After a rocky start to Thursday morning, (not a reference to our trip to the Grand Canyon) we headed up into the Grand Canyon. We enjoyed the view, although with the heat and the limitations of what you can see without driving around from viewing point to viewing point; and the fact that we intended to get to Los Angeles (an 8 hour drive) gave us the impetus to high tail it out of there and get on the trail. It has become apparent that in order for us to successfully make a transition, there must be an act of congress to get these kids moving. It takes us an hour to get out of one place and move on. Just the simple act of getting out of the car at a given stop takes ten minutes. I have no idea what can keep them in the car so long. Frustration is the kindest adjective that comes to mind.
Leaving Williams, Arizona just after lunch, I mentioned to Chelley that we probably ought to get gas. We had a little over a quarter of a tank at the time. She suggested that a quarter of a tank would take us quite a way, and intimated that it was a bit premature of me to suggest it. This is a pattern which seems to repeat itself. I digress. We did not get gas before leaving. If you have ever driven westward on I-40 from Williams, Arizona towards Los Angeles, you know that it is a wasteland, a desert, and to say that there are a dearth of filling stations would be a vast understatement. At some point, unbeknownst to the children, Chelley came over to my way of thinking. It was somewhere between the point at which the fuel gauge reached E, and the low fuel light coming on. Still in brief period when only she and I were aware of the pickle we were in, she suggested that I use my cellular device to determine the closest spot to refuel. I made her aware that I had been attempting that for some time. However, gas stations are not the only thing at a premium in the desert. There is not a shred of cellular phone signal. I don't care how smart your phone is, without a connection to the network, it is as useful as an empty water bottle for determining the location, mileage, or directions to the nearest gas station. There wasn't 4G, there wasn't 3G, there wasn't G. Not a single bar of any kind of coverage whatsoever. In its place was the telltale crossed out zero. Complicating things was the fact that the temperature was right at 100 degrees. A wafting stray cellular signal allowed my smartphone to elicit the location of the next gas station. 28 miles. It has been a long time since I have travelled a distance of that kind on foot. Never is more like it. That is more than a marathon. At 100 degrees, I can only hope we make it a long way towards that fuel. I look hopefully at the landscape, wondering if a farm or something will appear and give me hope that there might be some other angle to get a little gas to get us to a station. There are no farms on that road either. I don't think anything will grow there. Around this time, Chelley mentions that I should call and see about the availability of some roadside assistance. This is a fine idea, and a timely one. However, it is just another thing that requires more than a stray passing sliver of phone coverage. This will require a solid bar of coverage for something on the order of three minutes. There is no chance. Around this time, the children have somehow become aware of our predicament. This is perhaps our only proof that they are listening to us at all. I take comfort at the fact that by my calculations, we are no more than ten miles from what the smartphone told me was a gas station. I may be old and out of shape, but I can make it ten miles, I tell myself. The air is electrified as Jeffrey peppers us with scenarios and questions as to why we are in this predicament, questions about how to deal with it, what we will do if we run out, and how that will all play out. A conversation ensues about drag, aerodynamics, and I explain that really the only thing that will improve our chances of making it (I did not think we were going to make it) is for Chelley to slow down a little, and run the motor at its peak efficiency. This may be the first time in our lives that she took my advice on driving. Jeffrey suggested that we turn off the air conditioning to help our cause. I replied that it would not increase our gas mileage to not run the air conditioning. Lauren suggested that we turn off the electronics. (We have a fair amount of electrical devices plugged in using the cigarette adapters) I advised her that this too would have little to no impact, that caution with the accelerator was the only real avenue for extending our comfortable ride. I add that we have less than usual fuel efficiency due to our large bag of stuff strapped to the top of the car which is behaving with all the physical properties of a windsail. I mention that we should have placed it up there in the other direction so that the thin side is at the front, thus giving some semblance of aerodynamics. Chelley replies that I have no room to discuss it since I was busy or unavailable when she put it on the car. Shannon wants to roll down the windows, as another objectionable smell has wafted into her nostril. We explain that rolling down the window will only further degrade our gas mileage. She must suffer; in silence if possible. I try to keep Chelley from worrying too much, as there is no particular advantage in worrying. I tell her it will be alright. And although I am not entirely sure how, I do believe it. Many tense minutes later, we see the Shell station on the horizon. We have never been happier to see one. In the intervening minutes, I had been able to get a lock on the exact location of this spot, and had the GPS loaded up. It told us how many miles and minutes til our salvation. It read like a thriller. Each hill we coasted down I was happy I was not walking it, and every hill we accelerated up, I sensed would be the last we would make before the fumes we were running on were exhausted. But somehow by the grace of God, we arrived. In an act of sarcasm or stupidity, I will never be sure which, the smartphone prompted us to turn away from the Shell station. After what seemed an eternity waiting for a pump to become available, and being cut off by a motorcyclist for the opening we had been waiting for, we finally got our chance, and I filled up, almost. At its driest and emptiest, the most fuel I have ever put into that car is 25 gallons. I put in just over 26 gallons when the pump stopped. It stopped because it had reached its dollar limit, not fuel. I'm not sure how much fuel that car holds, but as it turns out, its just enough to make it with a quarter tank from Williams, Arizona to BFE Arizona.
We journeyed on and spent the night in San Bernardino in a Priceline'd room at the Hilton. The room was comfortable, although the sketchy surroundings gave us pause at our bag of stuff atop the car. I reminded Chelley that it was only stuff, and easily replaceable. That seemed to go over, because we all went on to sleep.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
We can't do everything.
One of the interesting things about our vacation is that, while we are planning to be gone for a month, the vastness of the terrain we are to cover is such that in each locale there are invariably things we cannot do that we wish we could. There are a couple reasons for this. Firstly, the only scheduled stay we have is in Newport Beach, California. We had just over a week to get there, with plans to go out the panhandle of Oklahoma (we are from Tulsa) and then head to Colorado Springs, followed by Durango, CO to do the train to Silverton and back, then to the Grand Canyon, and then to LA. It all seemed so easy up front. But by the time we had driven the first leg, and camped, we were happy to get on to Colorado Springs, and since it would take us awhile to get there, I booked us two nights there. This was good. We had a nice time, going to the Garden of the gods (which was my main motivation for heading north into Colorado) and having fish tacos at Maria's Tacos (which was my second motivation for heading north into Colorado). Both were as good as expected. We considered going up over Pikes Peak, which is right there. But, it was four hours or so to do that, and we were ready for some lunch and my daughters were ready for a little shopping, so we ambled up to Manitou Springs instead. We had a good time there. It is a cool little town, and after a few hours there, we headed back to the hotel to relax a bit.
I knew we would have enjoyed doing the Pikes Peak thing, but I reasoned, we could always do that on another trip. To the children, I say "We can't do everything." That night I attempted to priceline my way into Durango, so we could take the train the next day. This was unsuccessful, so I moved on to Telluride. I had been advised that Telluride wasn't far from Durango, and was quite nice. I was a winner in Telluride so off we went the next morning. From Telluride, you may recall, we were to head on to the Grand Canyon. I booked us two nights in Telluride, reasoning that we would drive pretty much all day to get there from Colorado Springs, and we could get on the train the next day (which is an all day affair). This may have worked, but, the train was booked for that next morning. This was definitely not part of my plan. However, it seemed there was plenty to do right where we were, so I booked us on the train for the day after. We had a great day hiking and fooling around in Telluride. What a wonderful place. I had many opportunities to suggest that "We can't do everything". We all agreed we'd like to whitewater raft. A jeep tour up into the mountains looked great. Horseback riding in the mountains looked fantastic. Hiking up to one of the many points, like waterfalls, etc. The list of what we couldn't do was quickly outpacing what we could do. C'est la vie!
Once I had booked our train, for which you had to arrive at 8:30 am, I began to concern myself with how we could make this happen. We were in Telluride. It is a 2 and a half hour drive from there to Durango. And, since we wouldn't be coming back to Durango, we needed to be packed and ready to go, and really get on the road by about 5:30. I considered driving Chelley and the kids over to Silverton to catch the afternoon train and driving over to pick them up in Durango so we could drive through the evening to enjoy the Grand Canyon the next day. No matter how we looked at it, another night was required. So, Chelley found us a grubby little condo just outside Durango. The main drawing point was that there were laundry facilities onsite. Since the day we left for this vacation, my wife has begun a descent into a doldrums of sort. Don't get me wrong. She has been a lovely traveling companion, as have the kids. However, the epic strain of the knowledge of the fact that we have been carrying dirty laundry is more than she can bear. I have a sneaking suspicion that each day as we drive by the most beautiful mountain streams to the waterfalls to the ponds, creeks, lakes and the like, she has been over there running calculations and equations as to how to get us all to stop, and do some laundry right then and there. It is as if the dirty laundry calls to her in her sleep. Anyway, our grubby little condo, (with no hot water in the room) did have laundry facilities. So, twenty five dollars of quarters, and somewhere in the middle of the night, most all of the laundry is clean. Perhaps we can steal a couple days of peace if I can figure out a way to hide the evidence that some of the clothes are once again heading down that nefarious path.
Leaving Durango, we drove to a place that was simultaneously a near and dear place to Chelley's heart, and somewhere I'd never heard of. I can now see why. Probably most who go in there never come out again. (Only kidding.) After a good week of solid driving, I'm not exactly sure why this drive seemed so long. The views in Mesa Verde were spectacular. But, the winding mountain roads with posted speed limits of 15 mph (Which one should not test, I might add), really keep you mindful of how long it's taking to drive it. It is a long trek back into the part of the park that interested us. There, are the ruins of an Aztec village tucked into the sides of the mountains and cliffs. The one in particular we visited (because we didn't have a few days to see it all) was under a great dome of a cliff. I could see why they liked it there, because it would have been a great protection against most any weather. Particularly amazing to me was the fact that so much of the structures they built over a thousand years ago, still stand. After Mesa Verde (which was not green in any way shape or form, in case you were wondering) we started our hard charge for the Grand Canyon. We stopped for a bit in the four corners of Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona. From there, I drove the rest of the way to Williams, Arizona. Along the way, we had the opportunity to stop at a grocery/gas station on the Navajo reservation. The bleakness of the terrain has had its way with the inhabitants. To say the atmosphere is subdued is a dramatic understatement.
The enormity of this journey is beginning to set in with us. The list of things we were unable to do will far outnumber what we did. We did not enjoy an alpine slide in the mountains, for instance. However, what we will get is a sense of stuff we'd like to try. That way the next time we get to those spots, we'll know what we want to do.
This morning we are heading to the Grand Canyon, and we will then be booking it out to San Diego to take Mr Grey to Legoland for his seventh birthday. I wish I could remember the excitement I felt at my seventh birthday. I cannot. For the moment, sharing in his will have to do. It will.
I knew we would have enjoyed doing the Pikes Peak thing, but I reasoned, we could always do that on another trip. To the children, I say "We can't do everything." That night I attempted to priceline my way into Durango, so we could take the train the next day. This was unsuccessful, so I moved on to Telluride. I had been advised that Telluride wasn't far from Durango, and was quite nice. I was a winner in Telluride so off we went the next morning. From Telluride, you may recall, we were to head on to the Grand Canyon. I booked us two nights in Telluride, reasoning that we would drive pretty much all day to get there from Colorado Springs, and we could get on the train the next day (which is an all day affair). This may have worked, but, the train was booked for that next morning. This was definitely not part of my plan. However, it seemed there was plenty to do right where we were, so I booked us on the train for the day after. We had a great day hiking and fooling around in Telluride. What a wonderful place. I had many opportunities to suggest that "We can't do everything". We all agreed we'd like to whitewater raft. A jeep tour up into the mountains looked great. Horseback riding in the mountains looked fantastic. Hiking up to one of the many points, like waterfalls, etc. The list of what we couldn't do was quickly outpacing what we could do. C'est la vie!
Once I had booked our train, for which you had to arrive at 8:30 am, I began to concern myself with how we could make this happen. We were in Telluride. It is a 2 and a half hour drive from there to Durango. And, since we wouldn't be coming back to Durango, we needed to be packed and ready to go, and really get on the road by about 5:30. I considered driving Chelley and the kids over to Silverton to catch the afternoon train and driving over to pick them up in Durango so we could drive through the evening to enjoy the Grand Canyon the next day. No matter how we looked at it, another night was required. So, Chelley found us a grubby little condo just outside Durango. The main drawing point was that there were laundry facilities onsite. Since the day we left for this vacation, my wife has begun a descent into a doldrums of sort. Don't get me wrong. She has been a lovely traveling companion, as have the kids. However, the epic strain of the knowledge of the fact that we have been carrying dirty laundry is more than she can bear. I have a sneaking suspicion that each day as we drive by the most beautiful mountain streams to the waterfalls to the ponds, creeks, lakes and the like, she has been over there running calculations and equations as to how to get us all to stop, and do some laundry right then and there. It is as if the dirty laundry calls to her in her sleep. Anyway, our grubby little condo, (with no hot water in the room) did have laundry facilities. So, twenty five dollars of quarters, and somewhere in the middle of the night, most all of the laundry is clean. Perhaps we can steal a couple days of peace if I can figure out a way to hide the evidence that some of the clothes are once again heading down that nefarious path.
Leaving Durango, we drove to a place that was simultaneously a near and dear place to Chelley's heart, and somewhere I'd never heard of. I can now see why. Probably most who go in there never come out again. (Only kidding.) After a good week of solid driving, I'm not exactly sure why this drive seemed so long. The views in Mesa Verde were spectacular. But, the winding mountain roads with posted speed limits of 15 mph (Which one should not test, I might add), really keep you mindful of how long it's taking to drive it. It is a long trek back into the part of the park that interested us. There, are the ruins of an Aztec village tucked into the sides of the mountains and cliffs. The one in particular we visited (because we didn't have a few days to see it all) was under a great dome of a cliff. I could see why they liked it there, because it would have been a great protection against most any weather. Particularly amazing to me was the fact that so much of the structures they built over a thousand years ago, still stand. After Mesa Verde (which was not green in any way shape or form, in case you were wondering) we started our hard charge for the Grand Canyon. We stopped for a bit in the four corners of Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona. From there, I drove the rest of the way to Williams, Arizona. Along the way, we had the opportunity to stop at a grocery/gas station on the Navajo reservation. The bleakness of the terrain has had its way with the inhabitants. To say the atmosphere is subdued is a dramatic understatement.
The enormity of this journey is beginning to set in with us. The list of things we were unable to do will far outnumber what we did. We did not enjoy an alpine slide in the mountains, for instance. However, what we will get is a sense of stuff we'd like to try. That way the next time we get to those spots, we'll know what we want to do.
This morning we are heading to the Grand Canyon, and we will then be booking it out to San Diego to take Mr Grey to Legoland for his seventh birthday. I wish I could remember the excitement I felt at my seventh birthday. I cannot. For the moment, sharing in his will have to do. It will.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
I like to be driven
Preface:
My wife, and four children have embarked on an ambitious vacation. We have planned an unplanned trip to see the west coast during the month of June. Like good Sooner's we jumped the gun and left on May 25th. In the weeks leading up to the embarkation, my wife, Chelley, did most of the planning (by this I mean packing). To her credit, she imagined all the sorts of troubles we would encounter and made allowances for said troubles by her selection of goods to accompany us. I told her to pack as little as possible, as we could certainly pick up anything we would need as we went along. This was an impossibility. We have nearly anything you could want or need for a month on the road. For my part, I did the sort of un-flashy, behind the scenes preparations of getting some preventative maintenance done on the car, getting things in place at the office to accommodate such an absence, and the like. This dichotomy, of course, left my dear sweet wife feeling quite alone in her preparations. To complicate matters, I put forth the idea that, while we COULD price line this vacation, getting in a room in whatever next locale caught our glance, it would be more economical should we do a bit of camping along the way. I have done a fair bit of camping. Admittedly, this was entirely in my youth, and thus has a memory which perhaps cannot have any relation to the reality of my grown self. Chelley has done absolutely none. Zero. Until yesterday. Given the idea that we could save some money camping out, and the fact that she was basically agreeable, and had never camped (Ever), I insisted that we first give it a go in the backyard. That way, we could see if it was moderately crazy, as I supposed, or over the top - ridiculous...
The backyard trial run should have been my clue. However, I am a stubborn, stubborn man. Not given to easily conceding a point which clearly I am in the right about. I mean really, what's the big deal? Sleeping in a tent is just like sleeping anywhere else, right? Nope, this is not the case. In the trial run, we had a heavy amount of complaining. The complaints, I admit, were primarily valid. Space was a bit cramped. Even in our tent, which is quite large, sleeping for six bed hogs is pretty challenging. Secondly, it was a rather warm, humid night. Thus, even fully unclothed, which would have been impolite to sink to, we would all have been quite sweaty. On the first complaint, I reasoned, we would get used to bed hogging in unison, and this could be overcome easily. This was essentially true. While not in any sense of the word comfortable, our first real night, in a real campground was not so bad on that count. Sure, we all had our complaints, mine that Shannon had her feet in my face at regular intervals throughout the night. Shannon that someone had their feet in her face, (which is impossible, since there was no one with feet pointing her way). Nonetheless, I failed to grasp the most important obstacle, and that is the fact that my wife has never learned how to sleep. What is a delicate, precociously balanced item at our home, is as if we perched our tent on a tilt-a-whirl at the campground. I won't say much more about it, but there was an insistence that the camping component of our trip, and the needed gear, be returned to our home by United Parcel Service. I'm not currently in the mood to argue the point, as in almost every regard, this has been a lovely vacation so far.
My wife loves to drive. She is an excellent driver. She is uncomfortable riding along when I am driving. This is not a feeling I share. I am just as happy, if not moreso, when I am being driven I like the freedom of being able to engage my hands in whatever they may desire. I like being able to drift off for a short nap from time to time. It has been my experience that this has an unfailingly bad reception when one is driving. However, I'm usually only in trouble with Chelley for sneaking off for a catnap. I am aware, that there is a contingent with whom I seem to be less a man for my acquiescence of my creator given right (and responsibility) to DRIVE THE CAR!!! I don't give a damn. I like to be driven. So, for two days now, my wife has driven us through the panhandle of Oklahoma (which I must say is much longer than I imagined, and windier), into the bowels of Black Mesa nature preserve and state park, and on to New Mexico, and now Colorado. She has done a lovely job. Earlier today I did take the reins for an hour or two, trying to assuage my guilt that she is stuck with all that driving. That was a mistake. She likes to drive. I like to ride. It really is that simple. I think I'll leave it alone now.
For the actual truth of our travels, one should be advised that my wife is blogging about the experience as well. Normally, I would say that you should take the two sides of the story, and find the truest sense in between. But, since I know us both, I'd advise you put more stock in hers.
mommadavison.blogspot.com
My wife, and four children have embarked on an ambitious vacation. We have planned an unplanned trip to see the west coast during the month of June. Like good Sooner's we jumped the gun and left on May 25th. In the weeks leading up to the embarkation, my wife, Chelley, did most of the planning (by this I mean packing). To her credit, she imagined all the sorts of troubles we would encounter and made allowances for said troubles by her selection of goods to accompany us. I told her to pack as little as possible, as we could certainly pick up anything we would need as we went along. This was an impossibility. We have nearly anything you could want or need for a month on the road. For my part, I did the sort of un-flashy, behind the scenes preparations of getting some preventative maintenance done on the car, getting things in place at the office to accommodate such an absence, and the like. This dichotomy, of course, left my dear sweet wife feeling quite alone in her preparations. To complicate matters, I put forth the idea that, while we COULD price line this vacation, getting in a room in whatever next locale caught our glance, it would be more economical should we do a bit of camping along the way. I have done a fair bit of camping. Admittedly, this was entirely in my youth, and thus has a memory which perhaps cannot have any relation to the reality of my grown self. Chelley has done absolutely none. Zero. Until yesterday. Given the idea that we could save some money camping out, and the fact that she was basically agreeable, and had never camped (Ever), I insisted that we first give it a go in the backyard. That way, we could see if it was moderately crazy, as I supposed, or over the top - ridiculous...
The backyard trial run should have been my clue. However, I am a stubborn, stubborn man. Not given to easily conceding a point which clearly I am in the right about. I mean really, what's the big deal? Sleeping in a tent is just like sleeping anywhere else, right? Nope, this is not the case. In the trial run, we had a heavy amount of complaining. The complaints, I admit, were primarily valid. Space was a bit cramped. Even in our tent, which is quite large, sleeping for six bed hogs is pretty challenging. Secondly, it was a rather warm, humid night. Thus, even fully unclothed, which would have been impolite to sink to, we would all have been quite sweaty. On the first complaint, I reasoned, we would get used to bed hogging in unison, and this could be overcome easily. This was essentially true. While not in any sense of the word comfortable, our first real night, in a real campground was not so bad on that count. Sure, we all had our complaints, mine that Shannon had her feet in my face at regular intervals throughout the night. Shannon that someone had their feet in her face, (which is impossible, since there was no one with feet pointing her way). Nonetheless, I failed to grasp the most important obstacle, and that is the fact that my wife has never learned how to sleep. What is a delicate, precociously balanced item at our home, is as if we perched our tent on a tilt-a-whirl at the campground. I won't say much more about it, but there was an insistence that the camping component of our trip, and the needed gear, be returned to our home by United Parcel Service. I'm not currently in the mood to argue the point, as in almost every regard, this has been a lovely vacation so far.
My wife loves to drive. She is an excellent driver. She is uncomfortable riding along when I am driving. This is not a feeling I share. I am just as happy, if not moreso, when I am being driven I like the freedom of being able to engage my hands in whatever they may desire. I like being able to drift off for a short nap from time to time. It has been my experience that this has an unfailingly bad reception when one is driving. However, I'm usually only in trouble with Chelley for sneaking off for a catnap. I am aware, that there is a contingent with whom I seem to be less a man for my acquiescence of my creator given right (and responsibility) to DRIVE THE CAR!!! I don't give a damn. I like to be driven. So, for two days now, my wife has driven us through the panhandle of Oklahoma (which I must say is much longer than I imagined, and windier), into the bowels of Black Mesa nature preserve and state park, and on to New Mexico, and now Colorado. She has done a lovely job. Earlier today I did take the reins for an hour or two, trying to assuage my guilt that she is stuck with all that driving. That was a mistake. She likes to drive. I like to ride. It really is that simple. I think I'll leave it alone now.
For the actual truth of our travels, one should be advised that my wife is blogging about the experience as well. Normally, I would say that you should take the two sides of the story, and find the truest sense in between. But, since I know us both, I'd advise you put more stock in hers.
mommadavison.blogspot.com
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