Trip with tadpoles June 21 - 30, 2007 Taking the whole circus into higher elevations; camping, hiking and mountain lake dipping; neighborhood Independence Parade

	Our bus has proven itself as a very practical means of transportation for a family with kids and a grandmother

We had assumed that while the kids would jump on our heads, it was IMPOSSIBLE to pack for a trip that included the two of them and three adults, and so we sent our offspring out with granny for a two-hour walk. This still turned out to be an underestimate of the situation. It took three hours to pack sleeping-related item (tents, bags, mats), food for several days, toys, diapers and regular clothing (with plenty of spare change for the kids) and warm clothing (the forecast had threatened with 40°F at night); plus all the reconfiguration of the bus (we opted to have the children occupy the third road, while granny would sit in the middle next to the space created by removal of one seat). In the end we still managed to leave on the same day and it seems that with the exception of a large sunscreen tube we did not forget anything important (we had a small tube of the cream and it was enough).

	We can transport many a luxurious item for our little gentlefolk

We had expected that traffic jams would recede on Saturday afternoon, in which we were mistaken horribly. The first hassle started just a few miles away from home, on the freeway #680 through Fremont. We wondered whether some weekend activities (e.g. a sports match or a flea market) or an accident clogged up the road ahead -- and it turned out to be GOATS. A herd of cute animals was peacefully grazing on a stretch of land next to the freeway (safely behind a fence) -- and every idiot had to slow down and gape at the miracle...

	Our first tent base near the Sonora Pass (8,700 ft = 2,650 meter ASL)

The second hiccup began before Tracy, and since this town is infamous as a traffic trap, we chose to avoid it altogether. First, though, Sid got angry with me for not mustering the computer, and in the moment my reluctant machine started to cooperate, he swapped places with me and insisted he'd navigate himself. And thus we rushed on in our wayward configuration -- yours truly behind the wheel, Sid with a GPS on the dashboard and a notebook on his lap. He had selected a truly amazing route -- the East Carter road was deserted, but one could drive it quite comfortably. However, a sign saying "PAVEMENT ENDS 500 FT" had given me just enough time to slow down so that I had not lost our wheels in the first sinkhole. Granny could not believe her eyes that we were about to continue on this dirt road with our bus, but on the horizon it seemed that East Carter ended in a paved T intersection, and we endured -- and did not regret it. A beautiful landscape -- a pleasantly empty road -- much better than stuttering on main throughways.

	Mono Lake Panorama thanks to a strong wind we recorded visibility over hundreds of miles

A car was parking on the first camp, which we spotted earlier near Sonora Pass. Fortunately they had only stopped for a picnic and were just about to leave. We put our kids in wellingtons and chased them away with granny to check out the creek, while Sid and I began pitching up our two tents. Then we changed Lisa, who fell into the creek, and had a field dinner. Our night was relatively busy. The children kept waking up and crawling out of their bags, and a terrible wind had picked up. Temperatures surely did not get down to the promised forties, but the slapping of the loose upper canvas on the tent was probably worse than frost.

Thus we were somewhat gloomy in the morning, besides, Lisa can't stand wind and kept demanding to hide by her mother, which had adequately complicated preparations for breakfast, packing and morning hygiene. Tommy asked for a walk with daddy and it seemed that the men were enjoying the beauty of the mountain nature -- until Tom extra carefully entered into the creek and despite all warnings proceeded farther and farther, and then was surprised by a wet feeling in his boots. I subscribe to a theory that some laws of physics require to be tested by the kids on their own skin, and the only thing that I found strange about it was that Tom had stayed dry until that morning.

	From granny's hike: Frog Lakes are located in the upper section of the Virginia Lakes cascade.

Elevation dropped as we were driving down the eastern slopes of Sierra; we were stopping by creeks and at view points, and took pictures. Gradually we were shedding windbreakers, fleeces and sweatshirts, and we had reached Walker dressed like common summer tourists. Our favorite pub (Mountain View Barbecue) could not disappoint us with lunch; we added Steelhead Ale, Alaska Amber a two racing rubber ducks. It appears that during a fall festival in this bustling metropolis (perhaps five larger buildings), there will be a competition in floating down the Walker River. The plastic participants await their adoption in the restaurant, and our kids begged us... Oddly enough, both Tom and Lisa returned the little ducks voluntarily to their "trainer" -- we will get to keep them after the race. Now we must not forget and come back on October 14 to Walker, CA.

	Blue Lake is known to be the habitat of the Screaming Tadpole.

Lunch did well by us, and with much more energy we continued to Virginia Lakes. There we released our eager granny on a trail and shuffled with the kids in an easy stride along her cooling tracks. There were remnants of snow at the second lake, and since Tommy had been asking for snow for some time, we wanted to let him enjoy such attraction. Both kids had an opportunity to test on their own skin that snow is cold and slippery, which cooled down their interest considerably. Lizzy started to whine and crawl into her carrier, where she lasted exactly until Tom began throwing rocks into the lake.

I was taking picture of my cute kiddies on a green grass patch next to a shallow mountain lake, when Lisa lost balance and tumbled head first into the aforementioned lake. This event startled her so much that instead of getting out, she just rolled around on her back. She managed fully soak all her clothes -- including her fleece hat, sweatshirt and trousers -- completely through. So she had received my T-shirt (we were not really far from the car and I did not bother to carry a full change of clothes every step), and I tried to wash her ear clogged by mud. It was quite clear that only a hot bath could help.

	Our second tent base near Buckeye hot springs (6,930 ft = 2,110 meters ASL)

We had found a peculiar company at the Buckeye hot springs this time. A car, whose occupants would most likely miss the spot had we not shown them, brought a pack of folks who ran into the spring fully clothed just to beat us to it. They kept their clothes and at least did not object to our nakedness. Indeed, I had not packed any swimsuits along, and I was not about to wear any -- above all, I needed to get mud out of Lisa's hair as first priority. Tommy had rejected the spring as being too hot, crawled around over boulders in and out of the icy river, and apparently enjoyed this kind of bath. Lisa hesitated as well; she agreed to dip in only when we were ready to leave. We had just enough time to erect one tent in the forest near the spring, before it was time to pick up granny returning from her hike at Virginia Lakes.

	Kids have immediately adapted to their new bedding conditions.

Granny came back happy, we bought sandwiches for dinner and drove back to Buckeye. There, the kids played in the forest, we pitched a tent for granny and ate. With dusk, a herd of young cows showed up on the road (which had explained where we had collected a large smelly "present" sticking to our bus's tire), and they became a great attraction for our children. We spent the rest of the evening explaining why cows moo and where is the "daddy cow" and that cows don't need a bed to sleep and so on. Sid, being an experienced cowboy (long ago he herded cows in Norway) was nominated to chief defender of the camp and proceeded to chase the otherwise harmless cattle from too intimate proximity of our tents.

Our second night passed quietly, without the bothersome wind; kids slept well and so did we, more or less. The children crept into granny's tent in the morning (they go in her room this way at home, so it came natural to them to harass her when camping as well) and everybody was in a much better mood. They continued playing nicely even during our rushed breakfast and packing, and the romantic pine forest transformed into a temporary family paradise. Emotions remained positive as we visited the Hays Street Cafe in Bridgeport - and had several mugs of their endless coffee, couple portions of pancakes with maple syrup or honey for the kids and granny; hamburgers with avocado for Sid and me -- thus we filled a heavenly hour -- and for the whole time the kids were wonderful, ate beautifully -- and we enjoyed a pretty view to the mountains.

	Southern Mono Lake offers the Tufa viewing area. Sediments from underwater gas vents are remnants of historically higher water level.

Granny got out at Lundy Lake and made an appointment with us five hours later on the Yosemite side - near Saddlebag Lake. Lisa kept napping, Sid and I had seen Lundy three weeks ago, and so we drove back down to Mono Lake. For some reason the kids consider it a great place -- one can run on wooden paths, there's the lake with ubiquitous rocks and twigs, besieged by harmless kind of flies who run away even from the little explorer's shadow. On the way back to the parking lot one can play hide and seek among the outcrops of desert grasses. Only by the end we felt really hot -- over last two days we had gotten used to high-mountain moderate temperatures.

	Devious, horrible insects had chased us away from this beauty: Lee Vining Creek, Dana Mount.

Two hours remained to our rendezvous with granny, but we had assumed that the kids would just be find on the shore of Saddlebag Lake, or perhaps we could hike along the lake for a while (or both), and so we drove up to Yosemite. Saddlebag was a huge disappointment. The first hit was a half-drained reservoir with ugly, dirty, empty shores. The second hit were the mosquitos. After about ten minutes out of the car, each of us had collected his/her private obnoxious cloud, and soon we cowardly retreated to the bus. We tried to move to a lower elevation, to a beautiful meadow along Lee Vining Creek, while fully soaking ourselves in insect repellent. The chemistry worked for about three minutes -- then the mosquitos concluded that they could not pass on such tasty morsels -- smelling bad or not -- and we could only run. So we rattled back up the dirt road to Saddlebag, praying four our tourist to be there. Sid spun his usual optimistic plans how granny broke her leg on half way from where we were to rescue her in the span of several following days, but his dark forebodings did not materialize and granny had emerged.

	From granny's hike: Helena Lake (10,100 ft = 3,080 meters ASL).

One must mention here that finally we had seen our usually perky retiree being thoroughly worn out. Wilderness, disappearing trails, rock climbing intermezzi, and mosquitos gave her hell. It seems that she had eventually forgiven us (or has been concocting some refined revenge?).

We headed home now, all that was left to do was drive through Yosemite. The kids slept through all of the famous National Park, and I don't blame them. There was nothing to see past Tuolumne Meadows. They came to when we had reached Highway 108 -- and a rodeo ensued. Both annoying, whiny and obnoxious. We stopped at first diner right at the Sonora Road turnoff. 50s Roadhouse neon signed welcomed hungry travelers, together with cardboard Elvis and a very nice yet completely confused server. Dinner made the kids merry again -- so much that they had not gone to sleep for the rest of the way home and lasted until half past eleven, when we finally pulled into our driveway. We find it positive that on the way home children were asking to pitch the tent again, and otherwise seemed to like the trip.

	Parade participants took their roles very responsibly.

Our following weekend was demanding as well -- for Saturday June 29 we had planned the Independence Day celebration with our neighbors. We divided among ourselves: printing invitation for the whole block, buying food and decorations, arranging road closure, concentrating grills, chairs, tables, pools and sunshades in one place, and finally inviting local firemen. The plan emerged mostly because there are some many little children in the neighborhood -- we wanted a party for them. We had not known how many neighbors would come -- but only even the few families meant about fifty people.

	Fire engine leads the way in our Independence Parade: bicycles, tricycles, dogs, parents and the rest of the block follows.

We got together at nine in the morning minus the kids and prepared the closure, tables and decorations. At half past ten crowds showed up and a fire truck had arrived. It struck me how much the little ones liked the engine -- Tommy was ecstatic that he was allowed to ride his bike around half the block, in the road, right BEHIND THE FIRE ENGINE. The truck kept a relatively brisk pace, and soon we were back and the main course could begin -- party. Men operated grills, various salads, side dishes, pastries, fruit and cakes appeared on the tables. We tapped a keg of Heineken, kids jumped into pools and everybody ate, drank, and was merry until the small guests began fading. I must say that after a few cups of beer in the heat I was ready for afternoon siesta perhaps more than the kids.

We had promised that we'd come help to clean up in the afternoon -- but when we emerged, thoroughly refreshed by a serious nap, to the crime scene, things were already tidied up -- all we had to do was load our stuff in our bus -- and join the core of the organizers, who sat in chairs under a tree and had just ordered a pizza. Tommy's most sought-after dream came true -- he was permitted to borrow a battery-powered toy jeep and drive up and down on the still closed road with other kids. George the winemaker had brought some samples and our afternoon slid inconspicuously into and evening, and the kids began fading away again. I have to declare the party a full success, above and beyond all expectations, with the kids joyful and completely exhausted; parents slightly wine-nicked and quite thoroughly tired. And I had again found reason to my feeling of the satisfaction, how pleasant neighborhood we live in -- with people ready to devote their time, money and effort to arrange a day for everybody, big and small.

Copyright © 2007 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.