Jenmenke.com

Murder at the Menkes: A Henhouse Whodunit.

admin — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 23:11:30 +0000

So you all know about my rooster woes, right? The fact that I have five chickens crowded into a small fenced area, due to the existence of a single, renegade rooster living on the outside?

I’ve had about my fill of roosters fighting to the death, so these guys will remain separated until I can solve the problem. The solution, naturally, is that I plan to kill the crazy rooster and have him stuffed. Of course. Who wouldn’t, right?

Apparently no one would.

But that’s my plan and I’m sticking to it.

The only problem right now is that we just can’t come to a clear agreement on how to actually go about the killing of him. I suspect that is our lame excuse for avoiding it all together. I mean, really. Who wants to kill anything in cold blood?

Not me.

And also, apparently, not Dave.

Hunting is far more sporting. It’s another thing entirely to walk out there with sole the intention of catching him and killing him. Just like that. No sporting chance.

I know, because I have tried. And, I’ve always ended up watering the sunflowers instead.

Go figure. I must like the guy on some level.

Did I tell you he flew off the roof and tried to get me in the face the other day?

Well he did. And I’m still somewhat amused by him.

Oh, we’ve talked and talked the killing to death (get it? to death?) and we’re no where nearer to an answer than we were a month ago. It has to be as quick as possible. No suffering:

death by drowning
death by carbon monoxide
death by wringing of neck
death by .22
death by slitting of throat
death by Lola

OK, Lola is out. That would definitely involve terror and therefore suffering.

Anyway. We were out of town for the last several days (hence no updates in the last week) and I hadn’t checked on the chickens since I got back. I had Charlie run out there last night to ascertain that all was well. Why I would trust either of my kids to such a task, I have no idea. Remember, these are the same kids that didn’t notice a dead hen, despite their assurance to me that they had counted them, for over a week. When I went out there, all I found were some ribs and a wing.

However, since I could hear both the loud and shrill crazy crow of The Chieftain, and the gargled, strangling sound of the immature Chicken Little rooster, I figured Charlie was right.

That was last night.

This morning, as I was laying in bed, I heard a disturbing sound. It was a distinct bird like call, chicken in nature, that was neither the young rooster or the crazy rooster’s crow.

It chilled me to the very bone.

A third rooster? Surely not!

After dropping the kids off, I went out back to check things out. What I found was very disturbing indeed:

Murder in the Hen House.

Now, at first glance, this was maybe not such a bad thing, since it brought me down to one rooster, albeit a very mean and flight-aided one. I wondered, “Did these four hens rise up against the rooster and kill him? Was that what I heard this morning? His death throes?” I mean, you should see these hens. They are HUGE! It is certainly possible that one of them could have over-powered their oppressor.

Could it have been Miss Scarlet, in the Chicken Run, with the Watermelon Rind?

Or maybe Mrs. Peacock, in the Coop, with the Wooden Perch.

Who could it be.

Who could it be…

And then, I started really looking at these hens. And I’m like “that is one big, effin’ hen.”

Wait a minute… Could that one be a rooster? Nooooo. Please no!

Yes!

No!

YES!

I know the answer, because two hours later, with one of two known roosters dead, I heard a new crow. I think it’s this one:

Oh my GOSH! Is that BLOOD on his neck?

I think it IS! This is just like CSI! If I could just zoom in and enhance it a bit, using thermal imagery technology…

I don’t think that’s barbecue sauce. But it’s odd, because I did not see any blood on Chicken Little. So I went back to check him over again. I still didn’t see any blood, but I did see this

Could it be a clue? A post-mortem fingerprint? Hidden away under his wing awaiting my detection?

It will have to be sent out for DNA analysis, of course. Until then, the two striped suspects are under surveillance. At this point in the investigation, the evidence is inconclusive, but off the record, I think we have our killer. One of these days he’ll make a mistake and I’ll be there with the cuffs.

And now, this afternoon, after studying them a bit more, I’m actually thinking that BOTH the barred rocks (the striped ones) might be fricken’ roosters! They are both ridiculously large. And upon further inspection, I notice both of them have ever-so-slight knobs where spurs should be.

Seriously. This is truly insane. Hatcheries are between 90 and 95 percent accurate at sexing chicks. And I get three roosters out five “sexed pullets” in random assorted batch?

After that epiphany, I opened the door between the two coops and figured, “go ahead, fight to the death. I care not.”

That was six hours ago and they are still voluntarily segregated. I think it is worth noting that I still haven’t gotten a single egg from these “hens.” So it would be premature to say I have — not counting the recently departed white rooster — three roosters and two hens –because who’s to say they aren’t ALL roosters? Time will tell.

Is this God’s way of telling me I should give up on raising chickens? In the last 2 years, I have had no less than NINE roosters, when my intention was to have ZERO.

How’m I doing so far?

Road Warriors 2010 Day Nine

admin — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 17:59:15 +0000

Day 9, The Conclusion

8/6/2010

Everyone was up by 8 am and we puttered around not too enthused for either packing up for home or heading out for a last hike on the Marble Canyon trail.

Lethargy.

We finally got to the trail about 9:30 and scurried along the well-signed interpretive trail without pause, since the sky had suddenly started to threaten rain.

No WAY was I packing the trailer up in the rain!

Or so I thought.

The trail wove along the ever-deepening canyon, through the most recent fire.

In the beginning, the river is level with the path. By the end, the water was so far below, deep in the canyon and brilliant blue

The trail ends with this beautiful waterfall

This is the growth of a lodge pole in just four years!

We raced back after completing the hike in probable record time, but the rain had already come through the campground. Everything we’d taken out to pack up for home and left out was soaking wet. Towels, chairs, shoes, backpacks, rugs…

ARRGH.

What could I do?

I packed it up in the rain.

We headed back to Banff for — surprise! — another dip (and shower) in the Banff Hot Springs. (note the luxurious and clean golden waves in the photo below. That’s hair I’m talking about and not water. My hair to be more specific.)

We also had a delightfully delicious lunch at the Coyote Cafe — the place we were going to eat originally on the ill-fated Pierre-The-Waiter day, but it was too busy. I would have happily eaten there twice.

And… we also successfully exchanged the bad geode (turns out they were “guaranteed”) and got another round of bubble teas.

As I write this, I can’t even remember why Morgan was sulking, but — as usual — I was trying to jolly her out of her mood. This time, by sucking a bubble from the tea into my straw and shooting it at her. Those babies can fly! This, as you might suspect, erupted into a truly horrible spectacle with all of us (except, of course, Mr-No-Fun) shooting black tapioca bubbles at each other. Not only do they travel remarkably far, but they also stick to anything they hit. Hence the fact that the next day, I found a desiccated bubble stuck to the top of my flip flop. It gave me quite a scare until I realized it was not a leech, but a shriveled ball of gelatin.

So we were headed for home, via the ultra un-extraordinary Canadian Highway 1 and approximately 22 hours of non-stop driving.

We left Banff at about 3pm. We hoped to get home in time to pick up Lola at the kennel on Saturday. That was really our only timeline-induced goal. And not a goal worthy of resisting a stop to sleep if we wanted, in my opinion. If it were up to me, we’d have stayed another week. I’m not ready to head back to the grind. [editor's note: I am now more than two weeks into the grind as of this posting and it really does stink as much as I thought it would.]

There is not much to relate on the drive home across the Canadian plains as it pertains to scenery, so I had to focus on events in the car.

I had finished my book the night before and with no internet (due entirely to my cheapness at not wanting to pay international AT&T data charges) to download a new one. I thought I would work on my laptop, as there is always some work waiting for me there. But no, the kids had comandeered that and were watching all the old episodes of Top Chef. And, because Dave was driving, I (generously) gave him the use of my iPhone to listen to an audiobook.

What did I do, pray tell?

I read Discover, National Geographic and finishing those, The Road Atlas. I swear it is true. Six hours of nothing to do!

It was almost with relief, then, that I was set to take over the “early late” shift in Swift Current, where we stopped for gas and some dinner.

And I’m here to tell you, there’s nothing swift about Swift Current. We waited a loooong time to pay for gas (no credit cards at pump). We waited for the bathrooms (“you can use it in 10 minutes after I’m done cleaning it.”) and we waited and waited and waited at the drive through for our KFC Twisters. I’m pretty sure the dynamic duo working that Friday night were high. There’s no other explanation for their sloth-like movements, moronic smiles and the fact that the manager called Dave “dude” and “bud” and “man” all in the same sentence.

When crabby, and ever-more-bold, Dave tried to finagle an extra milk (really? milk?) out of the guy for our patience, we received — to Morgan’s initial delight — cellophane wrapped “brownies” instead. It is a testament to their inedibility that even Morgan did not have more than one. We threw the other three away. [editor's note: typing this, I realize there should be a good marijuana joke in here somewhere, but alas, it is not to be.]

I settled in to the driver seat with my Coke, eager to resume listening to The Devil in the Junior League audio book on the iPhone. Dave, meanwhile, settled into the passenger seat with all his shit, and commenced switching power cords around to his liking. When he took the iPhone charger out of the outlet nearest me and moved it toward him, I tensed up and asked “What are you doing?”

“I’m listening to an audio book,” he said with an air of impatience and disdain.

The nerve!

“The driver gets the phone. You know that.”

He seriously didn’t know what I was talking about. How can that be? 3000 miles under our belt and he hasn’t picked up on the fact that the driver gets the iPhone?

Then I relented because he looked so bummed. And really, I want him to love my iPhone as much as I do. Plus, I knew I had a long night ahead of me. I could share.

He listened for about 30 minutes before nodding off to sleep. Well, not nodding really, since he wears his lime green neck pillow. But his head still falls forward at an awkward angle. I extracted the phone and settled in for the night.

We crossed the border into the US at Portal (an appropriate name, don’t you think?) in North Dakota at — I don’t even know when. 3:30 am? You’d think a Suburban towing a cute tiny pop-up with sleeping kids in the back at the ungodly hour of 3-something in the morning would garner at least a sympathetic smile out of the border patrol. Nope. They must take classes in stoicism. He made me roll the windows down, wake the kids and answer a whole lot of really stupid questions.

I had a marathon drive, stopping only to clean a truly sick amount of bugs off the windshield so that I could see. There was lots of lightning that was fun to watch, and eventually lots of rain and wind to complete the storm. We changed time zones ahead one hour and taking that into account, I drove 10:45 to 4:30. Almost 6 hours.

When I handed the baton to Dave in Minot, ND, I even fell asleep for an hour or two.

Dave struggled on in his “late late” shift and I re-took the wheel at 8am, rather than try to sleep at a rest stop, since Dave couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

My stint at the wheel was brief, however, as we blew yet another camper tire in Alexandria on I-94. I do believe this was our first-ever tire change on a full-blown highway with semis blowing past us at 80 MPH only feet away. Not cool.

That woke Dave up!

And he drove the rest of the way home.

And I had nothing to do. Because he took the damn phone again.

[editor’s note, and conclusion: We ate a Perkins in Alex, which was yuck-o, and made it to pick up Lola at the kennel. Much cleaning, unpacking and chaos ensued when we arrived home around 1pm. It was 90 degrees and humid, which was the start of an insufferable 7-day humidity/heat wave which we Minnesotans are not too fond of. I even turned the air on, which is a rare event indeed.

In retrospect, the trip was a great one. I savor these days of waning summer with my kids getting older as much as I am capable. I’m not the blubbering type, but I love my kids and we are so lucky and fortunate to both be able to take trips like this, and also have kids that want to go on them. I know that may change, but for now, today, at this moment, I don’t even mind The Reluctant Hiker’s sulky attitude or the incessant robotics chatter (that I have banned) spewing forth from Charlie’s mouth, making little sense to me.

Just don’t hold me to this reverie, because I think it might just be hormones.

Road Warriors 2010 Day Eight

admin — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 19:23:36 +0000

Day 8

8/5/2010

NEWS FLASH: Dave slept until 9am.

Never in the history of the camping world has that happened before.

I was up and sort of wandering the empty campsite wondering what to do. I haven’t a CLUE how to make coffee in our camping coffee pot. I get where the water and coffee goes but don’t know how much of either to use or how long to cook. Stuff like that.

There are very few things in my life that I deliberately make dumb on, but I’m entitled to at least two or three and camping coffee is one of them. Well, any coffee pot, other than my own, I guess. I’m just a bad coffee maker.

In the midst of my wandering, Charlie stuck his head out of the camper and cried, “No fire?!”

And I realized I don’t do fires, either.

Not learning how to use Dave’s coveted new zero-turn mower is the third. I spent 11 years mowing our yard and garden with a push mower and revel in my new role as sunbathing onlooker.

And I think that’s about it. I think I pretty much can do anything else. Test me. I dare you.

I did get to work on blueberry pancakes with those amazing local blueberries, only to be told by the emerging sleepers that it was “a little too early for pancakes.”

What?

We leisured our way through the morning, eventually making sandwiches and packing up for a day in the car and on the road.

You see, Dave wanted to see the Columbia Ice Fields, located midway between Banff and Jasper. Being the most experienced Banff traveller from my many forays to the park with my family growing up starting in the 70s and ending in 1981, it was natural for Dave and the kids to know if I had been to the ice field.

Yes and no.

Here’s what I remember:

I remember driving in the car with my family on the way to the ice field with the idea of possibly going even further to Jasper. I remember at some point, a mutiny occurred. Whether it was my mom, brother and I against my dad or if it was us against my mom (highly unlikely, as it was always my dad who was the idea-man back then), I can’t be certain. But I remember that we had all had it. And started begging my dad to turn the car around.

I do know that we got to the ice field — which in my opinion is a total misnomer since you can’t actually SEE the ice field. Instead, you see one or two fingers of the ice field (glaciers).

I remember getting out, walking on the glacier and overwhelmingly vetoing the option to ride in a Sno-Cat on the glacier.

And mostly I remember that we all thought it was a waste of a day in the car.

After all, four or five hours roundtrip (depending on stops and traffic) is a lot of driving for a Minnesotan to see snow.

However, that was somewhere between 30 and 35 years ago. Now I had the chance to torture my own kids with the experience. Who was I to deprive them of this opportunity? Plus, Dave was throwing down the gauntlet. It didn’t matter how much I dug my heels in. He was determined to go to the ice field whether I came or not.

But that didn’t mean I had to be pleasant about it.

So I wasn’t.

I still say it’s a long stinkin’ drive to see some snow. But, to be fair, I have to admit that parts of the drive itself are pretty impressive. The vistas are huge. Not craggy and steep, so much as long and unbroken continuous slabs of rock; tilted and touching the sky. Nice.

The Columbia Ice Field — Athabasca Glacier to be more precise — is the destination stop for the ice field and it was crawling with people. We aren’t used to camping during “high season” so we aren’t the most patient (or kind) carload of people. Sadly for our immortal souls, some of our best laughs and fondest memories come at the expense of the colorful or interesting travelers that we meet along the way. People are just too funny not to make some fun. I suppose I shouldn’t admit that, but it’s true.

From the parking lot, the people walking up to the glacier looked like ants in my kitchen. After pounding our sandwiches out of the back of our car (who needs a picnic site?!) standing in the parking lot, we joined the pilgrimage . It was pretty interesting to see the year markers denoting where the glacier had been — going all the way back 150 years.

I wondered if I had been remembering it wrong that — when I was there years ago — the glacier had been almost to the parking lot. But no, the recession has been that dramatic. From the marker closest to the time I was there, you couldn’t even see the glacier.

The other big change was that you couldn’t walk on the glacier any more. Actually, that only changed a couple years ago. Due to the rapid melting, there is now a river and a lake under the toe of the glacier that makes it too dangerous. Most of the signs on the walking paths were — not about the history — but about the hysterical danger warnings and deaths that have occurred.

The interpretive center (also new since I had been there) was very cool. It had historical videos, displays and other stuff to help you grasp the immensity of the ice field that you don’t ever get to see. And it had an evergreen with purple pine cones. I’m not kidding. This photo was not retouched at all:

Worth the trip?

No.

Can’t say I didn’t tell him so.

A long drive “home” with another late-in-the-day side trip to Yoho to see Takakaw Falls and Emerald Lake. We missed the turn for the falls, so went to Emerald Lake first instead.

Rather than a hike, the Boss Man made an impulse decision that we would canoe instead. Charlie was ecstatic, having been on a continuous loop during our time at Lake Louise:

“We should rent a canoe. Dad. We should rent a canoe. Hey Mom. We should rent a canoe.”

Repeat.

I’m not sure , but I think The Reluctant Hiker was elated too — though she hid it well underneath the crabby facade we are becoming used to in her 15th year…

I canoed with Charlie…

and Dave with Morgan.

It was really fun, I have to admit. (So long as I made an effort to forget how much the hour was costing us…)

We left to hit Takakaw (which I insisted on saying loud like a crow’s caw every time I said it) Falls on the way back. There was a view of the fall on the road in that was spectacular. I wish we had stopped to get a picture. We parked and after the obligatory feeding of the Ground Squirrels

we started on a short walk to the base of the falls which I had to keep assuring Morgan was not a “hike.”

The falls were ridiculous. Truly unbelievable. Huge and cool. It slays me that the guide book treats it like any other site. This one should at least say something like “A must see” or “Don’t miss!”

It helped that a brilliant rainbow highlighted the bottom of the falls.

It didn’t even seem real. Unfortunately, we missed the perfect Christmas card photo by seconds. Just as we realized the “magic hour” color of the sunlight with the rainbow behind it was captured perfectly on camera…

the sun sunk behind the mountain. We were in the process of frantically trying to get someone to take the picture for us.

But no one spoke english.

That is the truly crazy thing about these Canadian Parks. Everyone is from Europe or Asia.

Damn them all!

I had to talk Dave out of stopping at Lake Louise for some chicken to cook with the Tastefully Simple White Chili on the menu for our last camping dinner. “We don’t need it! Don’t stop! Let’s just get back! It’s late!” — I hate grocery shopping as much on vacation as I do at home, it seems.

We got back to camp around 8:30pm and quickly made the white chili, corn on the cob and fire-toasted flour tortillas (a great idea!). It was great, even without the chicken.

Everyone was dog-tired, and headed off to bed, one by one, leaving me to toil over this very journal late into the night with my headlamp.

Road Warriors 2010 Day 7

admin — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 19:44:01 +0000

Day Seven

8/4/2010

We got up around — well, starting with Dave at 7 and finishing with Morgan at about 8:30. Dave had coffee waiting for his stinky princess and we hit the road before breakfast for an early hike to the Paint Pots before the crowds hit. We aren’t used to vacationing during peak season, as we usually travel late in August after most travelers have gone back home to school, sports, etc. So, we are likewise not used to dealing with neighbors in campsites and interlopers on the trails.

It was a short and easy walk, relatively flat. Crossing a rushing river…

to cool, vibrant yellow dirt and mineral-ish looking water

bubbling up from the ground like an oozing volcano.

I found about five flowers I’d never seen before and picked them to I.D. later.

I figured out three of them, but never the other two. Hooded Ladies Tress was my favorite, reminding me of a little troll person:

I picked these flowers on hikes and made them talk to Morgan to try to jolly her out of her various hike-induced funks. As you might imagine, these efforts proved fruitless.

When opened up, they look like this:

We came back for eggs and brats, take 2 — ironic, since Dave refuses to eat eggs at home. Our own, freshly laid eggs from our own chickens. It’s a long, long story that is most easily explained by saying Dave does not like our chickens.

Then — the moment we’d all been waiting for — we packed up with suits and towels, soap and shampoo — and headed for the Banff Hot Springs! And more importantly, a HOT SHOWER!

The town of Banff — an oasis for Morgan’s retail-deprived eyes — beckoned to her longingly as we whizzed through, without pause, to our destination. Only one about-turn (and it wasn’t for Lululemon) when we passed a local farm stand with fresh local fruit and veggies. We bought peaches, plums, cherries, blueberries and corn.

The cherries — OH! So good. And if you remember from years past, also so DEADLY. (aka “fart balls”)

Then, on to the Springs.

They’d upgraded the facilities considerably since our last visit in 1987 and going back to my first visit in 1977. Not gross at all. Nice, even. My first memories of the place were of a giant changing room that had a perpetually wet and slimy floor and fat, naked, hairy European women standing all around — and me trying my darndest to change into a swimsuit without exposing any privates. My how things have changed: beautifully dry floors, lockers, benches and me –walking around like a fat, naked, hairy European woman.

That is to say, the floors were beautifully dry until Morgan and I walked through from the showers dripping our wet hair all over it… And the pool was different too: sparkling clear — not murky — and smelling faintly of chlorine instead of Sulphur. Call me a pool-spoiled snob, but I don’t care. I’d rather smell like Chlorox than a big fart.

Morgan and I took our time showering, shaving (!) and I even dried my hair. Ahh, ahh, and triple-ahh. (I make audible groaning noises when I brush my hair that disturbs Morgan a great deal and today was no exception.)

As expected, Charlie was wild-eyed with impatience when we finally emerged. “What the HECK?” is his most overused phrase, which he repeated over and over while I ignored him as long as I could, finally turning to him with wild-eyes of my own, whistling, “CHILL OUT” through a fake smile (for the onlookers) and gritted teeth (for emphasis and to scare him into submission).

And then, it was off to Banff for lunch and the coveted, much-anticipated SOUVENIR SHOPPING!

We might have done a tad-bit of research on restaurants before selecting an inviting little place with a large deck that had tables available outside. The food was “meh” but the waiter was something out of a Seinfeld episode. None of us caught his name — if indeed he even told us his name or wore a tag — but all of us, independently, thought of him as “Pierre.” Why, I have no idea. He never actually even said enough for us to determine his country of origin. He did, however, have very expressive eyebrows which he used as his primary means of communication. When we received — after a very lengthy wait — our $12 calamari appetizer with 12 squid rings on a plate and nothing else and gobbled it down in less than 45 seconds, Pierre did a double-take; first, shooting his eyebrows up in surprise, then down in confusion.

He hesitated before clearing the plate that just moments before had been set down. Dave uncharacteristically asked “Is that the normal portion size for the calamari or did it seem small to you?”

“Hmmm?” (eyebrows up)

“Was that the normal amount?” (Dave repeats question)

“Sorry?” (eyebrows even higher)

“I’m just saying it seemed like a really small portion for $12″ (kids have almost slithered out of chairs on to deck under table in embarrassment)

“You think so?” (eyebrows furrowed)

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh.” (eyebrows up again) and off he went.

The kids immediately erupted into gaggle of “Dad! I can’t believe you said thats!” I was only disappointed not to have been able to pinpoint his accent — if he even had one. Dave fell ill a few hours later, all of us speculating Pierre may have had the last ‘word’ after all. Either that, or it was all just a ploy by Dave to sit out the last hour of shopping at a nice shady table in front of a coffee shop in Banff. Actually, the more I think about it…

Morgan basked in the glow of Banff, honing in on the two most expensive shops at hand: Roots and Lululemon. She finally settled on a Roots zipper top and promptly fell in love. Why I don’t stop trying to foster a good relationship with her by means of meaningful conversation and togetherness, and instead, just buy her love with material goods is a mystery. It would certainly save me a lot of time and make her a lot happier…

Meanwhile I slipped off and made a impulse purchase of my own — a salmon (orange/red) Patagonia zip hoodie. I couldn’t wait to show everyone. But when I did, I only received a collective sigh. Apparently they all think I already have that top. Apparently, everything I own looks the same?

Charlie, of course, was in his customary hand-wringing state of wanting everything but worrying like a little old lady about what everything cost. If only I could melt my two kids together… Sadly for him, because Dave was feigning illness, it was me who marched him into The Rock Shop to force a decision. Remember, I’m the one who hates knick knacks, hates to dust unnecessary items and can’t stand frivolous purchases. So I talked him into buying, not some pretty rocks that will sit around driving me crazy, but pretty rock BOOK ENDS. At least it is USEFUL. He also bought a $5 geode to crack open at the campsite

that ended up being nothing more than a solid rock.

Ohhh the TRAUMA! The disappointment!

Dave, funding it all, bought nothing. And he calls me the martyr?

A stop at Cow’s for ice cream (Morgan is still swooning over memories of her coffee ice cream as I write this hours later) and a book shop for a guidebook to the Canadian Parks. Then some last minute Bubble Tea. Amazing! Our’s was pineapple and soooo good.

On the way home we opted to cash in on the Reluctant Hiker’s shopping afterglow and make a spur-of-the-moment decision to continue on to Lake Louise for a late afternoon and hopefully crowd-free hike. When we pulled in, cars were parked at least a mile away from the main parking lot, but there was a constant stream of people walking to them. The lot was almost empty!

We lured The Reluctant Hiker up the hill to Mirror Lake, just short of Lake Agnes and the Tea House.

Mirror Lake was such a disappointment after such a long way up

that we bait and switched her and decided to go all the way up to the Tea House. The Reluctant Hiker dug her heels into the horse-manured sand and abjectly refused. No amount of cajoling and guilt-tripping worked. She sat her sulky butt down on a rock and wouldn’t budge.

So we left her there.

It was only another 1/2 mile to the top. When we were almost there I had a brilliant idea. I hung my head over the cliff when I judged that she was almost directly below us and yelled at the top of my considerable lungs:

MORGAN… IF YOU COME UP, WE’LL GO OUT FOR DINNER.

With almost no pause at all for consideration I heard a faint “OK!” (I think I’m finally getting the hang of this Mother-ing thing.)

And she appeared at the base of the Tea House less than five minutes later, huffing and puffing.

I kid you not. I think she might have broken a land speed record. I’m going to have to tell her soccer coach this technique for motivating her.

The funny thing was, it only occurred to her right then that perhaps we would have gone out for dinner regardless of her decision to join us. I refused to answer on the basis that it might have incriminated me.

After many excrutiating attempts at a self-timer family photo shot for Christmas cards,

we arrived back at the base of the lake and climbed in the car to find a suitably over-inflated priced venue for dinner, finally settling on a pizza joint inside a lodge, the name of which I can’t remember.

The wait was loooong, but the service and food were good. So I guess we didn’t mind the Lake Louis upcharge. We were so tired that we skipped dessert, even though they looked soooo good: sorbet, panna cotta, cheese cake, etc.

I drove us home and everyone was quickly asleep.

Dave had a mini-Hitleresque outburst upon our arrival at camp. It’s a common one: Morgan, Charlie and I tend to agree that it is OK, on rare occasion (for example, after waking from a 40 minute sleep) to skip brushing teeth before bed. Dave does not agree.

Really? One flippin’ night?

(It’s been a long 15 year argument)

As usual, he “won.” Even though by “winning” it meant that no one else was talking to him. I might not even have said good night to him.

Take that!

Road Warriors 2010 Day Six

admin — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 13:45:18 +0000

Day 6

8/3/2010

Didn’t get outta Dry Gulch until about 10:30 or 11 am. I hoofed it up to the hill to the flush (!) toilets to straighten my bangs (yes, I confess: I snuck the hair straightener along in my duffle bag) from the after-affects of sleeping with a pillow over my head with wet hair from last night.

Once on the road, we were shocked to realize we were only 2 kilometers from Radium Hot Springs and hence only 25 – 30 minutes from Marble Canyon Campground that we planned to stay at in Kootenay National Park [Editor's note: in case you are confused, we consider the trio of parks to all be Banff: Kootenay, Yoho and Banff].

Oh well.

After a brief stop at the Radium Hot Springs Visitor Centre — where it must be noted that Canadians may, in fact, be fatter on average than Americans — we were finally in the park!! Kootenay, not Banff, but it’s all the same to us.

Dave was “willing to bet his life” that he and I stayed in Kootenay at Marble Canyon in …1987? –when we came out here and camped while we were dating. I say it was Yoho. We got to Marble Canyon and it is confirmed: he is wrong. I can’t say for sure that I am right (but let’s assume I am for simplicity’s sake), but we know we didn’t stay here, as neither of us remembers it at all. What I do remember for sure was that we almost broke up on that trip. –Which made for a long and mostly silent 23 hour drive home. Let’s hope we fare better this year…

We drove around every single loop of the campground, beginning with A and ending with J. Ten loops. We even drove through a couple of them two and three times to narrow down the choice. We settled on D6. We love it. Which is good because we will be spending a record three nights here! The only downside is the sound of the main road, which we suspect will be a factor in every campground in Kootenay.

We set up and I aired the stinky camper out (it smelled like feet) and hung the bags and towels and other various damp items out to dry. We had sammies for the first time the whole trip (liverwurst for me! I know! That’s so gross!), then packed up to go (finally!) on a hike to Stanley Glacier. [Editor's Note: exclamation points = excitement]

The route gains 1200 feet over 2.6 miles one way. At end of the designated trail, we parted ways with Dave and Charlie going up toward the glacier and Morgan and I climbing up to the base of the falls. The reluctant hiker wasn’t too happy on the way up, but perked up at the site of her favorite camping animal, the pica!

The trail was amazingly diverse because it starts off right off the road and takes you through the most recent burn area from 2006 when fire consumed 12% of the entire park. We were camping in Wyoming with the kids that year and remember the devastating fires out this direction.

Then, it goes over a very pretty and amazingly clear stream…

Then comes out into forests undamaged by the fire, what they call the “hanging valley,” though, for the life of me, I have no idea what that means… By the way, ignore Morgan in these photos, she tries to ruin every picture with her “hiking face” trying to communicate through images what we refuse to acknowledge in her words. Namely, that she “hates to hike.”

And came out here, where you can see the glacier peaking out over the top of the the cliff with that amazing waterfall underneath

Then, we parted ways, me trying to jolly Morgan out of her hiking funk by separating her from her overly enthusiastic brother, and Dave satisfying Charlie’s insatiable need to keep going and going and going…

No one can ever say that I’m not a fun mom.

I’m a fun mom.

We probably added another 500 feet and mile to the hike, so…

I FINALLY feel like earned my dinner! Pork chop foil packets with garden potatoes and peppers, onions and kohlrabi from Michelle’s garden (thanks michelle! you should try it grilled!) A hit!

And Morgan was fired up to grill her onions directly over the fire:

We added water to our solar shower, but I’m not very optimistic since we really aren’t in the blazing sun anymore. We might have to hit the Banff Hot Springs for a shower. Oddly, Dave has not been pushing the “I-heated-up-some-water-for-you-to-shower-Jennie” thing and I have to wonder if he has finally given up on me.

Lots of marshmallows were consumed this night. I credit the fact that there were no mosquitos to chase us inside. A rail from the fixed grate over the fire pit had come off and Charlie spent the evening “forging iron” eventually bending it to use a fire poiker.

We even stayed outside until it got dark outside.

The Best Banana Bread

admin — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 19:00:22 +0000

A quick break from Road Warriors to bring you this timely post:

The Best Banana Bread, otherwise known to me this week as: Hot and Humid Banana Bread.

Because if you are anywhere like Minnesota this August, you, too, have bananas rotting on your countertop.

I am going to share my favorite banana bread recipe, since I have tried many, many, many recipes. Because banana bread is an intensely personal experience, I will tell you what I want out of my banana bread in order of importance:

Moistness
Lightness (as in not heavy)
Sweetness (must be sweet, but not too sweet. Also must not taste like “health food”)

Just so we are clear.

So, if you are looking for whole wheat, hockey puck banana bread, where the butter had been replaced with applesauce, and the all-purpose subbed out for flax seed meal, click the back arrow on your browser now.

This is also not overly fatty banana bread.

But it is also not low fat.

It is happy banana bread.

I share it with you now.

It is from one of my all-time favorite cookbooks: Cook’s Illustrated The Best Recipe. (note the messy stains on the paper.)

I omit the walnuts, but you can do whatever you want.

Here are some Jennie-ism’s:

Because I never sift my flour, but also because I feel like a should sift my flour, I have devised a little shortcut. I whisk my flour in the container it is stored, and then I use the whisk to fill the measuring cup, then level it with a knife. Then I just bang the whisk on my leg, wipe it with my hand and put it away.
I am *ahem* known to often be missing key ingredients when embarking on a recipe. In today’s recipe, I was lacking plain yogurt. However, I did have vanilla yogurt. I just used the vanilla and cut the vanilla extract down to 3/4 teaspoon. I also cut the sugar by about 3 tablespoons.
When I don’t have yogurt, I sub buttermilk
And since I rarely have buttermilk, I often use the somewhat tried and true sub of adding 1 tablespoon white vinegar to a cup of milk and letting it sit about 10 minutes. Either of which works fine with this recipe. I know, because I have done it. …several times.
I never grease and then flour a pan. I either just use cooking spray and cross my fingers, or I use this can of… I’ve got to go see what the name of it is… Baker’s Joy. It is cooking spray with flour in it. But to be honest, I don’t really notice that big of difference.

Cook’s Illustrated Banana Bread

2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cups sugar (can be reduced to 1/2 and still taste fine if you are in to that sort of thing)
3/4 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
3 very ripe bananas
1/4 plain yogurt (or vanilla yogurt or buttermilk)
2 large eggs
6 T butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 t vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350. Grease a 9 x 5 loaf pan.

Whisk the flour, sugar, baking soda and salt together in a medium bowl.

In a large mixing bowl, mash the bananas well with a fork, then mix in yogurt, eggs, butter and vanilla and mix well with fork.

Switch to a rubber spatula and gently fold dry ingredients into banana mixuture until just combined.

Batter will be think and slightly chunky.

Pour/scrape batter into pan and bake approximately 55 minutes until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Don’t overcook! And also be aware that sometimes — just sometimes — there will be a pocket of banana in the batter that will always come out on the toothpick, so be sure to poke around in other areas.

Cool in pan 5 minutes, then remove bread to a wire rack.

Road Warriors 2010 Day 5

admin — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 13:45:12 +0000

Day Five

8/2/2010

No Signature Toast this morning. Charlie slept later than everyone. Another FIRST for 2010. Dave made bacon. Not bacon and eggs. Just bacon. I had granola and this new brand of greek yogurt I got at Cub Foods. It was so disgusting looking that I could barely eat it. It looked exactly like gloppy tofu. And I LIKE tofu! Pretty sour too…

Oh, who really CARES about my stupid yogurt?!

Our campsite was pretty humorous, since we were almost sitting on the road in our chairs, due to the fire pit placement. We felt like that sad-but-happy couple from the Montana campsite mentioned earlier in the trip. The place was packed, too, though we overlooked the indignity since we liked all the dogs.

Interesting (and freakish) is that speed boats can go on this river. And they do: roaring up and down on a fairly regular basis. It’s so weird! You look at the river, with all the swirls in the the current and the shoreline and you just don’t think it can be possible because it looks so shallow!

We were on the road at 10 am. We headed back in to Thompson Falls to pick up a prescription for Charlie’s new affliction: swimmer’s ear. (Not a first, btw). I was so thankful that we were staying in a place close enough to a town with a pharmacy AND that I actually had a cell signal to call Curt Whisler and Catalyst Clinic in Watertown. Thanks guys!

While I milled around the drug store waiting for the ear drops (what in HEAVEN’S NAME takes so long at pharmacies?), I managed to spend another $30 on: magazines, lip balm, and three different products for Morgan’s toxic feet. (I think I just answered my own question.)

Dave drove north on Hwy 200 about 30 minutes before we blew another car tire.

Simply inexplicable.

And, we had forgotten to buy more of the magical Fix-A-Flat. (Not inexplicable.)

We did a 180 and headed back to the town of Clark Fork to a Chevron Station where they said they could work us in in about an hour. We ambled off to do errands (like buy more Fix-A-Flat). We went to a feed store and met a cross-eyed cat (I swear it is true) and went across the street to dine at Mom’s Cafe.

The cafe garnered mixed reviews from the tough crowd. I thought it was fine, but Dave didn’t like his “baby burger,” declaring it, “cooked to annihilation and barely edible.” Such an elitist. Maybe he should stop ordering kid’s meals.

The car was ready just as we arrived, so the timing was perfect. And the cost? $10.

We’ll take it.

How is that even possible, $10?

In the car again at 3:30 and Dave is saying we won’t make Banff by nightfall. I say he’s wrong. It’s Canada or bust.

We drove by Lake Pend Oreille in Idaho and it was AH-MAZING. Insanely beautiful. We had no idea. And it’s a REAL LAKE and not a reservoir! It’s over 1000 feet deep. Truly beautiful. Now we are thinking the lakeside campgrounds in Coeur d’Alene Idaho might not have been as lame as we thought, if it is anything like this lake.

I bet you would assume I would post a picture or two here, right?

Nope. It’s CANADA OR BUST, remember?

**** R E C A L C U L A T I N G ****

One hour delay at the Canadian border customs station…

**** R E C A L C U L A T I N G ****

Yah, so it was a total delay of about 3 hours when you added the tire and customs together, so it’s true. We didn’t make it to Banff.

It was a seriously sad car full O’Menkes. [editors note: do I even need to say anything about "car full O'Menke's? I don't think I was even drinking.] Honestly, we are better Road Warriors than this journal portrays. Four days from Wyoming to Banff?

Unacceptable.

Making matters more precarious was the fact that our trusty Rand McNally Road Atlas seemed to give up its accuracy after crossing the border. Either that, or these Canadian’s are messing with us by moving major landmarks around. We missed the two campgrounds we planned to stay at about an hour south of Banff. Of course, I am too cheap to have the data roaming turned on for my iPhone so I can’t consult my maps there, and everyone knows how bad Blackberries suck(Dave’s phone). We did have a GPS with maps of Canada along that we had given to Dave for Father’s Day, but Dave absolutely loathes it. And since I was driving, I couldn’t consult it myself. –Oh believe me, I tried, but I have to concur that the GPS is a frustrating little device when you are used to the touch screen on an iphone.

After some (very) terse words. (I mean, for LORD’S sake, just turn the damn thing on and look at it! Maybe we’ll be able to find the fricken’ CAMPGROUND). I finally fumbled around with it myself enough to seriously freak him out and make him look at it and lo and behold it took us right to the last provincial park on the map before Radium Hot Springs and the entrance to Kootenai.

The only problem was that the last provincial park on the map did not have any camping. It was a picnic grounds.

Excited eruptions from the back seat immediately followed (I forgot they were even back there) along the lines of “Yea! We get to stay in a hotel!” You’d think they’d know us better than that by now.

The plan now was to cross our fingers and bomb it for Banff and take the first site we could get. However, along the way, crazily enough and like a mirage, Dry Gulch Provincial Park Campground appeared unexpectedly out of nowhere about 5 miles later and we snagged one of the last sites. It wasn’t pretty, but we weren’t complaining.

We set up and had the most anticipated meal of the trip for everyone except for me: Spaghetti.

I made the “seasoned toast” and pretty much ruined it. I added way too much Lawry’s. It’s true.

I’m damned near perfect, but I’m honest, too. And I screwed up. Which makes me realize I didn’t document my worst camping screw up in years: I forgot to stow the pop-up crank handle when we left the last campsite. I left it attached to the outside of the camper as we drove away. Luckily it was discovered in Thompson Falls while I was in the pharmacy spending Dave’s hard-earned money.

OH THE SHAME! The potential DISASTER! I hang my head. What more can I do but confess it here.

…and move on, pretending it never happened at all.

So the spaghetti was fabie. I still brought too much, though. My notes said to bring exactly “4 cups of sauce.” But as usual, it just didn’t seem like enough! The kids are bigger! Hell, I’m bigger! And how much did we eat?

Four cups.

We had to throw the other cup and a half away. It pained Dave greatly. But there are to be no leftovers while camping. It was a lot harder for me to throw the extra green curry from last night.

Mosquitos were a significant factor again, which we just don’t understand, never having run into it before.

Tucked in and lights out by dark. Lightning in the distance.

…that brewed into a full blown thunderstorm an hour later. It poured! I had to crawl over Dave to zipper-shut the screens on the kid’s side. He did give me a loving pat on the butt as I straddled the gap. And I wonder what would happen if I hadn’t gotten up. Would the kids wake up and shut them? Would Dave? I just don’t think so. I crawled back over him and back into my sleeping bag, stewing about the rain and how it complicates the packing of the camper in the morning and then…

I REMEMBERED ALL THE SHOES OUTSIDE THE DOOR!

I grabbed a flashlight and crawled back over Dave to try to fish them into the camper without actually having to go outside in the downpour and getting all wet. I rescued the shoes, but I also had a pretty wet head.

And then I crawled back over Dave and into bed and stewed some more, trying to just enjoy the rain. Eventually it stopped and I slept like the dead knowing the shoes were dry and that we were close to our destination.

Road Warriors 2010 Day Four

admin — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 20:31:03 +0000

Dear Bennett,

While you ridicule my blogging efforts all 11 other months, you are — as you said, yourself — “seriously for some reason fascinated by and want to hear more” and are impatient for the next post, saying, “and the fact that I have been reading for 4 days now and you are not yet to august is pissing me off!” I must take issue with your impatience for a few reasons:

I have a life other than this blog and don’t have time to write more than 3 or 4 times a week.
And, if I may remind you, for every other post I have written you have said something like “What is the point?” or “Who wants to read about Meatless Mondays?” and “Why are you doing this?” etc., etc.
In my opinion, the desire to read about our Road Trip, makes you even a bigger loser than me for even writing about it in the first place.

Thanks for your patience, everyone other than Bennett. But I’m sure you understand the need to skewer my brother publicly at every chance possible. We may be nearing our 50′s, but I never fail to delight in the sibling bickering with my brother that I despise so much when witnessed in my own kids.

Day 4

8/1/2010

Charlie’s Signature Toast for breakfast (have I really emphasized how good this is? Please, don’t buy one of those “camping toasters”, borrow my son and his marshmallow fork instead) and a quick camp pack-up, made much more difficult by all the dew. It got down to 42 degrees last night and that makes for lots O’dew, after all. [editor's note: I cringe at writing "lot's O'dew", but that's what it says in this-here journal and integrity prevents me from edits.]

We were on the road by 9 am though, and that’s pretty good. The kids seem more predisposed to actually helping put-up and take-down camp this year — a big change from just being in charge of the chairs. I remind you, these “kids” are 13 and 15, not 3 and 5, like you might imagine at reading that, prior to this year, they were only in charge of the chairs. I’m thinking that if I play my cards right, I might be sipping a cold beer shortly after pulling into a site by the end of this trip! [editor's note: Not.]

We drove out of Beaverhead Deerlodge National Forest and through the Pioneer Mountains. Really, really badly damaged from the Mountain Pine Beetle. Very sad.

We drove east to I-90 and hopped on the highway headed north, stopping in Missoula for lunch at the kids’ now favorite hamburger joint, Five Guys. (Dave and I quickly decided not to tell them there is a Five Guys in Edina, or they will be nagging us relentlessly to go there every time we are within a 20-mile radius of the cities).

We got back on the road with me (Jennie) driving — which reminds me — we finally determined, after much pain and suffering, that the Virgin Mobile MiFi does NOT roam on the Sprint data network, contrary to the information given to me by that boneheaded BestBuy saleswoman. ARRrrrggh. Very simply: NO coverage west of Minnesota, AT ALL (until SPOKANE). Extremely disappointing, but then again, also kind of nice to have a really good reason for not answering all those pesky emails. I guess I’ll have to decide if I will keep it when we get home.

Anyway, it was still up in the air as to where we were headed: Coeur d’Alene or stay on the Montana side in the national forests to camp. Coeur d’Alene was inviting, but campground descriptions pulled up on my iphone sounded pretty lame to Dave who was doing all the research riding shotgun (and cussing and fumbling and freaking out about “where did it go?! I didn’t touch any buttons! I swear! I hate this phone!” and so on — and on and on…). I had pulled up website listings while in Missoula, where I had a strong 3G signal, and pasted them into Notes and emailed them to myself for Dave to study on the road where I knew I would not have a strong 3G signal — which he did for about 3 straight hours.

At the very last minute (and when I say that, I mean, slam your brakes on, cut off the guy in the right hand lane, and shoot across the solid white line), he had me exit Hwy 90 in Henderson to take a road marked on the big road atlas that would bring us north in a fairly straight line to Thompson Falls, Montana where the camping sounded better. We’d be lying if we didn’t admit that when it comes right down to it, we have a prejudice against Idaho campers and campgrounds from previous experiences — that being the general belief they come in pre-formed packs of 20, each with their own ATV, pack of cigarettes and case of beer. Oh, and one loud boom box per set of campers.

The plan was all well and good, except for the fact that the road on the map did not reflect the actual road on the ground. Again, no exaggeration here, which I really do need to say, given my natural flair for the conversational dramatic. This was the most fun road I have ever had the pleasure of driving on. It reminded me of the rollercoaster called ‘The Mouse’ where there were little stomach-loosing dips and the nose of your car would go off the edge of the rails before you made your turn. The road was: twisty, turny, dippy, and very pretty. Up one side and down the other of a mountain. The fastest I went was 25 MPH and that felt like we were flying. I can’t say that we weren’t nervous, driving over long stretches of large, sharp chunks of rock that passes as gravel though, not particularly wanting to blow another car tire…

I also can’t say that it was fun for the passengers. Perhaps more telling than my description of the road is the fact that I managed to make both kids sick in the backseat — a FIRST for the Menkes! No puking, but much spit production and groaning and Advil consumption.

And NO FLATS!

A true success, all the way around.

We emerged out of the dark forest (much greener and healthier than those at the start of the day, by the way) right into the town of Thompson Falls, Montana. We stopped for gas at a station with a disturbing mural on its bathroom doors where the heads of these people are painted on the glass, so that when you are inside the bathroom, their faces are staring at you:

and twist ice cream cones (a shocking indulgence Ok’d by the Granola) and proceeded to stay at the first campground we came to — another shocking event. Not just for the decisiveness of it, but for the fact that it was a State Park which is not usually our cup of tea. This park had one strong and undeniable attraction for us on this particular day: the large and inviting Clark Fork river.

No, not because it was hot and we wanted to swim, but because it was day 4 with no shower. Well, I did wash my armpits in the sink of a gas station early the day before, but that doesn’t count.

We set up and headed to the river. Spoiled from our warm pool at home, the river was colder than we wanted it to be, but warmer than we expected it to be. Well worth it for a clean head of hair that doesn’t ache from my ponytail anymore.

We enjoyed the first vodka tonics of the trip and ate — always my favorite — Thai Green Coconut Curry with chicken and all kinds of good stuff I brought with from the garden.

Dave caught a small mouth baby bass after dinner

and I — thank the Lord — finally had a reason to visit the outhouse.

As the sun set and darkness approached, we observed and made up stories for all our neighbors (always close quarters in state parks) that trolled in and set up late in the day, making us feel like we had been transplanted into a sort of campground suburbia. There were several dogs that made Morgan and Charlie happy. And there was a family that included four small boys under the age of 8, that made me happy not to be the mom in that camp…

Another night early enough to not require the lantern put us in the camper around 10pm — a new 2010 record!

Road Warriors 2010 Day 3

admin — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 13:45:41 +0000

Day 3

7/31/2010

Eggs and leftover brats for breakfast. Mmmm! (And Charlie’s signature toast, of course, kicked up a notch this year when made with my homemade steel-cut oatmeal bread which I simply must post online soon. It’s sooo easy.)

We didn’t see Morgan emerge from the camper until about 9 (or 10? Who knows! We still don’t know the time.), when she finished her book.

We broke camp and headed into the Heart of the Beast (Jackson Hole), stopping at the Gross Ventre (pronounced grow•VANT) Slide area. The slide was where a whole top section of a mountain broke off in 1925 and created a natural dam 200 feet high and 120 feet wide resulting in a big mountain lake, it demolished ranches; it was huge. Then the damn gave way two years later in 1927 and demolished the town of Kelly a few miles away with a 50 foot high wall of water, killing several people. That’s your history lesson for the day. It was one of the largest — if not the largest — movements of earth in the last 100 years.

Shortly after driving away, I’m not sure if we actually said the words out loud at this moment, or if I am only remembering it that way, but I’m pretty sure we both mumbled, “Can you believe we have to go back into Jackson Hole to fix the Suburban tire,” when fate dealt us another blow. Just off the gravel road among plenty of traffic, we blew a camper tire.

I know it’s not that big a deal — I even timed Dave while we changed it — but really? ANOTHER TIRE IN JACKSON? Didn’t I just say how good Dave is getting at changing tires? (It took 18 minutes, by the way.)

Morgan could barely contain her glee! Her favorite shopping town!

The only problem with her plans for retailing was the 1.5 mile walk to town from Big O Tires (who, in Heaven’s name came up with that name? Big O?) She might have even given up if not for my falsetto voice and fake enthusiasm, which I conjure up for her benefit as often as possible. If I can’t be that perfect mom who actually acts that way, can’t I at least mimic her to torture my 15 year old daughter?

On the walk, we bought gloves (for changing more tires), bug spray (duh), Chapstick (only not really that brand), and… Bear Spray!

I’m conflicted by the bear spray purchase for several reasons. I was traumatized by a Bear-Bell-Insistent-Mother who feared a grizzly attack more than just about anything. Oddly, she let us skate on thin river ice, play outside during thunderstorms and photograph many “action shots” while dangling off cliffs. In my estimation, we were much more likely to die in one of those scenarios than to be tossed around in the jaws of a grizzly in Glacier National Park. And even if we did encounter a bear on a hike, did she really think those embarrassing bear bells would save us?

So I was bit sheepish unveiling my $40 bear spray purchase to Dave. Cuz, you know, I aren’t afraid on no bears!

But really? It was hard to ignore the headlines screaming at us from every pitstop on our drive so far: two major bear attacks in two weeks, not all that far away from where we’d be camping, one resulting in death. It got me thinking one night, on the outside wing of the pop-up. And why I’m on the outside wing — the first to die for sure — instead of Dave, I have no idea. Actually, to be fair, I do know why it came to be that way: Dave gets up earlier than me and doesn’t like to crawl over me in the morning. Still. Isn’t a man supposed to protect his woman? (He’d tell you that he IS protecting his woman: he’s closer to the door.) You’ll note that Morgan has stationed Charlie on the outside wing, too. And I’m sure she’d say she’s protecting her little brother. And we’d all know she’d be lying, so why would anyone believe Dave for saying the same thing?

ANYWAY…

I was laying in bed all snuggly in my sleeping bag wondering, So what WOULD I do if a bear (or an ax murderer, for that matter) started tearing through the canvas (I know, it sounds insane. I’m becoming my mom…), and I realized we have not one thing to defend ourselves. Charlie’s pocket knife? That assumes we could actually find Charlie’s pocket knife…

Plus we hike a lot on quiet trails. We should have bear spray! It’s a responsible thing to have. And, if I can someday save Dave’s life with it (and I will find a way if I can) then it will all be worth it.

The tire(s) repair took quite a bit of time. Then Dave — of all people — insisted on driving into the square of town of Jackson, so that he could buy cigars. Cigars! Charlie was practically crying, since he now considers his dad to be a “smoker.” He hasn’t smoked cigars in years, but picked the indulgence back up on a recent Prairie Dog Hunting Trip.

Yes, you read that right: Prairie Dog Hunting.

That is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even know where to begin. I love prairie dogs. I have nothing more to say on that subject.

We ran over to buy t-shirts at the store we bought them at three years ago. I contemplated buying a really loud shirt and changing the type to say ‘Jackson Hell’ but no one thought it was funny except me and $20 seemed like a lot to spend on a joke I’d never actually wear.

The kids had their eyes on The Merry Piglet for lunch, but no, I had something better stowed away in the cooler: BUTTERMILK FRIED CHICKEN! It was messy, but very good.

Then it was on to the interstate for about five more hours. Destination not Coeur d’Alene, Idaho as hoped, but Elkhorn Springs, Montana, into the Beaverhead Deerlodge National Forest. At about 6:30 pm it was spitting rain with the temperatures fluctuating from 85 down to 65 and back again several times depending on whether it was raining or not. We hit one campground and weren’t impressed. I wish I had a picture of the couple siting on the right on thge edge of the road in their chairs a few feet in front of their behemoth trailer facing us as we drove by. We have no idea what their vista was or what they were smiling at, but they were truly a sight — and the main reason we kept driving.

Another reason we kept going was that we wanted to drive through Polaris, Montana. We planned to take a picture and send it to my brother (who works for Polaris Industries), but sadly, Polaris, population unknown, did not have a sign.

It was getting late, so we only perused two more campgrounds before settling on Grasshopper. It was very pretty with wild Lupines and Indian Paintbrush all around the sites.

The plan was to have the ribeye steaks over an open campfire (new for 2010!), but it started to rain, and the collective psyche evolved in unison to desire spaghetti — our ‘RAIN MEAL’.

But then, it cleared up and the sun came out again and it was back to steaks. Everyone was excited, except of course for Morgan, who tends to pout a bit until you can give her a reason to smile — like Manchego cheese with fig jam! [Problem solved.] Plus, the steaks were a big hit.

We were very thankful for the bug spray purchase in Jackson as the mosquitos fairly engulphed us. I like to think we are the toughest of the tough in the mosquito department, coming from Minnesota, but I was thrown for a loop. These were the worst I’ve ever encountered — including my own garden in June. Which is hard to admit because it gives me less to complain about.

We coated ourselves in 100% Deet …and promptly all had massive seizures.

Kidding. But seriously 100% Deet? Is that even legal? Seems a bit heavy-handed.

The mosquitos stopped biting for sure, but the spray did nothing to alleviate the mental anguish of having 20 mosquitos hovering right in front of your face. I’m really not exaggerating. They won the battle and drove us to an early slumber. (After a cigar stroll around the campground loop to gawk at all the RV’s).

Road Warriors 2010 d2

admin — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 19:53:12 +0000

Day 2

7/30/2010

We made driving it through the night with only a one hour ‘shut-eye’ stop by Dave. [My journal does not mention the morning hours of 7/30. I have no recollection and am unable to fill in the blanks. I can only assume we ate something at some point and that one of us was driving the car. Obviously nothing else of import happened]

We arrived at Monchamp’s Killdeer Ranch in Riverton, Wyoming (where Charlie was staying) around 11am. We totally surprised them, as it turns out, since the cell phone number I was texting was not Julie’s (the mom), as I had presumed, but Monte’s (the son). And it had been out of batteries for days.

When they expressed surprise upon our arrival, my Dave said “Oh, we should have called, I just remembered I had both your phone numbers.” –I about clobbered him. I had absolutely no idea that he had their numbers. I suppose I should take a more active mom-type roll? If it’s any consolation, I think they’ve come to expect a certain ‘hand’s off’ mentality from us and don’t seem to mind. Or maybe they just think we are disorganized parents… which I guess we sort of are. At least I am. Dave would probably take issue with that…

We visited for about a half hour. I’m just kicking myself for not getting a picture. I’ve completely dropped the ball so far on any pictures at all — even my annual “leaving the driveway” shot.

We left for Dubois — pronounced not Doo•BOY like you’d assume, but DOO•boys. Hicks. It’s just like when the locals in Colorado say Buena Vista as B•YOU•na Vista instead of BWAY•na.

We were headed for The Cowboy Cafe, since Charlie had proclaimed it “probably one of the best restaurants I’ve ever eaten at in my ENTIRE life. Seriously, Mom.” So we ate there. It was good, but I’d have to disagree with that level of praise.

We popped into a few shops, then headed out of town on 26/287 over Tota-something pass into Jackson Valley. We are not superstitious people, but Jackson and the Menke’s… well, the relationship has not been good.

It was later than we planned, but what’s new? Much road construction is partly to blame, as is the unexpected time spent at the very crowded Cowboy Cafe.

Given the time and our extreme drive-through-the-night fatigue, we discussed staying on the Jackson side for the night, rather than going over Teton pass into Driggs/Targhee as planned. It should have been an easy decision, but given our deep-seated resentment for Jackson, ever since having to buy a new car 3 years earlier during the Road Trip from Hell, we prefer not to tempt fate and drive through as quickly as possible.

But as I mentioned earlier, we are NOT superstitious. We even considered heading back to Curtis Canyon Campground (and our favorite site overlooking the tetons) that we have stayed in on two previous trips — the actual scene of the crime where our previous Suburban was towed away forever! But that seemed silly, since we were so tired and would be passing at least three other campgrounds on the way.

I was driving like a little old lady on the rough gravel road leading to the campgrounds we were going to check out thinking, “There’s no rush, why chance a blown tire…” since the rock on the roads in WY seems particularly unkind to our wimpy Minnesota-grade tires. I was just tooling along, when…

CHECK TIRE PRESSURE

Said the in-dash display. So I pressed the button and watched as the Front Left Tire Pressure decreased: 28…25…21…18…16…15

Dave and I hopped out of the car. I was running around saying “Where’s that Fix-A-Flat stuff? DAVE! WHERE IS IT?!” All he could do is stand there and say “Damn. Jackson Hole. Can you believe it?”

I talked him into trying the Fix-A-Flat stuff (I mean, why not try it?!) because at least we could maybe make it to the campground before dark and set up camp and get dinner started while he changed the tire at his leisure. He was very skeptical. I was a LUNATIC about it because — for GOD SAKE — the tire was deflating before our very eyes!

He got it out and squirted it in and…

it worked.

It was at 12 psi and went up to 13 psi while we drove. Like MAGIC.

And I can’t help but say it: I am a true hero. Lord knows nobody else is going to recognize it.

In true Road Warrior fashion, we proceded to go, not to the first, not to the second, but the third campground along the rough road with an almost-flat tire. Because that’s how we roll. (get it?)

But we made it and Dave changed the tire like a champ. But then, he’s had a lot of practice, hasn’t he? [still no pictures!]

I’m lobbying to let some air out of ALL of the tires, including the camper tires, with the idea that less pressure is better for these roads, but I’m not making too much progress on that front.

We had brats from the Minneapolis Farmer’s Market: Philly Cheese Steak and Buffalo Blue Cheese flavors. I forgot to plan a side dish for the brats — at least I think I forgot to plan a side dish… Anyway, we we had two packets of the Boil-In-A-Bag rice that Morgan obsesses over (why, I have no idea), along with an amazing Tomato, Mozarella, Avocado salad.

Morgan started her book and we lost communication with her for the night.

There was literally no wood to be found — not even a twig — for a fire. We used some charcoal for the brats.

Hence, there was no fire to sit around. It wasn’t cold, but a fire might have helped keep the mosquitos at bay. It is embarrassing to admit that BUGSPRAY was not only missing from the camping box, but it was also missing from the master camping list. I don’t even know how that is possible.

It didn’t matter too much to me. I’d been moving at about 1/4 my normal speed and efficiency since arriving at the site and had taken on the Renee Zellwiger squinty-eye look from fatigue. I don’t know if we actually went to bed at 8pm or at 9pm, being that no clocks have been changed to reflect the local time and no one has cell service to check. I thought it was 8, but Morgan thought it was 9.

Either way, it was inarguably lame.

And undeniably awesome.

We love our little pop-up.