Our drive to Kirkwood was captivating — and it did not look like spring at all.

Door had to be dug out of the snowbank.

Being a fresh owner of a ski helmet, I could not wait to test it in practice. We arrange another weekend at the "cabin" with Vendulka, this time without the children. Weather successfully ignored the first spring day having already passed. It was just cold down in the Valley, but much more snow had been added (about ten feet) and many roads were closed. We kept waiting on Friday, whether they'd plough them for the weekend, but no luck. It was agreed then that Pavel would get up at six on Saturday, check the road situation and call us if needed. Nothing. By seven thirty I could not stay any longer in bed (being trained by everyday getting up at 6:45 for school) and, miffed, started preparing breakfast.

Sid got up at eight, and then I just routinely refreshed the page with data -- voila! -- they opened for traffic with snow chains. I raised Kovars out of bed and began to pack with a lightning speed. It's not so hard for just two people (especially if every one of the two is a responsible adult, capable to lend a hand), and sometimes by nine thirty we were ready to go. We even had enough time to solve a lunch crisis — I wanted to reach Kirkwood, make fire in the stove, put some butter on some bread and go ski for at those few remaining hours. Hippo was rumbling that I want to torture him with hunger, and demanded a lunch. Eventually we found a compromise — we would do a take-out at Giant Burger in Pine Grove, and eat while we drive. Giant Burger is an institution seemingly quite suspect and were it not recommended, we would never think of stopping at such a hole in the wall — especially since we're no burger fanciers. But a freshly grilled burger, with roasted onions and an awesome heap of fresh, crispy French fries, is something completely different from what is presented as a "burger" in even fancy establishments.

Granny has joined us for our annual Garrapata hike.

It was a bit early for wildflowers, even so we found a few poppies.

We continued on, clutching a reasuringly full and greasy paper bags. I began to stuff myself with my lunch at a space-traveling speed, while Hippo drove; after stopping for gas, we swapped places — by then the road began to look rather interesting. It did not last long and we found ourselves between snow-banks ten or more feet high, carved by snow-ploughs. The gap between was sometimes quite narrow and all we could do was pray that nobody comes from the opposite direction. Passing slow cars was a big complication — those with chains rattled on at their twenty five miles per hour, our four-wheel drive let us go faster, but there wasn't any room to pass. I got ather unexpectedly excited — I had written here many times that most mountain drivers behave quite cordially, but this time I lived through a whole handful of hot moments, when I tried to pass a medium-sized truck. When it blocked my way the first time, I thought it was by chance, but the driver did it repeatedly. Why, my mind does not compute, till today. Eventually I did manage to pass him in a wider section of the road, as although he wavered half the truck's bulk into the opposite lane, I still succeeded to fit between its side and the left ditch (or rather snow wall).

Garrapata Panorama.

Lupines

Meanwhile Kovar's at Kirkwood had dug out the entrance door out of a snow bank; they said they overtook us by Giant Burger. We helped with whatever little was left to do about the snow and with carrying stuff, and we set out to ski. That is, Kovars and I did, while Hippo "made the sacrifice" and kept the fire in the "cabin" and so on. Well, it cost less for ski lifts.

We chatted with Martin a bit in the evening, I received a birthday present: Kirkwood t-shirt with a sign EXPERTS ONLY, very funny. Of course I consider myself an expert, ever since I managed to dislodge some permanent slalom poles, ride down The Wall (the most difficult local slope) on my butt, knock over my own child on the easiest slope and hit the other child upside his head with my ski poles while getting on a lift (fortunately a head wearing a helmet) — I am certainly more than qualified; I'm just not sure that the t-shirt sign is meant for this particular type of expert.

Michal and his family (including Ben, the true owner of the zombie helmet) had arrived on the next day, along with their grandmother, and suddenly the "cabin" was brimming with merry social chaos. We won an excellent home-made chilli for lunch as a left-over. Getting back home happened without any drama; spring is in the air, after all, and snow has been melting away quite rapidly at lower elevations.

A thistle at Garrapata...

... and another humble wild flower.

To compensate our winter sports with some spring-time program, we planned a Garrapata hike for the next weekend. Granny could join us this year, and she's practically a local guide in these parts, although she's rarely around during spring wild flower season. I must have brought some little cold with me from the mountains and my (lack of) breathing capacity gave me hard time at Garrapata. While the family consisting of two children, one Hippo, one senior citizen marched briskly uphill, I huffed and fell behind. We had a picnic at our favorite lookout bench, but even that did not refresh me much, failing to boost my energy. I consented to overcome yet another uphill section, but I never made it all the way to the top, instead opting for a rest and baby-sitting Lisa, who jumped around a pile of rocks.

This year we had probably rushed the trip and were too early for the wild flowers; even thistles were still budding. Instead, the season was favorable for ticks; I brought one representative sample home with me. It was not a small black litte bugger that I know from Europe, but a nasty, huge, brown thing. My consolation is that these large ticks are said to not spread lyme disease.