Lisa in the parade

The fire truck had arrived after the parade, and juniors could check it out.

Our high spirits from our successful trip to Sierra Nevada had lasted us for quite a while. We set aside one weekend for recover, and planned to take off on the following one, heading somewhere to the Lost Coast - simply up to northern ocean coast.

One should not count the chickens before they hatched, and we should not have planned a trip before it became clear how many children will develop rashes, or get fever (or both). It was our Tommy who first suffered three days of high temperatures, and when it began to seem that he was fit again, and I invited his friends to a pool party, I spotted him being full of little bumps while applying his afternoon sunscreen. I rushed to cancel all visits and called the doctor to consult this unexpected development. I learned that it would have to be some sort of virus, and they'd offered me to see Tommy. This I rejected - Tom was not bothered by his rash in any way, he was not otherwise complaining, and I did not want to risk catching something worse whilst in the waiting room. Anyway, it was clear we would not be driving out on any trip until Tom got better -- and I did not want to risk Lisa developing fever while in the car or in the tent. Perhaps because we stayed at home and there was nothing to spoil through becoming sick, Lisa did not get infected.

Tommy can swim!

Celebrations of the Independence Day can't exist without fireworks

As soon as Tom emerged from his illness, I could at least drop the kids into our pool again. Could not do it soon enough -- they were very bored from watching DVDs and staying indoors. Our children can endure staying in the pool much longer than I, so I usually end up in a lawn chair with a book and they -- secure in their water wings or with noodles (foam extrusions) -- keep on splashing. And so Tom was splashing, and began to holler suddenly; the noodle slid out of his grip in the middle of the pool and he yelled loudly as he was SWIMMING towards the steps. Before I was able to toss my book aside, run to the pool's edge and jump in, Tom -- all shocked and shaken -- has reached the area where he can stand on the bottom. And so I proceeded to praise him for having swam so well (given the fact he had enough strength to continuously scream, I reckoned he was really in no danger of drowning), until he, too, began to realize that he HAS LEARNED HOW TO SWIM.

For the subsequent few days Tommy struggled to improve his doggy-style -- on the day following the drowning incident, he crossed the whole pool (about ten yards), and in several more days his furious digging as if his life was at stake, began to resemble swimming strokes and Tom stopped being endangered by every small wave. Currently Tommy has abandoned his original "mayor's wife" style (i.e. his face as far from the water as possible), began to submerge and propel himself underwater. I still cannot read my book at peace while he's at it, he is still not sure of himself, but I have been very glad of his progress.

Lisa remains being in her terrible twos, but she amuses us with funny statements. The other day she snapped back at Wendy who offered her help, saying she did not need anything; Wendy told her to "Knock yourself out, then!", and Lisa became most upset, "I won't knock myself out, I'm not for knocking!" Furthermore, our princess began her phase of metamorphosing into animals. She had disturbed Gabka by claiming, "I'm no Lisa, I am a pig!" The other day she snuggled up to me and declared that I was her cow. Her transformation into a mother is somewhat confusing -- the other day I asked her, who's mother she was, and learned she was mine. Our granny would usually trip her off, for she insist on being my mother instead.

Our camp near a brook

A snack at the camp

Our neighborhood celebration of the Independence Day took place on the following weekend. Last year's version, home-organized by our moms' group, was very successful, and we wanted to repeat that. It surprised me how easier it came to put the party together for the second time, including the pick of a Saturday just before the actual national holiday. In principle, everybody knew what to do, and thus we could skip any long sessions and planning. Participants, too, were much more relaxed, we had a peaceful time. Only this year the fire truck got called away in a critical moment, and our parade had to march without a leader.

Our block party concluded the third week in a row, during which we would "only" dither in and around our home. The kids began to camp in the living room again, and the overall atmosphere took on a submarine quality. The real Fourth of July was approaching and with it the extended weekend. We typically try to choose an alternative program for these holidays, to avoid crowds, but this time we simply had to get out. We dropped the idea of Northern California on account of having to thread through the San Francisco metropolitan area - which requires Kevlar ropes instead of nerves on a day like this. When I suggested (for a change) that we could drive to the Eastern Sierra slopes, Sid reacted with fright, asking whether I really mean to move there permanently (which is one of my vague ideas about my retirement), but in the end he accepted the logic of the matter. One can expect the largest crowds to divert into Yosemite and Tahoe, while there should be some breathing room around Bridgeport. We know how to reach this place using "sewer routes" (completely empty country roads, including the dirty East Carter); we always know what to do and where to go there. I wanted to see Bridgeport rodeo -- I had never seen such happening in my life and was quite interested.

Bircham Flat, Sierra Nevada in background

There were still remnants of snow at ten thousand feet near Virginia Lake

Our hike contained welcome interruptions and interesting activities (throwing rocks).

Our bus was packed on Friday the fourth, and we drove out east. The traffic was a bit jittery, and thus we again took advantage of our favorite East Carter, with nobody in sight. Lunchtime was approaching and Sid had exceeded his speed when we returned on highway 120 (main corridor to Yosemite), so he ended up with a ticket. Yes, we shall never win in a lottery, but whenever there's a whole line of cars speeding, it's only us who pays the fine.

In a miserable mood we dragged on to Jamestown and began looking for something to eat. The only thing more or less open turned out to be a saloon with a hotel named Willows, sporting a darkly and historic interior, severely confused service, but excellent food. We had not ordered anything fancy, but a good cook is able to turn even a plain tuna sandwich into a memorable meal.

We felt a bit better when we climbed into Sonora Pass and slid across to the other side of Sierra Nevada. Stopping briefly at Leavitt Meadows, we greeted the owners and employees, had a short chat, while we were trying to find out how to plan for our next equestrian expedition. Kids, however, became quite obnoxious, and so we continued on to find our lodgings.

My Hippo told me that there were some woods east of highway 395, where we could camp. I had been a bit skeptical -- although Google Earth truly displays some green fuzz, I could not divest of a feeling that only a semi-desert existed on this border with Nevada. Still we ventured on into the unknown, including our children, riding in our bus. In the beginning things would seem to confirm my worries -- we ascended onto a plateau covered with very resilient bushes. We passed several groups of hang-gliders and subsequently forded a creek on a boundary to a leafy grove. I grew more and more skeptical. After several more crossings of the same creek we finally encountered a patch of evergreen forest. Still my Hippo demanded to foraged onwards, until we reached the hilltop. There were spots suitable for camping, but an unpleasant wind made the locating feel quite exposed. Eventually I had convinced our family explorer that after seven hour in the car we lost all interest in checking our more miles of dirt roads; it was time to settle for the night. We returned to a somewhat lower and less windy elevation, and began erecting our tent.

Blue Lake Panorama

When we were almost finished, we discovered another tent hiding behind a tree -- a flattened and abandoned one. Apparently somebody leaves their shelter out there throughout the summer; still we were not intrigued by the idea that its owner returns at night and would roam around our campground. Especially since there was plenty of room farther down. In the end we grabbed our tent and walked with it a few dozen feet away, near a little brook. Thus we got closer to the (dirty) access road, but we hoped that there would not be any big traffic in a spot so remote.

Juniors were ecstatic on account of the brook and the forest, making us ecstatic too. The brook has nearly a yard across, and about an inch of depth; we did not have to fear the kids would be carried away by the stream, or drown in rapids. A wide trunk of a tree fallen across the ditch became their greatest attraction, as the kids could walk on it like over a bridge.

Blue Lake hike

This wilderness is one big playground

By then our hopes were long gone for catching the rodeo (which had begun at three o'clock). We wanted to at least not miss the fireworks. Given all the wild fires, most places in California had canceled fireworks, but here on the eastern slopes of the Sierra, spring was still in full bloom -- wild flowers and much water everywhere, bright green soggy meadows and rivers and creeks brim-full. We succeeded to find a parking spot in Bridgeport on a first try; were not so lucky with our dinner. The best moment had passed when we would have been able to buy things-on-a-stick in food-stands, and most of them had closed or were in the process of doing so. Restaurants and bars were overflowing under the barrage of jovial crowds, there were street performances in various stages of progress, and miscellaneous folksy competitions (e.g. greasy pole climbing). In the end we consumed an unremarkable dinner in an unremarkable hotel -- and time came for the fireworks.

Mosquitos ruled it all, but for once our repellent did repel them relatively effectively. Tommy hollered that he would be afraid of the fireworks, and Lisa aped him. Impatient crowds launched their personal rockets, while roads were being patrolled by fire trucks and circled by late-comers who grew ever more desperate to find some parking. By nine it was dark like inside a mine, but the fireworks were already late by a quarter hour. Then it finally came. Lisa got alarmed a few times and wanted to be held, but Tommy yelled how beautiful it was and I think he had really enjoyed it. We crawled in our sleeping bags by ten, all thoroughly tired.

Lisa pushed into my sleeping bag in the morning and was generally obnoxious -- the dawn was breaking, but it still was quite damned early. We both fell asleep for a while again, yet I thus became relatively unusable at the start of the day. Fortunately Tommy had voted with me for a breakfast in that restaurant where they have the little bears (i.e. Hays Street Cafe serves honey and pancake syrup in plastic bear-shaped bottles), and I could dope myself with their endless coffee. And I also got my favorite waffle with strawberries and whipped cream -- and I was ready for an adventure.

Our plan contained Virginia Lakes. Having had our last experience when Lisa fell head-first into the first lake, I packed some spare clothes in our backpack. Lizzy, oddly, did not demand to be carried -- she trotted forth nicely. First Tom and her played rail engines, later some passing-by horses from the local pack station caught Lisa's eye and she turned into a horse. We were advancing somewhat slower than an average tourist, but I was surprised how our juniors went on merrily, without excessive delays, tantrums or annoyance.

Abandoned prospector's cabin

Another lake in the chain - Cooney Lake

We hiked all the way up to a waterfall over Cooney Lake - I have actually never been ever higher on this trail. We had a picnic and given the way the kids rolled around on our blanket, our break was probably well timed. Going downhill went in a similar fashion -- Lisa jumped from one boulder to another, chattering. Tommy looked more tired, he complained about a belly ache. I had to motivate the kids with raisins for the last quarter mile -- but they both finished it. The whole hike took place at an elevation of about ten thousand feet (three thousand meters). Our campsite had most likely helped us with the altitude -- we had slept at nine thousand feet, and got obviously well adapted.

We drove down to Walker for dinner, and presented Jeff, the owner of Mountainview BBQ, with our problem of our lost tickets to our racing ducks. In the end we agreed that we would simply take our ducks now and bring them back for the race in October. Poor Lisa was ready to surrender her duck to Jeff when we were leaving, but we did not have to tell her twice to keep it.

We were wondering why it was Lisa, who overslept on Sunday, while all the others were already up. Perhaps she got really tired on the day before. We began packing in the morning, with the kids playing in the woods and by the brook (Tom demanded to float his duck -- perhaps he thought that it needed some rigorous training before the grand race). My Hippo still wished to check out a lake which, according to the map, was supposed to be located above our campsite. We had found it, but roads in those end really ceased to look passable for our bus (frankly -- I felt weird with our bus even before -- I am afraid that our white van had punctured several tough jeepers' egos). Furthermore, smoke from wildfires that had been plaguing California for a few weeks, now filled the eastern valleys and we lost our favorite far views.

Cooney Lake Panorama

Thus we began to inch back home; various crawlers hindered our progress on the western side of the Sonora Pass, and overall the roads seemed full of traffic. We attempted another good stop at Jamestown, but Willows was closed. We ended up in another local hotel, The National, where they were serving authentic meals, yet tasting somewhat bad. Service again was unbelievably slow and confused. This ending of our trip indeed failed. Then we simply diverted to our extended shortcuts around all congestions, and managed to dine at peace in our own home.