The kids had to climb up the first boulder.

Trail in the rock.

I had to laugh when my friend Jana told me they reserved a campsite in Pinnacles for the Memorial Weekend. It tends to get quit hot on this extended holiday in May, which is amplified in the land-bound Pinnacles when compared to our home, which is closer to the ocean. Except during those years, when we book horses and camp in the Sierra, like this and last years. Forecasters came again with their "snow in the mountains" and besides, with Tom's injured nose we wanted to stay somewhat closer to civilization. And hence I found myself humbly beggin Jana to let us join them in those underappreciated Pinnacles, at least for one day.
And since my occasional climbing buddy Michal was, too, visiting Pinnacles on this weekend, I promptly arranged for a day of climbing — I could not miss such an opportunity.

It rained on Friday and it was ugly, but forecast for following days was optimistic. We packed our camping gear on Saturday and set out ready to wait and see. By noon we had spotted Jana, her husband Jim, three boys and grandmother. The campground was soaked, but they were in great spirits. We gradually managed to pacify their and our offspring (who were excitedly running around), and drove to the park entrance, where we boarded the park shuttle. Caves with the waterfall are closed on accound of nesting bats, but a section of the trail leads between the rocks, and through a different, tiny cave, and the kids were happy. Tom would have been happy just around Kuba with a toy walkie-talkie. The boys walked side by side and yelled at each other *through* the gadgets. The purpose of such behavior remained unclear to me, but since they obviously enjoyed it, I did not try to dissuade them.

Finally a cave — with a bridge!

We had spotted a snake.

At the reservoir it came to throwing rocks and twigs, and watching dragonflies. When we even spotted a small snake on the way back, excitement was enormous. Tom had actually seen another one on the way up, but this snake was sunbathing on a rocky ledge next to the trail and everybody could see it. Then, towards the end, I finally ran into Michal, who was climbing some easy routes with children of his neighbors, and I arranged to meet in the evening to agree on the next day's climbing.

Jana's boys go to bed even a half hour earlier than our children, and thus we quickly roasted some hot dogs back at our campsite, and pushed the kids in their tents. We must be getting old, for by nine o'clock even we, adults, were in our sleeping bags. Given the completely packed campground I was a bit worried about night-life racket, but perhaps cold temperatures had chased even the greatest enthusiasts to their beds relatively early.

In the morning I distributed breakfast, packed my gear, and let Hippo drive me to the other end of this large campground to Michal, to keep my promise of being ready by nine. Michal is, after all, a person who seems to always be half hour ahead of anyone, and our climbing excursions had so far consisted of Michal eating breakfast while I wa still waking up, him packing while I breakfasted, and him setting out among the rocks in the moment I would have needed another half hour to pack. Well, he's either getting older, or this mass camping with neighbors and family, drains him to the extent that he, to my surprise, certainly was not ready by nine. Further confusion ensued with our transport, but in the end we found ourselves on the uppermost parking lot and headed for the rocks. Alas, miserable weather in the mountains (i.e. Yosemite) seemed to have the effect that ABSOLUTELY EVERYBODY had arrived to Pinnacles. Every route was already occupied by a familiar face. Not that I was not happy to meet all those friends and aquaintances, but I had somehow hoped for a bit lesser population density here.

Obligatory hot dog roasting.

Expedition shows signs of fatigue.

Given these circumstances, Michal's plan to explore remote and unknown areas, seemed like a very good idea. My decision to wear sandals had turned out much less fortunate while scrabling through ravines with many brambles, spiky bushes, and furiously sharp-edged gravel. After about an hour of stumbling throug this impassable semi-desert jungle (distinguised from a tropical one through the absence of mud and abundance of thorns), we had reached our destination. To be more exact, about sixty yards BELOW, separated from the climbing spot by a thicket containing poison oak in addition to thorns. We tried to find some climbers' path, to no avail. In the end we gave up and desperation took us to the first route that appeared before us on our way back — a kind of walking up a slab. We were leaving it rather hurriedly — a Russian couple had arrived and the young hero began to climb solo on the slab. I would not object if he knew how to do it — but watching his trembling legs caused us to worry that soon we would be bound to practice CPR and/or fill out accident witness statement forms (as far I know, the gentleman had later gotten down on his own and without incident).

Subsequently we grabbed a spot on Monolith. I had climbed there several times before, the routes are nice, but somewhat demanding in the area of stamina and strength. When Kiti showed up by one o'clock to relieve me in the role of belayer and climbing buddy, I was quite glad. It seemed that I would easy make it to meet with Hippo and the kids in the camp by three. They had planned to hike Old Pinnacles Road to Balconies Caves while I would be climbing. A shuttle bus was waiting on the parking lot; I broke into run to catch it — but the vehicle shut its doors on my nose and sped away. I was taken aback by such discourtesy, but then I had noticed about eight people who had been left behind at the bus stop, for they could not fit in. So I sat down on the curb and began waiting for transport. After about twenty minutes, there were about thirty of us and in the crowd could be heard rumbling (adults) and whimpering (kids). A bus wheezed in after forty minutes, by then it looked like a riot. I don't know how it developed — I pressed in the bus with fourteen more lucky people that a severe driver was willing to accept, and left the rest of fellow sufferers behind.

Old Spaniards knew how to protect themselves from heat.

The Mission of San Carlos Boromeo.

Hippo and the kids awaited me at the campsite; Jana's family drove to the communal pool — Tom was still forbidden to use it, and we did not even bring swim-suits. Jim had shown Tom, how to ignite a piece of paper with a magnifying glass, and our son had done some scientific research — but we think we cleaned the blackened camping table up quite well. While Hippo and I started packing, a gang from the neighboring site took in our children to join a modified baseball game. Adults who were not momentarily engaged in the game or playing judge, chatted with us. They were nice and friendly, but we were clear that we HAD to get home. A saturated campground, filled park, occupied climbing routes — there was no escape from the crowds — and we simply are anti-social, and however friendly crowd, still remains A CROWD. Then the problem with Tom was still there, for his stitches had to be kept clean and safe — a plastic surgery of a face is no laughing matter.

Kids had left two last weeks of school. It meant a load of school parties and special events. An exhibition of arts, "olympics", end of school celebrations — and substitute birthdays of summer kids (i.e. including our Lisa). I admit that these two weeks remain in a fog — I could never keep up and kept forgetting things, while more realities of the car crash caught up with us. Insurance had accepted the forester being totaled, paid coverage — and stopped financing our rental replacement. Which ever way we reckoned, we could not avoid needing a third car, for I have been helping out twice a week in a Redwood City office (thirty five miles each way), and I cannot leave granny and the kids without wheels. So in the end we had rented the smallest possible car on our own budget — it made no sense to buy another car for granny who was leaving for the cold country in mid-August. We got some tiny kia. Granny took it to Monterey and upon returning she complained that the steering wheel had vibrated. I took it around to my work and back — I must say that I had not been afraid this much in a car for quite some time. Whenever I approached the freeway speed limit, the poor kia got something like an epileptic seizure and I had to hold it stable with all my strength.
I went to exchange the rental car on the next day; I think that one accident in the family had been enough and we don't need another. The replacement was a furiously red Mazda 2, which we named Red Riding Cap.

Carmel Mission Gardens.

Whaling mini-museum at Point Lobos.

In the midst of various arrangements, the end of the school year and hassle with cars, I broke down. Something like a flu descended on me, no fever, but total fatigue and inability, vague pains and a feeling of moving in a dense fog, or rather cotton, preventing me from faster movement. Whether it was a virus or some consequence of stress from the car crash, I don't know, but it took me a week to normalize again somewhat.

This brought me to the end of the school year. The report card is handed here in a sealed envelope (Tom) or sent to parents in an e-mail (Lisa), with no public presentations. We did not make it a big deal either, there are no surprises. Tom excels in mathematics and technical skills, Lisa is doing great in language and humanitarian subjects. But even where they don't excel, they cope rather well without parental interference. I've been occasionally frightened by Lisa's total lack of orientation in time and space — and generally in numbers. We had discussed with granny about June fifteenth being grandpa's birthday. Lisa listened and then asked if he's going to be fifteen or fifty? Simply math and especially math in Czech, which they, indeed, don't use in school, turns Lisa brains into a stew. Still I bet that grandpa would not object to being fifteen, or even fifty.

Hummingbird.

Of all vacation things, the kids had looked forward most to not having to get up early in the morning, and right-away started negotiating for also not having to go to bed early, now that they could get up late. Honestly, I was, too, awfully eager to divest of the 6:45 alarm-clock, although it took me several days before I re-aligned and stopped waking up exactly three minutes before the alarm setting. Back in the spring I had considered paying for some suburban summer camps for the kids, but my offspring, to my surprise, strongly objected to this plan. When I think about it, I myself used to tremendously enjoy camps and excursions away from my family — but only after being about ten. So perhaps they still have time and if grandma is the most interesting thing happening during vacations, we can only be happy.

Nesting cormorans.

We celebrated the start of vacations at Noemi's birthday party at Nejedly's. After a storm of young congratulants and the cake were safely behind us, we proceeded to face painting. Blanka was quite busy, and so I offered Lisa to paint her myself. She critically looked at my face (I think she had never seen me wearing make-up) and declared that she would prefer waiting for Blanka, for I would not know how to do it. I am afraid that the phase, "mom is impossible and old-fashioned", is just around the corner.

Another crisis ensued when Petr began grilling hamburgers. We, adults, were being indulged in marinated meats, but younger participants of the party were to receive a familiar fare. Our children had announced that hamburgers are disgusting and they would not eat that stuff. It's a result of our bringing them up while taking a wide dodge from McDonald's and similar places, in favor of Asian goodies, and we are happy with it, but what now? We had to take pains in convincing our children that HOME MADE hamburgers are a completely different thing, being based on just the same meat like our home meatloaf and so forth (I remember dimly having tried in the past to convince American friends of our kids that meatloaf is practically a hamburger). Well, in the end the kids gave in and perhaps had a dinner, too.

Point Lobos abloom. (photo granny)

Traditionally, the kids joined a swimming class.

On Sunday we continued on a trip to Monterey with Mirka. Actually — we did not really stop in Monterey proper — we ate in Moss Landing and then we visited the Mission San Carlos Boromeo in Carmel, ending at Point Lobos. We like visitors, for they give use a good justification to see places that we have not been to for a long time — and the mission in Carmel is very nice; also, everything was in bloom. The only disappointment at Point Lobos was the beach: it was high tide and the only accesible shore on the northern end contained a natural hedge of pebbles, and the kids could not even splash in the surf (try to wade ankle-deep in gravel while waves are beating on). But nothing could diminish the beauty of the natural preserve.

Just like the two years before, we had signed the children up for swim classes in the first two weeks of vacations. Lisa, to her immense joy, was assigned Christian, an instructor who taught Tom two years ago. And since Lisa is being herself, on Christian's command she was willing to try submerging without holding her nose. Towards the end of the class she even began swinning free style — only I don't know if she's going to be trying this hard without a charismatic couch in the vicinity.

Furthermore, I had arranged for Lisa some riding on an Icelandic pony named Ljufar. You see — as I keep going to the ranch to take care of Foxy, I get to chat with various people there. Audrey has been around there all the time and she does not hesitate to give me some advice. And she owns ponies. And has a daughter, with whom I had occasionally exchanged a few words about horses and who seemed, being approximately sixteen by my reckoning, rather quite reasonable. And so I asked whether Emma would be willing to give Lisa pony riding lessons from time to time, for Foxy has after all been rather large and pig-headed for a 7-year old. I think that Audrey was a bit taken aback — and then it was my turn to be taken aback when I learned that Emma was not between sixteen and eighteen, as was my estimate based on how reasonable she was when talking to me; she was thirteen.

Tom became a big, strong, and useful help.

Lisa and Ljufar.

We agreed on the first lesson during the first vacation week, noting that everything would stay open based on how it goes. And it went well — Lisa had attached herself to Emma like a tail, and Emma patiently explained about horses, taking her gradually through cleaning and saddling of the pony, and then they all disappeared in a paddock. Granny was taking pictures, I was busy around "our" mare, meeting Emma and Lisa occasionally, always discussing something serious and being busy. Tom took about five minutes to become friends with Emma's nine-year old brother. Young men, not interested in pony riding on account of it being a girls' affair, they immersed themselves in manly work, namely cleaning Foxy's corral. I have to acknowledge their help, as Foxy shares the run with a huge Friesian mare, and together they produce an incredible amount of waste — and the boys had cleaned up everything.

Aiden had subsequently opened a new dimension in Tom's human existence — that is, the function of a soda vending machine. Our family has been complete troglodytes, resolved to withold this benefit to the children at least until they graduate from high school. I have to admit that since the breach, I had awarded myself an icy 7UP from a can — on the hot days when you swallow dust (and pulverized dried manure) from the stables for several hours, it comes handy to wash it all down. I am afraid however that the vending machine thus became the new highpoint of our ranch visit. I hope that they eventually get tired of cans and they rediscover horses, cats, chickens, dogs, and ripening blackberries.