Re-entry

After a long and exhausting search, days of exhausting trials, thousands of needless calories, and the extra pounds to prove it, it appears that, much like the Obama campaign, the cookie we all expected to win did, indeed, win. The lemon cooler from Southern Sisters Bakery in Charleston, South Carolina. Daddy loves, loves, loves a good homemade chocolate chip cookie, and if he had to choose one cookie to take with him to a desert island and were given no other cookie options for the rest of his life, he'd take the homemade chocolate chip. However, for originality, overall taste, delightful texture, and general lovieness, the lemon cooler takes it. There you have it, and can leave this world peacefully, knowing that a clear winner has emerged. Until the next search begins, which should be, oh, right about now.

We are home, and we're not quite sure how to feel about it. The RV is in the driveway. We're slowly unpacking her, and it feels like we're sneaking her things out from under her nose while she's not looking. Soon she'll again be empty, all of her chicks having moved out of her little nest into a much bigger one. Poor dear.

The kids have had their screaming, frenzied reunions with their beloved friends, and we've already been over to mooch dinner off of our dear friends the Andersons. We brought Bailey a pink cowboy hat, Brady an arrow, and Cody a tomahawk. So we expect the indian wars to begin anytime. We are very, very grateful to Steve, Karen, and the kids for watching over the house, mowing the lawn, overseeing the life and death of Scott's hamster. I'm sure they called in hospice and were there with him as he passed, leaning in close to hear his dying whisper..."there...iss...another....Sky...walk....errrrr......" Even our pets are overly dramatic in this family. Steve Anderson now has one of those massage chairs, and after four months sleeping on the kitchen table, Daddy may be showing up at his house for a beer and a casual chat on a surprisingly regular basis. Say, 8pm Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays?

Well, today was pretty much an unpack and unravel day. Kay's friend Kami was over and the boys played with the Andersons. We seem to be having a somewhat rocky landing back home, because there's been plenty of bickering, scolding, and moodiness to go around. Daddy is a believer that people are calmest and often happiest when they are at peace with the amount of control they have over their circumstances. His theory is that each of us is having to re-integrate into a world where we are no longer masters of our own time and surroundings, and that the re-introduction of our many obligations is causing distress. The good news is that all of us can learn to live with the many small things we cannot control, provided we are doing the things we can to shape the larger direction. For example, Mommy and Daddy never want to look back on our time with our children and wish that we had done more with them or had had more adventures with them. We may not be able to control what happens from moment to moment, but we can point the ship in a general direction. For us, that means showing our kids what their country means, who Americans are, and that Andrew is capable of injuring himself in a totally new and unique way in each and every state of the union.

Since Daddy last blogged, we have had a thoroughly enjoyable Thanksgiving at Aunt Annie's (Mommy's sister) and Uncle Ryan's house in Kalama, Washington. The kids played nonstop with Cousin Maggie, Cousin Ren, and Baby Cousin Sammy. The Methner kids, as usual, broke lots of stuff and were very loud. Uncharacteristically, no Methners threw up or lost bladder function inside their home, not even Daddy. At one point, all four Methners were lining up the baby scooter and rolling toys and riding them at around 20 MPH into down the steep driveway and into the garage. When Daddy insisted on helmets and a halt to at least the kamikaze garage-diving, all the fun was apparently taken away. The huffed off to complain to each other about what fun-killer he is.

We filled up for the last time on the trip in Kelso, Washington, and paid $1.89 per gallon. Man, what a difference from the $4 per gallon we were paying when we left.

Oops; computer is shutting down; will post this and come back later to finish up and put on some pics...

Baker City, Oregon

Cookie today: a spoonful of peanut butter dipped in chocolate chips. Daddy shouldn't even admit this, but there it is. It's Daddy's guilty pleasure, and is also the reason we're constantly out of chocolate chips at home.


Five days until we land. Let's see; renewed license plates online? Check. Property taxes paid online? Check. Planning to sleep in the RV in the driveway for one night before turning around and heading for Cabo? Check. Mommy and Scott are convinced that we can stay on the road if we go to live in Mexico. We can make our living selling polariods to tourists. With his beard, Daddy looks a lot like a white Pancho Villa, so this may just work out. Mommy called Grandpa on the CB as we made our last turn to the west today, telling him of her intention to rebel and head south. Grandpa replied that Grandma feels the same and is refusing to go home. To be exact, "Grandma's got her hands around my neck right now." He managed to live through the turn.


Ever seen jugs of pee discarded at a scenic overlook? As of today, we have. This is not something you can explain away when your kids see it. Um, it's old cider...no...it flew off the back of a lemonade truck...no...it's an outdoor science lab for NASA to see how pee in a milk jug behaves in a harsh lunar environment...no...it's God's landfill...oh, man.... Kay joked about the jugs of pee (apparently pee-jug tossing is a competitive sport among truckers, like curling is for the Canadians), saying that at least there weren't any bags of number...uh oh. We stand corrected. Daddy's advice to tourists: get current on your shots if you plan to stop at any mountain vistas where there are bushes. The outlook in question is the Owyhee Country Mountains in eastern Oregon. It's a very scenic and beautiful area, but all the fluids at Daddy's feet when he took this picture kinda chipped away from the magic. Onward.


For our little caravan, today was a long road day. We don't hold a candle to the Littles, who were able to hammer out some 450-milers, but today we drove 335 miles from Winnemucca, Nevada to Baker City, Oregon. We decided to take the sissy route, veering east on US 95 toward I-84 just inside the Idaho/Oregon border, then back up into Oregon and on to Baker City. Our original route was to be on skinny little roads through the higher elevations of central Oregon. However, with our recent string of small gremlins, we figured that while a stainless steel bus hurtling off a 1000-foot cliff, closely followed by a smudgy little rolling housing project, would be spectacular on the news, we need to get home alive so we can take Scott's gerbil off of Mrs. Anderson's hands. Oops, just checked the posted comments. Take gerbil back: scratch that. Mrs. Anderson informs us that the gerbil has gone to live with the Gerbil Jesus. HALLELUJAH!! Ding, dong, the gerbil's dead! Not that we wished for it to go, but it's been sickly and hanging on for far longer than a gerbil should, and the cage is a huge thing to move. Man, we're going to hell for this.


Daddy really enjoyed parts of the drive today, because there were signs of winter and lots of frost-tipped trees and grasses along the way. We drove through areas of freezing fog, which itself wasn't too great, but which painted the landscape in glittering white and made it feel holiday-ish. So now we're here in Baker City, where there is a big Oregon Trail influence. We plan to go see the interpretive center in the morning before striking out for Portland. This might be the last field-trippy thing our little goobers get to do on our adventure. Melancholy.


A bit of very good news; our electrical problems were solved on the cheap this evening. Daddy bought $14 worth of battery cleaning items yesterday, and with about 45 minutes of corrosion chipping, terminal tightening, and cable-cleaning, we found that the problem causing the whole cabin to shut off was a simple case of crud on the wires. We're back in business and ready to camp in the boondocks one final time tomorrow night.


Never argue with your wife about the pronounciation of the word "Porsche" when she has the iPhone and can prove you wrong. Also, never, never admit she's right, even when, in her words, "Your pronounciation is a mock-able offense among Porsche people, bozo." For the record, it's not 'PORSHHH,' nor is it 'Porsh-UUHH.' It's 'Porsch-uh,' wherein the 'uh' is very short, clipped, and about half-said. Daddy tried weakly to argue that the 'uh' was basically silent and mostly implied, but Mommy saw her advantage, especially after a confirmation call to Mr. Jack, who owns a Porsche, and she drove the stake right through Daddy's unrepentant heart. Daddy still mumbles that she can bite him.


Andrew hasn't showered in 10 days because of his wounded knee. We think he may have gained about seven pounds of crust, so he's becoming a drag on our gas mileage. Mommy forced him to change everything, right down to his underpants. You would think she was asking him to intentially slice up his other knee. "What are you doing, trying to torture me, woman???"

Speaking of dirty, Mommy is rejoicing about one thing: her last load of travel laundry. She (foolishly) thought she had enough clothes when we left to only have to do laundry every couple of weeks or so. Oh, knave, how thou underestimateth the blood, vomit, earth, chocolate milk, snake poop, duck poop, gator poop, dog poop, antelope poop, parrot poop, lizard poop, unknowable Disney susbstance, public filth, grease and grime a child unleasheth disprespectfully upon the garment. As she was doing the laundry, she went to test drive the RV park's potty, and came back laughing, because the stall, whose door swung inward, was so small as to leave less than an inch of clearance from closed door to knee. First, if you were at all overweight, you would need the jaws of life and a tow truck with a running start to yank you out of that wedgie if there were a fire. Second, it requried the most grotesque goose-stepping toilet-top dance of shame just to, one leg at a time, get your pants pulled up. Poor Mommy.

Death Valley to Hawthorn, Nevada, and how stupid we are

Cookie today: none. This trip is winding down, so Daddy better get crackin' if he's going to find a challenger to the Charleston Lemon Cooler.

Sorry for the lack of pictures tonight, but the connection is slow.

We sit in the Winnemuca RV Park in Winnemucca, Nevada, smelling gasoline and listening to what sounds like a live band booming away somewhere in the distance. We can't hear any of the actual music, only the low bass is coming through, and Daddy fears the bass player only knows about three notes, cause that's all we hear from song to song. The gas smell is from the tank, which was filled to the brim as we ended the drive today. We've smelled gas before after a fillup but it goes away fairly quickly, and we've never thought much of it, but we won't be sleeping on a full tank again if we can help it. Today was pretty uneventful; we drove from Hawthorne, Nevada to Winnemucca, which is under 200 miles, so we arrived fairly early in the day. We could have gone further, but because our current electrical condition requires a plug-in to maintain heat and lights on these 20-degree nights, we really need RV parks. We tested the onboard system today (translation: turned on the furnace and a couple lights, then tried to start the generator), and FZZZT! Darkness. Sigh. After Winnemucca, it becomes a real gamble whether there's anything at all until somewhere in the middle of Oregon, so we just called it a day where there's power for sure.

Yesterday was an eventful day, and was a testament to how the motto better safe than sorry can also be stated as we are dumber than a bag of hammers. We started with a really cool drive and subsequent hike into the Ubehebe Crater, which was our last stop on the way out of Death Valley. The crater was formed relatively recently (about 2000 years ago) by a volcanic explosion, and it's still just a huge mound of black ash and rock. Scott, Stuart, Kay, Grandpa and Daddy took the extremely steep trail down toward the bottom, with Scott, Stu and Daddy going the whole way. Kay and Grandpa turned back about 3/4 of the way in because Kay had an awkward stumble and her knee started to bother her. Stu and Scott decided to rub some of the sticky red clay (ochre) that lines parts of the crater bottom on their faces as war paint. Poor Andrew again had to sit this one out because of his wounded knee.

Stuart is a machine that is stuck on full throttle. He basically ran down and ran up 1000-foot crater at a 30-degree incline. As we drove off, this 6-year-old said, in a 1950s radio voice, "I'm the kind of guy who just never gets tired!" No kidding, Mr. Ping-Pong.

Here's where the stupid parents part comes in. As you can imagine, gas prices in Death Valley are really high (about $1.20 higher than outside the valley), so we decided not to take on fuel there. Heck, we had over a quarter tank, and there had to be a gas station somewhere on the highway, right? Right? Riiiiiiiiiiight. Recall, if you will, that we made this brilliant decision in a place whose name begins with the word Death. You'd think we'd play it safe, right? Right? Well, the drive out of the valley was 36 miles. The drive from the exit point to the main highway was 22 miles. The climb was about 4000 feet. The stupidness turned from stupid to panicky about mile 62, when we saw, to our horror, that the closest gas station from the junction at highway 267 and 95 was still 31 miles off. The needle read about 1/16 of a tank, and was teetering on the skinny red "E." Well, there was nothing to do but turn north and hope for a strong tailwind. We didn't get one. FYI, there is no gas in Scotty's Junction, Nevada. Or for the next thirty nail-biting miles. Grandpa actually pulled the bus in front of the Methner RV and let us tailgate so he could cut the wind and help us conserve fuel. Everyone else on the road thought Daddy was a rude, impatient, idiot driver from Washington (representin'!!), but Daddy didn't care. He would have tailgated the Popemobile if it meant not running out of gas in the dead center of nowhere. Just as we thought we were going to start sputtering, we entered Goldfield, Nevada. Our hearts sank as we saw abandoned station after abandoned station. But wait! There! On that turn ahead! A two-pump roadside station! We pulled in, sphincters unclenching, thinking we were saved.... Closed. No credit cards at the pump. Hours on the door said they should be open, but all was locked. Vultures begin to circle. We begin to think of ways to siphon gas from Grandpa's tow car. T. Boone Pickens is echoing in Daddy's head: "You're not gonna drill your way out of this problem, boy."

And then, up pulls Scotty, the owner, in his black Suburban. Huzzah! "Lucky we saw you! We were just on our way to Vegas for, um, supplies!!!" he hoots. Daddy is whimpering with gratitude as Scotty, in his flame-painted cowboy hat, unlocks the door to the Dusty Fender Grill-n-Fill and turns on the pump. Daddy produces his credit card because he has almost no cash left, and a total fillup like this costs about $120...."Sorry, cash only!" says old Scotty. Oh, for the love of #@!##*(#*(#!!! Wait! There's an ATM here. Scotty turns on the power, it boots up, and promptly tells Daddy that it can't dispense $100. Or $80. Turns out Daddy got the last 40 bucks in the *##!! machine. So we get all the gas we can with $40 from Scotty's ATM and the 21.96, the watch battery, the six ounces of belly button lint and the blood donor card Daddy had in his pocket. It was enough to get us to Tonopah, where we filled the tank up to the brim and considered filling up the underwear drawer as well just to be safe. The gas was about 40% cheaper than at the old Grill-n-Fill back in Goldfield. This...will...never...happen...again. Mommy and Daddy agreed they would never have taken such a chance if they hadn't been with another RV, so we owe a large measure of gratitude to Grandpa and Grandma for being our reserve parachute.

We made it to the Whiskey Flats RV park in Hawthorne without incident, other than Andrew accidentally dumping a full plate of meatball-laden spagetti on the carpet, couch, and, all other nearby upholstered items. It was more of a spaghetti grenade than anything. Half a bottle of club soda and a lot of elbow grease, later, Daddy had removed most of the destruction. Mommy says a vinyl floor is in our future. The RVs are starting to cave in, our luck is wearing thin, and the weather is below freezing at night. Mommy is still protesting the return, but the signs seem to be suggesting we make for the Northwest.....

Death Valley, and we hit the Absolute Low Point…

Today we really hit the low point of our trip. It was like watching ourselves roll headfirst down an ancient lakebed. Down, down until we were 250 feet below the level of the sea, to a place so desolate, lonely and caustic that it corrodes your very soul. Oh, wait, we were actually there. In Death Valley. At Badwater. That was literally our lowest point; the corrosive salt flats of Badwater, Death Valley. This is the geographical lowest point in North America. See that little teeny white sign in the cliff over Mommy's head, about 230 feet up? It says "Sea Level." How ironic that Death Valley has truly been a high point. Except for both RVs deciding to stage an electrical strike simultaneously. Daddy types in darkness on battery alone. More on that later.

Mommy and Grandpa smiling at our low point in Death Valley

This morning we hiked through Mosiac Canyon. “We,” unfortunately, excludes poor Andrew, who still has a bung knee and continues to walk like Captain Ahab with his leg made of whalebone (Daddy’s still struggling through Moby Dick, so you’ll just have to sit there and take all the whaling references like a good reader). It was awesome, and Daddy doesn’t mean awesome in the modern valley-girl usage of the word. He means awesome as in inspiring awe, full of vastness and grandeur. An awesome sight. In Stuart’s words “You and Mommy are always telling me that the world is not my jungle gym. Well this whole place IS my jungle gym and I can climb on EVERTHING. I LOVE THIS PLACE!!” Then quickly and quietly, “Right after days one, two and three of Disney.”

The kids (and Mommy, Daddy, and Grandpa) really enjoyed clambering over dang near everything on this hike, and the marble and limestone formations were gorgeous.

An aside: Mommy just replaced the battery in the smoke detector. She panicked after it properly began squealing while hitting the test button. To shut it up, she began waving in front of it, as if to clear the nonexistent smoke. Daddy guesses the lizard brain just takes over sometimes, and is enjoying the laugh…

As we began the hike, we heard a massive explosion overhead, and realized it was a sonic boom from a military aircraft, likely flying to or from one of the numerous military installations in these parts. Edwards AFB is not far away, nor is China Lake Weapons Testing Center. Big, big boom. Daddy has never heard one, nor have the kids, and it was pretty neat. We had driven the Methner RV up the washboard gravel road to the trailhead, and we rattled our way back to Grandma and Andrew at the campground for lunch. In the afternoon we again packed up the Methner RV and headed down the valley toward Furnance Creek, where we checked out the Visitors Center. We spent a bit of time there and in the gift shop (as bloody usual), and then, as dusk was falling, drove at light speed the 17 miles to Badwater to catch it before sundown. In a 13,000-pound RV. Nice. Well, Badwater is the aforementioned low point, as it is the lowest point in North America, and contains nothing at all but salt flats, rocks, a small, salty water hole, and about a zillion acres of gigantic vista.

Now, back to the Furnace Creek Ranch, where we had to pull over for a forgotten souvenir, and to watch the volunteer firemen have equipment-donning races. Uncle Ryan, you would have loved those charismatic devils. The crowd sure did. Remember, stay in school (wink).

Here Andrew attempts to run the salt flats on his peg leg...

Well, we’ve been having some vexing electrical gremlins in the Methner RV all day, and Grandpa & Grandma are currently having a Mexican standoff, using a kitchen knife and a toilet plunger, over whether Grandma can turn on the electric heat tonight. They’ve got some kind of battery drain, and if they use the heat and drain the batteries all the way, it could toast them (the batteries, not the oldies). In the Methner rig, you can turn on a light or two, but if you turn on one thing too many, the entire place shuts off and goes dark. It’s like a game of RV Jenga. Or better yet, like Apollo 13. We’re the Lunar Module, and the Mowrys are the command module, and we have no idea if either one will A: power up in the morning, or B: leave us for the vultures here in Death Valley. At Mommy’s suggestion, we even had a little apology session with the Methner RV this morning, going to the hood and apologizing for insulting her by fixing her up, getting her new tires, etc.

Mommy is convinced that, like any woman, the RV interprets a suggestion of repair as criticism, and she is offended and hacked off about the whole thing. And now she is making us pay. And pay. Well, as is so often the case with real-life women, the apology didn’t work.

So we’re running around with head-mounted flashlights, which makes it tough to talk to each other. It’s like looking at the death star, they’re so bright. You must avert your eyes when talking to the wearer, which gives that person a bit of godlike power. Anyway, Daddy’s battery nears the end, so he will wrap it up. Hopefully we’ll be anywhere at all with cell phone or internet coverage in the next few days and he can post this stuff. If you find this computer near Daddy’s parched skeleton, bony claw extended, power cord in hand, out in the desert, know we miss and love you all….

Palm Desert to Death Valley

Cookie today: Subway. Eat Fresh. Eat cookies. Jared would be a huge fatso if he got hooked on the cookie case in his local Subway. Just move your eyes on over to the six-inch turkey with no mayo, skinny boy, and leave the sinful items for us. Subway cookies are actually quite good. The are soft but have a hint of crispness to them. The taste is very nice, and the size is just right; not huge but big enough to satisfy. As long as you have the three-cookie deal. Wife immediately spotted the cookies, so the satisfaction of secrecy was blown. Overall rating: 3.9 out of 5 near collisions. Best to keep these babies off the road.

Left this morning on a 335-miler from Palm Desert to Death Valley. Is that not the world’s best name? DEATH VALLEY. If it weren’t so appropriate, it would be cute. No matter what, you feel cool saying it and knowing you’ve been there and survived. Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, because I’ve been through DEATH VALLEY in the RV. It was, like, no big deal. The day was basically spent behind the wheel and looking at scenery, which was large-format. Central California is a pretty dang big place, and Daddy can see why the military tests airplanes and blows stuff up out here. We did pass quite a bit of alternative energy today, as well. The Palm Springs area has quite a large array of wind generators, and we passed a solar installation off highway 395 on the way north. It’s great to see that kind of thing beginning to be done on a commercial scale. In the evening we all stood outside, wondering where in the world these intensely bright stars and milky way have been all our lives. There is no light pollution to speak of in Death Valley, so the night sky is a sea of jewels. The picture below may not mean much to you, but it will be a beautiful reminder to us.
For the last two days we’ve been visiting Daddy’s parents, Grandma Honey and Papa. Their friends call them Gary and Lola, but you’ll agree that those names just sound weird, right? Papa and Honey it is, then. We did a little homework, Daddy caught up on some office work, we played with the dog, Blossom, who has lived with us in Port Angeles from time to time, we went to the mini-golf area, the kids splashed in the neighborhood pool, and we generally had a low-key, relaxing time. As usual, we also came to full and complete agreement about everything the white house should be doing in the next four years to save the country, save the world, and save the planet. Not. But it’s always fun having the debate. Here Papa shows some perfect Wii Golf form:
The day we arrived, the RV died. There was a whining noise coming from the front of the engine compartment, and as you know, it woke up dead the next morning. Daddy made some calls Monday morning and was referred to SunAir Automotive in Cathedral City. For anyone needing RV engine or mechanical stuff in this area, go see these people. They were great, and we struck it lucky, because it turned out to be a dead alternator and battery, which they ended up taking care of all in one day. It was a bit dicey getting the rig over to the shop. We had to jump the RV with Papa’s car, and had to leave the jumper cables on for quite awhile so the battery would have enough charge to run the spark plugs and make it there. With no alternator, the only juice the engine has for combustion comes from the good old battery, and the voltage needle was down to zero just as we turned into SunAir.

The repair was nearly seven hundred bucks, which really hurt, because it involved a pretty expensive battery as well. However, we didn’t want to take any chances. Our next destination was to be Death Valley, and in Daddy’s words, “I’m not going ANYWHERE with DEATH in the name if we have a questionable battery.” As it turns out, the rig isn’t through with us, though….

Lancaster, California to Palm Desert

Cookie today: Costco cookies. Decent utility cookie. Large, just fine, three flavors. Everyone has had them, so 'nuff said. Daddy is hoping his mommy will make her chocolate chip cookies soon. Things look promising, as she bought a 55-gallon bag of chocolate chips from Costco today....

Tonight Daddy sits at a comfortable chair in front of an actual computer workstation with an honest-to-goodness high speed connection. This is better than a deep-fried twinkie. We are in Palm Desert, California, visiting Daddy's parents at their house here. They've just finished remodeling it, and it is beautiful. Daddy's parents are known to the kids as 'Papa and Honey.' Mommy's parents are called 'Grandpa and Grandma.' Keep it straight, because you will see mention of both in the coming paragraphs. This evening we were all here at Papa and Honey's place. The kids rejoiced this evening, because Grandma Honey came home with a Wii console, and everyone played. Stu was a little excited...

Mommy tried her hand a Wii Golf. She came into the hall to talk to Daddy with a scowl on her face. In her words, "Your Mom got a par. Stu got a par. Kay got a par. It told me to 'give up.' Stupid Wii." Mommy won't be golfing anymore. We started the day with some homework, and then the kids, except for Andrew, went swimming while Daddy and Papa watched. Mommy and Grandma Honey (keeping the elders straight, are you?) went back-to school shopping. This is a very emotional thing for Mommy. 1) Her daughter is growing up. 2) She has to return home to her responsibilities soon. 3) She will have to begin sharing a bed again with the slobbering caveman who had to sleep on the dining table the last three months. Life is full of bitter pills.

Why, you ask, did Andrew not swim? Was he shy about not having a tan? Waiting for a piercing to heal? Refusing to share a pool with his younger brother? While any of these is plausible, it was the fourth option: he has fallen in California. You may remember that we've been keeping track of his falls across the United States. He has perpetrated mild, moderate, and alarming falls in each of the 33 states we have visited. Without exception. It has normall only taken an hour or two after crossing a state line to look over, see him sprawled face-first on the sidewalk, and proclaim "He's fallen in Mississippi!" He has a rare talent for twisting his legs up like a pipe cleaner while sashaying along, causing a one-man four-limb pile-up. Well, his major California fall has come. He was goofing around on the rocks that divide two ornamental koi ponds at Grandma and Grandpa's RV park (they own a pad at a place down here in nearby Indio). He pipe-cleanered, slipped, and vaulted face-first into the algae-laced koi pond. At first, Daddy was laughing his booty off, but it quickly became clear that he had really hurt himself, and it turns out he lacerated his knee all the way through the skin in four places. This is the part where it comes in very handy to have a surgeon sitting in the lawn chair next to you. Grandpa got out his emergency kit and, while stitches were clearly a good option, he was able to steri-strip the wound together and dress it, field-medic style, right on the spot. The upshot is that Andrew is walking like he has a wooden leg and can't bend it or go in the water for at least three days. He's like a little Captain Ahab stumping around the place. He milks it a little when he can, as well. You want me to wipe my mouth? Um, did you see that I have an injured leg....? So no swimming for poor Andrew. Stu got a major bleeder in his nose this evening, so they looked like Rocky and Apollo Creed right near the end of the movie.....

Daddy may have mentioned that Mommy doesn't really want to go home or to end our adventure. She has taken it to extremes, I'm afraid...

Our other adventure today was a dead RV. D-E-D Dead. We've been hearing a strange whine from the motor since Lancaster, and it's becoming pretty clear that the alternator has died a slow, moaning death. We had to jump start it with Papa's car to get it to the RV park where we could plug it in. It has a special bypass switch to jumpstart the motor with the batteries that run the house. Even that was dead. Hopefully those will be charged after plugging it in and we can get it to the doctor in time to drive it through (no kidding) Death Valley on our way home. We don't plan to take it anywere with 'Death' in the name until it's been patched up properly...

Over the last two days we've been in Lancaster with Daddy's Grandma Louise. It was about the nicest visit Daddy's ever had with Grandma, and was a lovely, lovely time. Grandma has been very ill over the last few months and we feared we would lose her more than once. She's on the mend now and is doing amazingly well, in spite of a horrific infection with something called "C-diff," which is something most 90-year-olds aren't tough enough to beat. Not Grandma Louise, bucko. She's back up and at 'em, and it was wonderful to spend a couple days with her. Daddy has to mention Aunt Edie, who lives next door to Grandma. Edie, as usual, was the warmest and most hospitable soul ever born. Edie has known Grandma since they were both girls together in small-town Idaho. She deserves our utmost thanks.

When we rolled into Lancaster in the early evening we went directly to the assisted living joint where Grandma lives and picked her up, plopped her in the front seat, and took her around the corner to the house she recently occupied right next to Aunt Edie's. There we spent the evening talking before taking her home for the night. Daddy teased the night nurse about bringing his prom date home late. The next day we drove her back over to the house, where we had parked the RV, and spent the day together there. The kids managed to keep themselves occupied for the entire day by finding snails in the garden and creating entire snail towns with them. Probably killed a hundred snails by excessive handling, playing snail dress-up, and snail role-playing. The gardener sure will be happy. It made for a fun day for all. Maybe that's the kind of play that breaks out when there is no TV in the house. We were grateful for Aunt Edie's TV later that evening, though.

We left Las Vegas early on Friday, but stopped at Barnes & Noble to get a few new books for the kiddos. Kay has started chain-sawing through books, so she goes through novels like Amish sausage through the digestive system.

Only 13 more days left in our adventure. It's starting to feel like a plane ride that is coming off of crusing altitude and getting ready for final approach. We'll have to begin starting up all the things we suspended when we left, and we talk daily about how grateful we are to all our friends and office team who have been so generous in taking care of things at our house and at the agency.

We plan to catch up on homework and enjoy the next few days here with Papa and Honey, get the RV fixed up, and then begin the route north through Death Valley and up to eastern Oregon, where we'll catch I-90 along the Columbia River and make for Washington State....

Grand Canyon Days 1 and 2, Hoover Dam, Las Vegas

Cookie today: none. Still searching gas stations and other venues, but have been on a long, long dry spell. May have to have my Mom make some chocolate chip cookies when we see her in California this weekend. Her chocolate chips are among the best on this or any other planet...

This evening we pulled in to an RV park outside Las Vegas in order to let the kids use the heated pool and blow off some steam. After dinner Daddy and Mommy decided that Vegas is too much of a spectacle to pass up, and took the kids, RV and all, for a cruise down the strip. We got quite a few goofy looks and rolling eyeballs, in front of the Bellagio with thirty feet of RV and six bikes hanging off the back. This picture is a little dark, but that's the famous "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign in the background.Most of the cars could have cared less, and most drivers here seem annoyed that anyone else at all, let alone an RV, should be using the road at the same time as they are. Not polite, no sir. We all got a kick out of it, even though the kids got an eyefull of some of the not-so-wholesome stuff they advertise on the sidewalks here. The newest things are these illuminated billboards that you can wear like a giant rated-X backpack. Mercy. Well, negotiating the Las Vegas strip in the RV wasn't too bad, but the driver's side rear wheel may never forgive Daddy for the multiple curb-hops.

When you visit a dam with your kids, you have to lay it right out on the table: the word "dam" is acceptable in this one very narrow window of their lives, so say it at will and get it outta your system. We called it "damnesty" and gave them 24 hours to use the word (in the correct context, of course) as many times as they want. So out flowed the usual torrent of "Mommy, look at the dam elevator!" and "I'm touching a dam wall! Hee Hee Hee!!" But Scotty pulled the best one. Context: we were stopped this morning about five miles from the dam at a security checkpoint, where the officers checked our outside compartments and briefly toured inside the RV. Mommy was taken by surprise, as she had not tidied or laid out afternoon tea yet. They let us by. So this evening we're all making dam jokes again, and Daddy says "I've never seen so much dam security." Scotty, instantly: "Yeah. I guess they want to make sure some dam terrorist doesn't try to blow up the dam." It was nearly perfect, and Daddy is laughing while typing.

So that was our morning: Driving from Kingman, Arizona to Hoover Dam and taking a tour. The kids learned how hydroelectric power is generated and got to lay their eyes on one of the early engineering marvels of the modern world. Dams of this sort really are amazing structures. Nearly six hundred feet thick at the base, the dam towers over six hundred feet from bedrock to rim, and blocks the Colorado river to form Lake Meade, which stretches for many miles behind it. We drove across it twice looking for the correct RV parking area, losing and then gaining again the hour of time zone difference on the Arizona versus Nevada sides. Exhausted from the time travel, we staggered down to the guided tour, which was really neat.
Before we left Kingman we found a place where you can power wash your RV. That was fun. There was no amount of water pressure that could take the bugs and grime off this dirty old mule, so Daddy spent some serious quality time with the scrubbing car wash wand. Mommy feels strongly about not paying a service to wash the RV because it's something we can so easily do, on the cheap, ourselves. She even told Daddy so from the passenger seat as she watched him scrubbing his buttocks off. Ok, not exactly when she said it, but she did say it the night before. Daddy is just more willing to pay someone to do things like that.

Driving into Kingman last night we were mesmerized by a gorgeous saffron and crimson sunset that highlighted the mountains in sharp detail. One of those times when you just look quietly, roll along, and admire. We arrived in Kingman and found the first RV park we could, hooked up the power and the heater, and hit the hay.

On Tuesday we hiked a portion of the South Kaibab trail. All six went down, with Mommy nervous ("I just can't BELIEVE they let people actually do this!"), Daddy lecturing about walking safely, and the kids tramping merrily along. There are thousand-foot dropoffs right next to the trail, literally a foot from where you stand, and hundreds of people, along with several dozen mules, hike the trail daily. Once we got used to it, this came to be one of the major highlights of our journey. There was nothing manufactured, synthetic, or Disney about it, and the kids all seemed to grasp the gravity of their surroundings. The little guys made it to a point about two miles down, and after a break and some more gawking, turned back up the trail. Daddy, Kay, and Scott headed down another mile or so to the Canyon View site (where there are pit toilets, a major reason for going down there). Being a ways down into the canyon gives a perspective that you can't get any other way. Daddy was terribly proud of all four kids for how they handled the trail, and of Kay and Scott for powering up the world's biggest stairmaster. What a morning to remember.

After safely returning from our hike we packed into the RV and hit the road for Kingman, Arizona. We hopped off I-40 at Seligman in order to drive the rest of the way on Route 66, which no longer officially exists in the federal highway system. The little tiny towns along the way (Peach Springs, Truxton, Seligman, etc) have all definitely seen better times, but it was a neat feeling to be on the road known as "America's Main Street," and "The Mother Road." It can't be understated what Route 66, as the first truly major roadway between the American east and west, meant for American culture and commerce. In Fact, Daddy was a bit geeky about it, obsessively looking for patches of the original roadbed in the same way that our friend in the Everglades searches for the Skunk Ape...

On Monday we reached the Grand Canyon from Williams, and pulled into the Campers Village RV Park. None of the Methners had ever visited the Grand Canyon before. Daddy rates it as the biggest jaw-dropper of the trip. Mommy still contends Carlsbad Caverns were the the most incredible. The day started with an IMAX movie at the National Geographic center south of the park entrance. When the cashier said "That will be $16, please," Daddy was happily surprised. So he hands over a $20, and she just looks at him like he's a moron. Mommy nudges Daddy and says "$60. She Said $60. Daddy? Can you hear me? SIX-ZERO." Daddy is a little disoriented, but you know how once you've put your foot into something you are often reluctant to pull it back out, so you carry on, even though it's a step that leaves stinky stuff on your shoe and costs about three times what you're willing to pay. So he gave the cashier the remaining $40 and we saw the movie. Very nice, but only about $25 nice. Not $60 nice. Feeling a little used, we bought our park pass and trucked on up to the canyon. Once we laid eyes on it, all else was forgotten. Daddy is sorry to be so starry-eyed about it, but it is truly awe-inspiring and magnificent. We walked the Rim Trail for an hour or so that first day, which was enough, because it was really, really cold, and Mommy was becoming really, really miserable. The kids started their Junior Ranger program, and the ranger at the information desk helped us decide on a hike for the next morning.

Scotty was a little nervous about the heights on parts of the rim trail.....

Daddy has been operating for several days now without his computer. His power cable suffered a fatal failure four days ago in Socorro, New Mexico, and he's been unable to keep in touch with much. He can't get a new cord sent, as he's not in the same place from day to day, like a fugitive from responsibility. Today, he found his hero in Kingman. State Farm Agent Deana Nelson graciously gave him her cord, and he is having a replacement overnighted to her. Thank you thank you, Deana!

Tomorrow we fill up our water tank, double-check the snake bite kit, and head across the Mojave Desert to Lancaster, California, where Daddy's Grandma Louise (Mom's Mom), lives. Then it's on to Palm Desert to hang out for a few days with Daddy's folks, which the kids are desperately looking forward to....

daddy has no juice so can't blog tonight!

Grand Canyon....Almost

Cookie today: Golden Oreo with Chocolate filling. Excellent, but already described.

We awoke today, fresh as the morning dew, ready to have a day of adventure in Arizona. The plan was to drive from Holbrook to the Painted Desert/Petrified Forest National Park, eat that all up, then drive to a campground just outside the south rim of the Grand Canyon. The Painted Desert is in northeastern Arizona, and is a part of the specatular and dramatic geography that runs all the way from the Grand Canyon into southern Utah and west to New Mexico. It is part of the iconic American west, and is bisected by the famous Route 66. Route 66 doesn't exist at all anymore in the Painted Desert, as the Park Service removed the concrete some time ago, but they have a neat display where the road came through, and you can still see the raised roadbed and the telephone poles that lined it. Both just head off into nothingness.

The Painted Desert was, well, painted. Amazing pinks, blues and purples, even on a cloudy day like today. The kids all went for the junior ranger program, which is a great deal, because it keeps them much more engaged than two parents constantly nagging them to look out the window and enjoy the scenery or else. There were very few other cars around because of the season, so the tour was easy. That was helpful when we had to go back to the visitor center, where Scott had forgotten his coat. There is a Park Service road that just loops you through all the good parts and out to some easy overlooks.

The Painted Desert loop leads you right into the Petrified Forest, which is equally impressive. Ever seen a huge log made entirely of multicolored stone? If not, you should see the wood they have out here. The day started to get pretty windy as we toured these parts, so we started to hurry a bit. We carried on to the ruins of an ancient native village and there we saw a number of petroglyphs created by the inhabitants around 700 years ago. Among the scientific names given to the petroglyphs by our children were: 1) Charlie Brown With A Tumor, 2) Bird Eating A Guy, and 3) Dude With His Head On Fire. Daddy mused that some of the works looked like they took real talent, and some looked like the result of annoyed parents telling their kids to go carve on the rocks and get the *&(# out of the hut for a while. Who knows? Perhaps archaeologists will find the sign from a Seven-Eleven two thousand years from now and become convinced that we worshipped a god called "Slurpee." Weren't we primitive and quaint? At the musuem on the south side of the park the kids completed their junior ranger booklets and oaths and then were sworn in as junior rangers for the second time in a week. The first was at the mission in San Antonio, where they learned you can eat cactus.

Petrified Tree Huggers.

There is a bit of a legend about the Petrified Forest. Over the decades, millions of visitors have taken bits of the petrified wood as souvenirs, and this has left it a much less spectacular place that it apparently once was. The legend says that the stolen wood will bring you very bad juju, and that bad luck will befall you until you return it. Rest assured the Methners didn't remove a single molecule from the park, but they did buy some souvenirs afterward, and Mommy is convinced that the curse of the stolen wood was upon us after that. Daddy bought a nice little chunk for the mantle at home and for his shelf at the office. So, as of today, we are hauling large rocks from at least six different locations in North America. Genius. Anyway, as we left Holbrook the wind (of the angry stone wood gods, Daddy is certain) came up to about 30mph and stayed that way all the way to Flagstaff. In Flagstaff, we stopped for some gloves, as it's getting down to the mid-teens at night now. Then came the flurries, then the snow, then the snow-covered freeway, then the major plan adjustment for the night. Mommy has spun around 360 degrees on snowy roads too many times to ever be happy driving in the snow again. Daddy doesn't really mind at all, but when Mommy is quivering, whimpering, and trying not to pee her pants in the passenger seat, Daddy is compelled to pull off and find a place for the night sooner rather than later. So we wound up in Williams, Arizona, at the Railside RV Ranch. Mommy went from near-catatonic with fear to very, very happy with relief, especially after finding the potty. The kids went nuts playing in the snow, and so did Daddy for awhile. Daddy thought it was actually a stroke of good luck, not bad juju, that we came unharmed through a significant snowstorm to a place where we have snow-based entertainment and a continental breakfast to boot. We had a nice dinner in the RV, some more after-dinner snow play, watched some Weird Al music videos on YouTube together (Daddy knows we're unusual), and the kids went to bed. Weird Al parodied Michael Jackson quite a bit, and Mommy and Daddy got a kick out of showing the kids the original "Thriller" and "Bad" videos on YouTube. These were from their high school days in the eighties, and Mommy could almost feel the leg warmers over her stretch pants again. We forgot how much graveyard horror stuff there is in "Thriller," and three out of four kids almost ran to the back room, but when the corpses started dancing with Michael, laughter erupted. We're waiting for the nightmares here in Phase II.

We will spend tomorrow and tuesday visiting the Grand Canyon (hopefully). If the snow is heavy we may just spend the day seeing what Williams, AZ, has to offer, as the image of the RV sliding off an icy canyon edge, while impressive, isn't something we can probably get good pictures of. And it's all about the pictures.

Carlsbad Caverns, Socorro New Mexico, and THE TOOTH!

Lots and lots of cactus here.....

Sorry for the long blog gap. Poor service and a broken power cord are keeping our internet access spotty.

Cookie today: the world’s most expensive apple pie. More later.

Here we sit in Holbrook, Arizona, where it has gotten down to 25 degrees. We can’t hook up the water hose lest it freeze. Daddy’s rhyming like a breeze. We drove about 260 miles today from Socorro, New Mexico to Holbrook. We’re here because it’s a convenient place to stay before we go to explore the Petrified Forest National Park and then on to the Grand Canyon. Holbrook is right on historic old Route 66, which is now the very un-nostalgic Interstate 40 as it goes through the area. They’ve kept the town much as it was in the forties and fifties, partially for historic Route 66 reasons, and partly to illustrate what happens to motels and muffler shops when they sit abandoned for 45 years. We needed ice cream after dinner, so we fired up the RV and went to Safeway, and on the way back happened across the Wigwam Motel. It’s right out of the golden era of driving, and is a cluster of concrete teepees, each of which is a little rental room. Complete with neon sign and antique cars. http://www.galerie-kokopelli.com/wigwam/.

The ice cream was to go with the pie we bought in Pie Town, New Mexico. It’s not just a slogan, it’s an actual (very, very small) town on Route 60. You can look it up. Daddy saw the sign for Pie Town, then a convenient pie shop right off the road, and he veered off, spitting dust and gravel, in order to purchase a pie in Pie Town, New Mexico.

The ice cream this evening was to go with the $20 pie. You see, it was a very small restaurant/pie shop and was totally deserted inside, and once Daddy went in and asked the owner about her pie selection, he felt pretty bad about just backing out and saying “nah, too expensive.” Pie Town in western New Mexico does not appear to have a booming economy. Daddy did not want to represent all of Washington State as “that jerk from Washington who came in here and pretended to be a bona-fide pie-buyer and then the cheap *&(#(# up and left.” Could have been the only pie she sold today. It was good. Not $20 good. Maybe about $9.50 good.

Since Daddy is sure you’re tracing your atlas along with our route, you’ll see that we also passed the Very Large Array (VLA) some miles east of Pie Town. We stopped to have a science field trip there. The VLA is (Daddy thinks) the largest radio telescope installation in the world and is made up of a 27 monstrous dish antennas spread out in a Y pattern over about 26 miles. The array gathers images from all over the galaxy and universe, and is a main tool of astronomers worldwide. It was very cool that while we were standing next to a dish, it began to move. These babies weigh more than three fully loaded 747s, so it was a little shocking to see something so big move so quietly and smoothly. Daddy was geeking out, but most of the time the kids were more interested in the jackrabbits in the bushes than the science. Sigh.
The high country we drove today was quite beautiful in a somewhat barren way. At times we drove across vast high plains (such as where the VLA is located) and at others swooped along long roller-coaster hills. It was a long drive, though, and we were ready to quit after 260 miles.

So, back to yesterday evening in Socorro and….the Tooth Incident. Never, never, never let your six-year-old try to open a package with his teeth, lest he rip one of them right out of his head. Ha ha ha, right? You’d say that to your kid just to scare him off the habit, but it could never really happen, right? WRONG-OLA! Stuart The Human Ping-Pong Ball actually pulled it off. Or more correctly, pulled it out. One of his lower incisors, fortunately still a baby tooth, was torn asunder and left sticking straight forward as he tried to use his choppers for opening merchandise. Daddy assures you it was not ready to be removed, and it didn’t go without a fight. After a call to the home of our dentist in Port Angeles (who was really, really nice about it) at 10pm New Mexico time, we were advised that there was nothing to do but just yard it the rest of the way out. Stu initially tried to do it himself. But even with massive eyeball-rolling and courage-mustering he couldn’t manage to give it the yank it needed, so Daddy had him close his eyes and then quickly yanked it out. Stu wasn’t really aware that it was all over with. It came out clean, root and all, and the little Ping Pong Ball appears no worse for wear. In fact, he thinks it’s kinda cool…
The only other drama was that the power adapter to Daddy’s work computer broke, so he cannot use his laptop until he can figure out how to score a replacement. He thinks he may be able to borrow one from a SF agent somewhere en route and have a replacement shipped to that kind soul shortly thereafter. We shall see. Oh, boo-hoo. No flood of email for a few days.
Andrew wanted to be sure his teacher knows he's still studying rocks, and wanted a picture of him with this lava rock....

We drove through Roswell, New Mexico, but didn’t stop for any aliens.

On the way to Socorro we stopped in the Village of Capitan, New Mexico at the Smokey Bear Museum. It was a fun diversion, and the kids saw a whole load of Smokey Bear memorabilia, as well as the grave of old Smokey (Smokey #1) himself. He was rescued as a cub from a massive wildfire near Capitan in the 1940s, and became the living namesake of the Smokey Bear we all know. The village has really hung their hat on Smokey over the years. Just down the road is the historic Lincoln District, where Billy the Kid once roamed and became legend.

Prior to Socorro we had been in Carlsbad, New Mexico to see the Carlsbad Caverns. Holy moly, what an unearthly experience. This is definitely one of the things you must do during your lifetime. It is so far beyond the realm of what the human eye is used to that you have the ongoing sensation of being on the set of some gigantic movie or attraction. There is just no way this can be real. We took the optional tour of the King’s Palace section, and they turned the lights out for several minutes to let us experience total, utter, 800-feet-underground darkness. You know what blindness is after this tour.
Above are the Methners entering the maw of the cave, and an incredible formation called (Daddy thinks) "The Witch's Broom." You can see her broom, her feet, her hat to the lower left, etc. All of this is about 50 feet high.

Tomorrow we plan to see the petrified forest and end up at a campground not far from the south rim of the Grand Canyon. When we were planning our Grand Canyon days, Mommy was wise enough to ask why we couldn’t just drive down in there and hop over the river someplace. Daddy reminded her that we are not the Knievels, and that one does not simply pop an RV on over one of the deepest, widest canyons on planet Earth. “Oh,” said she. Then much laughter.
More from the Grand Canyon in a day or two. Hope everyone is happy and well. We’ll be back to see you in about 22 days…..