That Moment when you ask where are we going?

Page, Arizona

Maddie 9

Kier 6

Cora 3

Sandstone Canyons in Page AZ

Often our trip destinations are not planned by us-- or at least are not the destinations we planned.

Maddie and Kier at the Grand Canyon

When we went to the Grand Canyon we were still naive enough to think you could just waltz into a national park and reasonably expect to find a place to stay. After all, we had a tent and camping gear!

The first night we drove from camp ground to camp ground and were turned away again and again. In the end we managed to snag the last cabin in the park-- a blessing from someone else's last minute cancellation. It was a “no-pets” room so we had to traumatize our 6 month old miniature poodle puppy with a night in the kennel (did you know that many of our national parks have dog kennels? Neither did we!)

The next day was a chilly, windy March day. But the view of the Grand Canyon are beautiful in any weather.

The GRAND Canyon in Spring

By mid-afternoon, we knew that the previous days “lucky lodging” opportunity was not to be repeated. There was no where to stay in the park. We tried the near by, but out of the park, hotels. They were also all full. We even asked at the frightening campground, but it also had no vacancy. The tent camp spots were concrete and practically right on the road-- maybe they were; it was hard to tell the difference!

We thought that maybe we could camp at the airport? The employees at the FBO looked rather dubious when we suggested it. They conferred among themselves and, I guess, decided that we didn't seem to suspect because they did finally give approval.

On second thought, I think they knew there was absolutely no way we could possibly set up camp. For one thing, the wind was picking up;

A big Crack in the earth AKA the Grand Canyon

for another, the hangers were packed tightly together and what space there was was covered in goat-heads and cactus. The sun would be setting soon; it was crunch time-- a decision had to be made.

Joel said if we left right away we could make it as far as Page, Arizona. We packed the plane, left the rental car's keys at the FBO and took off into a strong headwind.

Flying in a small aircraft over the Grand Canyon is a unique feeling. The earth seems to fall away as you fly over the cliff. Actually the airport at Page, Arizona is even more impressive at this effect. The airport at Page literally lies at the top of a cliff over looking the Lake Powell Reservoir, and upon take off it really does feel like someone pulled the rug out from under you. Landing at the Page Airport feels a bit like you might hit the side of a cliff!

Landing in Page AZ

Lake Powell

 

Once we arrived at Page we decided it was well worth spending a couple of days. After all, we wouldn't be staying in the Grand Canyon, like we had planned. We camped for two nights at the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Apparently 'National Recreation Areas' do not share the National Park's “no-spur-of-the-moment visits” quality. 

We spent a day playing at the beach around Lake Powell. We admired the house boats and tried to take a tour of the dam. Unfortunately due to the high winds we could not actually go out on the dam that day. We did however, manage an areal tour of the area after the pilots who fly for the tour company gave us some hints on the best spots to visit. The Glen Canyon, which now makes up the walls of the Lake Powell reservoir, is absolutely stunning. The shear cliffs are composed of smooth, striated layers of red and pale yellow sandstone.

 

Antelope Canyon

"A rugged, safe and comfortable 4 Wheel trip"

On our second day we visited the near by Antelope Canyon which boasts this same beautiful geology. The Canyon is located on Navajo Tribal land. The only access to the canyon is on a guide led tour

offered by the Navajo Tribe. Here is part of the description from the website: “ The tour involves us transporting you to the Upper Antelope Canyon in our 4-wheel drive tour vehicle that is both rugged, safe and yet comfortable.” I think this can be translated into something like: Transportation to the Canyon involves cramming as many people as possible into the back of a standard pickup truck and racing across the desert at 40 miles per hour. No seatbelts or other safety equipment will be provided, so just hold on to your little ones and enjoy the ride!

Kier, Maddie and Cora in Antelope Canyon

The website also refers to the “haunting beauty” and “awe-inspiring stone formations”. No translation is required for those statements. Nothing could be more accurate. Antelope Canyon is other-worldly in it's beauty!  While in Antelope

By the third day we were ready to move on to our next destination, Mesa Verde. That plan was not to be. It appeared that while we were unable to STAY in The Grand Canyon, we were equally unable to LEAVE The Glen Canyon. In the end, this vacation stop, which we never planned to make, ended up lasting for five nights!

But on day three we were unaware that we still had 3 more nights here in Page Arizona, so we packed up our camping gear and returned our rental car. And then we waited for the weather to give us the go ahead. We spent much of day three in the FBO. We flipped through the brochures, played on the luggage scales, turned concrete barriers into balance beams, played fetch with the dog at the near by empty lot and generally made ourselves at home (if perhaps unwelcome guests who wouldn't leave...)

Eternally optimistic, but also tired of sleeping on the ground, we chose to forego the rental car and instead use the funds for a night in a hotel. I believe we hitched a ride with someone from the FBO (at the airport). It was close enough that in the morning we could walk back to the airport.

Hanging out at the airport-- our natural environment.

Camped out under a wing

Unfortunately, the weather was still not favorable the next morning. We did at one point think things had improved enough for us to leave. Once we got into the air, Joel called Air Traffic Control to open his flight plan. The ATC controller started on a whole litany of weather problems. After the first report of Thunderstorms along the way (which involved some mountain flying) Joel had already begun to turn the plane and head back to the airport. But the air traffic controller continued with his long list-- icing  en-route, snowstorms, turbulence... Clearly it was not a good day to be headed into Colorado.

At the end of the day, we dragged our luggage back to the previous night's hotel and were told that there was no vacancy for the night. The only other option was on the other side of town. Page Arizona is a small town and, at least at the time we were there, had no taxi service. So we had to drag our luggage, our puppy, and our three small children across town. It was probably only 2 miles but it seemed infinite!

One of the things we did to pass the time during our extended stay in Page was go see a movie in the cute little 1940s era, small town theater. I don't remember what movie we found to watch that afternoon, but I do remember having the most bizarre conversation with the theater manager.

We were traveling with our 10 pound miniature poodle puppy and since we had checked out of the hotel room in the morning, we had no where to leave the puppy for a few hours. But she's only 10 pounds and she fits nicely in a backpack (made for dogs). A quiet black puppy in a mesh black bag rarely solicits attention beyond the occasional smile when a particularly observant passer-by realizes that the shiny black eyes belong to a living puppy.

Invisibility bag

About half way through the movie I decided I needed to visit the “Lady's”. This presented a bit of a problem. I could choose to leave the puppy in the bag with the family-- but she is very much my dog and there was a high likelihood that this choice would result in some whining. My other choice was to take her with me. Turns out maybe I should have risked the potential whine and left her with Joel...

Anyway, upon exiting the restroom, I was ominously called in to the manager's office where the young, 20s something theater manager informed me that “backpacks are not allowed at the theater” and I would need to leave mine with her until I was prepared to leave. I have no idea what illicit things this young women thought a mom of three young kids might be carrying in her backpack (and what mom of three young kids doesn't carry a huge bag filled with kid gear...) but clearly “puppy” was not on the list!

I, however, knew full well that the bag contained a puppy and that leaving the bag would not go well! So, I suggested that she might want to take a look in the bag BEFORE deciding she wanted to keep it in her office. This idea rather shocked the girl, whose forehead creased and eyes, in turn grew large and then suspiciously narrowed before stammering out that, yes, maybe she should know what was in the bag. When I unzipped the bag a little black ball of curly fluff with a bright pink tongue happily wiggled out.

“Oh!” the girl gasped, her eyes now wide, “I don't think we allow dogs!”

I couldn't help but smile. “Well, no I didn't think you do. That's why I hid her in a bag,” I said as I directing the puppy back into the backpack.

There was now a good thirty seconds of silence where the girl and I sat looking at one another over the big desk.

Finally, I ventured to ask if my puppy and I could go back and finish watching the movie with my kids. Uncertainly, she agreed, but told me that I was not welcome in the theater in the future.

“Got it,” I agreed.

"Little House" set in Tucson AZ

So the next day, when it rained ALL DAY, going to the theater was not an option. Instead we spent a day watching a marathon of old “Little House on the Prairie” episodes. Earlier in the trip, while in Tucson, we visited the studio where many of the episodes had been filmed, so we made the best of the day while we tried to identify the various props and scenes.

Our plan that week had been to spend two or three day exploring the Grand Canyon and two or three days playing in the Cliff Dwelling of Mesa Verde. Reality provide one whirlwind night in the Grand Canyon, no time for Mesa Verde and five nights in Page Arizona. Plus a chance to learn flexibility as we discarded the plan and instead embraced reality!

Monument Valley

Maddie Air-plane Schooling

Piper

Our time in Pergatoiry-- or should that be purgatory?

Pergatoiry River Valley

June 2012

Maddie 11

Kier 9

Cora 6

I hate High-wing airplanes. Joel tells me my disdain is unwarranted, that the reason the two flights in a Cessna were so bumpy is because it was late-June and they were afternoon flights when the hot air is rising. None the less, I maintain my feeling that the wings belong on the bottom of the plane. That way you can look down and see that the wings are still there. At any rate, two of our most bumpy flights took place in a beautiful, near new (leather seats and all) Cessna 152 while the paperwork for the battered Cherokee still sat in insurance purgatory. 

The first such flight was, I kid you not, not more then 20 minutes from take off to landing. Still it was long enough for both girls to toss their cookies, but not long enough that we thought to bring barf bags or extra clothes. Yep, that was a huge oversight!, and so much for those shinny new leather seats! Not only that but a Cessna 152 carries 4 people-- leaving one Shaklee family member without a seat. So this little 20 minutes flight from Centennial Airport in Denver to Rocky Mountain Metro in Broomfield required several hours of planning and driving to get everyone to the same air show at about the same time. We had to pick up food, drop Kier off with our airplane friends, the Lowels, and then drive from their

house (which is significantly closer to Metro Airport) back to Centennial airport. On the other hand, this convoluted method of arriving at the airshow did save us the cost of admission--just don't ask about the cost of plane rental and av-gas-- and allowed us the squeeze in landing between B52s and Japanese Yaks.

A few weeks later we were once again crammed in the 152 (Kier was once again temporarily adopted by the Lowels and their Moony) and bouncing across the sky on our way to Purgatoire River Valley. Seriously, who goes to Purgatoire on vacation! The good news is that this time no one needed the barf bags which we had the foresight to remember, the bad news was that a strong head wind made the trip take forever. And, once we reached the airport in La Junta that head wind became a wicked crosswind across the run way. One thing to know about wind and airplanes is that it pushes the airplane around a lot more then it does a car. So, if the wind is coming perpendicular to the direction you want to travel and your airplane is pointed straight, you are not going to get where you want to go. Therefore the pilot must point the airplane at an angle; they call this crabbing because, like a crab, you end up “walking” sideways-- it's a strange sensation. If you think about this for a moment you'll realize the problem that arises when the wheels of said “sideways moving” airplane hit the tarmac of the “not sideways moving” runway. In order fix this problem the pilot puts the plane in a slideslip as you near the runway. In a slideslip the airplane has one wing tipped up and one tipped down. This changes the airflow over the wings and results in less push on the plane-- it also means that the plane lands on one wheel. As you can imagine its a tricky maneuver. And being in a light plane makes it even trickier. Joel was all over the rudder peddles to keep the plane in the proper “not too much, not too little” angle. And I was squirming all over my seat, because I'm sure somehow my shifted weight makes all the difference in how the plane handles. (No?) We, of course, landed unscathed, but apparently gave our friends quiet the “airshow”.

Once on the ground, the real adventure began. For one thing it was crazy hot in La Junta that weekend. We were tent camping at the near by KOA and could have saved ourselves the trouble of packing those bulky sleeping bags-- we certainly didn't need them. In fact what we really needed was some sort of a tent air conditioner! I'm pretty sure the over night low was still somewhere in the 80s that night. Brett's (Lowell) solution was to take a cold shower fully clothed before entering their tent. The result was apparently a somewhat effective human evaporative cooler in their tent. On the other hand, our family, not knowing this trick, just spent the night sweating it out on top of our sleeping bags.

The stated purpose of this trip into Purgatorie River Valley (also called Picketwire Canyonlands-- although in our collective opinion Purgatorie is a much more fitting name) was to take a ranger led trip into the park to see the largest dinosaur tracksite in North America. According to the Forresty Services website, over 1,300 dinosaur footprints extending over ¼ of are visible in the canyon.

Access to the site is strictly controlled. There are only two ways to visit: 1) hike, bike or horseback the 17+ miles in the scorching hot sun, or 2) take one of the two or three yearly four wheel drive Forest Service guided tours into the canyon. We opted for the ranger led trip-- a decision which turned out to be very wise indeed, given the soaring temperatures that day.

We arrived at the Forestry Service office mid-morning to join the four-wheel caravan of about 10 vehicles that would make the trek into the canyon that day. We had flown into La Junta and, it being a small town that generally doesn't even make it to “dot on the map” status, finding a rent-able four wheel vehicle was a bit of a trick. But, Bret was determined. He had found us a car dealership that was willing to rent us a Suburban for the weekend....as long as we didn't take it “off roading”. We reasoned that we would in fact be “on roads”; they would be dirt and forestry service road, but roads none-the-less. Our conscious almost clear, we set off into the bottom of Purgatorie.

Our tour took us past a cliff wall decorated with ancient petroglyphs, into bottom of the canyon and through the homestead of the pickitwire farm and of course along the bottom of the river where we followed in the gigantic footprint of million year old dinosaur tracks. The day was insanely hot. The car thermometer showed 108 much of the day. The forest ranger reported that his handheld thermometer read 118 at one point-- we were dubious, as that would have set an impressive record for Colorado. But at some point the difference between 108 and 118 is immaterial-- both are crazy, dangerous HOT. Between short forays into the inferno we turned the AC up full blast and guzzled gallons of water. Remarkably, no one in the entire caravan of cars ended up with heat stroke!

The exploration over, we all drove out of the canyon and started back on the dirt road to town. And that is when the inevitable happened-- A flat tire! In the 108 (+?) degree temperatures we all piled out of the rental car to gape at the very flat tire. We were stuck, on a dirt road, miles from any sort of main road, in a car we we not supposed to take off road (although technically we were back on a road by the time the flat tire occurred....) Fortunately for us, we were not the last car of the caravan to make the trip out. A kindly couple in a “decked out to the hilt” jeep pulled up behind us. We have had more then one mishap while four wheeling and I've noticed that four wheel people are always very helpful-- I think it may have to do with getting to use their stash of emergency gear with out having to endure the emergency themselves. What ever the reason we are eternally grateful that they pulled over and had the right gear to temporarily patch up the tire so we could drive (rather then walk!) the rest of the way to town.

But now, what to do about the obviously damaged tire? It was decided that a new tire should be purchased in order to hide our transgressions. The men went off to procure said tire, which took an inordinate amount of time. The women tried to cool and placate hot, tired hungry children with a swimming pool and ice cream. After a dinner of by the slice pizza and pop, we climbed into our steaming hot tents for another night in the KOA before flying out as early as possible the next morning to avoid the heat of the next day.

But strange as it may seem, as we drove across Denver to go pick Kier up from the Lowel's house, I remarked to Joel what an interesting trip it was and that I couldn't imagine sharing that trip with anyone but the Lowel's. And so there you have it, in Purgatorie we learned the value of friends (and that misery loves company ;). Although, a some point Dawn pointed out that her parents used to just have friends over for dinner and cards..... and at that moment, that sounded like a much better idea!

The Infamous Yuma Trip- June 2012 (Lindsey)

I don't know how we ended up by taking a trip to Yuma (middle-of-nowhere) Colorado. Okay, that's not really true-- I do know how we ended up in Yuma, (I just can't believe we did!) I even know why we ended up in Yuma. It's because Joel and I are awful at compromising. Now, I don't mean the we are unyielding or unkind to each other. I just mean that, somehow, when we have different ideas and we try to combine them to find middle ground, something ugly often seems to come of it.

For instance, a few years ago we redid our laundry room/ third bathroom. I wanted to paint the walls mint green and the cabinets light pink to match a painting I planned to hang in the bathroom. Joel wanted to paint the cabinets terracotta. Neither of us wanted the other person's color choice. It was time for a compromise. We went to the Lowes down the street and what we came home with was the most god-awful, 1950s, Pepto-Bismal pink paint (that we both hated). It was enough to turn ones stomach. It also stayed on those cabinets for the next two years until we moved, because,just because we know our compromise was something awful doesn't, apparently, mean that we will change it!

The trip to Yuma was a similar ugly and awful, all be it completely civil, sort of compromise. Here's how it happened: We had a dog, Zeke, that we had been fostering from the local animal shelter. He was sweet; he was playful; he was well mannered and great with kids. He was also over seven years old, a rather bland-looking black dog, and completely neurotic. We knew people would not be lining up to fight over who got to adopt this crazy, old, black dog. The thought of him languishing in the kennel slowly going stir crazy (or maybe quickly, he's kinda prewired for crazy) was too much for us. We had no choice-- we had to keep him! But first, Joel said, we must know if he was OK to fly. We bought a new kennel and Joel figured out how to bolt our “already- part-of-the-family” poodle's kennel to the “almost-part-of-the-family” Zeke's new kennel and then bolted them both into the airplane-- keeping everyone safe and out of the pilot's way during flight.

Up next, a destination. Camping seemed like a good choice, after all we would have two dogs in tow. Joel researched and found the perfect place. A cute little grass strip in Northpark, between the mountains. It had a near-by lake, we could camp right at the airport, and it was only a ½ hour flight. We headed to the airport. But when we called for a flight briefing, we learned that the winds were expected to pick up in about an hour and a half. Joel was fine with this bit of news, after all he reasoned, it was less than a 30 minute flight. Now, there is something you should know about me. It's this: I am a chicken when it comes to mountain flying. Even in the best weather, I look down at all those trees and the mountains sticking up all over and I can't help but think, if the engine quits, that's gunna hurt! 

But, at any rate, the plane was packed, the kennels were bolted down, the dogs and kids were loaded. And so we did it, we made a compromise. We did the figurative equivalent of drawing a circle on the sectional map and concluded that thirty minutes, going in the opposite direction of the mountains put us in Yuma Colorado. We'd go there, and see if there was anything to do. If there wasn't, we reasoned, “we could always leave, and go somewhere else” (I know, famous last words, right?)

The flight and landing were unremarkable, by which I mean I really don't remember them. I do however, remember that another plane landed at about the same time that we did. Joel went over and admired the other plane-- because that's what pilots do. And I'm so glad he did because in doing so, he met the man who would save us from ourselves. 

We didn't bother unloading the camping gear, after all we hadn't decided whether to stay in Yuma for the night. Instead we crated the dogs in the concrete, buggy bathroom and took a pleasant ½ mile walk into town where we had lunch at the local Subway sandwich shop (one of two places to eat in Yuma.)

By the time we returned to the airport, the wind had started to kick up; we hoped it was temporary because by now we had realized that we didn't so much want to stay in Yuma over night. In the meantime we let the dogs out and explored the various little sandhills surrounding the airport. By this time it was becoming obvious that we weren't going anywhere soon. The winds were much too strong. It was also obvious that we weren't going to be leaving that night. Even if the winds did let up, Joel was not night current. And it was also obvious that camping on the Eastern Plains of Colorado with nary a tree to block the wind was going to be a miserable experience! We walked around the various structures on the property hoping maybe one of them could block some wind. I even tried to come up with some way we might be able to erect our tent in the bathroom-- yes we really were that desperate! 

It was along about this time that the doctor/pilot that Joel had met earlier in the day took pity on us. I picture him sitting in his quaint, little, small-town home, drinking a quaint cup of tea while looking out his window at the less than quaint scene of hurricane force winds whipping the trees about and pelting the windows with dirt. I, of course, have no real idea of what he was doing when the thought occurred to him that that foolish young couple with the three adorable kids and two dogs were in for a hell of a night, but I do know that shortly after this realization occurred to us, this saint showed up at the airport and offered to let us pitch our tent in his backyard. Without stopping to consider, we loaded up our kids, dogs, camping gear and our selves into the back of this strangers pick up truck. This is not the only time we have had a trip that left us with little choice but a ride in the back of a strangers pick up truck on middle-of-nowhere back roads, and every time I left with the feeling that I should say something to the kids. The lecture always comes out something ridiculous like, “Now kids, you shouldn't get in the car with a stranger, and riding in the back of a truck is not safe, but.... well, it's our only choice...” yeah never my finest parenting moment!

Fortunately, we were not kidnapped this time, nor where there any fatal car accidents that day. Instead we set up our tent in the back of a stranger's back yard, used our camp stove (again, in the backyard) to cook our dinner and breakfast, and the kind couple even left the back door unlocked that night so we could use their bathroom! The night was windy, and loud and more then once I was sure the huge cottonwood would fall and crush us in the night! But, the houses and fence blocked much of the wind and we may have even got a few hours of sleep that night. Had we stayed at the airport I'm pretty sure we would have woken up in Kansas-- or maybe OZ.

So that is how (and why) we ended up camping in the back yard of a stranger's house in Yuma Colorado. How we came to have a MOST extraordinary trip in a most ordinary of places. How we learned about kindness and compassion and the danger of compromise. It's also how we learned that our new lab/ border collie liked flying-- but HATED swimming (he nearly drown in two feet of water in the tiny city park-- a now favorite family story). Oh irony, you have much to teach us.

That last paragraph sounds so mature and noble, doesn't it? That's because I'm writing this three years after the fact. At the time, I could not yet appreciate the divine absurdity of this story. And that is why, less then a month later, when a massive hail storm smashed two windows and dimpled the entire surface of the plane, the very first words out of my month were, “NO, that trip to YUMA, CAN NOT be our last airplane trip!” But, now I see that all's well the ends well. The fates smiled on us and we were able to join an airplane owner's club that has a beautiful six seat Saratoga. Fate smiled on the other airplane, too. She is now christened “Dimples” and belongs to Joel's Uncle. Dimples even gets to continue carrying babies around (something I am convinced she enjoys) and we frequently enjoy pictures of Joel's cousin and her little one flying in “our” airplane.