Keep Trying

Vomit filled hands and bed sheets, diarrhea filled toilet, multiple night sessions of nursing are a few highlights of Spring Break Trip 2019. (Similar, but not quite like the old MTV shows, “Spring Break, 1996! Club Med/Cabo/Key West…!!!) Camping and traveling with a one year old and a three year old is not for the faint of heart.

Matt and I strategically stuffed two giant duffle bags with clothes, blankets and maps for the kids and ourselves, but kept them small enough to count as carry ons. I packed our Kelty backpack for Reid with diapers, wipes, toys and snacks to fit under the seat. Ruby carried her own backpack with a water bottle and activities. We also packed hope that the kids would be adorable angels on our flight to Sacramento. The airplane trip is something I do with bated breath-praying to make it to our destination without being “those people” who can’t stop their baby from screaming or three old from whining and covering the walls with crayon graffiti.

After a rest at Grandma and Gramps, we climbed into our rented 1989 Westfalia to begin the trek to Yosemite National Park for four days of camping, hiking and waterfall viewing. The van was decked out with everything we needed from fluffy pillows, Clorox wipes and a cast iron pan- ideal for Matt’s delectable grilled cheese avocado sandwiches.  The sun shown brightly as we climbed at Volkswagen van speed, through the green rolling hills and up the winding roads. Upon entering Yosemite Valley the traffic was as bad as Seattle.  Tourists made typical questionable decisions like stopping in the street to get their Insta worthy shot of Bridalveil Falls.  We chugged to our campsite, wedging between the Sprinter vans and RV’s.  Despite that the sun hadn’t set yet, campfire smoke already blanketed the grounds.  This is Matt’s and my new life when camping with little people. I yearned to follow a trail that went up, up, up to the highest lookout, leaving all the other visitors behind. Instead, we took a few “hikes” around the valley floor, involving little elavation gain or length, but some whining, teddy bear graham bribes and hundreds of other people doing the same thing we were. We had just a couple of hours to explore before being forced to retire to our campsite for nap time.

The highlights arrived in different forms- meeting up with my brother, sister in law and two nephews, forced relaxation (I almost finished my book!), Matt’s grilled cheese sandwiches, sitting by the Merced River watching Caleb build a log, pine needle boat, soaking in the vastness of granite formations, the power of water pouring off the rock faces…

On our last night of camping, Matt and I stayed up a little longer after finishing our bottle of wine. Hiding from the neighbor’s lantern glare, I asked him if he’d enjoyed the trip. Matt had been so excited to explore Yosemite valley, to rent the van and to pull it all off with our kids. He answered me, “I guess this is our new reality when camping with kids. It’s just different. What are we going to do though except keep trying.” And that is exactly what we will do. People say it gets easier as the kids get older (especially when they are not crawling in the dirt, wearing diapers and putting charcoal bits in their mouth).  I look forward to that.

For now, I will lean into the opportunity to try again, with gratitude for a partner who keeps us moving forwards. Grateful for our kids, who humble us as we fumble our way down this parenting trail.

 

Last Leg(s)

I sit here, gazing at the Atlantic Ocean with awe.  How in the hell did I end up here?  Five months have passed since Matt and I left the chilly waters of the Puget Sound to ride our bicycles in a roundabout way, across the United States.  Here it is, December and “we’ve arrived.”

Thanksgiving was late this year and found us in our usual hunched positions, pedaling and feeling a bit sorry for ourselves.  I thought of Scott Francis’ gratitude yoga practice I was missing, my mother-in-laws cranberry margaritas and I’m positive Matt was having visions of the turkey carcass he was not going to gnaw on this year.  We also missed the laughter, the games, the hugs of our family.  We found camp in the 30 degree evening and I whipped up a Thanksgiving dinner for us (sans tortillas as we’d already had two that day).  Our cornucopia offered us chicken sausage, dried cranberries and green beans sautéed in butter and a splash of bourbon.  Dessert was more Buffalo Trace and festive eggnog.  I felt grateful for this warm meal, in a beautiful, safe place with the best partner I could ask for.

The following days seem to run together as we mostly just pedaled, attempting to crush each day before daylight escaped us.  The scenery was pretty, but I soon became accustomed to long stretches of straight roads, standing water, oak trees draped in Spanish Moss, tall skinny pines all mixed with low growing fan palms.  It became obvious that Florida was not all oranges, white sandy beaches and old folk.  The Sunshine State has its’ share of rednecks, roadkill, fried food, farm lands and below freezing temperatures.  This section of Florida is also called “Lower ‘Bama”, for obvious reasons.

Matt and I have finally come to terms with the Florida drivers.  Mind you, we have ridden in eleven states to date and the worst drivers are in Florida.  It’s not just the seventy plus crowd, but the entire population who have the mentality that “I am the only one on this road.”  They don’t make eye contact, but continue chatting on the phone as they rapidly swing their Chevy over the top of you in a right hand turn.  It reminds me of that Ludicrous song, “Move Bitch, Get Out the Way!”  The positive side of Florida is that they have some glorious bike paths to shield the innocent cyclist from being imprinted with a Cadillac symbol on their forehead.  Golden oak leaves drift through the canopy of branches and Spanish Moss decorating the asphalt.  The late autumn scent of crushed leaves and pine needles are invigorating.

Upon departing Tallahassee, Matt and I joyfully retired our smelly shoes and wool socks as our Chaco sandals resurged into the glow of sun and 75 degree weather.  I vowed to refresh my Chaco tan before a return to bitter cold Washington weather.  We enjoyed several days of incomparable riding temperatures.  Most nights were spent in Florida State Parks, which have been a true treat.  The parks are well kept with clean, hot showers, great picnic tables and unblemished natural beauty.

Our last evening spent in the MSR Hubba-Hubba was a classic.  Matt and I pulverized the day, putting in a good eighty miles.  Matt had set up our over night stay with an offsite ranger at a primitive campsite in the Etoniah Forest.  We rode/pushed over a sandy track for three miles eventually discovering the rustic camp.  The water pump was broken and darkness was upon us.  My industrious husband pulled out his bicycle tools in a desperate attempt to repair it, but to no avail.  Luckily, we had two tall boys of cider and one beer in addition to the liquid from canned green beans, canned corn and canned tomatoes, which were combined for a healthy cocktail Dr. Oz would appreciate.  The vegetables were heated, mixed with avocado and swiss cheese then enrobed in a tortilla.  Matt stated. “The lesson here, is that you should always buy a six pack of beer.”  Point taken.

A six pack of Bold City, Manatee IPA from Jacksonville traveled with Matt and I as we pedaled to our endpoint of the day, the Atlantic Ocean in the town of Palm Coast.  Puffy clouds bedazzled the cobalt sky as the salty, sulphur scent of the sea drifted in the air.  Our quads exhausted, but spirits elated, Matt and I parked the bicycles, grabbed the col’ ones and jumped in the waves.  We have arrived!!

Holiday traditions in Alabama

Thanksgiving wealth

Florida Caverns State Park mysterious swamp lands

A sign you would never see in Seattle

The resurgence of the Chacos!

A complete guilty pleasure treat- banana ‘nilla wafer pudding. Energy gut bomb.

I guess all this plastic means Christmas is nearing

Not the Florida I imagined

Another mish mosh dinner of canned chicken, beans, rice, zucchini and avocado with verde enchilada sauce. Matt had his in a wrap.

Suwannee State Park sunset

Matt pondering our next day. A Mike’s harder lemonade tasted awfully good at the end of a warm day, especially paired with pretzel rods and peanut butter.

Bike path outside of Gainesville

Miles and miles of glorious dinosaur kale! Kale salad, roasted kale, kale smoothie….

Atlantic Ocean, that’s what’s up