The Long Road Home

Well, we finally made it home. But first we had a most interesting time after leaving Capitol Reef. Liz and Mom needed to be in Kentucky by the evening of Wednesday, August 6, as they were scheduled to lead a professional development workshop in Bowling Green on Thursday and Friday. And we didn't want the kids to have to drive all of that way with no stops. Weeks ago, we found the perfect place: Clinton State Park on the eastern edge of Kansas. It was the perfect place, with mountain biking trails, hiking, a massive, beautiful lake for kayaking, and plenty of open space for running around, playing ball, or whatever we wanted to do. And our campground loop was one paved, flat mile with virtually no traffic, the perfect place for the kids to ride their bikes. And so, despite having the most amazing time there, we left Capitol Reef earlier than we really needed to so that we could have a couple of days and nights at Clinton. We even drove super hard days, longer drives than we needed to, so we could get there early on our first day and essentially gain a day.

When we arrived at Clinton, it was even more than we expected. We had reserved the end two sites on the bluff above the lake, and easily had an acre if not two for our two campers. We got there, set up, got all of the kids' bikes out, went on a drive looking for firewood, and walked down to the water. It was quite hot, and so we set up the brand-new inflatable kiddie pool we have carried around with us for four years for just such a time. The children played and rode their bikes in the loop, then splashed in the pool while the grown ups cooled their feet in it. It was just perfect. I realized that it was getting late in the day, and that I had better get going if I wanted to get in a ride on the mountain bike trails. So I quickly changed, and headed to the trail, which (after a short portage down a steep staircase) left right from our campsite. And what a ride it was! It was a fun trail, and I rode several miles away from camp. Then, suddenly, as sometime happens on a bike in the woods, a gray-black cloud appeared in front of me. Gnats. Yuck. I took a deep breath, held it, and drove through them. Well, into them. You see, the cloud of gnats never stopped. There was no exit. I rode through them, as hard as I could, grabbing sips of air from the corner of my mouth. But, despite my efforts, there was no stopping them, and I choked and gagged as I rode. Finally, after about 15 minutes, I came to a cross street, and emerged from the woods. Despite the fun quality of the trail, I had to ride back on the street to get away from them. At one point, with the back of my throat coated in gnats, I just stopped and coughed and choked and gagged and wretched. I got back to camp, and my darling wife called out in a happy voice, “Honey, I made you dinner!” Um, thanks, but no thanks. After a quick post-ride shower I went into Mom and Dad's RV to join everyone else. We relaxed and played Scattergories for several hours until bedtime. I walked over to the door of our camper, where I had the porch light on. The front door was covered in gnats.

CHAPTER THREE

REVENGE OF THE GNATS

Somehow, because the light wasn't on, the gnats hadn't realized that we had a second entrance to the camper. We snuck inside, and turned out the porch light. It was at this point that we realized that we also had hundreds of gnats on the screens of our windows that we had opened to let in the fresh Kansas air. And then we discovered the fatal flaw. The way the windows are paned in our camper actually works as a sort of an airlock: when you close the glass, everything attached to the outside of the screen has a brief point of entry. And so it was that Liz and I were up until 1:30 am, swatting an estimated 350 gnats. Our only consolation was that gnats come out in the evening, and would be gone once morning arrived.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DARKNESS

When we awoke, we were immediately aware that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The sun was shining, but our humble abode seemed strangely dark. Rising from bed, we went to investigate. And at that moment, that terrible, dreadful moment, we saw the darkness, the hideous blackness of our once-white camper. The tens of thousands of gnats clinging to our sides, writhing about in all their horrific glory. We began to formulate a plan for escape from the camper, and from this abhorrent, bloodcurdling hellscape we call Kansas.

I had to warn the others.

I burst forth from our aluminum tomb after loudly pounding the door from the inside, waving a broom and towel as I went. I made my way to the others and sounded the alarm from outside the window. “There are millions of gnats!” I cried from outside their window. “We have a plan, but we have to leave! They are everywhere!”

After a brief pause came the reply. “Just come inside and we'll talk about it,” I heard them say. “It can't be as bad as that.”

“No, you don't understand!”

“What's the big deal?” The father asked, and rose from his bed inside.

“No!” I cried. “Don't open the door!” But I witnessed his form, lumbering toward the front and the entrance. The blackened, wriggling entrance. “Nooooooooooooooo!” I again cried, shrieked an alarm. But I was too late. He opened the door, slowly and fully.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. Just come inside and we'll make a plan.”

“But, the gnats!” They enveloped him, swarming past, but he didn't seem to notice.

I waved the broom frantically to ward off the evildoers, and made my way inside, where we made plans to leave and head to St. Louis.

But then Mom and Dad spent the next two days with their camper so full of gnats... they were vacuuming the air.

St. Louis, Missouri

I've never been to St. Louis. Never had any reason to go to St. Louis. Never had any desire to go to St. Louis. But I'll say it now: I love St. Louis.

We found that rarest of creatures, the urban RV park, on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River, at the Casino Queen casino.

Interesting point #1: The Casino Queen used to be a riverboat casino, but grew too large for the boat. But since gaming is only allowed on the water, this massive casino, hotel, and property is actually built on piles above the water.

Interesting point #2: We fittingly reached our 100^th mile of hiking this summer while urban-hiking across the Mississippi.

Our first night we walked around downtown St. Louis, saw a few sites, and visited the arch and its visitor center. And ate the best Irish pub food ever at a place called Tigin.

Day 2 in St. Louis was very full. We went to the Missouri Botanical Gardens which was the very best gardens any of us have ever been to. And then we visited the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis. I've never been to the Vatican, but I have been to Westminster Abbey. And while this place doesn't have the history, it is more beautiful than that.

We returned to “camp” (which is actually a parking lot with power and sewers) at about 4:00. Which was just enough time to formulate the rest of the plan. And that evening, Kieran and I went out to a St. Louis bar, and then he got to take in his first major league baseball game, watching the Cardinals beat in the Red Sox in a thriller.

While Liz and Mom worked in Kentucky for two days, the rest of us took in a cool one-hour tour at Lost River Cave (Boat ride in a cave? Awesome.) and took in another hour at the Corvette Museum. And, uh, that's it for Bowling Green. That's all there is to do there.

And at this point, Mom and Dad headed north, and the Gowmans headed south to Huntsville, AL for two days with Grandma Gowman, Aunt Janice, and our Alabama cousins. Two hard, full days of driving and a stop at Gus's outside of Nashville brought us back to scenic Victor, New York.

HERE ENDETH THE BLOG.

THE WORD OF MARK.

Capitol Reef!

Welcome back everybody! The whole time we were at Capitol Reef we had next-to-no connection to the outside world (which is actually really, really fantastic) and we have a lot of catching up to do. Tonight we are back on the Great Plains, in Colorado, east of Denver. 

Sunday, July 27: Mom's Birthday & Capitol Reef. We arrived in Capitol Reef just in time for some rain. We got camp set up and then had to dash inside. Weather like that is somewhat surprising, considering that we are, you know, in the desert.

Cohab Canyon

Monday, July 28: Cohab Canyon, the Orchard, the Scenic Drive, & Capitol Gorge. Now this is a day. This is how you pack stuff into a day. I'm tired just from typing the title. But we'd been so excited about coming to Capitol Reef that we just wanted to cram it all in.

Cohab Canyon

The day began with the awesome spectacular fantastic I am out of adjectives for all of the really cool stuff I've seen hike at Cohab Canyon. Liz wasn't feeling 100%, which was great for me, because she volunteered to be the shuttle driver for this point-to-point hike. It climbs up twenty-some switchbacks and then flows nicely through this canyon, where each view takes your breath away in a new way.

After Cohab, we picked apples from the orchard. Settlers in the early 1800s planted fruit trees, which are still there. Tasted awful coming off the tree, but made the best applesauce ever.

Driving Capitol Gorge

Then we took the aptly-named Scenic Drive and drove through Capitol Gorge. Needless to say, this is the coolest place our truck has ever been.

Driving Capitol Gorge

Finally, we hiked as far as we could into Capitol Gorge, but thunderstorms were threatening like every other day, and we were also into the heat of the day, which is double in the canyon. Like always, there were stupid people who went out with no water, etc. We saw one somewhat youngish woman escorting her somewhat oldish mother down the canyon without water. We suggested that since it was hot, and flash floods were imminent, they might want to get the blazing hell out of there. And the younger one gave us this look that said, “Can't you see I'm just trying to abandon this woman out here?” So we've been checking news reports, but nothing yet. Anyway, we turned back after a mile or so of our canyon gorge stroll, checked out the canyon views and the scenic drive in reverse, and came home for dinner. Inside. Because here in the desert, it rains. Every. Single. Day.

Exploring a Side Slot

Tuesday, July 29: The Lost Day. So here we are in the desert. Where it rains every single monkey fighting day. And today, it wasn't the awe-inspiring desert thunderstorm. The, “oh, look at me, I'm so powerful and fast and dark and mighty” thunderstorm. The “I'm gonna rain like you ain't never seen for 3½ minutes and be done” thunderstorm. No, today was your standard Seattle/Rochester day-long soaking rainstorm. For hours. And hours. And hours. But! After dinner! The rain stops! We head to The Grand Wash, home of terrifying flash floods. But we know two things: The rain has been steady, not fierce; and because it has rained so often, the ground is actually more porous. Because it has rained more, there is actually less water. Make sense? I'll give you a minute. And so we banged out a lovely 2½-mile canyon hike at dusk, getting back to the truck just as night fell in the canyon. (Yes, we carry headlamps, and everything else we need.Stop fretting. Unless it's an Fmaj7.) And on the drive out and home, we realize that we have the park entirely to ourselves at sunset, and don't see another human in the fifteen miles back to camp.

Wednesday, July 30: The Sulphur Creek Route. What is the difference, you may ask, between a hiking trail and a route? A route is a commonly followed way to go, but it is not marked and not maintained. It hasn't been built or carved or signed, as a trail has. It's just that once upon a time, someone said, “Hey, let's go this way,” and then somebody else followed. A route usually promises more solitude than a maintained trail, but also has many more potential complications or dangers. The Sulphur Creek route is just over five miles, and it simply follows the creek... on the right, the left, and straight through the middle. 

Stepping Stones to Cross the Creek

But at mile 3.75, we arrived at the entrance to the Narrows, and found that it was a ten-foot waterfall; trying to climb around it, I realized that a wrong step on the slickrock (that's slickrock) was going to lead to a fall of fifteen to eighteen feet, onto the rocks and into the cold rushing water. So, after several minutes of trying to decode the trick of the thing, I finally did what had to be done and aborted the hike. Which meant that instead of 1.25 miles downhill through cool water, we had 3.75 miles back uphill, in the heat, and into the dry. But the great thing about these canyon hikes is that they look and feel entirely different on the return than they did on the way out. It's almost a brand-new experience. And so everybody was still happy, and the kids returned through the stream with watershoes instead of avoiding the stream in boots, and there was much rejoicing. Until that last mile. 

Sulphur Creek

On our 3.75 mile descent of the creek, we crossed the water sixteen times. For those of us who had never done the Narrows at Zion, this was a unique experience that was unlike any other hike we have ever attempted. With so much time in the water, finding routes, climbing rocks, descending dry cascades and waterfalls, it was the perfect adventure. And the views were simply amazing. If you've ever been in a slot canyon, you know what I'm talking about. The entire hike was fantastic... the first mile was dry, and the rest that was in “the wet.” And the entire time we looked forward to what lay ahead: The Narrows. An opportunity to trade our well-worn hiking boots for sandals or water shoes and wade through the incredible slot canyon. 

But we all survived. Mostly. Mom, Dad, Liz, Gabe, and I all ran dry, and my two liters of reserve water got used up too. Right when we were at our hottest and most ornery, however, we proved that laughter was the best medicine. We reached the dry waterfall, and had to go up. The Gowfolk, who were mightily embarrassed hiking at elevation at Great Basin National Park, proved themselves young and spry. But Mom got herself into a most unfortunate position, sprawled flat on her belly safely at the edge of this spot, but unable to will herself out of that position. For several minutes. Yes, we have video.

That evening, we rewarded ourselves with dinner at Cafe Diablo. This is a legit restaurant, serving not just food but cuisine. You would be impressed with this place anywhere. The fact that it is in Torrey, Utah, a town of four people (okay, it's officially 180, but there's just no way unless they are all hiding) is astounding. I love the rattlesnake cakes. They are like crab cakes, but, you know, snake.

After surviving the terrifying climb

Thursday, July 31. We set out, again with the threat of thunderstorms, to make our way to Pleasant Creek. We expected it to be the same sort of creekbed route we followed at Sulphur Creek, and all of us were excited. While not as remarkable as Capitol Gorge, the way to Pleasant Creek was our most adventurous drive so far this summer. The road went from pavement to gravel to dirt to doubletrack to the grass and weeds being taller than the truck and right up against it. 

Along the way we passed through what we assume to be several 19th-century homesteads, with the road/track passing right between the buildings, so close that you can see inside. And so we finally made it to Pleasant Creek. Took twelve minutes being sure we had all of our gear, getting on sunscreen, etc. Headed down the path 100 feet to the creek, and discovered that the creek was still completely swollen, and raging. For the second time in two days, we had to abort. But the 100 feet back to the truck was not nearly so taxing as our adventure at Sulphur Creek.

Speaking of Sulphur Creek, we decided to go to the visitor center and begin at the bottom of the Sulphur Creek route to see how far we could get in the other direction. After 1¼ miles, we came to an eight-foot waterfall that, despite our best efforts, just wouldn't let us travel in the upward direction. It was all slickrock, without any handholds. I almost made it around on a ledge but my sense of mortality/impending injury won out in the end. So instead Kieran and Izzie played in the waterfall and its small pool for 20 minutes, we had a lovely lunch, and finally retreated back to the visitor center and then our campground to prepare for our *snif* departure. Once again, we were treated to the view of a fantastic desert thunderstorm, but it again kept us indoors when we would rather be out. Capitol Reef averages about 7½ inches of rain each year, and I'm pretty sure we've seen all of it this week.

We were climbing Loveland Pass with our five-ton camper at 20 MPH, when, finally, after all of these weeks, the skies opened. We were beset upon by wind, hail, and rain. So much of it that as steep as the road is at that point, the road was actually flooding. I only make a big deal of this because this whole summer, climbing that pass has been on my mind. I have had nightmares about the road and weather conditions, and every horror came true. But, unlike a number of other drivers, our vehicle survived the climb and lived to fight another day.

Friday, August 1. Today we are driving our longest drive of the summer, 500 miles to Strasburg, Colorado, east of Denver. Luckily, it is also the most beautiful long drive in America. We wanted desperately to stay at any one of twenty mountain towns west of Denver, but every single one of them is full tonight. Right now as I write this, we are in the Glenwood Canyon, driving alongside the Colorado River, incredibly jealous of the 12,000 whitewater rafters furiously paddling 50 feet from us. Late-night update: Wrote this entry this afternoon thinking that nothing momentous was going to happen, and it really didn't; but it felt like it!

End of the line. We have another overnight tomorrow (my Mama's birthday!) in Salina, Kansas, and then will be spending two nights at Clinton State Park near Lawrence. Never would have thought we would willingly spend three nights in Kansas, but here we go. Clinton is a lovely park with hiking, mountain bike trails, and a nice lake for the kayaks. After that we make our way to Bowling Green, KY, which actually counts as work: Liz and Kathy are doing a two-day professional development workshop Thursday and Friday for Bowling Green teachers. While they are slaving away, the rest of us will be hiking, visiting Mammoth Cave, and touring the bourbon trail.

At that point, we will finally go our seperate ways: Mom and Dad will make their way home, while the Gowfolk go to visit Grandpa Gowman and my sister and Gow-Kern cousins in Huntsville, Alabama. After that, finally, we return home. We hope to see you soon.

Wagons..... East!

Great Basin National Park

July 26, Great Basin National Park. After driving two days across some of the most terrifyingly scenic roads in America, we arrived last night at Great Basin National Park.

History/geography lesson: The Great Basin is an area that covers Nevada, western Utah, Wyoming, eastern California, and part of Oregon. It is called the Great Basin because there is no outlet to the ocean. All the water drains and stays right here. It's mostly desert. And there used to be a giant inland sea here.

Terrifying driving lesson: You may or may not realize that our trailer weighs about three times as much as the truck that is pulling it. Just take a brief moment to think about the physics of that. Works pretty well on, say, the NYS Thruway between exits 48 and 45. But we have driven steep, twisting, mountain roads continuously for 1200 miles in the last week. That seem to allllways have a cliff on the other side. And I just need to drive through Kansas. Or sleep. I'm seeing “8% grade downhill next 10 miles” road signs in my deepest nightmares.

When we were driving in yesterday, we learned that there is a nearby wildfire, and the potential for a monsoon. And so we set off today determined to cram as much into one day at GBNP as we possibly could. And so we did. And it turns out that both the fires and the monsoon have missed us, but we've done everything we wanted to do. And so we are leaving. Tomorrow is Mom's birthday, and her choice is to scram and head east into Utah. We don't actually know where we are going or what we are doing yet, and every campground is closed for the night. So tomorrow will be slightly disorganized spontaneity.

But today we visited two visitor centers (because, seriously, what else are you going to do there?), hiked to two alpine lakes and a grove of bristlecone pine trees, took a cave tour, went out to dinner, watched another film on caves, and would have gone stargazing but it's too cloudy. 

And so what exactly is so special about bristlecone pines? First of all, they are beautiful, all twisted and gnarled but with this amazing color of tans and browns and oranges and reds that exactly matches both the rocks and the sunset of the high desert. Second, they are the oldest living things on Earth. Trees in this grove are five thousand years old. Do you know what's not 5,000 years old? Christianity. The Roman Coliseum. The Acropolis and the Parthenon of Ancient Greece. The Pyramids of Friggin' Giza. Yet these trees are here, still alive, and still immune to disease, and fire, and even rot after they finally die. (Seems like we could learn a thing or two from them.) 

The folks here have compared overlapping ring patterns in living and dead trees, and have found downed or dead bristlecones here in the Great Basin that are nine thousand years old. And this is what was happening when those trees were born.

Our hike was 4½ miles, which shouldn't have been too much of a workout after a month on the trail, but we suddenly found ourselves at more than 10,000 feet of elevation, and were about fifty feet onto the trail before we were all sucking wind and wondering why this seemed like a good idea. We must have stopped to rest every 100 feet. But, no matter the terrain, who was always out front? Who did everyone else have to always play catch-up with? Yes, that's right, it's the folks who got into the park on their Golden Age Senior Pass.

Our afternoon tour of Lehman Cave was fantastic and fascinating. It was as much history as geology, as we learned that Mr. Lehman ran the cave as a for-profit venture for 50 years before the park service got involved. And ran it with a “if you can break it, you can take it” policy. So nearly every stalagtite and -mite has been broken off, including some that required picks and sledgehammers to fracture. 

Still, it was fascinating, especially for Izzie, who is too young to remember any of her previous cave explorations.

We are heading east into Utah tomorrow and don't know where we are staying or the state of 3G/4G/LTE/WiFi. So maybe we'll see you soon?

Nevada

I get so lonely, baby, I get so lonely...

Today, for the second time, we drive US-50 across Nevada, the so-called loneliest road in America. It seemed a lot less lonely this time. We are parked just east of Baker, NV, and are literally on the border with Utah. We play this fun game with the kids where we jump back and forth across the state line. Even better is that it is the time zone, so we keep leaping from the future into the past and vice versa.

Sunset, not fire. Revel in its beauty.

Unfortunately, we were greeted here at Great Basin National Park by a roaring 12,000 acre wildfire and the threat of an impending "high quality monsoon moisture." Which is great, because if you're going to have monsoon, you don't want to be stuck with the cheap WalMart monsoon. And so we are going to try to cram three days of living into one tomorrow - caving, hiking, bristlecone pine visiting - just in case we have to get outta Dodge. 

The Mighty Redwoods

Hi there folks! Since our regular posts stopped due to lack of cell service and wifi, I don't know if anyone is actually reading this. It all seemed so much easier while in the routine of writing every morning or evening. But we have had some exciting times in Redwood National Park, which we are currently eleven hours away from.

Monday, July 21. Today we reacquainted ourselves with Redwood by tackling one of the biggest dayhikes in the park, the James Irvine/Miners Ridge Loop. This is one that we did five years ago, and it was like visiting an old friend. An old friend who makes your feet hurt. The official mileage is 6.5 miles but just going by our feet we know that's not accurate. Dad's GPS app said 8.something miles and mine had it at 9.2 miles. We saw every cool thing there is to see with the Redwoods on this hike… trees that are 350 feet high; trees that are just a shell of bark for 200 feet but are still alive and growing at the top; trees that were broken, then grew horizontally, then were broken again, then grew up, giving them a lightning-bolt shape; trees that you can climb under and through. After the long hike, we rewarded ourselves with a 40-minute drive up to Crescent City and our favorite NoCal seafood restaurant, the Chart Room. Which is closed on Mondays.

Tuesday, July 22. We have kind of a steadfast rule which is that you never follow a big day of hiking with another big hike, and so this was the perfect day to go to Hidden Beach. Hidden Beach is a beautiful spot in the shadow of one of those massive, magnificent rocks that sit on the beach or just offshore in the Pacific Coast. (If you know if there is a name for those massive, magnificent rocks that sit on the beach or just offshore in the Pacific Coast, hit me with some knowledge.) It's a great spot for climbing on rocks, light saber dueling with driftwood, and viewing life in tidal pools.

We spent the rest of the day at the campground picking wild blackberries. From four nights and three whole days, we have at least four gallons in the freezer, and probably ate another 1½ gallons. Once again, Isabella is the grand champion of berry picking.

Wednesday, July 23. Sneaker Beach, Ladybird Johnson Grove, and Fern Canyon. For our final day in Redwood, we visited three essential parts of the park: the Huechel Visitor Center, at “Sneaker Wave Beach”, as we call it; the Ladybird Johnson Grove; and Fern Canyon. I'll let the pictures do the talking. I figured out how to do vertical panoramas on my iPhone just in the nick of time.

Thursday, July 24. Drove the frightening & exhausting Route 99 out of Redwoods. An 11-hour driving day to Truckee, California. Tomorrow we arrive at Great Basin National Park. We have made a slight alteration to our calendar. When we planned this trip, our first out west in five years, we wanted it to be a “greatest hits” vacation of visiting some of our favorite places. But the past few days, while very enjoyable, have made us realize that we don't just want to rehash old vacations; we want to explore and see new places. So we are bypassing one of my favorite spots, Rocky Mountain National Park. Instead we are adding time to two places we have stopped at once before that deserve much more attention: Great Basin and Capitol Reef.

We're back! Sort of...

Hello friends and welcome back to the Gownezio blog! As mentioned before, we never know when our next stop we be sans wifi or cellular service, so we don't always know when we are going to drop off the map. We have spent the past four days seeing much of the natural beauty that the state of Washington has to offer. We are now in northern California at Redwood, but still have practically no signal. We have driven to Crescent City for dinner and are making use of the LTE service!

So, I invite you to please bring your seats and tray tables to their upright position, as we have a lot of ground to cover.

Wednesday, July 16. When last we met, we had stopped for the evening in Ellensburg, Washington (hate it), home of Central Washington University. Took us two solid hours to find a decent restaurant that wasn't closed due to it being the college off-season. And it's a, uh, little known fact the the streets of Ellensburg's famed downtown and historic district were laid out by a Boston native who felt that the original streets were way too simple. Yearning for something more reminiscent of his hometown, he created a system of streets and traffic patterns guaranteed to frustrate and befuddle all those who dare enter. True story.

So we packed up our things after one glorious night in Ellensburg, and headed west to Mount Rainier. Well, we were supposed to head west, or east; it's all very confusing. We had to stop at the RV store down the way, and were about 10 minutes behind Mom and Dad. We got out of the store and drove as quickly as was prudent to try to catch up to them. When we travel in caravan Mom navigates and we follow their big RV. Knowing that at some point we had to turn south to get to our destination, we wanted to be sure to catch up. It was about 40 miles out when I asked Liz to check the atlas. And it turns out that the road to the south was east of Ellensburg, and we had made an 80-mile round trip for nothing. There may have been a few tense moments. The boys were both in the RV with Mom and Dad, 80 miles ahead of us, and we only had Izzie. When I say it was tense in the car, let me just say that Isabella was silent for a sustained period of time. Those of you who know my darling princess should now fully appreciate just how serious the situation was.

As we drove toward the mountains, it seemed as though each mile was more lovely than the last. (*Side note: Liz and I thought it was pretty cool that one day we were on I-90, which runs almost past our house, and the next we were on US-12, which runs through our former haunts of Ann Arbor and Saline, Michigan.) But we reached a point, as often happens on mountain roads, that each mile was almost more terrifying than the last. Frequently on these roads, you will see yellow or orange signs with some variation on the “Warning: Falling Rocks” theme. In Washington, these signs simply say ROCKS in huge letters. As we were driving the cliff face up toward White Pass, we were beginning to have a good chuckle about all of these signs. Put on “Rocks” by Imagine Dragons. But then we noticed that the barricades were changing. On the mountain side, they had gone from no protection to standard concrete highway medians. Then, they added gabion, the stones-in-a-cage retaining wall for reinforcement. Then, the gabion became five feet tall and about eight feet thick. Then, we began to see where massive boulders had hit and deformed the gabion, sometimes pushing it and the concrete barricade six to eight feet and into our lane. Then, finally, the landslide hit. Fortunately, it was about 5 seconds and 150 feet in front of us. It started with just a trickle and a puff of dust and then, suddenly, we were blind from the dust on this cliffside road with cars coming up behind us. After a minute or two the dust cleared, and we continued on our merry way almost as if nothing had happened. Except that we don't make fun of ROCKS signs anymore.

We arrived at the Cascade Peaks RV park, which was just lovely. They have seven HUNDRED sites, but I don't think more than fifty of them were filled. We got to go on mile-long bike rides with the kids inside the campground. And it was up against the river, and just wonderful. Despite the rockslide and getting lost it had still been a relatively short drive, and the campers were set up by early afternoon. We headed into the park to (the aptly named) Paradise, spent some quality time at the visitor center, and then hiked around a bit on the snow-covered trails. Sarah and Isaiah joined us at the campground at about 8:00 pm, after driving to spend the day in Seattle, after Googling the address of another campground of the same name in Seattle. Oops.

Thursday, July 17. Today we went back to Paradise to hike to the Nisqually Vista. This is a really great spot where a glacier and avalanches and rockslides have carved out this massive chute, and there are waterfalls and water just pops out of the rocks in some places. We missed out on our next hike because the parking lot was full; but luckily there was space for us at the Grove of the Patriarchs. The prime feature of this 1000-year-old forest is the 200-foot-tall cedar trees. At “The Big Cedar Tree” all nine of us got in a big circle and stretched and stretched until we finally touched.

To get to the biggest trees, you have to go over a suspension foot bridge. We have done a bunch of these in the past couple of weeks, and they are always a little sketchy. At this one, there was a big traffic jam in both directions, as you are only supposed to have one person on the bridge at a time. Sarah and Isaiah decided it would be better to just ford the ankle-deep stream; except that it turned out to be waist-deep instead.

THERE IS A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE. Mom and Dad like to sleep in. It's a rule. But the nights are getting shorter and shorter and we have a new guest joining us on our travels. And he is bold enough to walk through the middle of their living room while they are sitting there, but too smart to take the cheese from the trap.

For Friday, July 18, Mom had recommended a hike for us that was, according the book, “the best day hike in Washington.” When she showed me the description, I read “Nachos Peak Loop”, and knew that it was the best day hike in Washington. It turns out that it is actually “Naches Peak”, and there is not, in fact, a taco truck at the top. You can imagine my disappointment. The hike started out all along the road, and it was pretty, but the road was there and the cars and the noise and blecchh. But soon, we started moving uphill. And it might just be the best day hike we've done. We gained a thousand feet of elevation, and the children (yes, those children) never stopped smiling. Never a complaint, never a moment that they didn't think it was the greatest thing ever. Amazing views of Mt. Rainier and it's neighbors, as well as Mt. Adams off in the distance. So good that when we got to the end, we turned around and did it again. No, that's not true.

A funny thing about visiting mountain and forest regions: mountains and forests are sometimes there instead of the roads you need. As the three-eyed-crow flies, our campground was equidistant between Mt. Rainier and Moutn St. Helens. But we were actually looking at a five-hour round trip from our campground to MSH. And so we got up on Saturday, July 19, and moved camp to Castle Rock. Our campground is one of these places that gets 9.5 and 10 ratings in all of the camper guides, but is just a parking lot. It was nice enough, though, but with one thing different: trains. There's a requirement, I think it's a zoning thing, that all RV campgrounds have to be within a ½ mile of train tracks. But this train was in the campground, right at the end of our row, three campers away from us. And came through every 10 to 12 minutes. But I digress.

We loaded everybody in the truck and head for Mount St. Helens. This is a special place for me as my mom worked as a camp counselor here in the 1960's. In my house, the imminent eruption in 1980 seemed to be always on TV. And it made quite a lasting impression. A few years ago we did make it to the eastern side to view the once-lovely Spirit Lake, where Mom's camp was. And it is just devastated. This time we made to the western side of the mountains and the visitor center. I can think of few places where the power of nature is more evident than here. But it really is amazing how life has come back, from the plants and trees to the large animals like elk and mountain lions. MSH could definitely be a full-day trip, and it's highly recommended if you ever find yourself in the Seattle-Portland corridor.

Sunday, July 20. Said goodbye to Sarah & Isaiah after eight days with us. Drove through Oregon to Klamath, California, and Redwood National Park.