Portlandia

Monday morning brought the final round of goodbyes with our friends. But thankfully, the vacation wasn’t over for any of us. Cicely, Alicia, and their families would be driving up the Oregon coast for another stay few days nestled between the water and the trees. Aimee, the kids, and I would be headed inland to visit my aunt and uncle in Portland. We were able to see them in Whiteriver before the pandemic, but this would be the first time we’d be visiting them in Portland since we had kids. All six of us were looking forward to it. So we packed up the car one last time and hit the road. The kids barely made it down the driveway.

In spite (or perhaps because) of their exhaustion, the kids did remarkably well for those final six hours of our road trip. All in all, we covered about 1,200 miles that week, and I only questioned our decision for about seven of them.

Our two stops were at a park in rural Oregon and a delightfully funky cafe in Eugene. Same state, remarkably different places. It was nice to see both.

We rolled up to Richard and Shelley’s home around dinner time. It’s a charming house on its own, but especially so when mixed with wonderful childhood memories of spending time with them and my cousins there. They’ve lived in that house since before I was born, and it was fun to watch my kids start building some of their own memories. 

Despite my cousins having long-since moved out, there were plenty of toys to play with from my recently retired uncle’s child psychology office. He had been sending his clients home with a toy of their choice for the past several months, but hung on to a few of the ones that previously belonged to his kids when they were younger. So there were some great early-80s Fisher-Price gems that Quinn and Mimi enjoyed just as much as if they came off the shelf yesterday.

After dinner, we had planned to walk to a nearby park. The kids had been in the car all day, and some outside time would be good for all of us. But we barely made it three blocks before bladders and the hour caught up with us. At least four of us were pretty exhausted, and I suspect a fifth was as well.

Back at the house, Richard played a ragtime piece on the piano as we brushed teeth and got ready for bed. He’s an accomplishes pianist, and it was nice for the kids to see what could eventually come from from the piano classes that Mimi is barely three months into.

The sleepover that night wasn’t anywhere near as epic as the ones the week before. Thankfully. But Mimi and Quinn got to snuggle up together on the futon for about ten seconds before everyone fell asleep.

On Tuesday, the kids slept in later than any other morning I can remember. It was way past second breakfast—bordering on third—before our family had eight eyes fully open. We had a lot of week to sleep off. 

Thankfully there wasn’t much of an agenda that day. We talked through our options over breakfast, and the Oregon Zoo sounded like a particularly nice way to spend the day. Lots of outside time, leg stretching, and of course, animals. Richard asked Mimi what she was hoping to see, and she replied with bunnies and flamingoes, of all things. None of us were convinced that we’d be seeing either at a Pacific Northwest zoo, but we headed off downtown to find out.

The Oregon Zoo is remarkably well done. It’s built into an existing Cascade forest, so if you didn’t notice the elephant signs or concession carts, it would be easy to forget that you’re not on a hike. We meandered through the delightful elephant, giraffe, and orangutan exhibits, then we stumbled upon the…wait for it…bunnies!

Mimi ended up being two for two. There was a flamingo exhibit just around the corner. The perfect zoo.

By early afternoon, all of us were starting to fade. We headed back to the house for a mega nap, and then had a little happy hour on Richard and Shelley’s front porch. Then, 24 hours after our first attempt, we finally felt able to bite off the trip to their neighborhood park. It was great. A nice playground, a little splash pad, and, being Portland, some top-notch people watching.

Dinner was some delicious takeout, and then we all settled in for a night of sleep that was just as excellent as the one before it.

The next morning was our last one of the trip. We didn’t need to be at the airport until the early afternoon, so Richard and I made a quick donut run as we had done a decade earlier. But since this one was post-children, I bought fewer of them and was able to eat even less. But they were still delicious, even if I had to live vicariously for a few of the flavors.

We still had time left for one last activity, and set off for the oldest rose gardens in Portland, a city full of rose gardens. It was particularly beautiful, as our trip coincided with their peak bloom. Mimi, who had taken to picking flower petals any time we looked away that week was beyond thrilled when some caretakers noticed Mimi salivating and handed her some of their clippings. 

After some time on the nearby playground and then several rounds of goodbye hugs, we set off for the airport. It was an easy drive and we were plenty early. But I still had to repack all of our bags once we took out the car seats. Besides, we had learned long ago that a few extra minutes at the airport are more than worth it when we’re shepherding a couple of kids. Although, in all honesty, Mimi had been shaking off her travel cobwebs the entire trip and was now back to leading the rest of us through the airport.

We breezed through security and killed a bit of time checking out the taxiing airplanes. Even our only remaining post-security task was easy. Our seats were dispersed across the airplane, but the gate agent didn’t have any trouble finding an entire row for us to takeover. Although he did ask before printing the boarding passes if we really wanted to give up the opportunity for free babysitting. Fair question.

But as it turned out, our seat assignments barely mattered. Quinn slept almost literally from wheels up to touchdown. Mimi put on her headphones and lost herself in a children’s nature documentary. I would have barely noticed her if I didn’t feel an excited tap on my shoulder every three minutes to alert me to another baby animal on the screen. Who knew that even pigeons could be cute?

Phoenix was starting to see the first rumblings of a monsoon as we made our approach. As is often the case on summer afternoon flights over the desert, the turbulence was considerable. But it was all lost on the kids. Quinn melted hearts and cut the tension with his occasional exclamations of “That made my belly have butterflies! Belly butterflies!!” It brought the house down every time. Both kids had charmed the flight attendants so much that every time one of them passed by our row, another set of Biscoff cookies landed on their tray table.

With the turbulence the only remotely notable thing on the three hour plane ride, we then set off for the Admirals Club to pass some of the three hours we’d be at PHX. Bedtime quickly came and went, and the longer we tried to keep the kids reasonably quiet, the more futile our efforts became. At one point, Quinn became convinced that every approaching plane was a 747 jumbo jet. His cries of “Jumbo Jet! That’s a Jumbo Jet!” quickly went from adorable to moderately entertaining to grating, and we figured that it was time we let the other visitors get some benefit out of their club membership. We packed our bags and made our way back to the public areas of the terminal before (or perhaps just as) we wore out our welcome.

Putting their over-tired loopiness on full display, Mimi and Quinn took to running the entire 100 yard walkway separating the four terminals at Sky Harbor Airport. And I’m talking full sprint.

Those Biscoff cookies really pack a punch.

At one point, I’m near-certain that Quinn fell asleep with his eyes open while taking the moving walkway back to the starting line. 

But then they were right back at it. It was something else, and quite a few travelers were cheering and congratulating them every time they reached the end of one of their sprints. I was exhausted just watching. 

Unsurprisingly, the kids were barely conscious on the flight to Flagstaff. The only way we knew that they were even awake was when one of them spotted a lightning strike in the storm that spanned our entire 45 minutes in the air. But they even had a way of making even that seem more exciting than concerning. These kids are fun. And after 8 days, 1,200 miles, 4 flights, and a half-dozen sleeping arrangements, they’re still fun. I think that really says something, and I’m already looking forward to our next trip with them. But maybe this time I’ll say yes to the free babysitter.

Tide Pools and Mystery Trees

Saturday was a gloriously lazy morning. Not a soul in the house stirred until at least 7:30, with several people (all with a last name of Stone) sleeping clear until 9:00. For a house full of a dozen people starting at three years old, that’s nothing short of a miracle.

While the kids explored the wooded acres of our rental house, the parents enjoyed their coffees on the back porch. And, as we do every time this group gets together, planned our next trip. Cambodia 2024?

By a combination of coincidences and similar vacation preferences, some good friends of ours from Flagstaff were staying about 15 minutes away on the other side of Crescent City. Even though we see them at least weekly at home, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hang out on the coast. Our friends (Bradley and Brandie) had already been there for a few days, so we let them choose the destination. They have kids the same age as us and an even healthier sense of adventure, so we knew they’d pick a winner.

And did they ever. True to form, they picked a site well off the beaten path. After a few false starts and dropped pins, we caught up with them on a cliffside trail overlooking Endert’s Beach on the outskirts of town. Bradley said it would be an easy half-mile hike down to a secluded beach with some interesting wildlife.

For some background, Bradley and Brandie are near-professional climbers who have travelled the world over several times, so I should have known that “an easy half-mile hike” was really more like a moderate mile and a half. But our flip flops, unsuspecting other friends, and small children all did great. As the trees opened up to a stunning, untrafficed beach, we immediately knew why our friends wanted to check the place out. In addition to having a world class beach essentially to ourselves, we were surrounded by tidepools filled with urchins, crabs, and some of the largest starfish I had seen outside of an aquarium. There were ear to ear grins on 16 faces for the next couple of hours. 

On the better-than-expected hike back up, Bradley told us about a few of the other places around town that they enjoyed. We didn’t have much of an agenda the next day, so we took notes and planned on seeing their favorites.

Bradley and Brandie had to head out early the next morning. They were continuing their journey north to see family in Oregon. So after a round of hugs and well-wishes, we all parted around dinner time.

Alicia cooked us a fantastic dinner, as we had become very accustomed to that week. Then we put on a movie for the kids while the adults continued our future-vacation planning. Another delightful day.

The next stay started nearly as slowly as the last. But not quite, since we had two whole activities planned that day. That’s 100% more than Aimee and I usually plan on trips (with or without kids), but we figured that we’d go out with a bang on the last day with our friends.

We spent the morning at the nearby Trees of Mystery, the roadside attraction to end all roadside attractions. 

An enterprising environmentalist bought up 120 acres of ancient redwood forest nearly 100 years ago, back when there wasn’t much more in the area than logging camps and railroads. The park flourished in the golden age of American road trips, and continues going strong today because it really is such a unique operation. The 50 foot tall Paul Bunyan at the entrance sets expectations right out of the gate. 

This is no National Park, ladies and gentleman.

The park is a delightful combination of roadside kitsch and natural splendor. Giant wood carvings portraying the myths around Paul Bunyan are interspersed with some of the most amazing (and tallest) trees in the world.

Weaving through a few of those trees is the Canopy Trail, a series of interconnected rope bridges about a hundred feet off the ground. Keeping up (and swaying) with a fearless three and five year old was no joke. For the first time in my life, I felt the woozy vertigo of my brain trying to figure out why we were walking so high off the ground. I didn’t have a good answer for it.

That smile was only on the outside.

Just barely after I recovered from the Canopy Trail, we came up to a gondola spanning a line even higher than the trees. Higher than the Canopy Trail, but fully enclosed, the fear factor was a wash. The lumberjack-type manning the controls had a facial expression that said, “Care if the line snaps? I won’t even notice.” But we know the views would be worth it.

They were.

It’s a bit hard to tell in the photo, but what Mimi was so surprised about is that our landing spot on top was actually above the clouds. We went through them on the way up to the viewpoint.

The park trail meandered through another mile or so of the forest before returning us to where we began. With two days between walking along the Skyway and writing about it, I think I’m ready to say that it was a fun experience and actually mean it.

We cruised back up along the coast, stopping for an obligatory seaside lunch of various fried fishes and starches. It was delicious. 

The next stop was the Avenue of the Titans. It came highly recommended by Bradley and Brandie, and for good reason. 

Words (and even photos) can’t do this park justice. It was one of the most majestic forests I’ve ever been in. You should go. But thankfully your visit (and ours) will have much less of an impact following some important renovations that were completed last year. Despite being nearly impervious to fire, the Giant Sequoias have one very important susceptibility. Their roots are extremely shallow (surprising for such a tall tree), and can be damaged very easily by extensive foot traffic. So a large coalition came together to protect them with a (much more modestly) elevated walkway. It’s a great solution to allow many people to see this wonder of the world while still making sure that the millennia old trees aren’t killed by a few decades of tourist traffic.

That evening was just as delightful as the ones we had been having all week. But this one was unfortunately the last one of the trip with our friends. So we solidified the details of our next reunion over some drinks and ice cream before drifting off to sleep. As much as we wanted to drag out the day, only those of us under 10 were able to keep their eyes open past 9:30. So as we had been doing all week, we piled the kids into the back bedroom, put on a movie and let them ride out the most epic of sleepovers. It was a magical week for all of us.

Another Roadside Attraction

Breakfast was provided by the hotel, but it was the kind of breakfast that made me more concerned about who would be providing the toilets. But at least it made our morning easy and let us hit the road relatively early. 

Unfortunately, Donyel and Cicely weren’t quite as lucky with their room, and had to go down the road to a sister property. So we hung out in the lobby until they joined us, and were relieved to hear that motel attempt #2 was far more successful.

We only had one scheduled destination that day: Fern Canyon, a stunning State Park that requires time-specific permits to limit the environmental impact of visitors. (We had our act together for that one.) But our reservation wasn’t until late afternoon, so we made a quick stop at the quintessential Redwoods roadside attraction: a drive-through tree.

As far as 1950s kitsch goes, this one was pretty cool. I tried not to think about someone taking a chainsaw to a 2,400 year old tree. But us not visiting wouldn’t put the tree back together. Plus, the kids loved the massive tree trunks turned climbing structure (and we loved that it pulled their attention away from the gift shop).

The second attraction was a rolling one. The Avenue of the Giants runs parallel to the 101, meandering through alternating sections of redwood forests and tiny towns right out of a Normal Rockwell painting. Lots of pie shops, Paul Bunyan statues, and front-porch bear carvings. Roadside Americana at its best. 

After traversing through about half of it, we headed back onto the 101 for the rest of the journey. The Avenue of the Giants was beautiful, but we wanted to make sure that we made it to Fern Canyon during our reservation window.

And I’m so glad we did. Even the drive to Fern Canyon was absolutely stunning. 

The meandering dirt road weaved through a prehistoric forest with an extremely dense canopy. It was otherworldly, and didn't feel like anything else I’ve seen in this country or any other.

After about four miles of this magic, we rolled up to the ranger station, showed our permit, and paid the entrance fee. The ranger at the window asked if we had been there before. When we told her we hadn’t, she told us that Elk had been seen in the park that day (pretty cool), but also bears (less cool) and mountain lions (not cool). Every National and State Park I’ve ever been to has a generic bear warning at the entrance. I typically walk right past it. But something about this ranger’s warning made me feel like we might actually encounter one today. Or far more concerningly, a mountain lion. To really bring it home, she asked us to stop by her post on our way out and tell us if we saw any of those animals on our hike.

Um, first of all, that’s making a very big assumption about the fatality of our hypothetical encounter. But also, I’m pretty sure you’ll hear me plenty clear from inside the park.

After receiving the ranger's warning, I kept a tight leash on the kids. But probably a bit too tight. I spent the first mile of the hike wrestling with which of several competing hazards I should be focused on. "Don't run, kids. Unless there's a bear. Then do run. But not if there's a mountain lion. Then definitely don't run. Stay closer. But also go explore. And no, you can't go on my shoulders." Then there was the ongoing inner monologue of maybe I'm being too hard on them. Or maybe not hard enough.

Parenthood.

But thankfully my self-analysis didn’t keep me from looking up, because this place was absolutely stunning.

Mimi made friends with a banana slug

Once we had been in the park for a bit and I convinced myself that a mountain lion wouldn’t be running off with one or both of my children, I lightened up and we had a blast crawling through the trees and fording the streams running through the canyon. It was delightful.

On our way out, I gladly breezed past the ranger's station with nothing to report. Then we made the last bit of our drive to the house that we’d be staying at for the next few days. There was a massive yard for the kids to play in, shade from 100 foot tall redwoods, and a tranquil lake out the back. 

As I write this from the back porch the next morning, I’m watching the kids running laps around the house pretending to be wild animals, the moms chatting and reading books in the shade, and the other dads playing ping-pong in the garage. This is summer camp, and I could really get used to living out here in the forest. Maybe I will actually look into that Yosemite assignment.

Golden

We had a lazy morning after our Yellowstone Yosemite adventure. Not only do Aimee and I have a strict no-more-than-one-early-wakeup-per-vacation policy, were we still recovering from the six miles of hiking we did after that early wakeup.

Our kids define "lazy morning" slightly differently, and forded a mile of the stream running next to our house. These kids are fearless. 

Most of that day was going to be spent driving our way up the coast. It was a 500 mile journey to Crescent City, but we'd be breaking it up with a quick motel stop halfway. So the agenda wasn't too packed, and we had time for a picnic lunch on the nearby Sugarpine Logging Train. 

Just like the name implies, Sugarpine is a rehabbed logging train turned tourist attraction. Some of the history was lost on our kids, but that's not why they were there. Like every child ever, they just love trains.

We hadn't even left the station yet.

The conductor relayed some trivia throughout our journey that the adults found plenty interesting. The most striking bit was when he said the original early-1900s logging operation completely clear-cut the 30,000 acres of forest outside of Yosemite that we were currently rolling through. There wasn’t a tree in sight that was older than 90 years. This is why we protect National Parks now.

With our kids grinning ear to ear, we of course wanted a group photo on the train. I looked around our little train car to see who I could ask. My general rule of thumb is to never ask anyone older that 17 to take a cellphone photo for me. But our options were pretty limited, and I handed my phone to one of the few people within arm's reach. 

I immediately regretted it when I saw our would-be photographer fumbling with my phone, which I had already set up to take a photo. And then he abruptly looked up and said, “Uh oh. Someone’s calling you. Want me to answer it?” For so many reasons, the answer was obviously, “No thanks.”

After a few attempts, he handed me back my phone, and asked how it turned out.

"Um, perfect. Thanks!"

As I silently planned how to tactfully ask someone else to take our photo, I scrolled through my phone log to see who called. As it turns out, no one at all. I discovered that the call I had “received” was actually him somehow calling 911 from my phone. "Sorry, officer. Yeah, we're fine. Just an indecent exposure."

I'll be here all week.

After a rolling lunch, we eventually disembarked the train and found someone else to take our photo.

Although by that point, we were dipping into nap time, and it's not hard to see which kids were pretty checked out.

With bellies full and wiggles expended, we got back in the car and started our journey north. As we had hoped, the kids were out cold before we even left the parking lot. The next two hours were quiet and pleasant as we rolled through the Sierra Nevada mountains out towards the coast.

Our first stop was a slight detour to visit our friend, Danielle, and her family in the farming country outside of Modesto. Aimee has known Danielle since just after college, and is actually the Godmother of one of Danielle's children. It was delightful to catch up with all of them. We would have stayed through dinner if we didn't still have four more hours left in the drive.

Our other detour that day was the Golden Gate Bridge. The kids had seen photos of it, and were excited to drive over it in real life. To get there, we took the Bay Bridge into San Francisco, itself an engineering marvel. The massive four and a half mile double-decker bridge is one of the longest in the country, and is so big it actually passes through an island tunnel at one point. It was a delight to hear the “Oohs,” “Ahs,” and “This is so specials” coming from the back seat. Which is nice, since after a little jaunt through San Francisco proper, we rolled up to a completely fogged-out Golden Gate Bridge. Like, completely fogged out. I had trouble seeing the car in front of me, let alone any part of the bridge besides the road we were rolling over.

As you can see from his face, Quinn was still trying to figure out where the rest of the bridge was, but everyone was in good spirits.

Our detours and extra stops eventually caught up with everyone, but we were able to keep it together until we pulled into a little motel in Ukiah, California around 9:30 pm. We didn’t need much more than a bed, and this place fit the bill. 

Staying in potentially-dodgy roadside motels always reminds Aimee and I about the dodgiest ones we’ve stayed in (I'm looking at you, Knights Inn Buffalo). So we reminisced about them while we got everyone ready for bed, and were very happy that this one wasn’t going to make the list.

Good Morning, Yosemite

Our 5 AM alarm felt like you’d imagine it would. This better be one nice F-ing forest.

We stumbled our way through dressing six sleeping children, and woke them up just enough not to choke on the bagels we offered force fed them.

We loaded up the cars and were somehow still on track to arrive by 6! Or so we thought. The mapping we did last night wasn’t lining up with the mapping we did that morning. Our phones were now telling us that our expected arrival time was 6:05 AM. Not good. Those five minutes were the difference between getting into the park and trying to explain to six groggy kids why their dad, mom, and four other grown adults didn’t bother to check if permits were required. Also what’s a permit?

It’s not like the winding cliffs we were driving through allowed us to make up much time. So the drive was a quiet one, to say the least. I was white knuckling the steering wheel, Aimee was staring down our arrival time, and the kids were just trying to figure out why the hell we got them up so early.

Eventually we started to see some evidence that we were getting close. We breezed right past the “Estimated Wait Time: 90 minutes” sign, and tried not to think about how many miles that translated to. When the “60 minutes” sign came up just a few seconds later, we shuddered at the thought of trying to get in at a slightly less ridiculous hour. Maybe we did actually make the right decision. But it was 5:57, and the entrance was still nowhere to be seen. Too soon to pat ourselves on the back.

Then, a few seconds later, we saw the iconic National Parks Service fee stations come in to view. I tried not to let my excitement translate into quadrupling the speed limit. We might actually make it.

Photo: National Parks Service. There was no was I was going to slow down to take a picture.

We rolled up to the window, saw that the booth was empty, and kept on driving through. The initial response was confusion. “Was that it? Are we in?” Then shock. “I think that was it. I think we’re in.” Then unencumbered, 6 in the morning, who-needs-coffee excitement. We all spontaneously pulled our cars over, got out, looked at one another and started cheering! We made it! Through half-open eyes, the kids didn’t quite share our joy (in fact, Quinn started crying as the commotion woke him from his haze). But we’re hoping they’ll appreciate it eventually.

The park itself was spectacular. That was obvious from the first moments we arrived, even as we spent the first hour simply driving across the western half into the more iconic Yosemite Valley. Because we had to be in the park by 6, we didn’t have the luxury of driving in through the main entrance. But having a sunrise view of  some of the lesser known sections was a treat in itself.

But once we got to the heart of the park, we realized that we had absolutely no idea what to do next. With the usual pre-vacation hubbub of kids, jobs, international flights, and road trips required just to get to this point, we had done next to no planning about what to do once we actually got here.

So we walked up to a group of park rangers heading off to their posts and asked almost literally, “What should we do here?” The rangers paused, but didn’t let their faces betray what I’m sure was at least a small amount of judgement. True professionals. They gave use a few tips, and snapped a photo for us. This one, in fact.

When I look back at this photo I think, 1. “I shouldn’t still look that tired. We had already been awake for three hours,” and 2. “So that’s when Mimi’s cat phase started.”

For some context, the typical Yosemite visitor started planning their trip months—occasionally years—before their visit. Permits are in short supply and sell out seconds after they’re released. Many visitors go on multi-day backwoods adventures, and a handful brave the world-class climbing walls. We just found out where the entrance is about an hour ago.

In fact, we had even called the park “Yellowstone” several times that morning. Out loud. In public. In fact, the shuttle driver called us out with a smile on her face when we said that while trying to figure out which stop we should get off at. I’m just glad I didn’t ask where the geysers are.

Through a combination of kindness from the shuttle driver, advice from the rangers, and pity from other guests, we made our way to a delightful little hike up to a stream-fed lake with stunning views of the iconic Half-Dome cliff face. But first we had to actually get there. At that point, the kids had been up for four hours, which is just two fewer than what they slept the night before. That said, they did great. Every 100 feet or so, they’d ask one of us to carry them. But we told them that the Earth Giants would wake up if they heard any whining.

I never thought I’d say this, but thank you, Frozen 2.

As we knew they would be, the views from the top made the effort to get there seem trivial. The kids spent the next hour playing on the world’s most scenic playground.

After our hike, we dropped by the Yosemite medical clinic, but for the best possible reason. A friend from our Whiteriver days is now the clinic’s nurse practitioner. (Yes, the job seems as idyllic as you might imagine.) She and her family live inside the park, and she takes care of the various bumps, bruises, infections, and other maladies suffered by park guests and 2,000+ employees. She had been giving me the hard sell to work there for the past six months, and to be honest, the sales pitch became infinitely easier once I experienced the park in person.

By lunch, our kids were fading (Aimee and I had hit the wall at least an hour earlier). So we headed back to our little mountain retreat and spent a delightfully lazy afternoon napping, playing games, and otherwise taking it easy.

Turns out, it’s quite a nice F-ing forest.

On the Road Again

“I'm so excited for my first plane ride!” Has been a common refrain around our house this Spring. Quinn has no persistent memories of any of his pre-pandemic flights, and couldn’t have been more excited. Mimi, who does remember some of our previous flights (as do I), is right there with him.

So, unsurprisingly, Quinn and Mimi were up at the crack of 6:30, pacing around their room until the light-up alarm clock turned green. Aimee and I anticipated this, so we had set our non-light-up alarm clock even earlier. We wanted to finish packing our bags without little hands undoing our work in real time. We would have done that the night before, but we had both stayed up late wrapping up some projects for work. That was the last thing we wanted to be thinking about on our vacation.

Simply flying a lap around Flagstaff would have been vacation enough for the kids, but we had something much better in mind. We were slated for our biennial meetup with Aimee’s Peace Corps friends. Those trips tend to alternate between low-key road trips and high-ambition foreign adventures. Thankfully (and not accidentally), this year was going to be a low-key road trip. We’re flying to Fresno, renting a car and meeting everyone in Yosemite National Park. From there, we’re heading up to the California Redwoods, and then sneaking up to visit some family in Portland. On second thought, maybe it would have just been easier to meet up in El Salvador again.

With our bags packed, and the kids awake so early, we had an unusual problem on our hands. We were going to have to kill some time. Our flight didn’t leave until 11:30 AM, and by 8:15 AM we were more than ready to get out of the house. So we took advantage of Flagstaff’s top-notch playgrounds. We still got to the airport about two hours too early, but simply being in an airport (even one as small as Flagstaff's) would be entertainment enough for the kids. But wait! We got a surprise assist from one of the kids’ school friends who was on the same flight to Phoenix with his family. Airport activity covered.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mimi developed an adorably close bond with, of all things, a trapped moth. The bug was sealed in the terminal, and we tried to tell Mimi that buildings like this don’t have any doors or windows that we can open to let it out. But that wasn’t enough for her. Almost in tears, she went up to a couple of airport employee to tell them about this travesty, and immediately won them over. They told her that if she was able to bring it open, they'd help her set it free. Amazingly, she caught the moth in her hands within seconds and went right back to the airport staff. 

Fully charmed (and more than a little surprised), they walked her over to the emergency exit, typed in their access code, held open the door, and watched her set the moth free. I’d like to think that they’ll be telling that story at their retirement parties.

And then the moment arrived! The gate agents made the boarding announcement, and our kids got to walk out on the tarmac for their “first plane ride.”

Pure joy.

Like any first time flyers, they studied up on airplane safety as soon as they got on board.

The flight was a breeze. It was barely thirty minutes, and no fewer than 29 of them were filed with Quinn telling Mimi, “I’m so excited!!” It brought the house down. No fewer than a dozen people told us how adorable their narration was. Especially the parents of the clearly nervous older kid behind us who seemed to get some strength from the ebullient three year old in front of him.

And I should probably comment on the lack of masking. A few weeks prior to this trip, we had our second round of COVID. I'd still far rather we not have COVID, but it did take the edge off of our travel risk assessment. 

We spent the Phoenix layover in the Admirals Lounge. It was a welcome respite, even if we did have to spend nearly all of it reminding the kids that they can’t just have the freely-available cherry candies for lunch.

The second leg was a bit longer, but still a delight. The early wake up was starting to show on the kids, but  it was nothing that we couldn’t smother with PBS kids playing over Quinn’s first pair of headphones that we had given him an hour earlier. Thanks, Grandpa. 

We landed in Fresno, and made our way to the baggage claim. Thankfully, there wasn't much left on our agenda that day. We just needed to pick up our rental car, grab some dinner, and hit the road. We went up to the rental counter, and got the keys in minutes. We had already reserved the car and prepaid. But as I was walking to the lot, I noticed that they had swapped the Toyota Corolla we has requested with an all wheel drive 4Runner. I’m sure it was intended as a bonus upgrade, but for our mostly-freeway trip up to Portland, that was going to cost us a fortune at the current gas prices. I had given up hope for a smaller car swap after hearing the rental agents tell the two people before me that they had essentially no inventory. But after my wife/environmental conscience shed a single tear when I told her what car we’d be driving, I went back to the counter. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

I told rental agents that I had an unusual question. “Do you have anything smaller?”

“Smaller? Really?” The agent replied incredulously.

“Yeah, we’re driving all the way up to Portland.” Shaking her head the way she would have had I asked to rent a submarine, she typed a few keystrokes into her computer. She mentioned a couple of models she had available—all trucks and SUVs. I didn’t recognize any of them, and she could see that in my face. After looking over to her colleague and pointing out something on her screen, she looked up to me and asked, “Do you want a Prius?”

“Really?! Yeah! I’d love a Prius!”

Wondering why she didn’t open with that, I still couldn’t believe my luck. It turned out that it was a hybrid SUV, but I wasn’t complaining. The extra headroom would be worth the small hit in mileage. It would still be way better than my first option.

With the car loaded up, we headed out to our rental house near Yosemite. The drive was a little longer than an hour, so we made a scorching-hot, semi-miserable stop on the outskirts of Fresno. But the stop was rescued by dinner at the most amazing jackfruit-based taco truck we've ever eaten at (although the only one we've ever eaten at). It was infinitely better than the local vegetarian restaurant advice we got from the Sprouts grocery clerk after picking up a cache of road trip snacks. "Do you want straight vegetarian or vegetarian oil-free." Oh, California. You never disappoint. When we told him that we're vegetarians, not masochists, he suggested we try such local fair as Chipotle and Panera. We knew we could do better, and stumbled upon a food truck rally next to the store we stopped at to replace my already-lost sunglasses (but at least I got the kids off the plane).

We continued on for an otherwise painless drive, and went further and further into the forest until we found the house. By further into the forest, I mean past where the road turns into a dirt road, then past where the dirt road turns into a path, then past where the path turns into a true-crime podcast. But despite the distinctly Dateline vibe, our mountain retreat looked delightful.

It obviously became infinitely more delightful when our friends greeted us at the door. We spent the rest of the evening chatting about how we all spent the distinctly-eventful year and half since we last saw each other.

Eventually, our reunion gave way to heavy eyelids. Our journey was by far the easiest; a third of us flew in from Cambodia, where Cicely and her family are currently posted. Before turning in, we talked over our plan for the next day. That would be our only full day at this stop, and we planned on spending it within Yosemite National Park. But when Alicia (the other third of the Peace Corps BFFs and this trip's default planner) pulled up the National Parks Service website, the color immediately ran out of her face.

“Um, guys, I’m so sorry. We need a permit just to get in.”

We did not have a permit.

The rest of us were taking it in stride, since the real reason for the trip was the reunion currently in progress. But Alicia felt terrible that one of the two nominal reasons for this trip (the other being Sequoia National Park) was suddenly off the table.

We told her it was no big deal, but then she brightened up and read out loud that anyone could enter the park outside of peak hours. The catch? Peak hours started at 6 AM, so we figured we were right back where we started. But Alicia rallied the group for a 5:00 AM wake-up and a sunrise view of one of our country’s first National Parks (presumably with our 6 kids). I was skeptical, to say the least, but Alicia's excitement was contagious. I figured I could pull it together after seven hours of sleep. But I wasn't the one settling in for an epic sleepover. In parallel to our 11th hour Yosemite research was a back bedroom full of six kids, a giant bowl of popcorn, a movie on TV and a whole lot of giggles. 

There were going to be some seriously groggy kids the next morning. But I made peace with it and headed off to bed. It was good to be on the road again.