Closing Thoughts

It’s Wednesday evening and tomorrow we head back to College Station. This will be my final post in the 2010 Travel Blog (you’re welcome) and my final composition EVER in the event that our plane crashes on the way back to Austin or (more likely) somebody goes Postal during another four-hour pre-flight delay. Seattle and north-central Washington in general have been a lot of fun, so I’ve decided to just toss out some bullet-points and let them serve as this year’s farewell.

• One of the highlights of the last couple of days (coinciding, not coincidentally, with our return to the States) has been local fruit. Peaches get a B-plus -- not as sweet as the Fredericksburg crop, but absolutely gushing with juice. They’re clearly a VERY different variety and the contrast is interesting. Apricots get an A-minus and are far better than any I’ve had before. But the real winner is Rainier cherries. While that obviously makes sense given our location, the difference between just picked versus having been picked and then shipped to College Station really is astounding. I buy them every chance I get at home for more than double the price I paid here ... and for half the taste. There is a lesson to be learned there somewhere.
  
  
• The kids liked Seattle. Hunter probably liked it more than anyone else. Reagan claims that he would like city living, but after driving around on extremely cramped streets for a couple of days and spending an hour or so negotiating Pike Place Market (it was a very rare, clear-as-a-bell summer day and the crowds were insane), he’s had enough. I’d usually be right there with him, but I really like the Market. So much cool food -- loads of weird fruits and vegetables / infinite varieties of fresh fish / random and quirky pastry shops -- not to mention the outstanding people-watching possibilities. This is one of the few crowded places I’ve ever been where I don’t get claustrophobic almost immediately. It was wayyyyyyyyy more chaotic today than when Paige and I were here a few years ago, yet I would’ve been happy to hang out there all afternoon. And no I am NOT getting more “tolerant” (in general) with age. Ask anyone.
  
  
• On Tuesday, we went to the Seattle Zoo. Their environments are great and they have quite a few exhibits that aren’t very common as these things go. But after having been there for 2 1/2 hours, I started thinking about how I might change things if I were the Big Cheese. Here’s what I came up with (with some assistance from Paige) ...
  
  More Free-Flight / Free Roaming Areas
  The Seattle Zoo has roughly 27 different aviaries. I actually really like birds, but at some point it just gets a little ridiculous. In Mike’s Zoo we definitely would have a couple of aviaries. But we’d also have a free-flight / free-roaming bugiary. I can envision at least three sections -- Biting, Stinging, and In-the-Dark. Rules for the bugiary would be the same as they are for aviaries. Specifically, you may not touch the bugs (which obviously precludes swatting / slapping / killing them) and you must be sure that Door #1 (between each section) is closed before opening Door #2. And in Mike’s Zoo, there wouldn’t be any of this having to hunt for featured creature X nonsense like there is in the typical zoo aviary. For the Biting and Stinging sections, “swarm” wouldn’t even begin to describe it ... and the In-the-Dark section would be a maze of spider webs. It’s high time these guys were afforded the same treatment as toucans, weavers, and random African pigeons.
  
  Cause and Effect
  At one point on Tuesday, Hadley was standing beside an exhibit and reading all of the information about the featured animal. Hunter was hassling her about something (shock) and she yelled at him (shock) to just STOP because she was trying to read this thing ... at which point he reminded her that she was, in fact, here to LOOK at the animals NOT read about them. I’ve often wondered about this, because it seems that an awful lot of work is put into the whole “education” aspect of a zoo. There’s a ton of information posted along with most of the exhibits, plus a lot of zoos even have separate centers aimed at teaching kids various things about the natural world. At their core, most of these exhibits are exercises in cause-and-effect. Y’know, people were bad in the past which made this animal (or this ecosystem; e.g., the rainforest) become endangered and now we’re trying to be better so the species / ecosystem can recover. In other words, we did this so this happened and now we’re trying to do THIS so THIS will happen. Well at Mike’s Zoo, cause-and-effect would be a daily hands-on experience. How? At the end of each afternoon, the kid voted Most Obnoxious by the staff would be forced to run the Predator Gauntlet. Cause? You were obnoxious. Effect? You have to pick up all five orange cones in the lion exhibit while wearing a 22-ounce porterhouse suspended from your neck. (Note: A tandem course in the grizzly exhibit will be constructed for your parent / guardian if he / she was heard to utter the phrase “high-spirited” at any point during the day.) If you survive, your parent / guardian gets one more chance at turning the discipline boat around and keeping you out of prison. If you don’t, your name goes on the Jungle Justice board in the Education Center.
  
  Theme Days
  Remember how when you were a kid and you went to the pool, they always had “adult swim”? Until I was well beyond the age of actually wanting to go to the pool, I never understood the point of reserving 15 minutes out of every hour (or whatever it was) for grown-ups to have things to themselves. Now, obviously, I do. In Mike’s Zoo, I see a number of different possibilities. One option would be to have an entire day (say, Tuesday of each week) reserved exclusively for adult patrons. Would revenues dip? Maybe. But the animal union probably would give me zookeeper tenure. Plus, I don’t know about you but I personally would be willing to pay a significant premium (probably on the order of about a thousand percent) to be able to go to a zoo and actually take my time with and enjoy the exhibits. As things currently stand, every time we approach a new section my audio sensors check for solo annoying kids while my radar simultaneously scans the immediate area for evidence of multiple small bodies wearing the same t-shirt (surefire evidence that a school or daycare center has decided to share its own special brand of fun with the zoo-going public). Actually, Adult Tuesdays could be combined with Field Trip Fridays -- the one day out of every week where Mike’s Zoo would open its loving arms wide to elementary schools and daycare centers. I’d even cut admission 50% to sweeten the pot. Of course I’d lock away all of the animals (thereby generating even MORE goodwill with them) and hang “Exhibit Temporarily Closed” and “Can You Find the (fill-in-the-blank)?” signs everywhere, but at the margin I don’t think it would matter. The 3% of kids who actually cared about seeing the animals would have parents who would bring them back on a “good” day anyway and the other 97% could still run around and scream and make random animal noises and buy Dippin’ Dots and destroy the gift shop. Win-Win.
  

I guess that’s about all I’ve got. Hopefully these posts haven’t been too tedious and you’ve gotten at least some enjoyment out of them. At a minimum, the process forces me to write stuff down about these family vacation experiences that otherwise I probably wouldn’t ... and that I’ll be very happy to have 20 years down the road. And for that, I thank you.

Happy Trails,

Mike

Take Off, Eh?

Most of you are too young to remember the Bob and Doug McKenzie “Great White North” poking-a-stick-at-Canadians sketches on SCTV. For those of you who AREN’T too young (or for those of you who are, but are curious anyway), here’s a quick trip down memory lane:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-ZvAVcBIrQ

As for us, we “took off” (in the more traditional sense) from Banff on Saturday and drove west/southwest through Yoho, Glacier (of Canada), and Revelstoke National Parks to arrive at the town of Revelstoke on Saturday evening ... and then “took off” from Revelstoke today (Monday) to arrive back in the States this evening. We’re comfortably settled in Cle Elum, Washington at present and will head into Seattle for two days in the city before returning to College Station -- or, as one of our blog subscribers puts it, “hell” -- on Thursday. So ... tonight I’m going to give a brief recap of the final two vacation days in Canada as well as providing my closing thoughts on Canada in general. Beauty, eh?

We spent a good bit of Saturday in the van, traveling from Banff through the other parks to Revelstoke. When we passed through Yoho, we took a detour and went over to see what I believe is the tallest unbroken waterfall in the Canadian Rockies -- Takakkaw Falls. En route, we saw the first (and last) moose of the entire 2+ week vacation. Paige is a true moose lover so I was very glad that we stumbled upon this one. Some other people had stopped ahead of us and moved on, so we stuck around for a few minutes ... finally saw something large and brown in the brush and a bunch of small treetops waving ... backed up ... waited some more ... shut off the van’s motor, clearly heard crunching and munching and snorting (the cover was very heavy so we couldn’t see jack) ... pulled up a little further to try to get a better angle back through the brush and it trotted across the road about 15 yards behind the vehicle. When we came back through the area we stopped to look for it again and were able to see it a little (very little) more clearly and get a couple of pictures. The only completely reliable moose area we’ve ever encountered is the Kootenai Lakes region just inside the U.S. border in Glacier National Park. Getting to them is a bit of a pain, though, as you have to go into Canada, take a boat down Waterton Lake (passing back across the U.S. border on the lake), and hike about three miles into the backcountry to reach Upper Kootenai Lake. We’ve done that on three different occasions and have seen moose every time. Other than that, the supposed moose hotspots usually turn out to be duds. At any rate, this little side trip to the falls turned out to be unexpectedly productive, which was fab.

From there, we drove through Canada’s version of Glacier National Park and along the boundary of Revelstoke National Park. We stopped a couple of times for short walks but generally were just focused on getting to Revelstoke. Once we got there and ate (Nomad’s is highly recommended), we drove to the summit of Mount Revelstoke, walked around a bit up there, and planned a hike for Sunday. According to the park’s literature, the trail I picked out was a 7 mile “peaceful stroll” (direct quote) from the summit to a particular lake and back, with only a 45-foot elevation gain. Now ... most hikes in rugged ranges like this that either start or end at summits have a tendency to chew you up and spit you out, so I was more than a little bit curious as to how someone had managed to engineer a 7 mile “peaceful stroll” from the top of Mount Revelstoke. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that (1) while the NET elevation gain probably was only 45 feet, standard deviation would’ve been a far more useful measure; (2) neither Paige nor Hollis (nor anyone else except Hunter) is really a fan of exposed sidehill rock scrambles, which were an integral part of the last mile of this route ... so ultimately I cut out the final half-mile climb to the lake; and (3) I have never seen so many horseflies and other bugs in my life -- not even on the Belly River Trail in northern Montana, which has held that particular honor for almost 20 years. The views we had on Sunday were gorgeous and the insect repellent, by and large, worked ... but when we got back to the summit, there was much rejoicing. All in all, our Revelstoke experience was very good. But at this point the kids definitely are hiked out and are ready for something different. Seattle, here we come.

As promised, my final observations for today relate to Canada in general. I’ve talked quite a bit about how fond I am of it as a country. But I probably should qualify that by saying that the version of Canada I’m enamored with is the version that involves places where very few people live ... like the northern half of most of the provinces that border the lower 48 and presumably both halves of the other ones (I’ve not had the good fortune of visiting them ... yet). The places that have people in them are just as annoying as most of their U.S. counterparts. So at the end of the day, I guess I’m just saying that I am a big fan of isolation -- which obviously comes as no surprise to anyone who really knows me -- and it seems to me that it would be simpler to find true isolation north of the border than in the States. Stated differently, if I CAN’T have isolation, I’ll stay right where I am thank you very much. Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, and Country Where You Don’t Have to Pay 25 cents to Use a Grocery Cart.

No, I am not kidding.

Last but not least, where Canada is concerned ... I finally figured out why airline miles are associated with absolutely everything up there. For the first few days I always said “What?” or “Excuse me?” or just gave a questioning look when the grocery checkout person / convenience store clerk / gift shop owner / waitress / homeless person asked me for my airline miles number. I half expected for there to be a mystery voice asking me the same thing every time I flushed a john. Initially I had no idea what to think, but I’ve gotten a bit of clarity over the past couple of weeks. It’s because Canada has the worst system of roads and the most incompetent highway management in the entire civilized or uncivilized world. If you lived up there, you’d realize that ... and you’d want to fly everywhere ... and obviously you’d demand that you get airline credit every time you bought a pack of gum or blew your nose.

Case(s) in point?

As mentioned above, we left Banff on Saturday and headed out on our drive through Yoho, Glacier, and Revelstoke National Parks. I noticed that traffic was a little heavier than it had been on other days but chalked it up to an absolutely gorgeous Saturday (makes sense, right?). When we got to Yoho, however, I noticed a sign that said “Canada Parks Day, July 17, 2010 -- Free Admission to all National Parks!!” Terrific. The one day I pick as a travel day just happens to be on the second worst day of the year (behind Canada Day, on July 1, which we hit in Waterton three years ago) ... and I just happen to be traveling through three parks on this day ... not really because I want to, but BECAUSE THERE ARE NO OTHER ROADS ANYWHERE. Paige noted today that each province has one north-south road and one east-west road and that’s not too far from the truth.

Anyway, it’s fine ... we’re not in a hurry at all ... we get through Yoho and traffic is completely ridiculous but it’s moving ... and then between Yoho and Glacier, it grinds to a halt. As in stopped. As in like it was for blasting outside of Lake Louise earlier in the week (see Saturday’s entry).

So I turned the motor off, just like I did on the way back to the Columbia Icefields.

And we sat there.

For 28 minutes.

At about noon.

On a Saturday.

In a National Park.

On Canada Parks Day.

When the Canadian Government has used “free admission” to incentivize everyone to go visit their amazing Canadian National Parks.

Is it just me, or is this beyond stupid? Do you think MAYBE the government should have STOPPED their absolutely never-ending National Park road construction projects for just this one day?

About 5-7 minutes after I turned the motor back on we had passed the 15-foot section (no lie) of road that they were re-paving. By that time there were already 157 vehicles (again, no lie, I counted) lined up in the lane of oncoming traffic. I’ll let you extrapolate from there and develop your own model for predicting precisely how long that line would’ve been in another 20 minutes or so.

Unbelievable ...

I had almost forgotten about this until we left Revelstoke this morning and were subjected to four hours of pure torture between there and the U.S. border. Actually the first hour or so was more or less OK. But once you get to Vernon, you’re pretty much driving through a continuous lakeside town (complete with stoplights, speed zones, and the like) until you get to the United States. I have never experienced anything quite like it. I guarantee that it is the longest two-lane, 40 mph average, 110 miles you will ever experience in your entire life. So THAT, friends and neighbors, is why you too can earn airline miles with every visit to your local Canadian 7-11. 

I do love Canada. Dearly. But like everything except family, it’s not unconditional ...

Cheers,

Mike

Saving Face

At one point or another during our annual summer trip, Hunter (featured in today’s picture ... wearing a white shirt and raising his arms ... do ya see him?) and I always go on a hike together. Alone. Actually Hadley accompanied us once, but we usually pick a day when most everyone else is sick to death of hiking (simple enough) and not wanting to go anywhere near as far as I want to go (again, simple enough) and not wanting to wake up at the hour that is often necessary to find a bit of solitude (crazy simple). This year, Friday was the day. I actually got Hadley up at the same time to see if she was interested in going, but she was a zombie. Not even the prospect of a real-live, snack-filled backcountry tea house was enough to motivate her. And that is saying something.

So ... the bonding-with-Hunter hike of choice this year was the Plain of the Six Glaciers Trail, which starts at Lake Louise (see last Wednesday’s post) and climbs about 1600 feet to a viewpoint near the bottom of -- you guessed it -- six glaciers. The route covers about 8 1/2 miles roundtrip if you go absolutely as far as you can go, so that’s 4 1/4 miles up and 4 1/4 miles down. Yeah, my math skills are that good. Sixteen hundred feet up over 4 1/4 miles is like climbing a completely vertical staircase (ladder) that is 1 1/4 football fields tall with every mile that you walk. That’s non-trivial but it’s not too bad. When we lived in Arizona, I hiked to the top of Mount Wrightson on three different occasions. The trail to the top there covers about 6 miles and the elevation gain is about 4100 feet ... so that translates into climbing a vertical staircase that is about 2 1/3 football fields tall with every mile that you walk. But that 12-mile circuit is the most grueling route I’ve ever taken in a single day ... and my lungs and legs were 16 years younger and much more accustomed to this sort of thing the last time I did it as well.

Anyway, all was well on Friday. We were the second pair of the day to make it to the tea house that is a little less than a mile from the top. Stopped there for some coffee and, according to Hunter, thoroughly terrible lemonade. Apparently backcountry tea houses are rather common along Canadian and European trail routes, and I must say that I do like the idea. All of the supplies are brought up by horse a few times a week and the handful of employees stay in a couple of cabins next to the facility. Kinda cool. After hanging out there for ten minutes or so, I asked Hunter if he wanted to push on to the top or head back to the bottom. He said he was game to proceed, so off we went.

The trail to the top starts out innocently enough. Then after about half a mile, it gets a bit steeper and quite a bit more exposed and ultimately traverses the top of a lateral moraine -- which is a steep ridge of debris that is formed when a glacier advances. Basically, with about 300 yards to the viewing area, one has to walk across the top of a three-foot wide knife blade, where the east side of the blade angles 50 or so feet into a boulder field and the west side of the blade drops straight down and off the face of the earth. Or so it seems. It’s probably only 500 feet or so ... but y’know, after the first 50 or 60 feet it wouldn’t make much difference.

Now ... I love hiking in the mountains and would do it just about every day of the year if I could. But I most emphatically am NOT a fan of exposed heights. I admire mountaineers but I do not REMOTELY get them. So when we rounded the corner and saw what was to be seen, I literally started laughing  ...

Hunter - What’s going on, dad?

Me - Well, Hunter, it looks like we’re going to have to be content with our view of the glaciers from here. They look pretty amazing, don’t you think?

Hunter - What?

Me - Yeah, the best viewing area is just a few hundred yards up the trail there but I’m not walking 100 yards across that ridge top.

Hunter - Seriously? We have to turn around NOW?

Me - Umm ... yeah. No way am I crossing that thing.

Hunter - Come on dad, don’t be such a chicken.

One gut check and about five minutes later, we’d traversed that route and covered the rest of the distance and were seated on the talus slope above, facing the glaciers. Sitting, white-knuckled, on a steep bed of loose gravel, about five feet from the edge that as far as I know drops into Land of the Lost-ville wasn’t particularly comforting either, but then I started thinking about what Paige would’ve said (the censored version, anyway) if she had been teleported onto the scene about 10 minutes prior ... which of course made me start laughing again. Meanwhile Hunter is basically dancing around on the talus slope, picking up loose rocks and asking me if he can throw them over the edge to see how long it takes before he hears them hit the ground. Umm, pretty sure you'd NEVER hear them, Hunter ...

It was all very surreal. But definitely one of the 10 coolest trails I’ve ever taken.

When we got back to Banff at about two in the afternoon, Paige had just finished all of the laundry (yesssssssss) ... so everybody spent a good part of the afternoon at the Douglas Fir Chalet’s Waterpark (see last Tuesday’s entry). We had it totally to ourselves, save for a high school girl and her younger siblings. The kids monopolized the water slides (which, truthfully, are terrific), and it was hot tub city for my old, feeble muscles and rainbow-colored ankle.

And not a naked European in sight.

We’re shoving off in the morning (Monday) for Washington. I’ll have an update from our two days in Revelstoke, BC tomorrow.

Cheers,

Mike

Payoff? What Payoff?

So ... lotsa water under the bridge since Wednesday ... been too busy to send out any updates so I’m gonna try to remedy that situation tonight. On Wednesday we packed up the vehicle and headed back up to the Columbia Icefields (see last Tuesday’s entry if you missed why we had to retrace our steps). Pushed off at a little before 11 a.m. to arrive at around 2:00 or so, thereby avoiding most of the tour bus crowd ... backed out, realized I’d forgotten the camera, went back in ... backed out again, realized I’d forgotten something else (can’t remember now), went back in ... got five minutes up the road and realized I’d forgotten our super-cool Ice Explorer tickets ... didn’t think I’d need them since we booked online but didn’t wanna risk it, so we turned around ... again ... went back ... got them ... got 30 minutes up the road and realized that Reagan was wearing his non-existent-tread running shoes instead of his hiking shoes, very nearly lost my composure completely but managed a decent enough save, but no way I’m turning around and losing another hour you can sit in the van by yourself and think about it young man if you think the trail is too steep / slippery for what you’ve got on ... got another five minutes up the road from there (having run the daily 15 miles of construction gauntlet between Banff and Lake Louise) and saw the dreaded BLASTING AHEAD - EXPECT DELAYS flashing sign ... got another two or three minutes up the road, joined our place in the blasting-induced line ... turned off the motor ... sat in line for 29 minutes ... turned on the motor, expecting now to have a ridiculously long journey up to the Icefields because of 12 billion (conservatively) RVs that were in the blasting-delayed line (again, see last Tuesday’s entry for details) ...

You get the picture.

I think the travel gods must’ve been testing my mettle, because I came EXTREMELY close to making a U-turn on the highway once the median was decent enough to try it. Glad I didn’t, because the rest of the day was terrific. 

I (we) win.

Our experience at the Columbia Icefields was fabulous. The drive up there from the Lake Louise area was very smooth -- thanks, in part, to Alberta license plate HUF-020, who guided us most of the way with his speed limit + 20 km/h aggressive-Canadian-driver goodness. And upon arriving, we only had to wait 25 minutes (instead of the two hours I was expecting) to get on the next Ice Explorer. What is an Ice Explorer? Basically it’s a Greyhound bus with 4 1/2 feet tall balloon-ish tires and an engine that probably could power Manhattan for a three day weekend. There are 22 of these beasts in existence. All but one are used at the Icefields Centre. The other is in service in the Antarctic. Seeing the glacier up close was ridiculously cool, as was walking around on something with ice as deep as the Eiffel Tower is tall. Sorta humbling to realize that 100 years ago it filled the entire valley to where the Icefields Centre currently sits (more than half a mile away) and that in another 100 years it’s likely to be gone entirely ... but any way you slice it, being there was an experience that I’ll not forget. 

After the customary quick in-the-van dinner, we embarked on a hike up Parker Ridge. It’s less than 4 miles roundtrip but the elevation gain is over 800 feet so I was a little concerned about Hollis’ capacity to handle it. As it turns out, I spent most of my time on the way up telling him and the rest of the kids to slow down. Moral of the story? Never underestimate the lungs of a seven year-old or the burden (on a 43 year-old) of a lame ankle and a 35-pound backpack. Why should one need a 35-pound backpack for a two-hour hike? Because one has to pack raingear and water for six, plus emergency diabetes supplies (including extra just-in-case food) and who knows what else. I’m not sure I could even make a list of what is in the bottom of my pack. I suspect, however, I that I could survive for 4-5 days alone in the wild with whatever it holds ...

Anyway, the Parker Ridge hike was very cool. About halfway up, the trail emerges above treeline and the rest of the route passes through a classic alpine setting. Stunted tree growth gives way to tundra with a half dozen species of tiny flowers, which ultimately gives way to open areas covered with a seemingly infinite number of small rocks. And wind? Yes, please. It was a relatively calm day as these things go, yet Paige was having to hold on to her hat at the top of the ridge. I find it amazing that environments like this can be found at a mere 4500 feet above sea level, but such is the nature of this particular spot in the Canadian Rockies. From the viewpoint at the summit of Parker Ridge, the Saskatchewan Glacier is visible across the valley as well as the small (unnamed, I presume, as I’ve not found any info about it) glacial lake immediately below it. The picture above shows both very clearly and is one of my favorites of the thousands of pictures I’ve taken in the past twenty years. Can’t put my finger on exactly why, but it just seems that the contrasts between the alpine meadows below us, the mountains across the way, the blue lake at the bottom of the glacier, the glacier itself, and the massive snowfields in the range behind it create a bit of a perfect storm.

As for votes from the Peanut Gallery, three of the kids thought the trail was terrific. Reagan’s response?

“The payoff on this hike was lame.”

Win some ... lose some.

We’re out of Banff now and settled in Revelstoke ... but I am beat. So tomorrow I’ll fill you in on a terrific trail Hunter and I did on Friday. Definitely in my Top 10. I’m sure you can’t wait ...

Cheers,

Mike

Nothing to Get Hung About (Boulder Fields Forever)

Today’s picture was taken where our festivities began -- at Moraine Lake. Most people say that Moraine Lake is the second most beautiful lake in the Canadian Rockies, behind Lake Louise. We saw both lakes today and I have to say that “most people” are morons ... which of course doesn’t surprise me in the least. In my mind the race isn’t even close. And yes, the water really does look like that. For those of you who’ve never spent any time around glacier-fed lakes, the blue color is attributable to “glacial flour”. Basically, the glaciers grind down rocks, producing a suspension in the meltwater that forms (and colors) the lakes. The first time that Paige and I were really exposed to it was 18 years ago when we hiked in to Iceberg Lake during our first trip to Glacier National Park. To us, the experience of seeing and appreciating these lakes and rivers never gets old.

After putting Moraine Lake behind us, we set off on a hike to Consolation Lake. The initial part of the trail crosses a large boulder field and, while, taking my sunglasses off and putting them away, I rolled my ankle in a rather big way. Awesome. For the whole three-hour circuit to the destination and back I kept hoping things would kindasorta return to normal. They didn’t. Double Awesome. The good news is that it’s not quite as purple as I figured it would be. The bad news is that now I’ve gotta decide whether to do the planned hike tomorrow at the Icefields and risk screwing it up more (which definitely would rule out the much longer route I have planned for Reagan and me on Friday morning) or bag the Icefields hike entirely and hope that I’ve healed up enough for the longer trip on Friday. I suspect we’ll go with Door #2, but I guess we’ll just have to see. 

Lame old man feebleness aside, the trip to Consolation Lake was terrific. Kids had a great time. Cool destination. Beautiful country. The Moraine Lake region has more grizzly activity than other areas in the park, and for all of the trails in this area groups are either encouraged or required to hike in tight bunches of no fewer than four people. If you don’t have a foursome, you’ve gotta make one when you get there. Ahhhhh ... hiking with strangers. Fabulous. Anyway, I figured the trailhead would say REQUIRED today as there was some activity over the weekend, but that wasn’t the case. Wouldn’t have mattered to us, obviously, because we ALWAYS have more than four. Plus we have the Secret Weapon (Hunter). Y’know, if we were to send Hunter up here every summer I think they could add an asterisk to the instructions at all of the trails in this particular system.

*If you have engaged the services of Hunter Wilkins, you may ignore all warnings and hike in as small a group as you wish. You may proceed as quietly and stealthily as you’d like, as he will more than cover the noise requirement for you. You may also feel free to grease your boots with bacon drippings and eat barbecued ribs on the trail, casting the bones and unused sauce behind you. He is an unpaid intern, so tips are appreciated.

Returning to Consolation Lake, I knew it was supposed to be a cool hike but I hadn’t remembered that the trail terminates at yet another boulder field -- this one at least ten times bigger than the one we crossed at the outset. No joke. Better yet, this one does NOT have any sort of trail route through it. If you wanna cross it or play around on it, that’s your business. And returning to the subject of Hunter, that most definitely IS his business. When we arrived, his eyes were like dinner plates. This boulder field is absolutely massive. I seriously think that if we had a house on the edge of this area, Hunter would get up with the sun, pack a lunch so he didn’t have to waste any time coming back at midday, and return as the last shred of sunlight was fading into the distance. He could jack around on these huge rocks forever. And given that a fair amount of my time on ANY trail route is spent telling Hunter and Hadley both to please-get-off-the-rock-does-that-look-like-it’s-part-of-the-trail, they both were in Heaven when I said that they could cross the field as far as the water.

Paige, however, was not particularly thrilled.

There was a window of time several years ago when a series of students and student-athletes who are now some of our very best friends were spending a lot of time at our house -- babysitting, eating all of our food, hanging out, whatever. In no time at all, they picked up on the fact that Paige is a very careful person who is extremely interested in the well-being of her children. Obviously, this a terrific / necessary quality for a mom to have. But that didn’t stop these well-meaning young men and women from developing two labels for Paige -- Safety Director and Fun Patrol. Anytime the kids would do something deemed fun (to them) and slightly unsafe (to Paige), these people -- actually this PERSON ... let’s call it JennaRobynLukeNickiStuSarahSuzz because really what’s the point of changing names to protect the guilty -- would shout out “Fun Patrol!!” Sometimes they (it) would even make the sound of a police / ambulance siren. Can you imagine such behavior?

Well this evening, the Fun Patrol / Safety Director was not AT ALL thrilled with her crippled tour guide’s decision to let the three older kids do a 150-yard free-form boulder field scramble to the edge of Consolation Lake ... nor was she happy when said guide followed them over ... nor was she happy when said guide returned to her and suggested that Hollis could make the trip too, with appropriate supervision / portage, and that it would be good for him. But for the most part, she kept the police siren under wraps and even made the journey across herself. Was she happy when all four ducks were safely back on flat land? Most definitely. But I think she deserves a lot of credit for enhancing an experience that, for whatever reason, they can’t stop quacking about. Was it just the boulder field? Was it the marmots (the kids are rodent freaks and a rodent the size of a small terrier is almost too much for them)? Was it the fact that while we were taking a couple of pictures, two separate avalanches exploded from one of the amazing hanging glaciers at the far end of the lake? I dunno. But it definitely was a red-letter day as far as they’re concerned.

Thursday around lunch we’ll shove off for the Icefields Centre. 

Thanks, as always, for stopping by.

Mike

Rain, Rain, Go Away

I've heard that the Icefields Parkway between Jasper and Lake Louise (north of Banff) provides some of the most spectacular views in all of the Rocky Mountains. This particular stretch of road runs for about 150 miles along the Continental Divide and supposedly showcases any number of glaciers, thousand foot waterfalls, and terrific alpine scenery. I say “supposedly” because for a huge portion of our journey on Monday, all we could see was the rain peppering our windshield and the clouds enclosing the vehicle on all sides. At various points in time the surrounding landscape was visible, but it certainly was not a picture-postcard day. We were supposed to stop and tour Athabasca Glacier en route to Banff, but the good folks at Icefields Centre indicated that no foot travel was being allowed on the glacier all day because of lightning.

What does this mean? 

It means that before we leave Banff on Saturday, if we wanna walk around on a glacier we’ll have to load back up in the van and retrace our steps roughly 2 1/2 hours up the Icefields Parkway to make it happen.  And I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to that. Apart from $5 loaves of white bread and thoroughly mediocre salsa, the only thing that I can manage a complaint about with respect to Canada is the concept of the rental RV. These things are absolutely everywhere -- CruiseCanada, CanaDream, you name it. It seriously seems like one out of every ten vehicles is a huge, white, oversized RV with a rental company’s banner plastered all over it and a complete imbecile in the driver’s seat. I’ve not seen the paperwork that goes along with these things, but I’m pretty confident it looks something like this:

RENT-ME RV RENTAL AGREEMENT

1. Do you personally remember the end of World War I? If YES, proceed to item #10; if NO, continue.
2. Are you willing to have a device installed in your RV that prevents the accelerator from being depressed more than two centimeters? If NO, return to headquarters for training; if YES, continue.
3. Do you know what a roadside pullout is? If NO, proceed to item #6; if YES, continue.
4. Are you willing to have a sensor installed which prevents you from ever using a pullout? If YES, proceed to item #6; if NO, continue.
5. Are you willing to have a sensor installed which -- if some unforeseen circumstance requires you to actually USE a pullout -- will cause you to re-enter the highway at a distance of no greater than 50 meters in front of the next vehicle to round the corner at 90 km/hour? if NO, return to headquarters for training; if YES, continue.
6. Do you know what a passing lane is? If NO, proceed to item #8; if YES, continue.
7. Are you willing to have a sensor installed which will cause your RV to hug the yellow center-line anytime dotted white lines are detected to your vehicle’s right? If NO, return to headquarters for training; if YES, continue.
8. Can you tell the difference between a bear and a tree stump at 10 meters? If NO, proceed to item #10; if YES, continue.
9. Are you tempted to exit your idling-next-to-the-center-line vehicle to take lengthy video of tree stumps? If NO, return to headquarters for training; if YES, continue.
10. Proceed to counter for keys.

That should give you some indication of what we’ll be facing when we head back up the Icefields Parkway. Lovely. Whatever the case, it was about 25 degrees at the Icefields Centre on Tuesday and they got a couple inches of fresh snow to boot. Wednesday should see gradual clearing and by Thursday they’re expecting “cloudy periods” and highs around 55 ... so I imagine that’s when we’ll make our return journey (along, probably, with half the rest of the civilized world). Stay tuned.

Tuesday in Banff was much the same as it was on our lovely Monday drive. Temps never got above 47 and it rained all day. Sooooo ... the kids took advantage of the indoor waterpark (no joke) that goes along with our setup here at the lovely Douglas Fir Chalets. After that, we drove around for the customary couple hours of animal-spotting in the evening and then returned to a roaring fire and two hours of Leave it to Beaver before shutting things down for the night. Believe it or not, the kids were extremely excited to hear that I’d bought Season Three and brought it along SPECIFICALLY for an occasion like this. Yeah, they’re weird (the kids, that is) ... but in a retro kindasorta cool (maybe) way. Anyway, today wasn’t exactly what one would expect from a vacation day in the Rockies, but we managed just fine. 

With a return to good weather predicted for Wednesday through the weekend here in Banff, the next few days look to be quite a bit busier than the past two have been. Hopefully my next blog entry or two will be a little more interesting as well. In the meantime, check out the Photos tab as I’ve posted a few new ones.

Cheers,

Mike

Locker #292

This afternoon (Sunday) we loaded up the van and headed to Miette Hot Springs. We spent half a day at a kindasorta similar area in Thermopolis, Wyoming a few years ago so the kids were pretty jazzed about it. I warned them that it wasn’t going to be remotely the same (the place in Thermopolis is basically a hot springs waterpark and the kids LOVED it) but everybody was still fired up about going. So go, we did. Miette Hot Springs is about 45 minutes from Jasper. It consists of a couple of smallish city park-sized hot springs pools (25 meters x 15 meters, tops) and a couple of tiny cold-water plunge pools. The drive out to it is terrific and I guess it’s nice enough, but everybody was pretty underwhelmed. Instead of being the hot water equivalent of Schlitterbahn, it basically gives one the opportunity to sit in a glorified hot tub next to a collection of old, hairy, overweight Europeans wearing Speedos. What is up with that? Reagan said that they should be ticketed for visual pollution. I can’t say that I disagree.

Hairy Europeans and small swimsuits aside, it seems that the main drawback of Miette Hot Springs is that in order to get TO the pools, one has to run the locker room gauntlet. And to hear Reagan and Hunter tell it, this is no small feat. On the Men’s side, I put all of our junk in Locker # 292, got Hollis ready. and took him on out to the pools. About five minutes later, Reagan and Hunter emerged and fast-walked straight over to me, looking as though they had seen ghosts.

“Did you SEE those guys in there??”

What?

“What IS it with those people??!!”

What are you talking about?

“They were standing around TOTALLY NAKED, showering and walking around and stuff!!”

Well, yeah ... it’s a men’s locker room.

“Seriously??  Who DOES that?? It’s totally disgusting.”

Mind you, Hunter arranges towels in front of the smallish oval window looking out to the front yard when he has to take a shower in the guest room bathroom ... so ....

About an hour and far too many Speedo eyefulls later (with, according to the boys, precious little in the way of tolerable female bikini goodness to balance the equation), we got everyone together and started getting ready to leave. Before entering the locker room, Hollis and Hunter -- and I SWEAR I am not making this up -- began devising ways to wrap their towels around their heads in order to cover their eyes. When they realized that this approach couldn’t really work because it might actually cause them to bump into a naked hairy European, they decided to just follow me through the showering area and avert their eyes like a couple of questing Knights of the Round Table. This method seemed to work pretty well until we got to a certain row where a 40-ish hairy European had hiked his leg up on the bench ... stark naked ... the better to dry his equipment. After passing this guy up, I realized that he was, in fact, doing his business directly in front of Locker #292. 

Awesome. 

Being the good father that I am, I left the boys in row N + 1 and said that I would go back to Locker #292 to secure our belongings so that the boys wouldn’t be scarred for life. Hunter said that he thought that was a “terrific idea”. What happened after that? Well, when Hollis emerged from the privacy stall the first thing he saw was a 50-ish, graying, obese, stark naked (do they come any other way?) European, bending over to pick up his shoes. Or doing calisthenics. Or maybe looking around for loose change. Whatever it was, Hollis was directly in his line of fire, no more than 10 feet away. I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least if he (Hollis) had turned into a pillar of salt ...

On our way back to the van, I asked Hunter and Hollis if maybe they’d like to go have some split buns for dinner. Reagan chimed in that perhaps we should all go have hot dogs. Surprisingly, nobody seemed interested in that. As the van doors shut, I asked Hunter how he felt. “Ummm ... kinda nauseated”, was his response. And I am pretty sure that neither he nor Hollis uttered more than 10 words during the entire 45-minute return trip to Jasper. Seriously.

Perhaps we have found the secret to vacation travel harmony ...

As for the other events of the day, as promised (threatened), I got Hadley and Hunter up at 5:45 this morning in hopes of getting in a decent half-day (8-10 mile) hike. I was gonna write about that too but at this point I think I’ve used up all of my good material. Suffice to say that the animal pictured at the top of the page is a pika (it is Hadley’s favorite), we had a decent hike, and if I’m really gonna do anything “interesting”, it’s gonna have to be solo. But it’s all good.  :)

Tomorrow (Monday) we head out for five nights in Banff. We’ve planned a stop at the Columbia Icefields en route. Weather looks crappy so we’ll likely be walking on a glacier in the rain ... but I’m hoping that won’t make it any less cool. Obviously I’ll let you know how it goes.

As always, thanks for stopping by.

Mike

Peaks and Valleys

As John Denver says, some days are diamonds and some days are stones. Friday most definitely was a stone -- a long, drawn-out, whining, bickering, threat-inducing (something along the lines of coating certain children in molasses and bacon grease and leaving them by the side of the road in the middle of grizzly country), blood-pressure-maxing stone. I’d say that the fact that Hunter and Hollis are both still alive as I sit in the room below their loft tonight is a testament to my patience and general parenting amazingness, but we all know that I possess neither trait. So it must just be dumb luck. Whatever the case, Saturday was pretty decent (rain and laundry and are-you-serious-somebody-stole-the-driver’s-side-mirror-of-the-rental-van and all) and the late afternoon / evening festivities were good. We’ve seen some bighorn sheep, a couple more bears, and several elk ... and things like that always put everybody back where they belong.

Event-wise, on Friday we took a pretty lame hike to Moose Lake (alas, no moose) and spent some time in Maligne Canyon. Maligne Canyon is the canyon through which the Maligne River flows (“crashes” would be a better word) until it hooks up with the Athabasca River. The canyon is probably a couple hundred feet deep but incredibly narrow. In spots it would be a piece of cake to jump across it. No joke. Needless to say, the view from any of the six footbridges that cross it is vertigo-inducing and the flow of water through the bottom of it is rather intense. Athabasca Falls (Saturday’s attraction) is probably only 100 feet high but it’s also only about 50 feet wide. The Athabasca River is massive, so the quantity / force of water coming through it is ridiculous as well. 

One thing that we definitely are enjoying about the trip is the Canadian-ness of it. In particular, the ratio of land to people is awe-inspiring. I get that feeling anytime we come up here, but it’s been particularly strong this time. Except for a few obvious population centers (neither of which is anywhere near us), it really feels like nobody actually lives here ... at all ... that it’s just this vast wilderness area that a handful of people are sort of milling about in. And we’re not even talking about the Yukon or the Northwest Territories, or the areas in the upper half of the other provinces that essentially have no roads at all. Pardon me while I drool. As far as I am concerned, the isolation that this country affords is absolute heaven. And with the possible exception of Hadley, I think the rest of the family is right there with me. (Actually, Hadley absolutely loves it here so I think, long-run, she would be totally fine as long as she had an internet connection and access to Fantage.)

Y’know, if I could sell my house (furnished) and cars long-distance, get somebody to fly or drive the dogs up, and somehow provide for the college needs of four kids without having to work anymore I seriously would not hesitate for one second. And I don’t think I would ever cross my new southern border again. Yes, there are 75 people that are being force-fed this travel blog and obviously I’m rather fond of all of you. But there are, in fact, roads throughout some of Canada and a few airports as well, and we’d always welcome friends and family. It seems to me that the isolation would be doubly appealing if one could share it periodically with a hand-picked group of exquisitely cool people. The only real downside? Having to spend, as I did today, $41 to buy two 12-packs of Diet Coke, three bags of potato chips, and a loaf of Wonder bread. Cut that bill in half (at least) and I’ll pay for my own health care, thank you very much.

Well, I’m planning on dragging Hadley and Hunter out of bed at an ungodly (by summer terms) hour tomorrow to force them to accompany me on something that roughly approximates a “real” dayhike ... so I guess I will close for now. I hope your Sunday is as good as I hope mine will be.

Cheers,
Mike

Dos Hikes, Dos Successes

For my kids (and for the most part, my wife), hiking is totally about what’s at the end of the trail. If the payoff is good, they’re generally willing to endure just about anything I choose to put them through. In contrast, I am MUCH more of a the-cool-is-in-the-journey kind of guy. I have the same attitude about virtually everything in my life. Hiking-wise, specific destinations are fine, but if the trail and the country it passes through are terrific I’d be happy enough for it to terminate at a sewage treatment plant. Similarly, I could not possibly care any less how a book ends if it is well written. 

I think I’m probably in the minority where this issue is concerned, but I really don’t understand the other side of the fence here at all. I spent the better part of two years reading Stephen King’s seven-volume “The Dark Tower” series. Should a few hundred hours of sheer entertainment bliss be wiped from the record if I don’t happen to “agree” with the ending? (Editor’s Note: I did agree with the ending.) Or to put it in perhaps a more familiar context, should I feel cheated if the final page of “The Deathly Hallows” described Harry, Ron, and Hermione pulling a mask off of Voldemort to reveal Dumbledore, who snarls “yeah ... and I would’ve gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids”? Not remotely. My point is that the journey, in both cases, was terrific. Ergo, I think that it would be nonsensical to write it all off if the last minute happened to be lame.

Where am I going with this?

Wednesday was our first day of hiking. On our vacations, I always try to start things off with hikes that are relatively easy. This approach gives everyone a chance to acclimate to altitude differences and get loosened up a little before we tackle things that are a bit more involved during the remaining couple of weeks. Our destination on Wednesday was Moul Falls. I didn’t really know what to expect, as there’s not a great deal of information about the trails in Wells Gray. But the distance was right for opening day (about 4 miles, which can be pushing it for a barely-seven-year-old) and the elevation change wasn’t that substantial and a waterfall destination always works for the kids ... so I figured we were golden. I was correct. 

I took Hunter and Hadley on a similar -- but slightly more strenuous -- trek in Glacier a few years ago and they said that this one might even be better. I think they’re probably wrong, but I’m not sure enough to actually argue with them about it. Could be that this one was deemed “cooler” because the approach is from the top of the falls (very unusual as these types of hikes go) and you have to climb down a couple hundred vertical feet to get to the bottom of it. What I can say for sure is that the force of water at this place, for a waterfall that isn’t more than 150 feet tall, is mind-boggling. And while we’re on the topic of mind boggling things, Wells Gray Park itself is as big as the state of Delaware. And it’s “just” a provincial (not national) park. And it has one -- count ‘em, one -- narrow, two-lane, primary access road that meanders along for 25 miles and ends at some random, non-spectacular lake. You wanna see the rest of the 2,000 square miles? Fine. Put on a backpack and knock yourself out. Have I mentioned that I love Canada? If the tax rate wasn’t 113%, I’d move here tomorrow and never look back. But we’ll save that thought for another entry ...

The plan for Thursday was to drive the 200 miles up Highway 5 to Jasper but to stop in Mount Robson Provincial Park (adjacent to Jasper National Park) and get in another hike first. I had scouted out a couple of different possibilities but ultimately decided we’d try to make it to Kinney Lake. Didn’t know if we could get there, as it’s a six-mile roundtrip (see comment above regarding barely-seven-year-old legs) ... but it’s supposed to be a terrific hike, there’s decent payoff in the form of a glacier-fed lake (see comment above regarding the necessity of an appealing destination), and Mount Robson is a constant companion along the route. What is Mount Robson? I’m glad you asked.

Mount Robson, at just shy of 13,000 feet, is the highest point in the Canadian Rockies. “Big deal”, you say, “there are over 20 peaks in Rocky Mountain National Park alone that are above 13,000 feet”. Yeah ... but the town of Estes Park (gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park) sits at 7,500 feet while the bridge at the trailhead below Mount Robson sits at 2,850 feet. So the payoff from base to peak at Robson pretty much leaves the entirety of the Colorado Rockies mumbling incoherently in the corner, rocking back and forth with their eyes squeezed shut and their arms wrapped around their knees. Anyway, the trail was great and Hollis traversed the entire six miles without complaining too much. It’ll be interesting to see how the rest of the trip goes but at this point I’m pretty impressed with how he’s handling himself. 

And with that, I’ll sign off until Saturday or Sunday. Thanks for stopping by. And a special welcome to the dozen or so new adds from the past few days.

Peace,

Mike

Inauspicious Beginnings

Most flights are a piece of cake. Maybe you have to wait longer than you’d like to get through security or maybe there are a dozen people in front of you at the closest Starbucks counter or maybe the person beside you on the plane doesn’t properly interpret the universal head-buried-in-book-and-ipod-on-means-I-do-not-REMOTELY-want-to-talk-to-you signal. But ultimately you get through security and you get your coffee and Gregarious Gary finally realizes that you’d really rather not be a party to his extra-special brand of friendliness ... and from then until the wheels touch down all is well. 

Then there are times when there isn’t some moron acting shocked and alarmed about having to take off his shoes at the security checkpoint, you win the lottery and find a completely empty coffee station, and you’re seated by your KIDS on the plane instead of some obnoxious stranger. Don’t laugh. It can happen. It did happen. To us. On Monday. And then the pilot emerged from the cockpit, casually took the intercom, and said “Well, I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news”.

Ten minutes later we were told we probably should de-plane while they fixed the problem because we’d be more comfortable that way. Four hours and fifteen minutes later we got back on the plane. Four hours and twenty minutes after that, we touched down in Seattle. Seventy-five minutes after that, we pulled the rental van into the hotel parking lot. And at 3:30 a.m. (5:30 a.m., College Station time), I finally went to sleep. Happy Birthday to me. 

Three years ago, we spent most of my Big Day driving west to east across the state of Wyoming. I hadn’t thought much at all about turning 40 leading up to that time, but southern Wyoming gives one a lot of opportunity to pause and reflect on things. It was really terrific ... but I think this year’s experience was even better. What caused it? I dunno. Maybe (probably) it was random. Maybe it was because Paige and Reagan thought it would be amusing to decorate my birthday cake with the numbers -- 4 18 15 16 23 42. Yes, I am serious. (If that doesn’t mean anything to you I won’t bother explaining, and if it does then I don’t need to explain.) Or maybe it was just the travel gods’ way of getting all of the bad karma out of the way so that the next 2 1/2 weeks could be totally amazing. As of now, I’m going with Door #3.

Anyway, after sleeping later than usual on Tuesday (duh), we covered about 350 miles and are settled in at an interesting little place just outside of Wells Gray Provincial Park, near Clearwater, British Columbia. Our digs look like they were built in about 1946, renovated in maybe 1957, cryogenically sealed, and reintroduced to the public this week. The place is eerily reminiscent of something but I can’t quite figure out what it is. We’re on the shore of a pretty little lake, so a good part of me thinks it probably was used in the filming of one of the Friday the 13th movies. But another part of me fully expects to step outside and see some random pipe-smoking guy with a flattop haircut, a plain white t-shirt, and thick, black-framed glasses sitting on our deck listening to a Brooklyn Dodgers game on the radio. So basically it’s either a horror movie waiting to happen or just your everyday time warp. I’m leaning toward the latter, because the color scheme is white and a very soft lime green (with the obligatory beige stove) and the bathroom most definitely is early Leave it to Beaver. Hunter -- who hates change more than anyone I have ever known except possibly Paige’s brother -- is in heaven and the rest of us are happy enough with it.

We’ve not had much opportunity for action yet, but a few of us did go for an hour-long drive after dinner tonight to sorta get our bearings before hiking tomorrow. We crossed paths with a few deer and a mid-sized black bear. I told Hadley that a couple of the areas in Wells Gray had been closed last week because of rogue bear activity (true story) and her response was “Really?? Cool.” Three years ago in Glacier (and perhaps even last year in the Colorado Rockies) it would’ve taken a fair amount of coaxing to get her on the trails at all once that little bit of knowledge was circulated, so I’ll count that as progress.

We’re here until Thursday morning, at which point we’ll trek another couple hundred miles to the northeast and spend a few nights in Jasper National Park. Apparently, time warps and WiFi don’t exactly get along so the service where we are right now is spotty at best... but I’ll get this thing posted when I can.

Peace,
Mike

Why’d You Have to Go and Make Things So Complicated?

Ms. Lavigne (a Canadian, appropriately enough) recorded that song in 2002. She was 18 years old. I vaguely (very vaguely) remember being 18 years old. That was a time when I could’ve thought ... “wow, I’d really like to go backpacking in the Rockies ... think maybe I’ll throw a few things in a frame pack and head out in a couple of hours”. Granted, at that point in my life I probably wouldn’t have had the money to actually MAKE such a trip, but the mechanics of going and doing it would’ve been relatively uncomplicated (provided the Chevette could’ve made it that far).

Pushing forward a few years, I do most definitely remember being 24, putting a couple of backpacks, two sleeping bags, a big Prince tennis bag filled with clothes, and maybe a couple of ice chests in the back of my truck and leaving Tucson (with Paige) on a Saturday morning at 6 a.m. Just over 16 hours (and 1,000 miles) later we pulled into Pocatello, Idaho with less than 500 miles standing between us and our destination in northern Montana / southern Alberta. On that trip we alternated between sleeping in the back of the truck (under the camper shell) and finding decent places with hot showers. Was there a little planning? Yeah, because we were super-excited about it. But serious preparation?? Not hardly.

Push forward 19 years and we have worked non-stop for ten days in an attempt to “be ready” to drive to Austin after lunch today to get on an airplane. It’s gotten to be a bit of a joke at this point, given all of the long trips that we’ve taken and how many times we’ve found ourselves in this situation. What, precisely, entails “getting ready”? One would think that it shouldn’t be QUITE so complicated, particularly since we have a couple of young, able-bodied, highly responsible housesitters (thank you muchly, Sarah and Rebecca) who will be handling things while we’re gone. And by and large that is true. But because we HAVE housesitters, the house itself has to be clean enough (a) so that we won’t be embarrassed to have them stay here and (b) so that everything will be OK if by some strange twist of Fate the Queen Mother and the Pope happen to stop by ... and decide that they would like to experience High Tea, Texas-style ... and decide, further, that they would like for their crumpets to be served on a toilet seat taken from a randomly selected bathroom. Just how crazy do things get around here in pre-trip mode? Well, Paige actually cleaned out the dreaded “utility” drawer by the telephone in the kitchen last night and even straightened her walk-in as well.  No, I am not kidding. We couldn’t remember what color the carpet in there was, but as it turns out it’s blue (just like the carpet in the Master Bedroom, which makes sense). And me? Our two-car garage now actually houses two cars (very comfortably, I might add), plus the massive storage areas under both sets of staircases in the house are now completely cleaned out and organized. Are any of these things vital to our having a successful trip to the Canadian Rockies? Ummmm ... no.

Admittedly, a good deal of our extensive preparations stem from the fact that we are, in fact, traveling with (i.e., packing for / with) four largely helpless kids ... and that if we complete, say, seven units of cleaning in a given day, two or three of the kids are guaranteed to have taken back at least three of those units by nightfall. It’s a little like Gettysburg ... there’s not much doubt about which side is going to win, but that doesn’t keep Pickett from making his Charge. The fact that we have to pack with Type 1 Diabetes, asthma, and growth hormone deficiency in mind doesn’t make things any easier, either. Our medical kits are not to be trifled with. And of course we do have to make absolutely certain that Sarah and Rebecca know exactly what to do with two Labradors, two guinea pigs, and a hermit crab. But at the end of the day, the only real explanation I can come up with is that most of these cleaning and organizing compulsions -- just like creaky joints, an expanding waistline, and Swiss cheese memory -- simply come with age. Before you know it I’ll be pulling my shorts up to my chest and shaking my fist at those young whippersnappers who insist on cutting across the edge of my lawn ...

At about 1:00 today, we’ll load up in the van, go get a hamburger somewhere, and drive to the Austin airport. But if that laaaaaaaaaaaaast bit of laundry isn’t being folded or countertops aren’t being wiped down “just one last time” at 12:59, I will dress in drag and do the hula. Why? Because to quote my favorite line from Babe, “that’s just the way things are ...”

As is customary, I’ll use this space to touch base every day or two while we’re away. In the meantime, if we die in a big fiery ball somewhere between here and Seattle (or thereafter), it’s been real.

Peace,

Mike