Anička, Andrejka, Lisa, Tom.

Reinforcements have arrived in the form of Nejedlý's.

Murph's law works reliably, and hence our kids had their spring break one week after everybody else among the Czech kids in Redwood City. When I discovered that Míša was being a straw widow, I decided that our children will survive having one extra day of vacations, and planned a one-day ski trip for Thursday with Anička and Andrejka.

All six of us (Hippo stayed back and worked, of course) crammed on Wednesday afternoon into their car, sharing the space with Rýzl's skis, helmets, sleeping bags and boots. Here I would like to issua a medal to Míša for packing very economically and doing a great job in stowing it all in the car — I did not believe that we would fit. Nevertheless it was much more pleasant to take just one vehicle instead of chasing each other, and we had a chance to take turns driving it. And the kids took advantage of mutual presence and did not get (as much) bored during the three-hour ride.

In the evening we discovered that Nejedlýs had been in the vicinity, and agreed with Peter to catch each other somehow on the slopes on the following morning. When I told it to the kids, it surprised me how Lisa rejoiced, but Tom did not react. Still, it's probably for the best — Kuba loves Lisa and Tom used to suffer by his sister having usurped his buddy. Now he had most likely arrived to the opinon that there's nothing he can do about and ceased to pine for Kuba. He (Tom) declared that he would rather ski with Anička.

In front of the Calico Bottle House - a shack made of wine bottles.

A tourist train — an obligatory attraction for our children.

In the morning Míša and I were simply amazing and we managed to get all four children out of the house and onto the slopes. Our kids naturally wanted to go to the Drain, and so we left Míša and her girls on the blue slope and headed to check out this forest canyon. At that moment Petr called that they had arrived, and we traversed to meet them at Timber Creek. There, a complete chaos ensued — everybody got instructed to wait for the rest at the turn off to the Ditch of Doom, but only a Rýzl's girls had heeded the request. Nejedlý's kids zipped by into the canyon and Lisa did not show up at all, for she got separated on the way there and disappeared in the Trench of Terror. I thought I would shred her to pieces; she received a lengthy talking to regardng "never ever going alone anywhere, and much less without telling anybody WHERE we're going".

It became gradually obvious that we should split the expedition acoording to individual skills and capabilities. We moved on to a harder terrain, where our children could ski their favorite runs, Rýzl's girls some more difficult slopes, and Nejedlý's staying on the easier ones. It worked until the moment when Anička voiced her wish to ski the Drain with us. She skis well (better than our kids), and the Ditch of Doom did not throw her off the course, and so I thought, why not. But Anička ended in a knot under a small tree, and I managed to dig her out of it only after detaching her skis. She must have got too scared, for she was quite fearful ever since, making me feel sorry for her — I hope she would shake it off eventually.

Lisa felt like at home in this wild west town.

April swimming in Colorado River

After lunch the weather turned worse, with occasional heavy snow and a biting wind. Kids were whimpering about being cold and Míša and I began to get nervous about road conditions for our way home; thus we called for retreat at about two o'clock and began to prepare our departure. We got off the mountain quite OK in the end, although visibility was bad at times due to snow flurries. I tried to drive Rýzl's Mazda on the freeway, and I liked it. I love to drive and check out other cars — and this SUV was surprisingly non-tipsy and pleasant to control.

On Friday our kids hurried back to school for one more day and I was packing and packing and shopping and organizing and doing laundry — and after school we set out on our spring break, to have by the evening accumulated our first few hundreds of miles of our long journey to Arizona. We overnighted in Tehachapi and then we continued through the desert landscape deeper into the continent. Around noon we stopped for a two-hour break in a historic silver mining town of Calico. A train for the tourist could be seen and heard already from the parking lot, and it was clear that we could not miss this attraction. We have seen a mining exhibit inside a real mine shaft, and strolled down the main street of this old town turned museum. The kids would not stop and we did not try too hard — they jumped on rock outcroppings and trails, admiring assorted mining junk, crawling through anything with holes big enough to slip through — and we huffed behind them in the increasing heat of the day.

To our surprise we found many free tables at the only local restaurant at lunch time. The surprise lasted only until they brought our food. I had ordered a cheese sandwich, convinced that it would be truly difficult to get it wrong — and they had managed it. Hippo had naively ordered a grilled steak and received something boiled, devoid of flavor, and repulsive just by the look of it. Not to mention the consequences — Hippo commented his rushed retreat later that afternoon that he was in an imminent danger of having calico all over his trousers. Well, as much we can recommend Calico as a tourist attraction, I strongly urge you to avoid trying to eat there.

We're about to scramble up there - Cathedral Rock, Sedona, Arizona.

Tom taking pictures in Sedona, AZ.

It was scorchingly hot in southern California, which we had discovered already in Calico. Our further journey led through a glowing desert, and when a thin green stripe began to form in the distance, marking the Colorado River, we began to search for an access to it. Finally at Needles we had discovered a city park by a blind stream branch, where already greater count of interested parties of pre-school and younger age splashed in the icy water (anybody older than ten would most likely never enter it). So we released our offspring into the bundle of other children, and in time cajoled them, too, to swimming (although I was hot, I would not wade any farther than knee-deep).

We had reached Flagstaff, Arizona, late that evening, just in time to fall in our hotel beds. Easter Sunday began with a substantial breakfast, which I skipped momentarily to arrange Easter presents for the kids in our room. An immense surprise ensued, how the Easter Bunny could haw known and how he could manage; I tried to suggest that perhaps there was no bunny and it was me who set out the eggs. The kids did not approve of this idea; Lisa closed the matter by declaring authoritatively, "But Santa is real!" at that was that. And I used to think that we could let go of, say, Tooth Fairy, which in our case happens to be awfully forgetful and keeps getting into trouble.

Family in the famous Vortex.

A view from Oak Creek in Sedona.

We proceeded to visit our friends Táňa and Tomáš. Despite our warning that we had had breakfast, Táňa insisted and prepared food, and eggs and little chocolate bars for the kids. Although we thus picked up a gourmet delay, we soon moved on to the view to Oak Canyon. I think it was there our kids removed all Táňa's worries about our kids being able to ascend Cathedral Rock. Right on the parking lot they began to climb on boulders, artistically scattered among information billboards and toilets. Tomáš was warning us that there would be a slow line of cars on our way to Sedona, but we slithered through the tourist center quite at ease, and even found two last open parking sports under Cathedral Rock.

Right on first sight it was obvious we were going to enjoy this hike; the trail led up the slick rock, with many options to climb, jump and scramble. Like many times before, the kids disappeared somewhere in the distance and we were huffing and puffing behind them. Eventually we stumbled into the saddle between the Cathredral Rock towers, in the spot attracting spiritual enthusiasts, who call it The Vortex. There Tomáš, our expedition chief, declared that it must be possible to descend through the other side, and soon he disappeared from view, followed by Tom. The rest of us, i.e. Hippo, me, Táňa suffering vertigo, and Lisa, took a bit longer to conquer the somewhat more difficult terrain, but we all got down in good shape. By then it became quite hot and so we voted to take the kids to Oak Creek, which we had spotted from the top of the Cathedral Rock trail. We had to drive a considerable distance on a round-about and in part dirty road, but we found the water easily. The children naturally wanted to splash in it, and the rest of us lounged along the banks and apparently spoiled wedding pictures of a Japanese couple. They never said anything, the photographer ignored us, and so we had concluded they were able to cope.

A view from the southeast rim of Grand Canyon..

We crossed into Utah and arches began popping up alongside the road. This is Wilson Arch.

We went to have dinner to a proven Thai restaurant that we remembered from a winter three years earlier. At least this time there was no long wait and we quickly fit in despite being seven people. Then we went back to our hosts' place and chatted, let them let us crash in their office, and subsequently feed us in the morning. Well, I think they had quite enough chance to enjoy our visit; we hope that one day they would come to visit us for a change!

Then we were off to the next item on our list — a view from the Grand Canyon rim. I had been there only once, many years ago; the kids had never seen it before — hence on our way from Flagstaff, we made a small detour. One cannot perform too many activities at Grand Canyon, unless you want to hike down to the river (and subsequently hike back up), or get on a list and wait and pay for permit to raft there, or perhaps overfly it in a helicopter. We enjoyed it our own way — kids in a "muselum" in a watch tower, then on a walk and a picnic on the edge. In the end it was a pleasant break on our long drive to Utah.

A moment in Navajo Arch without other tourists crowding our shot.

Landscape Arch, Archest National Park, Utah.

I admit that at first I did not feel like going to Moab at all. It's far, Arches are nice, but we had been there many times and we had covered all possible longer hikes there. Nevertheless now we were approaching it and dusty deserts slowly gave way to a more interesting landscape with rocks and arches, and I started to look forward to it. We even arrived soon enough to have dinner at the local brewery. And since our hotel was across the street, we could refresh ourselves by a locally produced beer.

On the next day we visited the most famous park in the vicinity — Arches. We reckoned that it was time to show our kids Devil's Garden, where we did not dare to venture in winter due to ice. Several hundreds of other people had the same idea that day; we could not fit in the parking lot and had to stop in a ditch next to a road. The children did not mind — before I returned from a toilet, they had climbed the nearest rock, firmly resolved to enjoy this trip.

Devil's Garden is one of the TWO somewhat longer hikes in this park, and lately the trail has been paved almost all the way to the Landscape Arch. There were dense crowds on it, and it made the kids cranky. They dragged along, being obnoxious, no fun. Their bad mood escalated near Landscape Arch, and I declared a lunch break hoping that a supply of calories would improve their spirits. The best improvement arrived in the shape of a cocky chipmunk, who came to check us out for snacking opportunities, and when he found there wasn't anything to steal (feeding animals is prohibited in the park, and it's dangerous for both sides), he hunted down a giant ant. For the rest of our trip our children transformed into two chipmunks, who moved across rocks at lightning speed, and always kept munching something. What a relief.

Partition Arch

Chipmunk.

Gradually we progressed to Navajo Arch and eventually even into Partition Arch. The crowds and chipmunks kept following us on every step, and we were reaching a decision, on the following day to GO SOMEWHERE ELSE, that we could not handle another day in a national park in a state where apparently the spring vacations were in full swing.

Moab differs from other desert towns in offering quite a variety of tourist accomodations. One of them is "Sabaku" sushi, which we wanted to check out, to get a break from flyover American cousine. This was, sadly, one of the worst choices we made. First they told us they would have seats for us only in an hour — it actually came handy as we had a chance to stop at the hotel to take showers and change. Then we made it in the restaurant. We placed our order after some waiting (and it was we who waited) — received the obligatory soup — and then nothing for an hour. A few cuts of fish and some rolls (all delicious, by the way), our children practically inhaled them — and demanded more food. After another hour we got some more; by then Tom was licking salt off a soybean bowl and making desperate faces. Meanwhile we kept rising our voices, eventually receiving the honor to talk to an alleged owner of the circus. She berated us about sushi being art, and that the customers come here for social (as opposed to nutritional) reasons, and that she found nothing wrong about not being served dinner two hours after ordering it. Well, their food is great, but their prices are indeed artistic (we left there about double of what we pay in our expensive Bay Area) — and we must be weird, going to a restaurant for food instead of social fulfilment.

Fisher Towers loom in direct sunlight.

A mesa in the distance, guarded by Father Utah (The Priest).

Back at the hotel I collected brochures and we started to look for things that one can do in Moab BESIDES visiting national parks (there's also Canyonlands). I targeted mostly Colorado River rafting, but I found nothing simple — without complicated booking and organizing, and most of all — something that would look suitable for smallish children, i.e. something shorter and less drastic. I did not feel like taking our relatively minor offspring on a all-day trip to a Class III rapids (after all, they don't allow kids this young). Then I discovered a brochure of a small pack station — where they, besides horses, promised a view of Fisher Towers. The same towers were being mentioned by several rafting companies, and we concluded that it must be a worthwhile attraction. Our plan was ready.

In the morning we set out upstream the Colorado on Highway 128 to Fisher Towers. Even from a distance, the towers were impressive, and almost frightening from up-close. A deep dark red sandstone threateningly loomed upwards in the direct sunlight — and we ventured on a trail in the shadow of this threat. The rocks were alive, apparently with some rock-climbing tour. A few tourists passed us on the path, still in a very pleasant concentration — i.e. so few people that they greet each other, sometimes exchange a few sentences and then continue on their respective way. The kids liked the hike, too — scrambling among rock goblins, climbing on boulders and rocks; we event discovered a larger-than-life E.T. there.

In one of several "courtyards" lives a goblin called E.T.

Towers with turrets.

Before we finished walking up to the actual Fisher Tower, crossing several miniature canyons, weather turned quite hot and muggy. Still we cajoled the children down a metal ladder — they love such climbing opportunities, but soon it was clear we had to turn back. Just to check it out, we crossed the highway and looked for the pack station. We found it, but it looked deserted. Horses and mules chewed their dinner, and so we walked around the corrals. We are more and more picky. Riding horses is an expensive hobby, and we like to see our money finding its way at least in part back to the horses in the form of good care. We liked Hauer Ranch very much, but we did not dare to knock on the door of the nearest house, for we did not know whether it belonged to the corrals or was a completely independent residence.

We drove off to the river hoping that we would spot some decent splashing place, but failed. Coming back from the river we saw a car leaving from the farm, and waved the man down. He admitted to belong to the ranch, saying to knock on the big house door and talk to the owner. Back we went and raised the owner. She said that she had ten people booked for five o'clock, but since they had not confirmed, she would take us instead in case they'd fail to show up. She recommended a good river access spot, so that we'd give our kids a chance to dip in, and promised to start getting the horses ready as soon as they finish snacking.

A diversion with a ladder.

Lisa among her beloved horses.

By then strange clouds began bunching up behind the rocks and it looked like a sheet of rain in the distance. Lisa did not mind, she waded in icy Colorado, only we adults wondered how adventurous this horse ride might turn out. A haflinger Barney awaited the kids at the ranch, and they let us use a small round pen. Saddled horses began lining up — five o'clock was upon us and the clients nowhere to be seen; it looked like we were going to go. Then a dust cloud appeared on the horizon and the booked customers had arrived after all. Still; now we know where to turn in Moab, and next time we shall make our own advance booking — we saw the ranch, we liked it, and it's certainly a spot where we would like to ride.

On our way back we discovered that what looked like a rain curtain was in reality an edge of a dust cloud; a strong wind had picked up and sometimes one could not see through the dust at all. We dined at a local Thai restaurant and I convinced others to stop a the brewery on our way, as for years I had been wanting a T-shirt with the sign, you can't beat a dead horse. Dead Horse Ale is one of the brews they produce there, and the whole thing is a play on words with a reference to Dead Horse Point, which is a nearby mesa with a sad history — local cowboys used to block a narrow cliff neck to capture wild horses, choosing mustangs they liked and letting others go back to the wilderness, but once they had forgotten to remove the barrier and the horses had died of thirst and hunger on a deserted mountain hundreds of yards from Colorado River.

Driving through Capitol Reef, Utah.

Shortly after a rainstorm in Colob Canyons.

The weather was rapidly getting worse, and in the morning we woke up to rain and cold — it cooled down from eighties on previous day to barely fifty. So we packed our stuff and began swallowing first miles on our way home. We crossed Capitol Reef, which is an amazing geological affair, and we got caught by snow in higher elevations. As we really don't like to use chains, we prayed to somehow get through with our bus. Fortunately the road drops soon, and we were back to plain rain.

In the early evening the skies cleared up and we quicly entered Zion National Park from its western side, at Kolob Canyons. We had never been to this part of the park, and it got our attention. We donned our trekking boots at the terminal parking parking lot and soon we were squelching through a deep mud whilst cursing loudly (especially Hippo, after irreparably ripping his trousers in a socially unacceptable place) our progress to the last view point. The wind was very fierce there, we could not last long; you would not believe we were dropping from heat just one day earlier. Now we were wrapped in all available layers and still it was chilly.

Zion: a way to the lookout led through this cave.

In Zion National Park, Utah.

This time we booked our room at Bumbleberry Inn. We were taken aback by how miserable accommodation it was. Everything creaked, seemed filthy — and not a chance of a breakfast included in the (high) price of the room. When Hippo wanted to resolve a dysfunctional internet connection, he was greeted by a sign in the lobby that they were closed for the night and he was to wait till morning (it was eight p.m.). The hotel is located in a beautiful place — patio door of the ground floor room allowed us to leave our kids running on a meadow that was the back yard. Lisa discovered ponies in a nearby corral and went to spoil them with carrots — so other things were quite ideal.

We could not miss dinner at Flying Monkey, the best pizzeria we know this side of the Great Pond. Once again, we were staying across the street from the restaurant, which gave Hippo and me a chance to fortify ourselves to facing a night at a squeaky hotel with a couple of beers. Weather stayed consistently variable in the morning, and we decided to make just a small hike to a view point. We packed and had breakfasts at Wildcat Willies. Kids had fun with their cowboy theme decorations and we enjoyed good service and good food, thus lifing our dark mood from miserable lodging.

The trail that we wanted to see does not require taking a park shuttle, and as a bonus we drove through Zion tunnel, which the kids did not remember. The walk to the Zion entrance valley view point is relatively short, yet an experience for our chipmunks — with metal bridges, a brush with a shallow cave, climbing on rocks — simply fun. Due to vacation crowds, no capricorns were in sight that would otherwise frequent this location, but we spotted some more chipmunks hunting ants. The sky kept getting darker, but we did not mind; we looked forward to Vegas.

A blizzard in the desert between Las Vegas, Nevada, and Baker, California.

The kids were behaving all along.

To our disappointment, the forecast came true and it was pouring even in Las Vegas, Nevada. We had to cancel our original plans to try another round with Hobbits in Red Rock Canyon. Still the kids managed to swim in the hotel outdoor pool, making friends with two boys also staying there. They were equipped for the pool — they had various toys and swimming goggles; we added to the success by providing afternoon snacks. We relaxed, having found beautiful lodging at Courtyard Marriott, and did I mention the pool? and eventually a breakfast. We ate our dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant named Pin Kaow — again just across the street, very simple, and we did not mind the slight drizzle when crossing.

It was obvious in the morning that nothing more good would come off this trip, now that it was raining even in Vegas, in the middle of the desert. We decided to try to drive in one stretch all the way home, and it worked out. At one place we found ourselves in the midst of a blizzard, surprising us in April, in the desert. Even then we did not have to reach for chains, just as we did not later, in Tehachapi. We arrived home already on Saturday — the rain made us scrap the day originally reserved for climbing in Red Rock, but I thing nobody minded. This was we had enough time to properly unpack, do laundry, sleep and get ready for start of school.