The Trip Was A Smashing Success

The Trip Was A Smashing Success
December 25, 2007 - January 5, 2008
Where to go on New Year's Eve? To a frosty wasteland, of course! But to get there requires sacrifices, blood…



	A greater portion of our expedition at the wind farm (picture taking Carol and mother-clinging Lisa are missing).



	Tehachapi - Tom about to fall off that rock

December 25
Both kids feature snotty noses, but no fever. Gabina insists we're still invited for lunch. While eating, we plan our New Year trip. Gabka with Radim and Lukas had expressed their desire to join our expedition; they would drive in their car, but we would converge at key points of our route and diverge according to various needs and interests (after all, different things are possible to do with Lukas who's ten years old).

December 26
Kids remain snotty, but their situation does not seem to worsen. We are making the final decision to EMBARK on the trip, and reserve a room in Tehachapi. Hippo takes the kids out for a walk, I pack. After having a lunch in our local Persian restaurant, we continue out on a freeway. We stop in Paso Robles in the evening -- visiting the railroad station, waiting for a train, checking the crossing gates (they drop down, signals flash and ring, a double-decker train moves through, which sounds its horn and rings it bells -- the inspection is concluded highly successfully), and we continue to Tehachapi. It's almost freezing there and a horrible wind is blowing. The motel is full, still Sid manages to swap our room next to a soda vending machine (the monster is awfully noisy) for another, whose guests have not arrived yet. Gabka and Radim drive up fifteen minutes later -- it turns out the room we had swapped was THEIRS. They are taking it easy. Gabka donates some tea for our whimpering son (Tommy declares with a tragic voice that he has been coughing -- having a clear case of mens' deadly 4-letter illness). We send our adult men to have a beer to the nearby restaurant; meanwhile I put our kids to bed.



	The road in Zion



	On the first day, clouds raced above Zion and sometimes had created strange visual effects.

December 27
The whole group has a breakfast at Cattleman's, with a view to trains. Tom can't wait -- we have to go see the "propellers" - wind farm - and then back down to the Tehachapi Loop. There, Tom sits down on his favorite rock -- and shortly after falls off of it. I hate the moment when I'm lifting a bleeding child up and it takes me a second or two to assess the damage. This time, too, I reckon that both eyes and all teeth have been preserved... nevertheless it becomes clear that we shall need some SEWING. We arrange with the Kubackis that they would continue to Las Vegas on their own -- they have a motel room arranged there and wish to visit Hoover Dam in the morning. Searching for the nearest hospital on our little pamphlet about Tehachapi, we drive down town. Sid goes with the triage with Tom, while I try to hold Lisa in the waiting room and contact Richard in Las Vegas that we shall arrive later. I should mention here that I have never seen Rick in my life -- we know each other only virtually. We have been attempting to invite ourselves for a visit for several years - and we have always canceled in the last moment. First time because of my bleeding, second time due to Lisa's ear infection. When I tell him that we are (for a change) at a hospital and being treated for trauma, he almost goes into a tailspin.
Tom is finally sewn up, we find a inconspicuous yet great little Thai restaurant. Kids are recovering. Still there are 240 miles ahead of us and it is four in the afternoon. We reach Richard, Hilda and Michelle by eight in the evening. Like several times before I am surprised how pleasant a first meeting can be with hitherto virtual friends. By one in the morning I declare curfew for adults (kids have been sleeping since ten p.m.).



	A top view to Zion Valley



	A narrow canyon with a creek from under a crevice

December 28
Hilda is leaving for work in the morning, several hour later than usual - in our honor; we get ourselves gradually exhumed, breakfasted and overall mobilized. Tommy finally decides to become friends with Amber -- a crossbreed of a Labrador and a golden retriever. Our son has been afraid of dogs since being very little, especially of large dogs, but loyal, patient Amber eventually gains his trust to the point he's ready to pet and feed her.
We go out to have lunch with Richard and Michelle. It's interesting how my kids regard the twelve years old Michelle as being grown-up -- Tom had asked during our visit, do they also have some kiddies? After a successful meal, we depart on a hundred seventy miles stretch to Springdale, Utah at the foot of Zion National Park.
We check in at Flanigan's Inn where we had a reservation; we discover that the other part of our expedition has not arrived yet, so we opt for a dinner. Alas, the Spotted Dog restaurant emerges to be rather expensive compared to what they serve as food.
Later that night becomes clear that there is divine justice in the world -- Kubacki's enjoy a decent Internet connection in their room, while our wi-fi works marginally, and only on the highest commode in the room's corner. I consider it a pay-back for the swapped rooms in Tehachapi.



	Frozen tears of the Weeping Rock



	We're leaving the Narrows

December 29
Kids are getting up (unusually) after eight. Actually, after nine -- Utah is one hour ahead of California. We drag Gabka, Radim and Lukas out to a real breakfast, claiming that if we have a big one, we can slight our lunch with a slice of bread while spending most of the short day's time outdoors. We drive uphill through a tunnel dug along inside a sandstone wall, leading to a Zion Valley overlook. Tom enjoys our walk, climbing on every rock. All the kids admire beautiful long icicles that stick out of the rocky walls wherever a small stream would trickle otherwise. Lisa also walks the whole distance -- despite occasionally presenting us with some tantrum (her phase of terrible twos gets emphasized throughout our trip by extreme clinging to her mom).
Then our expedition splits -- while we still both aim for the same River Walk trail, Tommy demands to see those big icicles on Weeping Rock, and we have to stop before reaching our target. The Weeping Rock is momentarily bathed by the day's last sunshine and giant blocks of ice melt away from the sandstone wall and with the rumble of crushed industrial glass, they avalanche in our direction. Tommy is ecstatic, but we must keep him in respectful distance. After all, one set of stitches in his head is quite enough. Kids start to fret and ask to return to our car and if possible, home, to our house. We return to the hotel room, run a kids' show on the computer, eat snacks etc. Dinner is it be someplace which presents self as Thai restaurant. The food is not bad, but certainly not authentic Asian cooking. Moreover, for several subsequent days I shall seek out bathrooms with a brisk (meaning: quick) stride.



	Carol is checking out which rock could be climbed; Angels Landing remains erected in background; Lisa and Tom focus on terraforming the creek's bank.



	Lisa loves the winter (discovering feet slipping on ice is still in her future)

December 30
We wake up into a bright sunny day. It's even a bit warm in the sun. Kubacki's are getting ready for Angels Landing. Tom begs mightily to be allowed to go with Lukas, so we decide to change plans and take the kids along the lowest section of this challenging trail. We have no intentions to go up to the top -- it's much too far and very much uphill, and there are chains and steep drop-offs. Lisa still harasses us most of the way -- does not want to trot, does not want to walk hand in hand, does not want to be carried. Tommy cries that Lukas has ran away, that he has to catch up with Lukas, for it's his brother, and he cries that he's being merry (= is not being obnoxious) and that he's going to behave, if only we let him go up that big hill with Lukas. Thus we attempt to split - I begin to turn back with Lisa, while Sid continues with Tom up the trail. Lizzy immediately and miraculously finds new energy and trots most of the way downhill. Sid and Tom meet us again almost at the trail head (Sid has convinced Tom to return, after all). We take the kids down to the creek, pulling out a small excavator and concrete mixer. One hour of landscaping follows (throwing rocks, building a dirt ramp, sinking twigs into mud). We have a picnic and talk the children into going for another walk -- this time along the creek. In the summer, on can follow a paved trail (advertised as suitable for wheelchairs) through an increasingly narrower canyon to a spot called The Narrows. There, the creek takes the breadth of the canyon bottom and enthusiasts may wade on up the stream. We are not planning to enter this section -- it is freezing and were not this crazy. Lisa is being obnoxious and I load her into a backpack carrier. Within five seconds I feel her collapse like a rag doll -- and fall asleep!!! Our journey through the canyon is aborted by a NO ENTRY sign under a wall full of icicles. As the sun descends to the horizon and temperatures drop, we are quite glad to be returning.
Back at the hotel we undertake a thorough cleaning, and after the Kubacki's return, we venture out to seek dinner. Springdale suffers from classical problem of towns in vicinity of national parks -- customers may go to hell, there will always be more coming. Eventually we find a restaurant at Majestic View Lodge. With stuffed bears, bobcats, huge overhead beams and a fountain in the middle of the dining hall. Service is nice and quick -- Tom and Luke get their favorite "fried cheese", which is not included in the menu. After dinner we visit a local free wilderness museum -- stuffed animals in action. Tom shows some fear, Lisa call arctic foxes, kitties.



	Queen and her courtiers (Bryce Canyon)



	Lisa could not cope with switchbacks at Bryce Canyon.



	Midget in Bryce Canyon

December 31
We check out of this very comfortable hotel, and head out to Bryce Canyon National Park. Several hundred yards of the road in the final section is covered with ice -- we drive through with sphincters tightly closed. Fortunately our bus is heavy as a tank, and does not skid. It is 20°F at a parking lot with a view, and I pack kids into everything we have. They are excited about the snow and freedom to run around. We carefully walk down an icy path among the hoodoos (high formations from soft red sandstone). Lisa is brutally slipping and I have to carry her again. Tom wreaks havoc, yells in tunnels and digs in snow. It's getting dramatically colder deeper between the rocks; Lisa on my back whines that she's cold. I try to release her, but it's too dangerous on these treacherous paths, so I put her back in the carrier and we finish Navajo Loop - up a steep grade back to the viewpoint. I feel sorry for my freezing Lisa, and five minutes before twelve (actually, five before four thirty, when they close) we quickly force our way into a warm information center. I change the kids' into sweat pants (there's a long drive ahead of us -- I don't want to keep them sweating in their snow gear), we fill ourselves with sweet tea.
Our New Year's Eve dinner takes place in Milford (still in Utah) - the only open place, Penny's Diner, looks like a slightly larger motorhome, decorated inside with posters from the 50's -- we eat various burgers -- who only knows McDonald's, knows not what a real burger is -- an EXCELLENT meal. Then we drive on through Utah and Nevada flatland. Empty roads and a sky full of stars remind me of our trip six years ago. It's noticeably colder though, slightly more snow, and there's no romantic moon shining. Our external thermometer indicates -6° Fahrenheit. It improves to positive eight in Ely, NV -- we take refuge in a tiny motel. Before our eyelids shut (by ten thirty), we mumble something about happy new year. For me, however, is this non-celebration of New Year's Eve the best way I know. Finally I'm back on the road, with my kids, in my beloved deserts.



	Hoodoos at Bryce Canyon have weird shapes



	A through-hole had eroded in the rock

January 1
Gábina, Radim and little Lukas breakfast a toast in the motel lobby, and drive out on their own. They must have been unnerved by our calculations that our trip hope would take approximately ten hours (and this only in case everything goes smoothly). We find our favorite cafe in Ely -- but it's closed. A casino at the outskirts rescues us from starvation. We're lucky again with excellent service. Besides breakfast, we receive advice and a brochure about local attractions (instigated by Tom's announcement to the server that he is a steam engine). There's a real steam line in Ely -- but of course it's closed on first of January. While eating, Sid and I spin a web of plans for our summer holiday. Leaving by eleven, we pump gas. Everything is going like we expected -- I enjoy 320 miles of the loneliest highway in the United States. We cross several mountain ranges, the roads are empty, clean, rimmed by snow-capped hills. Kids, to our surprise, remain behaved. We make it to Reno by four PM, an hour is sacrificed to looking for food and eating in a Chinese cafeteria. By five PM, Hippo takes over the wheel -- and by six we get stuck in a jam over the Donner Pass (half of California went skiing in the Lake Tahoe and Reno areas). Gabka calls us, they're ahead of us and can inform us that the jam extends for next ten miles, and then dissolves. Indeed... on the other side of Donner Pass, someone is diverting large trucks aside, traffic suddenly untangles and we are rushing on again. We zip even through the fearsome Sacramento like demons on a mission. Shortly after ten in the evening and having driven 250 miles, we're back home again. Bottom line -- 7 days, 1,770 miles (2,800 km), three states, two time zones, two national parks, two stitches in the head.

January 2
I drive out to the doctor's with the kids. A nurse removes Tom's bandage, sees the stitches, washes it with water, mumbles something to herself, rolls her eyes, goes off to fetch a doctor. Doctor comes to see it, rolls her eyes, tries to wash it -- and tells me that Tom's stitches cannot be taken out. The little doctor in Tehachapi had sewn Tom's head together and then glued it all with crazy glue -- and blood, glue and threads have turned into a compact, hard mass.



	Even on our return journey, there was still enough there to watch



	Highway fifty seems to go on forever -- but thanks to negligible traffic I am very comfortable driving there.

For the following two days we busy ourselves softening the whole mess with Vaseline, while separating out threads and knots. Finally we succeed, Sid offers to pull out the stitches at home, but soon he discovers that we lack the tiny, fine instruments. We have to once more go to see the doctor -- this time Tom is leaving with a lollipop and without stitches. I begin to ponder whether we should pack along a somewhat more voluminous first aid kid on our trips. Perhaps I would manage to hurt my children less than highly paid experts of a diploma.

Still I would not hesitate to declare our trip a great success. Our little ones behaved flawlessly during our long drives, were ready to go to their beds while visiting and in motels. There's still a performance gap between them -- Tommy would like to start hiking hills and might even master more interesting routes. Lisa would be content with a sandbox in a back yard. My daughter also did not bear well being away from our home. Since about middle of our journey, she demanded to return and clung to her mother; she started to push away Sid again. In the moment she woke up really back home, she jumped in her father's arms and she is back to normal.
Tommy has been frequently a steam engine lately, letting off steam (i.e. spits around himself), or -- like after a good morning meal -- he declares to have a lot of steam; in turn he says to have not enough steam (especially when he's supposed to go wash himself and to bed). If he's currently being a diesel engine, he stops spitting, but then he sounds his horn with his very penetrating, high voice. If he does not feel like going somewhere, he claims to have run out of oil and asks to be towed by another engine. He alternates his being a train with Toulouse -- a ginger baby cat from (Disney cartoon) Aristocats. Toulouse is a kitten who wants to be a big alleycat and spits a lot around to show everybody. Tom's spitting (whether he's letting of steam of being a kitten) gets on my nerves. Similarly I feel like I have a stroke coming when Tommy licks his hands (= he washes like a cat). Perhaps I should get the kids some videos about a horribly boring, behaving boy instead.

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