First school day

On the twenty fourth of August came the important day and Tom's school began. We all went to see him to the entrance like a good redneck family, so that even my Hippo got to know when and how our son is to be handed over to the teacher. Overall I did not anticipate any big deal -- Tommy was looking forward to the school, liked the teacher, and had been attending pre-school for years now; he can write and count, hence there should not be any issue. Alas, during pick-up Tom did not emerge from the classroom with other children. I was told he was sulking inside, and to get him myself. Tom refused to communicate, and in the end told me that he cannot leave the classroom for if he did, the teacher would be sad. Eventually I lured him out by a promise that he can say good-bye to the teacher and tell her that he would come again; then she won't be sad for sure.

Tommy loves this teacher, but by the end of a school day he's completely exhausted and hungry, and sometimes he throws a tantrum. I have to say that the teacher has been having a lot of courage and has coped with it while keeping surprisingly cool (I would tear my offspring to pieces sometimes), and so we can only hope that Tom would adapt somehow and the situation will quiet down. On one side I'm with him -- of the seven children who started at the same level at the same school as Tom, not even one attends the same class - he has been on his own among strangers. The class lasts one hour longer than the pre-school's, we must get up earlier in the morning, simply many changes at once.

At Sulfur Works in Lassen

Fortunately, sometimes in the second week, Tom met his new friend Stefan. I would like to know how it happened, but they may have much in common. Stefan's family is Serbian, so they speak Serbian at home (we speak Czech), and he learned English first in pre-school; has a younger sibling (Theodor is half year younger than Lisa), knows no one in the class, and is about same age with Tom. It seems to me that both boys became much more cheerful; soon I established a system of play-dates with Stefan's mom, which may help.

The second and third week of Tom's school had only four school-days. The first weekend in September is celebrated as Labor Day with a Monday off, and the school had attached the preceding Friday off for teacher training. We rejoiced, my Hippo swapped the Monday off for the Friday, and we could drive out to a three-day weekend outing ahead of all the crowds. We opted for Lassen, where we have not been this year yet.

Lassen Peak

Family demanded lunch in Fairfield; alas, our favorite sushi place had introduced flat screen TVs running sports channels on all four sides, and our kids simply did not manage to concentrate on food. They are both capable of gaping at commercials or football fights, with no mental capacity left for chewing and swallowing. Our threats that the next meal will be a snack at three p.m. had in that moment no effect whatsoever. The more whimpering and moaning followed once we got back into our car. Tommy cursed, threw tantrums, tried extortion -- but we were unmoved. Both juniors had their lunch; the fact that they chose not to eat it was only their loss.

Five minutes before three we stopped near Sulfur Works in Lassen. There used to be paths and spots where one could admire various smelly and colorful streams, but the whole are became recently active and dangerous, hence completely fenced off. Still before we covered all angles and snapped a few pictures of kids with a fumarole, it was quite past three and Tom has finally gotten his snack. I have to say that since that day, he takes care to eat everything whenever there is opportunity, so perhaps he has indeed learned a lesson from this whole incident.

Cinder Cone

We crossed the park proper to the north and started to look for some camp-site in a National Forest around highway forty-four. We had camped here last in spring 2001, so we practically had to look anew -- our memory is quite faint and the landscape keeps changing. I must say that soon I was fed up with driving aimlessly around, and perhaps kid felt the same. We had found a decent spot for our tent, erected it, and heated up some boxed soup on our stove. Temperatures dropped dramatically after sunset, and we tried to get organized quickly and crawl into sleeping bags. Lisa managed to wonder about a strange light over the eastern forest -- rising moon looked like a UFO field day. And then we were all warm and cuddled and happy. Juniors have some relatively new and decent bags (cocoons) and I use a heavy one with a fleece inlay. Hippo said he was freezing, as he keeps sticking out of a standard sleeping bag, and this time packed only a light cocoon, expecting a heat wave. At eight in the morning, long after sunrise, we measured only thirty eight Fahrenheit (+3°C), and it is likely it was freezing at night. But even below forty, it was very pleasant in the sun -- we call the weather we had in Lassen, moon climate, for it mostly matters whether you are in the shade or not.

Before ascending Cinder Cone

We really thawed only during breakfast at JJ's Cafe in Old Station. Then we drove back a bit on the Hwy 44 and turned to Cinder Cone, the main destination of our whole trip. Cinder Cone is an extinguished volcano -- the classic type, conical, from afar or near reminding of a heap of gravel. It's not an ordinary gravel, though; it's pumice -- a mixture of lightweight rocks full of gas bubbles, ashes, and sand, which escapes incredibly from under your feet and subsequently makes you slide horribly on any slope.

Still Cinder Cone is surprisingly picturesque, however quite impossible to capture photographically. A picture will show you only a sad, ordinary, heap of rocks without soul, not a natural wonder which it really is. A hiking trail to this mountain leads through woods, and although it goes only slightly uphill, even here your feet will lose efficiency in the fine sand and ash. Thus before ascending the very cone of Cinder, we had to declare a snack break. Especially once we spotted the steep path up, with tourists being sometimes attacked by dust devils.

Sid claimed that going up would be very strenuous, but he only had been here once, fifteen years ago on a crazy hot day. We enjoyed balmy sixty five (18°C) with a breeze, and it went well. Naturally we were stopping and huffing and some were even whimpering; and for the last few yards I became a towing mother and simply dragged the kids up, mostly because of a nasty head-wind. Some tourist was claiming that the wind speed up there was eighty miles per hour, which I found somewhat exaggerated, but it was true that you could "lay" into the wind with arms outstretched and pretend to be an airplane for a moment. We had to hold Lisa and Tom fast, so that the wind gusts would not sweep them off onto the slope or into the crater.

Strong wind on top of Cinder Cone

Then we ran down again in about five minutes -- all it took was digging your heels in and jumping quickly and comfortably. Another snack was on order at the foot of Cinder Cone -- we still had a mile to go to the car. Tommy was OK, but Lisa dragged behind and kept being difficult. Then towards the end of the trail, two horses passed us by. Their riders stopped and let Lisa pet their steeds, which most likely saved the reputation of the whole outing. Lisa -- incredibly -- came to, turned into a horse, and jumping merrily finished the rest of the road, while chattering about having seen the horseys and they were really nice horseys and so on and on.

Returning quickly to our camp-site for head-lamps, we continued on to a lava tube. Kids had visited it last year, but I think only this time even Lisa enjoyed it fully. Tommy engaged in conversation with a Vietnamese family with two little boys; as far I can tell, he talked to them about trains and tunnels. We discussed with the parents about options in the National Park and learned that on this weekend, all official campgrounds were booked full; this family had to seek refuge in some hotel (not everyone is willing to camp in the wilderness of a National Forest -- sans restrooms and tap water).

Cinder Cone crater

After the volcano hike, a cave came quite handy as a cool, stress-free attraction, giving us time to drive to Burney and have a proper dinner. My Hippo surprised me in declaring he felt no affinity to Chinese (food), opting for pizza instead. The kids were ecstatic. And later on, we were also surprised, as kids passed over a cheese pizza that we had ordered for them and heroically devoured my favorite, Hawaiian one. It's true that we don't go eat pizza very often, and we don't really know our juniors' choices that well there.

A bizarre scene took place in the pizzeria. A strange looking, unshaved character was coming on to a rather very pretty waitress; he tried to make the impression of being a famous Hollywood movie producer. The girl was responding only noncommittally, and when he finally left (driving away in his at least 4 years old Toyota Camry, a car quite unbecoming a movie producer -- Sid's note), she made me proud -- it would seem that even someone like her, a waitress in a frontier town pizza parlor, would not fall for such a loser.

A trail along Kings Creek on our way to the waterfalls was pretty, but also crowded.

We attempted to be well prepared for the next night. Kids were issued fleece pajamas; my Hippo piled on some layers and I set my pair of sweat-pants at the ready. As it happens, this time it was overcast and the night was not by far not as cold as on Friday. I even slid out of my sleeping bag at some point, to cool myself off. The morning was warmer, too -- about forty six (8°C).

We tried another breakfast at JJ's, but the waitress who remembered us from Saturday, told us honestly that they just got a whole busload and a large order and it would take long. We thanked her and moved on to a cafe at Hat Creek, which we know to produce waffles.

Thus invigorated we entered the National Park and proceeded to hike to the waterfalls at Kings Creek. So did about a thousand of other visitors -- the trail to the top of Lassen Peak was closed, and people spread among other attractions. Lisa was again being difficult most the way, she asked to see so more horses, and why was there no horse and she wanted to go somewhere with horses. I must say that being only four years old, she can be relatively strong-headed and resistant to diversions. She cheered up a bit when we reached the waterfalls and found that we can climb down along the rushing stream. The trail was very rocky, with climbing sections (for four year olds, that is; all the grown-ups simply make the higher step up/down), which was a small consolation for the missing steeds. Going back to the car, Lisa still threw a horrible tantrum.

Trail along Kings Creek Falls

We packed back into the car and drove out towards home, with a detour to a railroad loop near Quincy -- Williams Loop. Our train maniacs demanded to see this loop personally, and I regarded it a decent idea -- to see a technical marvel, while driving "practically nearby , instead of making an extra trip not knowing if it's worth it.

When we finally reached the loop, even my Hippo declared that it was not worth the detour. Unlike Techachapi, Williams has no good spot from which to see the whole loop -- rails running through woods aren't anything special. Furthermore, this isn't a frequented line, so we were to experience Tommy's tantrum for a change, who demanded to see a train. Eventually he said that he was sad on account of being hungry -- and we left to have a dinner. We ate at a local, strange, Chinese restaurant. The food was bland, however otherwise fresh and atypically (considering the cuisine) light. Quoting Simona from our favorite sitcom, Comeback, food must be mostly warm... this one met such requirement.

The loop could not be photographed; so here's a fancy canyon junction-bridge

After dinner, we drove practically into the unknown. It was my turn to drive and I must say I enjoyed it. Highway seventy in this area follows sixty miles down a canyon -- sometimes low along the river with multiple dams, over bridges -- and eventually climbs on the edge of a cliff, to make the final grade before descending into the Central Valley. Especially the final phase, where we zigzagged through switchbacks over an incredible abyss, gave me quite a workout (while nobody believes me, I'm afraid of heights). My hands ached from steering -- I could not rest, since I kept having to turn the wheel and quickly so, lest we'd come off the road. The landscape is breathtaking, we would like to get back there one day.

To compensate for our positive experience there, California subsequently presented us with one of its most miserable places, fortunately after sunset, so we did not waste daylight while having nothing to see. We passed through deltas of Feather and later Sacramento rivers, which is an attack on another sense -- of smell. Upon noticing a suspicious odor of very dirty socks creeping through the bus, one could still harbor doubts whether perhaps our multi-day tour was not to blame for ripening the laundry. Yet the flavor changed with every bridge over another channel, levy or river bed; we concluded that the origin of the stink was not us: we also had associations of heavily molded laundry and soaking rotten cabbage. And so we rushed through the smelly misery back home, happily arriving around ten in the evening.

Meanwhile the fall caught up with us. This year had been weird, for spiders crawled out in the mid-summer, since August ants keep moving into our house, unseasonable clouds chase each other in the skies that would otherwise be clear -- it simply looks like the winter is going to come soon and will be rather wet. From a general perspective that is good, we had three relatively dry years and water is needed, but we are worried a bit that our camping season may end much sooner.

Clouds over Walker

Taking advantage of our granny, we left our kids with her on the very next weekend and reserved horses at Leavitt Meadows. Our surroundings consider us some kind of lunatics -- cross Sierra Nevada on Saturday afternoon, sleep somewhere in the desert, take a two-hour horse ride, and drive all the way back across the Sierra -- some people regard it a crazy plan. Perhaps because we both like to drive, we have a chance to talk without the kids in the car during these long rides, better than in many a therapy session; we can play real music (on our trip with kids, we're limited to playing their movies or kids' songs -- sometimes I expect to have a nervous breakdown from hearing the brittle voices of Bambini di Praga again). We love the Eastern Sierra Nevada and traveling at our own pace. We may never experience the feeling of sending our children to the grandparents over the weekend, while we would stay AT HOME; so we dawdle outdoors.

Old road on Leavitt Meadows

On Saturday we had a lunch with the kids and granny, and then we took it easy and drove out, over East Carter and Sonora Pass. We aimed to check out dirt roads east of Hwy 395, and drive the full Bircham Flat (dirt) road, which, as my Hippo found in maps, is a backside detour to Walker. It had obviously been raining on this side of the Sierra, the roads were muddy and we had to give up one spot -- what seemed a wide ford at first, turned out to be a deep creek bed; our wagon is not quite that off-road. Then I managed to hit a rock with one wheel (rocks were awash in mud and hard to see) so that I thought I lost most of my teeth by the impact. My Hippo rumbled that we had certainly got ourselves a flat, but he was fortunately wrong. Eventually we finished the rest of the Bircham Flat Road and reached Walker; it was six o'clock and we rushed to Jeff's place for a beer. We had arranged with Jeff's wife Michele in the summer that we would fix them as simple web site, to let other people know about the restaurant, and we were looking forward to chatting and perhaps making some progress with the design.

Jeff sat in front of the restaurant like in a sad pile of despair, and upon our asking how he was he handed us a funeral notice. Michelle's. My head is still not with it; it's been only a few weeks since we last talked with her and joked, she brought us beer and dinners and was an essential part of this pleasant pub with great food ... and she's gone. Over the years since we began traveling to these ends of the Sierra, Mountain View Barbeque became a reference point, a place to return to even after a long winter, to find everything in its proper place; it makes one comfortable and safe. Suddenly, this comfortable and safe place developed a huge void.

Still in a bit of a shock, we took Bircham Flat Road to find a stop to sleep. Our usual camp-site at Cottonwood Creek is too far and features three (or more, depending on season) fords, which we did not dare in this weather. We had no need to build a tent, for we slept in our wagon, and any decent flat spot would do. We found a miniature meadow and unfurled our sleeping bags. We slept poorly, on this peculiar night.

Even Farnsworth trotted merrily!

We woke up early in the morning all aching. So early in fact that we reckoned we had a chance to fit in a breakfast at Hays Street Cafe in Bridgeport -- and we would have perhaps even made it, were it not for several biker gangs hanging out there. We could not wait, for we had our appointment with the horses, and so we just bought sandwiches at the store and ate on the shore of Walker River with a view to the desert and the mountains. Sun warming our back was not bad at all. Weather played along that day, sunshine but not hot, a light breeze -- just so.

Barney

Four saddled horses awaited us at Leavitt, but it took a while before any of the people showed up. Our guides for the day were Eddie a Colleen. We had written to Craig, the owner, that we would like to ride out somewhere we haven't been before, which excluded their usual nearby trails, for we had seen them all. Colleen was instructed to take us "somewhere" and it worked out great. We covered the neighborhood -- an abandoned road, straight across the meadow, with the horses wading through golden grass, followed by a dried-up creek bed away from the trails. Besides Colleen and Eddie, we were accompanied by an uncertain number of local dogs, who have exhausted themselves to the point of collapse in the yard upon our return. We loved the ride for its informality; Leavitt Meadows itself is really wonderful. Colleen looked satisfied that she could get somewhere else than thousand times same trails, and even the old grumpy Farnsworth stepped high and turned his ears, even trotted without prompting a few times. All this makes me thing that he, too, liked this kind of easy ride -- running without much huffing uphill, and soon going back home.

I was issued Farnsworth's sister Barney. I had never sat before on such a huge horse; fortunately Barney was a quite behaved mare, relatively eager to obey. She shared another thing with Farnsworth -- gluttony. All the time she tried to nip something from the tempting grass around us. It surprised me how different riding with her was. While walking, it felt like she was more unsteady than other horses, but when she sped up, I had no sense of falling off immediately; it was much easier to stay on.

By one in the afternoon we were ready to leave. Gone were our Saturday hazy ideas of going for a hike; we felt like driving back home and keeping this trip as short as possible. It was a good choice. Tommy had been whining at home about a pain in his ear. I was worried that he'd become ill, but after a night with benadryl the symptoms receded. Thus I'm not certain which part of him was really hurting -- the ear or his feelings about our weekend departure.