Fern Canyon.

With the turn of June into July, Sid unexpectedly gained a week of vacation. Upon asking the kids, where they would like to go, Tom answered briskly with rafting, as we missed it last year because of snow in June. This year, weather looked more than cooperative, and we quickly came up with an idea of a road loop, which would take us back before Independence Day to the Eastern Sierra Nevada, where we had planned to meet with Dulinas on Friday.

We felt no need to rush out of our little house, and hung around at home on Saturday, swimming in our pool and moderately packing. On Sunday we threw our stuff into our bus and embarked on a long trek to the north. Taking the coastal route, lunchtime fell on Petaluma, and then we just kept going and listening to The Hobbit. Thirty miles south of Eureka, Sid began to swear, and soon we were stopping. A flat tire again, actually the same that had allegedly been fixed at Costco. A change during daylight and with our recently acquired practice took considerably less time, but still we only crawled into Eureka proper on six o'clock in the evening on a Sunday, and while we found several tire shops, they were all closed. We stopped for a Vietnamese dinner in a restaurant that we remembered fondly from previous year; alas, the staff had been exchanged including the chef, and the food was barely passable.

At our favorite Oregon camp site.

We had only a few miles left to drive to our reserved hotel room in Arcata. This time we had opted for a out-of-ways Quality Inn, which eventually proved to be much better that the previous run-down Motel 8 near the freeway (not to speak of being considerably less expensive). Hippo and I felt a need to wash down the unfortunate start of our vacation, and we queried the front desk for pointers to proper refreshments in Arcata. The dude seemed to know about proper beer and sent us to Redwood Curtain Brewing Company. We were glad he did, for even with a printed-out map we at first simply drove by this cozy little brewery, missing it completely as it was hiding between other industrial buildings. Now we are advised, and will seek it out right away next time, most likely choosing it for dinner — the establishment appeared ready to accommodate children as well.

Crater Lake.

An annoying hassle awaited us in the morning — we had to take care of our flat tire. Guys at Les Schwab's promised to have a look, but eventually declared the tire unfixable, the hole being too large and a plug likely to fall out again, suggesting we buy a new one. Given the fact that we had found a Costco outlet during our previous wandering around Eureka, we decided to toss the whole problem in their lap — after all, they sold us the tire originally, and they had fixed it in warranty so "professionally" that it had failed after a few weeks, during our vacation. Fortunately for us, our plan worked, they accepted our claim, and now that we were at the shop and committed, we bought all four new tires, for they were worn out so much that buying just one (although noticeably discounted) made no sense. Still I would rather do all this perhaps during our regular week, and not on my second vacation day.

Our bow paddlers on Rogue River.

Finally, we lunched at Costco, fully aware that our afternoon program had to be shortened. Instead of a hike in a redwood forest, we limited ourselves to Fern Canyon. Again, it had not disappointed us, for hopping on planks across the creek and climbing over fallen trees does not qualify as a hike even for our children, and we enjoyed it thoroughly, including a short expedition into one of several forks of the canyon, akin to a real jungle. Still, time was pressing us, as we needed to get to the neighboring Oregon during daylight, find our camp site and set up our tent.

With increased distance from the coast, temperature was climbing, so after wearing sweat shirts in Fern Canyon, we stepped into ninety-nine degrees (F) in Grants Pass, Oregon. Our camp-site lays at higher elevation, but it was warm even there. New signs prohibiting campfires took us aback; we had been under the impression that drought problems and restrictions did not extend past California into the lush Oregon, but it would seem that this year it's been dry everywhere.

Helmsman and the captain on Rogue River.

It was hot since early morning — really contrasting with the previous year, when it was freezing — it would seem that our vacations always fall on times of extreme weather. We packed for rafting and drove down to Shady Cove. We were obviously the first customers in the shop that day, and the river was empty as well. We were, in fact, rafting in the middle of the week; they said that during the weekend, they had to turn away some customers. Our ride commenced as expected, the river was icy, the air well above hundred, but in this combination it was quite bearable. We kept our clothing and sometimes ourselves wet, and had fun. Later we asked for dining recommendations at the shop, and they 'splained the local scene to us — we could have pizza, line up at the stand with barbecue chicken and ribs — or go to Rogue River Lodge. We had never been there before, although we noticed it both from the road and from the river; we decided to try it.

The best part of rafting on Rogue River — Lodge and beer.

It was a good idea, for we received beer and lemonade, so much desired cool shade, and excellent food. Then a substantial decision was made — it made no sense performing any hikes in this heat, and we would go rafting again the next day, this time equipped with money — and our ride would be enhanced by a stop at the lodge's yard. So, just not to be total slackers, we drove up to Crater Lake, but I have to say that even I had had enough. The combination of hot weather and unusual exercise (paddling) wore us all out.

Thus, on Wednesday we packed our tent and returned to the raft. I went with a feeling that we had it all figured out, but I was soon proven grossly mistaken — when they dropped us off with a mini-bus under a dam, we noticed that our kids did not pack along their hats. Sometimes I feel it's really hopeless. I had packed water and sunscreen and snacks for everybody, and my offspring are able to think of their hats? Hence our ride proceeded while Tom wore my hat, and Lisa wearing my t-shirt on her head. I was alternating Lisa's and Sid's t-shirt — looking like an Arab woman with a head-scarf — and I had to keep dipping it in the water. A stopover for lunch and beer came more than welcome, but during the very pleasant hour, weather had pulled out all stops and we were subsequently driving away from Shady Cover to the next leg of our trip with our thermometer showing 106°F.

We kept this ride waiting for a rainy day.

Within several more hours, the temperature did not change and stayed in low hundreds, which convinced us that we would not stop in Lassen as we had planned — walking in mountains did not seem the right thing to do. We hoped that we find something to eat for dinner in Susanville, and so did several more hundreds of travelers. Restaurants were bursting in seams, service miserable, food noticeable sub-par, and leading to subsequent indigestion. Next time we shall prefer cereal bars without stopping there.

Having reached Reno some time after dark, we sailed into our favorite Best Western at the airport. Our room became available on a second try, for the first one shared a wall with a mysterious, locked up, humming chamber, and it was not known even to hotel employees, what it could possibly hold. Proceeding in a zombie state, we had worked out even this kink, but before collapsing in our beds we still had to wash off the dust and sweat of the last two days. Especially since this second hotel stop of ours was the last such one featuring a shower, for the rest of our week-long trip.

One cannot honestly claim that Carol would be 100% soaked.

On Thursday afternoon we pitched our tent above Leavitt Meadows and went to have a chat to the pack station. Our discussion somehow turned into me and Lisa getting ready for an impromptu horse-back ride. Cowboys and we kept looking at the skies and commented in the sense that we've been needing some rain and that we really would not mind, for it would just cool us down a bit in this heat. That seemed a very reasonable attitude to me, and we set out amongst the first drops falling. It was actually not unpleasant, that is, until the moment the drizzle turned into a hailstorm. I had to admit that turning back became necessary. Sid laughed and insisted on taking a picture of my behind — my saddle was dry and I was soaked over everything else. After all, impressions need not to be pleasant — the important part is, they are strong.

Jaro on Opi, our sabre-toothed horse.

I was first to get up in the morning, and before the rest of our family unwrapped from their sleeping bags, I found a line and hung Lisa's and my wet clothes between two trees. We were having breakfast and considering what to do until five o'clock in the afternoon, for then we had reserved our ride with the Dulinas, and whether we could fit in some trip, and where to go, before our friend arrive at the campsite. A white tipster truck rushed in, and just when I got up to complain to its crew for their disturbing our peace, it turned out it was Sage, sent up by Craig to ask us whether we would like to ride earlier. Given the fact that a thunderstorm had formed on the previous afternoon, we thought it a great idea. So I phoned Dulinas (there's a better signal at our camp site on a hill than at many other spots in the civilization under the mountains), discovered that they were almost in Sonora, and agreed to an earlier ride schedule. Thus it came to pass that we spent the rest of the morning dawdling around our tent and enjoyed our vacation. Surprisingly, our jeans had dried by lunchtime, although I had thought them impossible to dry; therefore I HAD trousers to wear for the ride.

Everybody looks forward to the last ford across Walker River.

Our planned mass horse-back ride did not begin well. Jaro's Opi had been apparently in a foul mood and bothered, then decided to outpour his wrath in a small ford on Sid's horse, Racer, who smartly jumped away, and Opi's teeth had found Sid's thigh. Despite wearing tough blue jeans, his blue spot was magnificent and would subsequently last many weeks. Opi was declared a sabre-toothed horse and for the rest of the ride was given more room.

We wanted to go a stretch father than just the Meadow, and the obligatory Secret Lake had also lost its allure by now, so we traveled to Roosevelt Lake this time. Original order of horses and their riders had fractured in the first ford thanks to Opi; Lisa's Jenna lingered in the second ford, and thus Lisa fell back to the tail, closed by Corvin and yet another fifteen-year old cowboy (who's name nobody remembers). I was worried at first, but the boys proved to be professionals, holding their sweepers' positions and paying attention to Lisa and her Jenna. Judging by the lively debate that soon ensued behind my back, I subsequently let Tom drop behind me, and both my kids thus disappeared from my field of view until Roosevelt Lake — only near-teenage giggling behind my back kept assuring me that they kept up with the expedition, albeit at a distance. What-EVER else could they do with all those boring geezers?

Crayfish could be seen in the clear water of Roosevelt Lake.

I was surprised to find people swimming in Roosevelt Lake, but after we had dismounted and I got to touch the water, I felt really sorry not having packed my swim suit along — the lake indeed had a bathing-friendly temperature, although located at above seven thousand feet. Had we not brought along a whole expedition including a swarm of (pre-)teenagers, I would have simply skinny-dipped, but this time I just had to let it pass. Kids spent the break by wading in the shallows and watching many crayfish living there — and since then have been asking to repeat such outing. That's a great success.

Whole expedition (minus the photographer) on a hike to the waterfalls above Twin Lakes.

We celebrated Independence Day in an active way. In the morning we went to check out waterfalls above Twin Lakes. It's not a hard hike, but honestly, in this heat we were quite glad to be walking at all. Rodeo was planned for the afternoon, and we managed to get there right in time to see bronco rides. Other cowboys' disciplines followed, and so our friends could see this earthy, countryside fun. An approaching thunderstorm expelled us from the open rodeo grounds, and we escaped it into another pass, to Nellie's Deli at the entrance to Yosemite, and had dinner there. Then we stopped on the norther shore of Mono Lake, leaving kids playing in a playground and us adults going to check out the lake and tufas. Clouds continued to chase each other over Bridgeport, but when we returned there for the fireworks, it did not rain.

It would seem that the fireworks got wet somehow, as not all the petards had worked; still the vote was that this had been the a dignified highpoint of the holiday (especially under the influence Fernet, which we used to prop up our spirits). It had obviously rained heavily on our campsite in the meantime, and two small ponds formed there, which we then subsequently had to carefully circumnavigate in the dark. Since we erect our tents on a small knoll, they stayed dry.

On of the popular disciplines of the ranch rodeo in Bridgeport is herding cattle into a trailer.

Sid had to get back to work after the holiday, and Tom started an archery day-camp. Besides learning some techniques there, we discovered a serious complication. Tom is left-handed with a dominant right eye, which is a kind of a problem for archery. But, if Tom chooses to take it more seriously in the future, there are ways to compensate.

Children, too, had enjoyed the fireworks.

Lisa did not want to attend any camp, and so she helped me manage the summer activities at the stables. We had fun with our ponies and our goats, and finished many projects. The ponies especially gave us satisfaction, for they got used to our presence and began to cooperate nicely. One day, when a fallen tree suddenly blocked our riding path with no room to walk around, and the only way led underneath it, ponies did not bat an eye. Kids got down, led them below the trunk, and mounted again, continuing our ride. You may think it not being anything special, but only a few months ago Sugar freaked out at the unusual sight of saddles displayed for sale on chairs. Charlie used to take any excuse to give us hard time. The fact that they did not get difficult in an unexpected situation with a blocked trail, means to me that they began to trust us, and have a good relationship with our children.

In this relatively quiet mode, we shuffled into the second half of our summer vacations, and a moment had arrived when it was necessary to pack our bags and get ready for our long-planned trip to Europe. Lisa was reading a children's guide book of London, while I obsessed with packing and logistics of the whole affair. It shall be the topic of our next chapter.