Mad Cow August 6 - 31, 2006 How we took our stampeding bovine to the beach and to the mountains.

	Lisa took the best seat...

	Immediately after purchase, Tom demanded to ride on the bus -- as a load, if possible.

Sid had a comp day saved for a long time, but we somehow could not get around to take advantage of it. Either it would not work out with his job, or we were being ill, or alternatively our house was being remodeled. Then we admitted to each other that another reason for our tripping reluctance was our small car. Not that our station wagon would not engulf a lot of stuff -- yet, our second baby caused the count/volume of the STUFF to increase exponentially -- while at the same time another seat got occupied, to where stuff could have been otherwise displaced; hence our whole family fits in our wagon only very snugly. When I say snugly I mean that we can pack necessary things, but I must ponder whether I can afford to take spare clothes for the kids, or some food for the case of becoming marooned. Toys are out of question -- we excluded them for our last trip as being "expendable", which deprived Lisa of her walking aids. She has been vigorously demanding to walk, but only with a walker -- in the absence of a stroller or a push cart, she has to rely on her boring parents, who then are forced to spend extended portions of their time bending over, crouching or squatting, which with my ailing back equals to many forms of refined torture. And our granny would not fit between the two child seats/boosters -- while transporting her in a coffin on the roof is not permitted by DOT, not to speak or our own decency.

I considered seriously that we may be simply spoiled -- my parents used to drive us to our country house in an old Skoda and managed OK; Sid's parent had no car at all. But our country house had beds and blankets and a stove and dishes and basic food and water and toys and clothes -- which are all things that I have to take along -- especially on trips to wilderness and similar beautiful places. And we would like to take our granny along, who stays with us for many months a year.
So one day, a definite decision was made, to buy a bus, right away if possible. Sid sat down to the internet, filled out what color and accessory options we wanted, and the machine produced a price. We took this information to local Toyota dealers -- where they generally had a good laugh and explained that they were selling these cars for about two thousand more and had no intention to change that, even if we paid cash (which we could). Well, we confirmed the internet order, the same operator arranged a loan, and told us that we may pick up "our" car in San Bruno, a city sixty miles away, near the San Francisco airport.

	State of the art pampering -- kids watching a movie in the car.

	A glance into the parenting mirror reminds me that I am driving a bus.

We took our kids along for the car. Sid dealt with the paperwork and I would occasionally run back with the kids, to sign some document. Lisa got a white balloon, Tom drove their toy truck among real cars, then we made a mess in the nice gentleman's office with kids' lunch -- but after some two hours we were leaving. Tommy demanded to ride along with daddy on the bus, but tough luck. Daddy had to go back to work, and we had to go home. Far greater rodeo took place in the evening, when Sid finally arrived to our nest with the bus. The kids crawled in, slithered here and there, admired newly gained space -- explored buttons and handles, and gave us a chance to impress them, for this car can play movies from a DVD. The player holds our hopes to extend our available traveling duration by one or two hours -- which in our case represents a considerably wider tripping radius.

On Saturday we drove out to our first -- short, to be sure -- excursion to redwoods in Felton. Tommy was looking forward to big trees and Lisa plodded bravely behind her stroller, or led by me. Tom gets sometimes befallen by brotherhood affinity and also wants to take Lizzy "by the paw". It's a pleasant change after all the yelling and wrestling for toys. We did one full loop; it surprised me how much the General Fremont's Tree changed. In February 1846 his whole expedition lived inside this giant living trunk. Besides entrance they allegedly carved out a window and a chimney. Redwoods, however, try to fix their wounds; in 2004, there were no traces of window or chimney, but I could, hunched down, walk through the "door" and with several other people assembled in the cavity, listen to a short lecture of the park ranger. This year I found the tree grown again, while rains may have raised ground at the entrance so much that I could only crawl in on all four. I did not feel like doing so, but I tried to solicit Tommy -- I hoped for a nice picture for the Journal. Tom refused categorically, claiming that a "tiger lives there" and just would not cooperate at all. I have no idea how he came up with a tiger; we don't scare kids at home -- could it be some primitive instinct urging small kids not to crawl into mysterious holes?

	Everybody by their paws

	It's hard to photograph children ... especially if they're convinced that a tiger lives inside a historical monument...

When you drive from our place to Felton, you take highway #17. This route is infamous -- climbing across Santa Cruz Mountains overcoming some 1,800 feet of altitude. Turns and steep hills scare many a flatland driver. On weekends, ditches are laced with "boiling" vehicles. We already tried it with the bus when we rented it, but still we were surprised how our new family member would deal with the track. Toyota Sienna is very easy to handle -- despite our calling it a bus, you don't feel any different behind the wheel -- only a glance in a rear view mirror frightens me a bit, when I notice the vast space behind my back. In turns Sienna leans less than I would have thought possible -- although a few times I felt the back pulling. In the end, the greatest difference is its mass -- two tons possess incredible momentum and where, in a station wagon, you could simply lift your foot off the gas pedal to make the car slow down, or just tickle the gas to accelerate, our bus behaves as if having a mind of its own. Descending from the slopes of Santa Cruz Mountains, it rushed forth like a stampeding cow. Fortunately, its electronic cruise control recognizes such case and responds to my brakes by shifting down. You can always override it and downshift manually, but so far it seems that the car handles the situations much better than we would. With vehicles of this size, one does not have the option of a manual transmission, but now that I felt the mass underneath, I think it may be better so -- I fear that I would have burned a manual clutch within few days.

On Sunday we added our granny to our endurance bus test. I wrote many times about our frisky retiree escaping in her free time to into the womb of the nature and the state parks, where she discovers new horizons. We let her recommend us Molera State Park by Big Sur, which we had not known before. Granny has, of course, mapped several trails and hills, but she usually hikes without the kiddies. It's tough with them. Tommy likes to hike and we think that he's quite capable, but he's got a limit of little over one mile -- then he begins to dwindle, squats down and seeks other games, in worst case starts to whimper. Lisa cannot walk alone yet -- but the more she wants to practice and if imprisoned in a backpack, she's a bore. In Molera Park, we could not even release her into the space or let her trot hand in hand -- all along the path, poison oak lured. An adult does not mind it, avoids the bushes and would instead enjoy the view of Pico Blanco, but what to do with a toddler? I was so glad when we finally reached the beach.

	Big Sur River

	The beach at Molera Park with a view to Pico Blanco

Granny would derisively mention this beach as "filthy", but on the spot it turned out that we have different ideas about cleanliness. The coast near the river mouth has been left in an "uncivilized" state -- in the sense that everything the ocean disgorged, was still laying around there. Logs, rocks, sticks, kelp, shells -- are in my opinion no filth -- to the contrary, it gives the beach a strong bucolic tone. When you add the mouth of a crystal clear Big Sur River, you find paradise on earth. Our kids, at least, would attest to that. The river has dammed itself with a huge bank of pebbles -- for two hours we had no need to look after Tom, who proceeded to systematically throwing rocks into the river. We actually only knew about Lisa because we had to guard her so that she would not fall in the water. She can't throw yet, only waves her little hand in the air, and then puts her rock into the river and declares smugly, "splash". This activity is, however, subversive, for she would pick rocks that she could reach -- that is, the ones on which she sits/knees, sinking thus herself closer to the surface. She would also lean to make the rock go under the water. I expected the cold water to discourage her, but Lizzy would enter were she not prevented.

Our marching plans for the day turned to naught. Should we have forced Tommy to gallop on a boring trail instead of letting him throw rocks? Strap Lisa up in the carrier, making her yell in the woods that she'd rather splash in the river? We unpacked our picnic, fed selves and our kids, and enjoyed watching a family with two kids about ten years older than ours. The boy floated a log in the river, later skipped pebbles. The girl played a lady, but soon joined in the game. They, too, had apparently abandoned their former hiking plans. The trails at Molera would simply have to wait until the time our kids enter a college...

	Lisa, rocks and the river

	Still life with a fallen Hippo.

Encouraged by our bus's performance we planned a "big" trip. Our choice, inspired by the accolades from our Floridian friends, fell on Lassen. It was practically enjoyable to pack into such large cargo space. I did not have to decide whether to pack a spare sleeping back along, I did not need to plan to buy water or food for the kids somewhere along the way -- which would, by the way, be a big problem in Lassen -- the closest towns are quite far and relying on some campground having a store open, reminds one of Russian roulette.

Sid took that Friday off, and around ten thirty a.m., we were loaded and ready to go. I drove the first leg and for once Tommy did not raise any sexist objections. We stopped for lunch in Fairfield -- they closed our favorite restaurant there, but amazingly enough we found Koi Sushi instead -- recommended. Then Sid lodged himself behind the wheel and we sped along the boring highway five. Tom has been lately able to entertain himself for a long time by simply watching things outside his window. He pointed out trucks, cement mixers, railway tracks, smokestacks, bridges, rivers and hills, and spun theories about who is going where and why and what they transport. Some abandoned freight cars upset him and he demanded that an engine should collect them at once. We explained that this was a weekend and the engine may show up on Monday. He surprised us on Monday, for he remembered it after the whole trip, declaring importantly that daddy was at work and an engine must have come to collect those cars by then.

	Taking a bus to reach August snow

	Lake Helena - our first stop

Eventually we reached Lassen Volcanic National Park. It was late afternoon, so we stopped by Lake Helen and had a picnic. That is, I organized the picnic and kids dithered around. There was still snow at eight thousand feet altitude; Tom drove across it with his toy truck, Lisa demanded to sit in the middle of the wet heap and explore this new substance, which I interjected. Then the children noticed the lake and we were lost. We could drag them away from relentless throwing rocks only at the price of heartbreaking screaming. Alas, we still had to drive through the rest of the park, and out to the National Forest area (outside the park), where we intended to camp. Organized campgrounds have never been our preference, and now with children we certainly did not want to risk that somebody next to us chooses to celebrate till morning hours, or objects to our noisy offspring.

While looking for a campsite, our mad cow underwent another stress test -- and passed with excellent results. We finished rattling over dirt roads onto a clearing that we liked, and began to settle. Tommy wanted to help with tent poles; he drove them into tunnels (channels sewn on the back of the tent) and we enjoyed our boy to be this outdoorsy. Subsequently it came to his wrestling with Lisa over a toy truck, we each wiped a small sentimental tear in the corner of his/her respective eye, and moved on to separate them. It went on like this for the rest of the evening -- idyllic for a moment, then a circus, then OK again -- simply vacation with children. After dark, we discovered another problem - Lisa, who had during our previous camping ruled the tent's mattresses and sleeping bags like a bandit, came to a conclusion this time that we used the tent to abandon her for ever and started to scream. She would not stop until I showed up in person and she made sure I won't disappear again.

	A view to Lassen Peak top... ...with our kids, we must skip such demanding hikes now...

	... and adopt our schedule to their interests (for a change - throwing rocks in the water)

Strangely enough, children fell asleep quickly and snored without waking up till the morning. Not so much we adults. Both our offspring kept on crawling out of their bags, and we kept stuffing them back. In one moment a weight on my legs woke me -- Tom, who abandoned his sleeping bag, curled on the warmest place he could find -- top of my sleeping bag. It's interesting that during my intervention (lift Tom up, slide the opening of his bag over his feet and shake the rest of his body in), Tom behaved like a rag doll and would not wake a tiniest bit. In the morning, Lizzy got up at her obligatory seven o'clock. When trying to wet my dried up throat, I almost froze to the bottle and realized milk for the kids would need to be heated. Overall, morning temperature was well below comfort level -- we broke out underlaid trousers, fleeces and wooly hats for the kids. It's curious that Lisa, our summer full-term baby, tolerates cold weather easily, while preemie Tommy remains to be cold blooded. When he's cold, he becomes disbelievingly whiny and bothersome, which right at dawn is not exactly nice.

We had never gotten around to visit Lassen's Bumpass Hell before -- either the weather did not play along, or we were out of time, or out of strength. This time we figured that a three mile hike would be exactly right for us. Tommy warmed up and began to be communicative and happier; alas, Lisa turned sour. She would prefer to march on rocky walls along the trail like her brother -- mind, held by her mother's hand. At such pace, we would never get anywhere, and so soon she traveled despite all protests into the carrier. We let Tom walk for a while. He climbed on boulders, enjoying big trees and beautiful mountains around us. In one moment, to our urging to move on, he replied that he could not, for he had to watch the river. A beautiful creek really crossed a meadow in the valley below us -- Tommy watched it all with an knowing gaze of a devoted expert.

	What's for breakfast?

	Breakfast... mountain mornings are quite cold already

Eventually he, too, ended up in a backpack and after some huffing and puffing we found ourselves at a view to a basin with hot springs. I was pleasantly surprised -- I did not expect so large a thermal complex. Granted, Yellowstone is much larger, but this one is closer and far from overrun by tourist hordes. We released the children onto wooden paths, which was obviously a mistake. Lisa wanted back into her carrier, and Tommy used his newfound freedom to run away. Given that the landscape surrounding the paths was as friendly as a minefield (hot springs, holes, chances to fall in and boil to death), it came to righteous parental wrath and subsequent junior's screaming tantrum.

Back at the overlook, we had an improvised lunch, which refreshed a bit our spirits and bodies. Tommy quieted down and bravely walked all the way back. He had the best stamina of us all, kept on pointing things out and talking, climbed on boulders, volunteered in alternatively holding Sid's and my hand -- simply said, we suddenly had a nice and friendly child. Lizzy fell asleep, and thus there was no hassle coming from her end, either. Back at the car, a family council decreed it was time to a place to dine in style. Well, next time we'll be smarter. Between Lassen and Redding lay the longest fifty miles I ever traveled; at the end of the journey, we did not find a burgeoning civilization, only a maze of vacant streets and railways. Perhaps every corner sported bail bonds -- I wonder what's the crime rate in such a place, if there is no place to eat to be found, but you get countless chances to pay your way out of jail. Eventually we gave up on looking for a down town, and ate at Olive Garden in a shopping center at a suburb of Redding. Perhaps the local Olive Garden contributes to local businesses by generating clients for bail bonds -- we were served dinner without a glitch, but then for over half hour it seemed that they were really not interested that we pay. Sid had to eventually appeal to the restaurant manager -- by that time we were ready to leave -- we did not, so we did not find ourselves in a jail for grand dinner theft -- but it was this close.

	A roadside balanced rock

	This is the landscape where Tommy demanded to be left undisturbed to admire

Smarter from previous evening, we changed Lisa into her pajamas and sleeper, and left her in the car. Only when we were all ready to go to bed, we took the kids into the tent. This time Tom had more or less understood the function of a sleeping bag; the more troubles I encountered with Lisa. A few times I had to stuff her, quite cold, under a blanket, or fish her out of some icy corners of the tent. Sid covered for the morning milk, and our lady had no reasons to complain. The more upset she became when we collapsed the tent. It must have been too much for her -- first we drag her out of her house, and when she finally gets a bit used to a new (soft-walled) house, we take it away from her again. I remember having similar problem with Tom in her age -- after three days of traveling he was so stressed out and whiny that we called it quits. Maybe one year olds are really very conservative and poorly tolerate any changes.

On our way back we once again stopped at the park. Kings Creek caught our fancy -- a beautiful clear stream cutting into and across a mountain meadow. Kids demanded to throw rocks (again) -- I reckon the creek meant much more for them than anything of the geothermal spectacle of Bumpass Hell. Then the time came to journey back home. Lisa slept through most of it, Tom slept just a bit, but mostly talked -- and for a portion of the way the kids watched a DVD. We had only one break -- I don't know if it was a late lunch or an early dinner -- at four o'clock we found an open Vietnamese cafeteria in Fairfield. The food was rather average, but did us quite well.

	Bumpass Hell

	Tom marching merrily; Lisa is being sour in her carrier.

What moral comes out of it? The bus fulfilled our expectations -- it's great for packing, thanks to its room there's less chaos than in a regular car. Children are happier when they have a good visibility. Its rear windows are tinted dark, and the offspring does not buzz because of the sun. The DVD truly extends available travel time from some three to five hours (not to mention a classy option to play the night fairy tale in the middle of wilderness :-). I think we got used to a heavier car, and if you know how to control it, the bus won't act like a stampeding cow. We managed to drive the bus on forest roads and thanks to its excellent turning radius it has no problem even in emergency situations.
Our kids passed the test as well. While Lisa kept on being strongly attached to me and nurtured her separation anxiety, we hope she shall grow out of it. The children sleep well in a tent, and they liked being on a trip -- although the program must adapt more to their interests (throwing rocks, walking on snow, etc.) than ours (hiking). Tommy gladly participates in camping activities and quite visibly finds, even at his young age, much joy in observing natural beauty. It also seems that he will gladly and happily hike.
We adults have finally after several years gotten out on a regular trip, which has recharged us with a new energy, despite camping with two toddlers being far from relaxing. Simply we can expect only positive things awaiting us.

Copyright © 2006 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.