a half hours I drove. I was listening to The Clash of Kings on Audible and, frankly, I’m OVER it. Which is pretty much a bummer since the book is something like 37 hours long. There are five download segments, where most audio books have one or two. The good news is I’m on the last one. Only seven more hours to go! It’s the second book in a five book Game of Thrones series. I hate giving up. I really do. But I don’t have 120 more hours to spend listening to some guy do 14 different Old English accents. I’ll need someone to give me an abbreviated synopsis. It’s apparently a racy HBO show now (??), so maybe it won’t be that hard.

Anyway. The book did little to keep me awake.

Dave woke up about 12:30 and talked to me for the last half hour. A first! And just like that, I was awake again. I could’ve even driven further. But as it was, I stopped in Dickenson, ND (we think) to top off the gas. I snuggled in to pretend to sleep. Which, of course, I never actually did. I was so close! I even drifted off for 5 or 10 minutes — long enough for my entire arm to fall asleep. But that was it.

Dave pulled over to “close his eyes for 20 minutes” — code for his standard hour and a half nap — sometime around 3 am. It wasn’t until around 5 am and I was writing this that I asked him where we stopped and I found out it was in MILES CITY! The ever-famous locale for my misadventures with the semi, some 5 or 6 years ago. Such nostalgia! I would have liked to know that at the time, I think.

2007: That sure looked like a turn lane to me!

We switched around 5:30 am — in Forsythe? We can’t remember, but oh well. Dave apparently also has no idea where he stopped for gas, how much he put in, or anything at all about the prior four hours. Aside from general alarm that he was even awake, I guess we aren’t going to keep track of what we spend this year…

I stopped in Big Timber, MT for gas, bathroom and a visit to a tiny, chicken-coop-sized coffee shop for a watery latte. And then we were back on the road.

As I drove between Miles City and Billings, in the wee hours of the morning just as the sun came up, I stared in wonder at the temperature. Coming from weeks and weeks of stifling humidity and temps in the 90s day after day after day I watched in amazement as it went from 60 to 55 to 50 to 45. All the way down to 41 degrees.

It actually went down to 41 but this is the last picture I got before driving us off the cliff…

A couple hours later we stopped in Bozeman at the Main Street Over Easy for breakfast. Cat Eye Cafe was too crowded and Starkey’s (our favorite from a previous visit) was closed. It was nuts because main street was closed for a 5K run that was just finishing as we got in to town — all part of the Bozeman Stampede I think. Parade floats were randomly going by on side streets, presumably to line up somewhere — which only gets me to thinking about Rails to Trails and then soccer and then my stress levels go up by half and I say “We gotta get the HELL OUT OF HERE!”

But Dave is on the phone and only vaguely points in an easterly direction, so we end up seeing a lot more of residential Bozeman (and a lot more of Dave’s pointing finger) before I manage to get us back on I-90 heading west to — I still don’t know where.

And I’m serious about that. And that is just fine with me.

We listened to a bit of the audio book “Boomerang” about the financial crisis or something. My friend Sheila recommended it to me. I figured Dave might like that kind of book. I seriously knew nothing more about it. So, I put it on, and Dave’s head shot up and he said, “Is this by the guy who wrote ‘The Big Short?'” And even though I had no idea what “The Big Short” was, I said, “I think so,” because it rang a bell.

And because I am a liar.

Then I quickly scanned Amazon (handy to have the internet!) and saw that it was, in fact, by the same guy, so I amended my “I think so” to “Yeah. It is by that guy.” And Dave looked at me in a way that I imagined to be full of love and admiration for picking a book just for him. And I’ll let him keep thinking that.

So, thanks Sheila!

But anyway, he fell asleep again after about 15 minutes and then it was just ME listening to the stupid Boomerang book about Iceland and Greece and Ireland going bankrupt. And while I admit that — for a book about countries going broke it is pretty good — I basically don’t give a rat’s ass about it.

So, thanks for that Sheila!

Dave continued to sleep, which started to irk me just a wee bit since I had literally NO EFFING IDEA where we were going and was pretty convinced we had missed the turn for the campground about 20 miles back. Then Dave’s eyes suddenly popped open and he instantly said, “It’s right up here” as if he hadn’t been totally SLEEPING for the past 45 minutes. And yet, he was right. Which pretty much messed with my head.

We stopped in Jackson, MT for some ice. I didn’t even know there was a Jackson, MT. Then, we headed to Miner’s Lake Campground, which we found to be blissfully and almost completely empty! Really. There is no better quality that we, the loud family, enjoy more than total privacy. To pee! To talk loud!

We set up on the very end site — just in case. It was, after all, a Saturday.

I never put the camper up, like I usually do, to pack it, before we left. So all the normal stuff was in the car. I was anxious to see how all my dust-proofing from last year had worked. We had driven to the campground on a powdery, white, dusty, dusty road, so it was a really good test. I was THRILLED to find the under-seat bins PERFECT! There was still a fair amount of dust in the main compartment — which I think might be coming from around the door — but the dust-free compartments are a HUGE leap forward. I can now store things in there without putting them first in to garbage bags!

Hatchet Man found some wood to chop.

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? — I got to work on dinner.

Making Sammies for a hike

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.]