Anomalous Data - Travel

Arrogance and self-importance hit with the "Bedazzler"

Teresa Lhotka — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 00:53:06 GMT

You gotta go over to 4simpsons real quick and scan down the front page looking for Neil's "multiverse" post, or google it if it has already rolled off. I don't want to trigger his paranoia with too many links but this is amazing!

Neil actually thinks that the multi-verse theories were proposed to counter Intelligent Design Theory.

Um. The Multiverse Theory pre-dates the Intelligent Design political movement.

The Multiverse theory is described by mathematics. The Intelligent Design political movement cannot be described according to any coherent organizational model.

But theoretical Physicists are just scrambling to scratch up something to answer Intelligent Design with.

Uh huh. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Neil baby.

But I'd like to point out that the only way that the Multi-verse theories could have been created to respond to Intelligent Design is if the scientists developed them after 1992 (When ID was created) and then went back in time a significant amount, and then introduced a progressive series of theoretical models beginning with when the term was coined in the late 1800.

Of course, the only way that time travel would be even remotely possible is if one of the multiple universe theories were true... (since going back in time and changing events would create another alternate universe, and an alternate time-line).

And furthermore, why are we to believe that scientists are desperately flailing around to discount the arguments of ID proponents when ID proponents seem to have to be always making statements like this?:

[Update] about not provoking his paranoia: Too late. Neil is already Jonseing on how persecuted he is that people disagree with him and find his lunacy entertaining. He only listed three people this time. Usually he goes on much longer about how important an Godly he must be because people disagree with him.

Obamamania hits Spain.

Teresa Lhotka — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 11:54:50 GMT

If nothing else, Obama has made it easier to be an American overseas.

Rocky and I were just in Spain.

From our hotel window on the 10th floor of the AC Barcelona on Diagonal Ave, we could see this:

(although, from that angle, it looked like a characature of Richard Prior...this is a much better perspective)

Here's the story: http://www.wtop.com/?nid=105&sid=1509947

If you read it, you will see that originally, it was intended to question the out-sized expectations and exceitment that is Obamamania.

You will also see that the creator of the piece is an Obama "fan"...but a cautious one. Remembering that he is just a man.

The right has tried to inflate him to some out-sized anti-Christ, saying somehow he will march down our streets and collect our guns and Bibles, and have his Kenyan relatives put a witch -curse on us.

Some in the left seem to have forgotten that most of his campaign promises came with a "we will" in front of them, not an "I will".

But for one week I enjoyed walking around in Spain getting friendly smiles and thumbs-ups from strangers saying "Obama!". Having strangers tell me over beer that America has a history of doing things that no other country would do, and now once again, we have done something that no other country would do, and it is good.

It was described to me as a return to greatness, a rise in the moral mandate of America in the world...a leader (America) showing the way into a better future. It could have been the beer, but this recent election was spoken of with admiration and happiness to me by British, Norwegian and Spanish people. They couldn't stop telling me about how great America was (and is), though they were a little worried about us for a while there.

A waitress with no English at all tried to give me a newspaper with Obama on the cover, announcing his election. Everywhere I went, people asked me how I voted. Even though Obama was not my first choice way back at the beginning, I was happy to be able to say I voted for him...but when the hype dies down, I hope that people remember how he talked about how this was going to be difficult, and not everyone would be happy with every decision, and how we were going to have to do it together, and something would be asked of all of us, and it would be more than just "take a trip to Disney World" or "buy yourself a flat-screened TV for Christmas."

(BTW, does everyone remember when the conservative perscription to fix the economy was "go out and buy stuff"...and now suddenly it's the liberals' fault that people were buying too much damn stuff? What is up with that?)

Update #1 courtesy of Alan:

Speaking of going forward and not going back, vote with your wallet! You can go here to find out which businesses and business owners contributed money to pass "Proposition 8". In this way, you can then decide if you want your money to go to a business that will take some of the profits and turn it into funding for a divided, unequal America.

Talking to my guests

Teresa Lhotka — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 01:50:04 GMT

Me: "So, is it true all the things I hear about the Muslims taking over Britain?"

Guest: "Not so much. It's more the Poles, really."

Me: "Huh. I heard it was the Muslims."

Guest: "No, the Poles."

Me: "Huh."

A Neimoller Moment

Teresa Lhotka — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 11:13:03 GMT

If you don't think that it's a big deal that the government can seize lap-tops, books, magazines, or any other information media from people when they are traveling, and don't need a compelling reason to do so-

-I assume this might be because you don't travel and won't be inconvenienced, or you think you have nothing to hide.

If that's the case, I'd just like to point you to Denialism.com, were they point out that your doctor probably travels - and he could possibly have some of your private information on his laptop.

Some China pictures

Teresa Lhotka — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 18:12:33 GMT

I've never before put images of my kids or any other kids below the age of 18 on my blog. But looking at all that is out there, and considering Tim is now 15 and the size of a tall adult...and a trained martial artist...I suppose I should stop being so over protective.

Besides, these pictures are so great.

My oldest son, Tim (AKA Adventure Boy) is currently in China for a two-week cultural exchange field trip with his school. Last summer, we hosted two boys from Loudi at our house, and this year, Tim went to stay with the family of one of those boys. That boy's name is XiaoSui

XiaoSui wrote an e-mail to me and informed me that his family had taken 1300 photos during Tim's five-day visit to Loudi.

Here are some of them:

First, there was a warm greeting at the airport as the group flew in from Bejing:

Here you see Xiaosui's mom, Xiaosui in the blue shirt, and another visitor from last summer, Lei. He did not stay with us, but he spent a lot of time at our house and sends me regular e-mails.

Here's Tim getting a Kung Fu lesson. The boy on the far right is the other boy who stayed with us: Zhexin. Last I heard, he was the #1 ranked student in the school. Whatever his current ranking...he's one smart kid, and also very nice.

Tim teaches the Chinese about "Moose Ears":

The Eden Prairie Delegation was exposed to a great deal of traditional Chinese culture:

And apparently the Chinese kids and the Eden Prairie kids were mixed into teams and sent through an obstical course:

Tim going over the wall:

Tim crossing a rope bridge:

Apparently they gave him some beautiful shiney clothes. Gifts are an important tradition in China:

I just like this picture of Tim and Xiaosui:

Tim and host family:

The family also gave Tim a Chinese name: Xiaoping, Which means "safe". It is traditional for brothers to have the same first character in their names, so as Xiaosui's "international brother", Tim's name would naturally begin with "xiao".

Adventure Boy in China

Teresa Lhotka — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 18:18:00 GMT

The first blog entry is up. You can see a picture of the group in front of the main gate of the forbidden city. If you click on the picture, you can enlarge it, and see the kids better.

Adventure Boy is the one in the back row on the left end with the Boonie hat, sunglasses, and white tee-shirt.

I guess it is about 115 degrees (F) there, so I'm impressed by how happy they all look.

Good Samaritans

Teresa Lhotka — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 01:45:34 GMT

Day three in Maine began with us running Alicia and her kids to another museum, this time in Bar Harbor. After some minor logistical issues were ironed out, Sue, Barb, and I were on our way on a whirl-wind tour of the Harbor. Our first stop was Seal Harbor. We enjoyed that very much. Seal Harbor has a very cute beach, and there are many cool rocks there, as well as a very nice view.

Sue's daughter, Panda Girl found a rock in the water, and held it up "Hey! This looks like the Virgin Mary!" It did, sort of.

I said "Well, if we had a Joseph and a baby Jesus, we could make a Nativity Scene."

Barb caught the fever, and we began looking for rocks.

In the end, this is what we came up with:

The green rock is Mary, the blue is Joseph bowing his head over the cradle. You can see a shepherd and his sheep kneeling in front of Mary, and the three wise men there on the left.

An older woman and her 90-somthing-year-old father came to investigate what all the activity was about. They were thrilled, and took many pictures as well. We left the nativity there for others to see. I wonder how many people noticed it, and how many figured out what it was supposed to be. We like to do stuff like this...leave little mysteries and strange things behind us in our wake for others to make of whatever they will.

I also found a rock that looked like the Stone tablet of the Ten Commanments, but we didn't have time to do a stone diarama of Moses descending the mountain. Also, we would probably be pushing our luck trying to hunt down a stone that looked like a golden calf.

We then caught the Bar Harbor bus and rode to Jordan Pond, where Sue and Panda Girl sang the praises of that most wonderful of places. We ordered lunch. I had lobster stew and pop-overs. It was delicious, but I needed to take a picture because if I died that night, I wanted people to get a good look at what killed me.

That, my friends is molten butter, floating on the top of enough hot, steamy cream to cover an entire lobster cut into chunks. The week after this I went to the Dr. for my yearly check-up. My cholesterol is normally 170 or lower. This bad boy is what I blame for my much elevated score of 202.

We took a short stroll down to see the lake up close and personal. You can see it there, in the background, and you can see what a lovely place this was to spend an hour eating pop-overs and Lobster Stew.

We had a wonderful server, who was friendly and helpful and just lovely. She kept saying "You are so nice to serve, so simple! So easy!" She was delighted at our obvious enjoyment of the food and our appreciation for the scenery and the wonderful experiance we were having. English was not her first language, so I assume that calling us "simple" was a compliment. :-)

At one point, she brought us extra pop-overs, and Barb exclaimed "I love you!" Our server earnestly replied: "I love you too, ma'm."

When it was time to go, she brought our check and said "Thank you for coming, I love you all." An absolute sweetheart.

After out stroll down to the lake, we lingered too long, and found that we had only minutes to reach the bus to go on to the next site. We sprinted up the hill, and found that the bus was a little late. Fortunate...as some of us needed to visit the ladies room.

We moved on to Sand Beach. That was really awesome. Plus, I found lots of sand dollars. We did some rock climbing. I ran wind sprints back and forth on the beach through the surf, because I needed to do something after that outrageously decadant lobster stew. There was also an opportunity for rock climbing.

Although, due to the rain, it was difficult and slippery. The sand part of the beach was behind me as I took this picture.

We had so much fun at sand beach, that the 1/2 hour we had there wasn't enough, and we ended up missing the bus. We wanted to go on to see Thunder Hole, which Barb and I had not seen. But we were going to have to catch the next bus, and the next bus was the LAST bus of the day that we could catch and still make it back to our car. it looked as though we were going to miss Thunder Hole, when who should come to our rescue, but a couple of young Good Samaritans.

Here's a picture of them:

They offered to drive us in their rented Saturn. Barb, Panda Girl and I squeezed in the back. Sue stayed behind (there wasn't enough room for her) and waited for the next bus. Thank you very much, kind, generous, adorable Good Samaritan Couple! Sorry for the three wet butt-prints on the seats of your rental car. Hope that didn't cause you any problems.

Here's a picture of Thunder Hole:

As youcan see, the name comes from the loud booming noise that the water makes when it crashes into this hole here. We got a couple of decent booms out of it, but I guess it's much more spectacular when the tides are coming in.

We went from there to Bar Harbor, where we walked around a little, had some ice cream, did some shopping, and rejoined Alicia and her kids on the last bus back to Seal Harbor, and our car.

We ended the evening with a very odd dinner of left-overs as we tried to clean up the odds and ends of our food. We would be leaving the next day, and didn't want to have to drag a lot of food with us.

Thank you to Sue and Panda Girl, who were excellent guides, and who did a great job of getting us to the highlights of Bar Harbor in one short day!

East Coast Vacation, Day 2

Teresa Lhotka — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 16:42:07 GMT

East Coast Vacation, Day 2

(Or Sue and Barb and Teresa meet the nice, but slightly scary woodswoman)

The next morning, it had been decided that we would all get back in the cars and drive back to Bangor so that Alicia could bring her four children (ages 9 years to three months) to a Children’s Museum there. There had been talk of white-water rafting, but since Alicia has health concerns that prevent her from driving, and Val didn’t want to drive on unfamiliar roads, Sue would have to drive the Expedition with Alicia, Val and the kids, it was apparent that we would not have time to drop them off AND go whitewater rafting. Barb was willing to drive, but she wanted to go with Sue and I and she was only added as a driver on my car anyway, and it wasn’t big enough to hold Alicia and her family (more on that later). Val agreed to drive the Expidition home, however, so Sue would be able to ride with Barb and I as we explored the park.

Barb drove to Bangor, and we chatted. I tried not to think about the fact that we were driving back about 1/5 of the distance we had traveled yesterday to get to the cabin.

In Bangor we stopped and looked at the statue of Paul Bunyan there. I’d like to know what Bangor thinks they’re all about. Everyone knows that Bemidji is the REAL home of Paul Bunyan (home is where the heart is and WE’VE got his best friend, Babe). And Akeley and Brainerd are right out (sorry, Dracut and Karen, but you know it’s true.)

We drove up to a mountain on the Appalachian Trail, called Mount Katadhin. For some reason, I was over-come with fatigue, and fell asleep in the back seat while Sue and Barb visited. Sue had read a book about a couple of travelers who had left the AT and had come out of the woods near the Katadhin Iron Works.

Lo and behold, we saw a brown sign pointing to them, about the time I woke up, so we decided to go see what was there. A long and scenic drive down a gravel road. We met a bright red mustang driving like a bat-out-of hell, and wondered what THAT was all about.

We finally got to the iron works, and there we met Fran.

Fran is the caretaker of a gate into the Kl-Jo Mary Multiple Use Management Forest. She makes sure everyone follows the rules, looks out for people, registers guests, and a variety of other things. We told her about the woman in the Mustang, and Fran said “Yeah, was SHE pissed off”. Apparently, the woman had dropped her car off at the Mary Lake Gate and had someone drive her to another gate, with the intention of walking the trail in between. Trouble was, that she was actually parked two gates away, so when she asked the other gate-keeper how far the hike was to the next gate, the gate-keeper said “six miles” when the hike the woman had to make to get back to her car was actually closer to 13. She was PISSED and took it out on Fran.

At the end of the story, Fran flashed a double-barreled Eagle (one of these, not one of these) and threw a cheery “have a nice day” in the direction the woman had gone.

We walked around the Katahdin Iron Works a little and then went back and visited with Fran.

Sue had a Bar Harbor sweatshirt on, and asked Fran what it said. Fran mugged a face like she was ready to chew rock and spit nails, but she complied.

“Bah Hahbah”, she said, bracing for our exclamations of delight at the Maine accent. I told her about being cornered by little old ladies in Winn Dixie and made to speak in my “Yankee accent”, and that seemed to level the field a little.

Fran had lots of stories for us. Some of them are depressing, but wait for the last one, its sort funny and sweet.

There was the story of the woman who left the AT during a season when the bugs were particularly bad. The mosquitoes and black flies are apparently always pretty bad in the Spring, but they were unusually bad that year. The woman came to Fran’s post in the middle of the night. She was traumatized and hysterical. Fran made her tea, and tried to talk her down. The woman kept saying “I slept in an outhouse, I slept in an outhouse.” Over and over again. She had taken refuge in an outhouse to get away from the bugs, and stayed there rather than brave the bugs long enough to pitch a tent. The woman was taken in by a group of people that take in hikers off the AT.

Fran said that a lot of hikers that leave the trail come back to finish it. That woman didn’t.

Fran showed us pictures of some of the beautiful waterfalls in the park, and how they freeze in the wintertime.

She told us a story about a professional ice-climber, who had a guide business in the area. He came to the park with his daughter. He was going to climb the frozen waterfalls, and his daughter was going to take pictures for his promotional literature. He fell from the waterfall and was killed. It took days to recover his body.

Fran told us about two boys who had come to the park every fall with their uncle from the time they were little. They would come and hike and jump off of small waterfalls in the park. One year, they came with their uncle in the spring, instead. Fran told them not to jump off the waterfall, because the water was a lot higher and more dangerous in the spring.

One of the boys waved to her as he turned and left, saying “Don’t worry mom, we’ll be fine!” The uncle came back later to report that one of the boys had dove off the waterfall and been sucked under. The second boy had jumped in to save him, and they both drowned.

Fran told us that she had quit her job for two years after that.

Another story was of a woman who had come to the park to camp for the first time on her honeymoon with her husband. They had skinny-dipped in one of the pools there. Every year, they came back on their anniversary to camp and skinny-dip in the pools. They grew old together and eventually the husband passed away. The woman continued to return on their anniversary, camp in the park and skinny-dip in the pools. One year, when she was in her seventies, she went into the pool to skinny dip and found it too difficult to climb out.

He calls for help were headed by a group of boys in their mid teens, who rescued her and helped her to safety.

As the old woman was being assisted, Fran noticed one of the boys looking disturbed and agitated, very upset.

“What’s the matter, hun?” asked Fran.

“I’m never having sex.” Said the boy

At this point in the story Fran stopped and looked at us. “Because our bodies DO change you know?”

Um, Sure. In theory.

We did some sight-seeing along the gravel road, hoping to see some moose, or other wildlife.

I noticed a little brown frog, and as we were all gathered around examining it, a pick-up truck came down the road. I was full of men. Probably seven or eight guys.

“What you lookin’ at, ladies?” they asked.

“A frog.” We answered.

“A frog? Is that all, how big is he?”

“Not eatin’size.” We answered.

“Any ya’ll seen a lost dog around here? We’re huntin’ and we lost our dog.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bucky.”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Half black lab half coon-hound.”

Barb finally asked, because of their outrageous southern accents; “Where you boys from?”

“Jawa-ga” came the drawled reply.

“Oh no, you’re putting’ that on. That’s TOO perfect to be real.”

“No, ma’m, we’re not puttin’ it on. We’re from Jawa-ga.”

More chit-chatting, and then they drive off, content in the knowledge that we would be keeping an eye out for “Bucky”.

About an hour later, when we returned for our car, Fran said “Those boys in the red truck told me to apologize for them.”

“Why?”

“They said to tell you there isn’t any dog named Bucky.”

“Bastards!” Barb said, “Those evil, evil bastards! I was all worried about Bucky. And they FOOLED us! US! How did they manage to fool us? WE’RE the ones who pull that kind of schtick on other people. Nobody pulls that sort of thing on us. Ohhhh! They were good.”

So we told Fran to tell those boys when they got back that we were awful sorry about Bucky. We saw a dog just like they described, but he didn’t come when he was called, so we decided to try to stun him with a rock so we could catch him, and poor Bucky died.

Then we told her to tell him that we found “Bucky”, and liked him and decided to take him home.

And then we came up with all sorts of other things for her to tell them…and finally we just said “You’re good with stories, just tell ‘em something good.”

We took a picture of ourselves with Fran, and said “goodbye”, did some more sight-seeing and then headed for “home”, the cabin in N.E. Harbor and the secret dungeon trap for unwary travelers that lurked within it.

East Coast vacation, day 1

Teresa Lhotka — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 14:25:21 GMT

Or: Teresa and the Dungeon of Near Death

Got up at oh-five-dark-and-sleepy, Rocky got me to the airport in plenty of time. I got on the plane, plane took off on time, no bumps, no hitches, no muss no fuss.

Well, maybe a little muss and fuss. I sat next to a grumpy, incommunicative little man who passed noxious gas the whole flight. But that’s sort of something I’ve come to expect. Travel has a deleterious effect on some people’s digestion.

Got to the airport in Boston, found out Barb was in a completely different terminal, but she got there in enough time to orient herself and find where I would be.

Good thing too, because my eyes were watery and difficult to focus for a while after I got off the plane.

I got my suitcase, and Barb and I hiked to the shuttle bus area where we looked for our shuttle to Enterprise Rental. We saw every other possible type of rental car shuttle, but no Enterprise. Barb went back to the rental car phone bank to make a call, and three Enterprise shuttles came all in one glob while she was gone.

At Enterprise, we were greeted by a fully-staffed counter of freshly-scrubbed and smiling faces in shirts and ties. And I mean greeted, handed bottles of cold spring water, had our hands shaken, were asked about our flights, checked in promptly, and given excellent directions to our destination (including an offer to print out a Google Map, which Rocky had already done for me.)

We got on the road, and began our aimless wander up the coast of Main, taking wrong turns there, and right turns that turned out to be wrong there, and wrong turns that were actually right at the other place…

Oh, that reminds me of something I wanted to say:

“HEY NEW ENGLAND!!!! YOUR SIGNAGE SU-DIDDELY-UCKS!”

There, just had to get that off my chest.

We stopped at Red’s Eats in Wiscasset on Sue’s recommendation (she had been through there days earlier) and the lobster roll, crab cakes and fried zucchini were delicious. The ice cream was rather…eh.

A nice couple we met in line gave us their card, and a sales pitch for a patent medicine that was made from a rare asian herb that would cure all migraines and cluster headaches and a whole list of other seemingly unrelated conditions. It had changed their lives. Uh huh.

More driving, beautiful country, lots of fun chatting and catching up and such, and we finally arrived at N.E. Harbor, where our “cabin” was. We drove all over the place trying to figure out where 76 Harbor Street was, only to eventually find out that somebody (who shall remain nameless) had given us the wrong address and it was actually 76 Summit.

Our friend Alicia, her two daughters and Sue’s daughter walked down to rescue us. There was much rejoicing.

We were exhausted, so I pulled the air-mattresses Sue had loaned us out of my suit case, and we began blowing them up. I got light-headed pretty quickly, so while Barb took a turn at trying to inflate one of them, I went in search of something to help. I thought we might hook a vacuum hose up to the exhaust and use a vacuum to blow up the mattress. I’ve done this before, so I asked about a vacuum.

“In the closet” said Sue.

“What closet?” I asked.

“There’s a door in the entryway.”

I looked around the entry-way, and sure enough, there was a door. I opened it, and there was a defunct dust-buster sitting on a shelf an arm’s length in front of me in a very shallow closet, cloaked in shadow as it was late at night, and that corner of the entry-way was not well lit. I pulled it out and examined it. The thing had probably not worked for ten years. There was rust on it. I went to put it back, and it tipped off the narrow shelf. As I leaned in to right it, I took a step forward…into NOTHING.

My hands shot out and braced against the wall in front of me and the wall to the left. My back slammed up against a shelf that ran along the wall to my right, and friction held me there as I yelled, groped with my foot for the floor that wasn’t there, and yelled again.

More foot-groping, one more yell. Three seemed like a good number of yells.

“What?” Sue demanded, sounding irritated.

“No floor! No floor!” I yelled, or something like that. It’s a little fuzzy. I was still holding myself up, one foot on the threshold, braced at three points by hands and back against walls, and most of my weight dangling over blackness that should have been a floor.

Sue’s daughter brought a flashlight, and shined it down the hole, revealing a steep stair-ladder Chimera going almost straight down into a stone-walled basement filled with junk.

I pushed HARD with my right hand against the back wall, and got myself back out of the “closet”, shut the door, replaced the hook-and-eye latch, and tried to catch my breath.

“That door was sealed off, we couldn’t get it open.” Said Sue, still sounding irritated. She also pointed me to the identical door on the opposite side of the entry-way...where the closet was. It was not immediatly apparent from the side I was on at the time.

“It opened right up,” I replied.

Then I realized that I was probably walking into an already tense situation, and with Sue and Amanda’s help, Barb and I got the air-mattresses inflated, and I laid down and listened to everyone debate endlessly how the logistics were going to work to get everyone somewhere that they wanted to be tomorrow.

Eventually, I said something like, “I don’t care what we do tomorrow, if I’m not asleep in 20 minutes, someone is going to die.”

Plans for the next day were hastily concluded, and I fell asleep to dream of falling and being stuck in a dark dungeon with rats all night.

AWESOME!

Teresa Lhotka — Tue, 01 May 2007 22:04:41 GMT

For those who wondered why we are here, in the decade of the double aughts, and you don't have your personal flying machine yet...WAIT NO LONGER.

Tony - This one's for YOU baby!

You can't go home again

Teresa Lhotka — Tue, 03 Jan 2006 13:06:52 GMT

Highlights of the trip to Bemidji :

1) Hanging out with Sue and her mom most of the weekend, and discovering Nut Goodie Bars that you can make yourself (already threw a batch together...less than 24 hours from getting home.)

2) Visiting with my cousins at my aunt and uncles house, and the next day, lunch with cousin Jon and his wife Amanda at T.Juans.

3) My cousin Ben and his friend Derek came to the hotel and we visited by the pool while the boys played in the pool. We traded stories of brawls, outrageous road-rage scenarios, practical jokes involving smoke bombs and vehicles and dangerous drinking exploits. Oh yeah…and explosive stuff. The kids up here LOVE the ka-fucking-boom. It’s a hobby. Get some bored Bemidji kids together with enough beer, and you will be entertained for hours.

Anyone who says there’s nothing to do in small rural towns just has no creativity…or has an over-developed sense of personal preservation. If making things that go boom out of acetylene, ether, Ziplock bags, soda bottles and spark plugs (to name a few) while drunk isn’t your idea of a good time, you just don’t know the meaning of “making your own fun”. Bonus points if you do it when you’re supposed to be at school. There may not be a lot in the way of huge shopping malls, massive Cineplex’s, or many of the other lures of the big city…but we’ve got gravel pits, and we know how to use them. (Actually, there’s a LOT more to do around here in the way of what’s generally considered wholesome entertainment than there was when I was a kid)

Anyway, we’re all grown up now, so that stuff is in our past…we survived a very reckless and not-boring childhood, and now we tell stories. That’s entertaining too. The kids were in the pool, had water in their ears, and were yelling so loud they heard nothing but themselves, so it’s all good.

4) Big slumber party for all my high school friends at Barb’s mom’s house. Barb’s mom has been asking for Barb to throw a slumber party for years now, “I miss laying awake and listening to you girls talk and giggle in the other room.” When we were kids, we used to stay awake talking about boys and giggling until all hours of the night. This time, we laid awake talking about boys until all hours of the night. There was no giggling. Apparently, boys are not as funny as they used to be. Anyway, in the morning, Barb’s mom made pancakes…and there WAS giggling during the Apples-to-Apples game.

5) For some strange reason I have to add that you haven’t experienced true confusion until you’ve sat in the breakfast lounge of a hotel in Bemidji listening to three rednecks from the Iron Range discussing the relative merits of Dunn Brothers, Caribou and Starbuck’s coffee. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong, and will no longer be allowed. I have spoken.

British Adventure - Part Four- Dartmoor

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 03:34:55 GMT

First day in Plymouth , I rose bright and early to run. I ran for about a half an hour…so probably an easy three miles. Running at sea level is wonderful. My blood was super oxygenated. I felt like I was flying. The runner’s high hit me nice and hard as I went up the long hill that Gary and Isa live atop. Plymouth is kind of like Duluth …several long, steep hills topped by a long steep hill. Gary and Isa are almost at the top of one of these hills. I had a choice of turning right and going down the hill on one side, and back up…or turning left and going to the top of the hill and down the other side to the ocean.

I went right, as I didn’t want to run a long distance that day. I just went to the bottom of the hill and back. I met a lot of people on my first run in the West Country. They all smiled and greeted me with variations of “Morning Love” or “Morning me Love” or (more disconcerting) “Morning me lover” (although “lover” came out sounding more like “liver” so you can imagine what that did in my brain). For my part, I stuck to “Morning” or “Good Morning”. Some of them gave me looks that said they thought it was sort of cute I was so stuffy.

I got back in time to make a quick breakfast, and then we piled into the car and drove to Dartmoor . Fortunately, Isa had talked Rocky into buying rain ponchos, because we saw Dartmoor in the rain. Dartmoor is a rugged wilderness where wild ponies roam freely along with herds of sheep which share common forage on the moor. Also, the roads are single lane roads. It's sort of cool, and requires the development of the most polite driving habits I've seen anywhere.

All through Dartmoor, you can find the ruins of ancient hut circles, ancient tin mines, cairns and burial mounds, and other ancient stone structures of ambiguous origin and usefulness.

There is a prison here, called Dartmoor prison. It was originally used as a maximum security facitily to house French prisoners of the Napoleonic wars. It was a maximum security facility because at the time, it was so remote and difficult to access that escape was almost always fatal.

Now, with villages and roads and such, it is not so unlikely that an escaped prisoner could survive…and the facilities are so old that it is only really appropriate for those who are not huge flight risks.

What we saw was fog, and rain flying sideways across the rolling hills. Occasionally, we would see one or another of the famous “Tors” or hills whose tops have been eroded to expose outcroppings of granite.

It is a rugged and beautiful country, no matter what weather you see it in, but it is definitely quite beautiful and striking in the rain and fog.

We also saw and stood upon the banks of the Burrator Reservoir. The reservoir replaced an ancient “leat” (stone-cobbled channels that brought water from the moor into Plymouth . Many of these were built by forced-labor provided by the French prisoners from Dartmoor prison.) as a surce of water for Plymouth .

We were able to cross one of the hand-hewn stone clabber bridges over the river Dart as well. That was quite cool.

If you ever get a chance to spend some time in Dartmoor , there are numerous trail guides and hiking guides that can show you how to cross the moor on foot with relative safety. From what I can see, I would at the minimum recommend very good hiking boots, a thermal blanket and a full rain kit even if you are only going to spend a day there. The elements seem to have a real supernatural flair on Dartmoor .

After Dartmoor, we saw the town of Exeter and the Exeter Cathedral. There were lots of cool and interesting things about it. One remarkable fact was that though Exeter was heavily bombed, the Cathedral remained untouched except for some collateral damage to one outer wall and chapel. The Nazis were careful to leave the cathedral, as it served as a very useful landmark for finding the town.

The British Adventure - Part three - London

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 22:52:21 GMT

Anyway, Gary and Isa had hired a minivan to cart us around in, and whisked us off to our hotel in London . We spent the rest of the day trying to stay awake. They took us to the London Eye…a giganamous Ferris Wheel that towers over the Thames . We went on a walking tour of the old city, complete with the houses of parliament, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square (where Gary lectured Adventure Boy mercilessly on the exploits of Lord Horatio Nelson), Westminster Abby, Piccadilly Circus , etc.

We were seriously draggy-assed by the time they dropped us back at our hotel, arraigned a meeting place/time in the morning, and allowed us to trundle off to bed.

By the time you convert liters to gallons and dollars to pounds, you find that gas prices in Britain approach $8/gallon.

Needless to say, we did NO unnecessary driving while in Britain , and that was just fine as British food is made of the four basic pillars of salt, fat, carbs and beer. The more walking, the better.

Day two of London consisted of watching the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace (accompanied by much eye-rolling and sarcasm regarding “tourists” from Gary and Isa). Grasshopper and I made an ill-fated search for a public restroom, and in the course of our wanderings ended up walking on the sidewalk next to the relief guards on their parade rout from their barracks up to the palace. I was actually shocked at how few people were on the sidewalk bordering the street they march on. Needless to say, we got a very good opportunity to see the guards.

After that, we took a boat tour of the Thames, and a trip to Greenwich for a tour of the Royal Observatory and to get our pictures taken on the Zero Meridian. At the observatory, Rocky elevated Geeking Out to an Olympic sport as we explored the intersections of the histories of Astronomy, Timekeeping, and Maritime Navigation.

Of course, care had to be taken to make sure that part of our public transport experience included a ride on a double-decker bus. Adventure Boy insisted on it.

Day three, Tower of London and a drive to Plymouth . We stopped at Stonehenge on the way. The park was closed, but we were still very close to it as we stood alongside the road. We could actually touch one of the outer ring stones through the chain-link fence. The park had closed early because some druids were there doing a ceremony. We watched that for a while and as exotic and strange as it might sound to be watching a Druid ceremony in a holy site that is at least 5000 years old, the thing that really struck me was, church is…church. Robes, chants, singing, symbols, rituals, ministers…check, check, check, check, check and…uh…yep...Check. They even had packets of paper that looked like they might be orders of worship. I mean sure, it’s no Book of Common Prayer, or Lutheran Green Hymnal, but now you’re just splitting hairs.

The British Adventure - Part Two - Our Hosts

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 15:41:47 GMT

We got to the terminal, got our bags, and cleared customs in next to no time, and were greeted by Gary and Isa. They were a sight for sore eyes. No really. Our eyes were sore.

Unless you think it might be an understatement to call the sensation of having half your blood replaced with an inert substance roughly the consistency of Karo Syrup and carrying three pounds of rock salt under each eyelid “sore”.

Anyway, we did a lot of fun, entertaining and educational things on this trip…but the heart and soul of this vacation was the visit with Gary and Isa.

Let me introduce you.

Gary is a big, warm genial guy. If he were a piece of furniture, he’d be an overstuffed chair in the library. He’s got a graduate degree in Chemistry. He knows just about everything there is to know about British history. He loves to study accents and dialects, and can do a really good Nebraskan accent, and a passable South Carolina accent. And he is unabashedly a Fan, referring to Sci-fi/Fantasy as “The one, true, religion”.

Isa is German by birth. She works in London doing technical support for a small software company that used to be owned by Sea Gate. She deals most frequently with German customers. If she were a Disney Character, she would be Tigger…and indeed, their house is filled with Tigger paraphernalia. She is short, cute, bouncy and ferociously up-beat. Also, every time I see her, she greets me with a small suitcase full of German and Belgian chocolates.

We met Gary and Isa at a Babylon Five convention called “The Wrap Party”. It was a fabulous convention. I met J. Michael Straczynski (creator of Babylon Five, Jeremiah, and writer of some of the best comic book coolness in recent years), Harlan Ellison (brilliant and prolific writer and curmudgeonly over-grown ego that I want to be just like when I grow up), Peter David (promising young writer), Anne McCaffery (grand Dame of the cool dragon story), James White (peerless author of The Genocidal Healer and the other Sector General novels) and Gary and Isa.

In retrospect, given a choice between meeting all of these really impressive, talented, and famous people whose work I love and respect, and meeting Gary and Isa it would be hands down for Gary and Isa.

They are everything that is good about fans rolled up into one neat little package; generous, kind, easy-going, upbeat, optimistic, friendly, searingly intelligent, creative, imaginative, and very ethical.

If you are not “in fandom” you might not understand how you can form a life-long friendship with someone over a period of just a couple of days. Fandom is so called because it is a sort of Gypsy-like nation…spanning the globe with no real homeland of it’s own except for whatever center of the brain is responsible for imagination. Fans are one people. Sure, we’re British, American, German, Bolivian…whatever…but a Fan in Brazil will often find that he has as much or more in common with a fan from Norway than he has with his own countrymen.

Same with occupation or socio-economic class; a fan who’s a taxi driver can talk for hours with a fan who’s a nuclear physicist, if they are joined by a professor of philosophy, they will most likely come up with a great panel topic for the next convention they all attend.

With a few exceptions, fans are generally one big accepting, inclusive, occasionally dysfunctional family.

While we were at the Wrap party for example, we had a small emergency that looked as though it required us to travel back to our previous hotel. We had been mugged, or pick-pocketed, or whatever you want to call it, in Paris , and didn’t yet have any credit cards that we could use or cash to pay a cab.

A couple of fans we had never met, and never got to know the names of, offered us the loan of their car.

Fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary…but can you imagine any other population where a total stranger would offer someone the use of their car? I love being a geek. I love my fellow geeks. I am part of the geek nation, and because of this I know I can fly across the ocean and have brothers and sisters who I can count on…even if I’ve never met them.

The British Adventure - Part one - The flight

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 05:16:17 GMT

Our trip to Great Britain started late, by about two hours as we were scheduled to depart during what became the last hours before the Northwest Airline mechanics voted to strike. This, of course, is the traditional time to have a work slow-down.

I don’t begrudge the mechanics. They are fighting for their livelihoods here, against a corporation that has consistently asked for wage concessions and held onto those concessions long after it was necessary - while upper management got raises and huge bonuses. Northwest spent all their sympathy coinage with me a long time ago. The fact that the mechanics union views any compromise with them as an agreement to roll over and die is squarely on the shoulders of management. Yes, they will most likely lose this strike due to the vast amount of desperate non-union labor. Yes, allowing the strike to work could kill Northwest and leave them all without jobs. But past experience with the brass of this company has made it clear that the mechanics union is going down, whatever the case, and while it’s down there it might as well suck on it. That has been the publicly demonstrated attitude of this company for at least 20 years now. Better to go down with your teeth in the enemy’s neck. I totally get that.

That said, I reserve the right to whine about having to cool my heels in the airport while it takes two hours for them to fix a “seat malfunction” and then find that the “fix” amounted to them stringing yellow “caution” tape across the offending seats. I understand it. I philosophically support it…but I don’t have to say it was fun. I might also add that we did not cross picket lines for this vacation. The strike was not on at the time we left, and the return flight was of course serviced in Great Britain by British mechanics, who were not striking. We would not have crossed picket lines for this vacation. We are not afraid of terrorists. Incompetent scab labor on the other hand; that scares us.

The flight was fine. The landing was weird.

We landed, and the captain came on to inform us that a fire crew was on the way to put out the burst and burning tire in the landing gear, and not to worry. Adventure Boy was momentarily jazzed by the idea that we might get to use those nifty emergency exit slides he’d read so much about in the Safety Guide placed in the seat pocket in front of him for his safety and convenience. No joy, though.

When the fire was out, we waited for them to wheel an ordinary set of stairs up to the plane.

During the wait, the pilot got on and entertained us with a brief statement that ran something like this (not a direct quote)

“Well ladies and gentlemen, this is nothing to worry about, the fire is out and they are bringing us some stairs so that you can deplane. Then there will be a bus to take you to the terminal. I have been flying for 35 years, and I have to say this is a first. I’ve never had a tire burst and burn on landing before. Well, except for this one time in Vietnam …”

And then he just stopped talking, and cut out. I’m like;

“What? You stop talking NOW? I wanna hear about the burning landing gear tire in Vietnam !”

Great. He probably stopped talking because he realized that it would be a completely unprofessional and inappropriate story to tell a bunch of nervous passengers trapped in a plane that was just recently on fire. Which mean s it was probably a fucking AWESOME story. You realize, of course that I’m going to spend the rest of my life wanting to hear the end of that story. As my British friends would say “Oh, bugger all”.

The South Dakota Adventure - Days three four and five.

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 22:17:30 GMT

DAY THREE: Lightheaded from being so high.

Thursday morning dawned bright, clear, and cold. I rolled out of bed for my run, and tried to convince myself that I was looking forward to it. I ate a few pieces of dehydrated pineapple and slugged down some water. It’s been about thirty years since I have been running in the mountains, and even then it wasn’t because I was exercising, but because I was a hyperactive seven-year-old on boring family hikes and running on ahead at least promised the possibility that I could encounter a bear or a mountain lion or something exciting while all by myself.

Anyway, there were no proper running trails that I could find. Most of them were rough hiking trails that looked like they would be happy to break the ankles of any foolish joggers who might be feeling stupid enough to try and run them. So instead I decided to run on the road. The roads in the Black Hills Parks are notoriously bereft of shoulders. I figures that at 6:00AM, though, I would have no problem with traffic, and I was right. Traffic was no problem at all.

What WAS a problem, however, is that I was a 37 year-old, fairly corpulent flatlander trying to run IN THE MOUNTAINS at 3,300 feet elevation. So the roughly 1½ mile course I mapped out and ran twice that day was roughly one eighth of a mile of 20 degree uphill followed by about 100 feet of 30 degree uphill, and then a similar downhill…and then it got trying.

When I got to the top of my first hill, I thought I was having an asthma attack…and realized to my horror that my inhaler was in the pocket of my other set of jogging shorts. Then I remembered – from my childhood – these are simply the sorts of noises that old people make when they are trying to run in the mountains (more so if they are shouting at an elusive seven-year-old).

But then I saw the deer. Five of them, frozen in a hauntingly beautiful tableau in the light mountain mist, surrounded by jackpines and rugged rock out-croppings. They watched me jog past, and only ran when I was actually moving past them. I saw rabbits, and more deer as I ran. Then, as I neared the end of the loop, I saw my five deer again. I went around the loop a second time, and saw them two more times. Evidently, I was chasing them back and forth as I made my appointed rounds.

I thought of my friend, Sue, and how she is given to yelling the word “Beautiful!” whenever we find ourselves running in the middle of natural beauty. I reflected that she would love this run. Then I reached the end of the down slope, and began a long, step climb and I thought about how much she hated hills, and how much she would despise this run. Then, I reached the top of the hill, and there were endorphins. A wall of fuzzy, happy feel-goodedness that nearly lifted me off my feet, and carried me through the rest of my run…and another hour or two after that – when the nausea began. There is this thing called Altitude Sickness. Exertion makes it worse. The Mikes Hard Lemonade I’d had the night before didn’t help either. I pushed on, and the nausea and lightheadedness came and went as we lollygagged along the road to view Bison, Prong-horned Antelope, Wild Turkeys and Prairie Dogs.

Grasshopper had been very keen to see bison in the wild, and seemed a little disappointed at how small they looked from inside Rocky’s monsterous pick-up truck…until a particularly massive bull walked by, his head as high as Grasshopper’s window. Eye contact with that beast made the appropriate and sought-after impression, and Grasshopper was satisfied with the experience. We also had to roll down the windows so that the boys could hear the rumbling noise the bison make. It sounds like several dozen Harley-Davidson engines being revved by impatient bikers. Then we got back on our way to visit Mt. Rushmore, and Jewel Cave.

Grasshopper and Adventure Boy were duly impressed by both, and expressed a desire for further cave-seeing. During the visit to Jewel Cave , Grasshopper completed a workbook that earned him a Junior Ranger badge at the front desk. We returned home for dinner, another swim in Legion Lake , and a small but noisy rainstorm.

DAY FOUR: Grasshopper finds a new life ambition.

We took off fairly early for Wind Cave, another National Park protected cave in the area. Rocky and I had both been to see Wind Cave and Jewel Cave before, and were enjoying the looks on our children’s faces as they explored that underground world. Grasshopper once again completed the Junior Ranger workbook and earned another badge. On top of that, Grasshopper fairly grilled the young Rangers at the front desk about what one must do to become a park ranger, and chose a “Park Ranger Kit” as his souvenir.

The rest of the day was spent lazing around the campsite, watching the fire burn and swimming in Legion Lake . Also, more reading.

DAYS FIVE and SIX: Old friends growing older, and goodbye to an old, though fictional, friend.

Saturday morning Rocky’s alarm clock on his PDA woke me up once again at 6:00AM Mountain Time for my long run. Ordinarily, I would go about ten miles on a long run. Today I was quite proud of five. I ran my 1 ½ mile loop three times. With the ¼ mile I had to run to get to the loop and back, that makes five miles. We packed up our camp and headed back to Mitchell , SD where we would be meeting up with Paul (a friend of mine since kindergarten) and his wife, Katrina.

Paul and Katrina live in Vermillion, SD, but Paul had to be in Mitchell on business and we had to pass through on our way home – viola, a chance to get together with old friends. We passed the afternoon/evening sitting beside the pool watching the kids play and visiting over old times.

Paul has been a grumpy old man since the day I first met in Kindergarten. He has a biting, sardonic wit, that belies his kind, gentle and compassionate soul. He has a bitter cynicism that gently cradles and protects his inner disappointed idealist.

As a social worker he fully knows the best and worst of what human beings are capable of. He never stops expecting the best of them, and is never surprised at the worst they can do.

Six years Katrina’s senior, 40 is already looming large in his vision…two years out. Looking at Paul’s example, I’ve decided that my life might be half over at forty, but I’m not going to look at it that way…because it makes you cross and maudlin and not a lot of fun to talk to late at night…even without alcohol.

Paul was more himself in the morning, however, and we went out to breakfast with them, and they persuaded us to check out the Mitchell Corn Palace.

It was kitschy, cheesy goodness. That’s all I have to say. There is nothing else to say except;

Yes, we went to the Mitchell Corn Palace . We had a good time. You have something you want to say about that Sparky? Come here and say that to my face.

We went back to the campsite, and Katrina and I supervised the boys in one more dip in the pool, while Paul helped Rocky take down the camper. We said our goodbyes, and took off down the road toward home.

Somewhere after crossing the border to Minnesota , we found out what all the fuss was about regarding Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and the character who dies in the book. After the chapter containing the death, I was going to go on to the next chapter, but Grasshopper stopped me, saying sweetly:

“No, no Mom…I need a moment to adjust. He was my favorite dude.”

Speaking as someone who has created, broken, tortured and killed characters in the course of several stories…it must have been very difficult for J.K. Rowling to do what she did…but it was right and well done. Especially considering my theory that this character engineered his own death as part of a long-term strategy. Perfectly in character, and worthy of the man she had made him to be. There is nothing more fitting.

We arrived home and completely unpacked the camper…including the two small fans that had gone completely unused in a week of nights ranging from perfectly comfortable to slightly chilly.

The South Dakota Adventure - Days One and Two

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 22:04:28 GMT

DAY ONE: Not so hot.

Tuesday morning, I got up early for a short maintenance run of about five miles. I averaged a 10 minute mile, and it was an easy, enjoyable run. I thought about going around again, but thought the better of it, as I needed to get back and help everyone get packed up for the trip. My most important contribution was helping Rocky in his panicked search for our second tiny fan, which I found in the guest room. Apparently, it was going to be so unbearably roasting hot that we were going to need both of the fans. I also double-checked the boy’s packing jobs and made sure they had everything, including the single cool-weather outfit one should always pack just in case it gets cold, however unlikely it might be.

Day one of our South Dakota adventure began rather inauspiciously with the discovery that one of the wheels on the pop-up camper was vibrating. A quick trip to Tires Plus in Eden Prairie confirmed that we had a bent rim on the driver’s-side tire. The helpful young manager, Tim, swiftly changed out the bad rim of the tire for the good rim of the spare. Then, he switched out the good rubber on the tire…so now our spare has both a bad rim and bad rubber, but the tire we are using has a good rim and good rubber. He didn’t charge us for this service, and sent us on our way.

The rest of the first day was rather uneventful. I read aloud from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. We arrived in Mitchell , SD in plenty of time for Rocky’s meeting with the local user group. We were staying at a campground with a heated, outdoor pool. The boys and I enjoyed that despite the chill that was in the air. I read some more from Harry Potter while the kids warmed themselves up with some cups of hot chocolate that I cooked over the camp stove. Rocky came home, briefly bemoaning the fact that he had failed to pack a cool-weather outfit, and wondering if we shouldn’t have brought our tiny portable heater. As it turns out, our sleeping bags were sufficient despite the temperature dipping down into the 50’s.

DAY TWO: Home economics wasn’t so dumb after all…but I still would have preferred to take small engines.

Rocky suggested that perhaps we could have doughnuts and coffee from a near-by truck stop rather than having me make breakfast. Feeling lazy, I agreed.

Unfortunately, the coffee from the truck stop was disastrously bad.

What do I mean by “disastrously bad” you ask?

Well, I will tell you. It was so bad that both Rocky and I found our coffee desires completely unsatisfied, and I decided to make some coffee real quick before we struck camp and started for the Black Hills. When the water was heated, I grabbed a small dishtowel and used it as a hot-pad to pour the boiling water into the grounds-filled filter perched atop a coffee cup. As the coffee drained out the bottom of the filter, I tossed the towel into a dishpan on the bed, and continued to help organize the kitchen things in preparation for packing up. I’d moved a few things around when I saw movement out of the corner of my eyes.

Flames.

“Holy crap!” I yelped, grabbing the towel, and rolling it over the flames, to smother them.

“What?” my startled family asked in unison.

“The towel was on fire.” I replied, examining it carefully to make certain it was completely extinguished.

Rocky said noting about the inadvisability of using a dishtowel for a hot pad, and I tried not to think of all the times I had complained of the injustice of having to take home-economics where the most useful stuff they tried to pound into your head was stupid stuff anyone should already know…like “never use a dish towel as a hot pad.”

Sigh.

The fire had almost completely melted through the dishpan…but not quite, so no harm done.

We proceeded to strike camp and got under-way, with some car-cups of excellent coffee in our hands, I might add.

It was absolutely essential that we take the scenic badlands highway, and pay the small fee to do so. We stopped and hiked some trails and enjoyed the scenery.

We put an end to the badlands exploration, however, when I noticed that Grasshopper’s face had the bright red-and-pale-white blotchiness that usually precedes heat stroke. Half-and-hour of air conditioning and ice water later, he was as good as new.

Of course, we had to make sure to approach Custer State Park via the Iron Mountain Highway . There’s just no other option for real vacationers out to see scenery and wildlife. Sure enough, we soon found the narrow, winding wilderness road blocked by a herd of feral burros, one of which stuck his head in Grasshopper’s window to beg for treats and allow himself to be petted. We did not feed them, as that’s just not the thing to do…but we found out later that it IS allowed to feed the burros as they are not indigenous and therefore not protected by the rangers. Still, I think its best not to feed them.

We got to the park and after some frantic searching, found what the ranger on duty assured us was the second-to-the last camp site in the park. We grabbed it, despite the fact that it was a tent site, so we had to park our camper on the paved loop that surrounded the campground. It was better than nothing, after all.

We set up our camp, cooked and ate dinner, and Rocky and the boys rode their bikes to Legion Lake Beach and went swimming. I stayed behind to do dishes, build a campfire, and read from my current book The Confusion, which is the second book in The Baroque Cycle trilogy, and is written by Neal Stephenson…whose skull is obviously a Tartus because there’s no other explanation for how his brain fits inside of his head.

The boys came back, with tales of a wonderful beach and lovely lake.

Rocky had an interesting experience as he was riding below a steep rock outcropping. A young boy, about thirteen or so years old, had been running around on the rock, and evidently didn’t realize how close the edge was. It crumbled away beneath his feet, showering Rocky with bits of rock. The boy regained his footing and managed to avoid plummeting over the edge and having his 15-foot fall broken by a six-and-a-half-foot tall man on a bicycle. All-in-all, a big win for all involved. We read some Harry Potter, ate some s’mores, and the guys watched another Full Metal Alchemist, and we fell asleep.

Day Two, the Canadian Adventure

Tue, 19 Jul 2005 15:57:00 GMT

Thursday morning I made pancakes, we showered in the very nice facilities provided by the provincial park. In that same building is a small convenience store also run by the park staff.

As we were leaving, Rocky chuckled, saying “The mosquitoes made headlines”.

“Really?” I asked…not all that surprised as I was completely covered in bites.

“Yeah. It said something like ‘Mosquitoes worst since 1994’”.

Huh. That’s good, because I had been re-thinking the whole “flee to Canada when the country slides irrevocably into fascism” scenario. I mean, fascists are bad, and I don’t mind learning French…but the whole mosquito thing was a new twist that I had to work through.

We had steaks, potato salad, pea salad, and calico beans for lunch, and then hopped into the truck to drive into Winnipeg .

We saw the Manitoba Museum of Man and Nature…which was an excellent museum, and we really wished that we could have spent more time there. They had natural history galleries, a science gallery, and a planetarium. It is a testament to what you can do when you decide to spend your money on public education and culture rather than smart bombs.

By far the smashiest of the many smash hits there was the “HMS Nonesuch”, which was a square-rigged ketch originally owned and operated by the Hudson’s Bay Trading Company (licensed by Charles II) for transporting trade goods. Perfectly restored, and available to be boarded and toured…complete with tour guide. There was also a computerized video tour, that caught Adventure Boy’s attention, and held it for quite some time.

Long before Rocky and I were ready to leave, but long after the boys had succumbed to “museum brain”, we left to take Rocky to his speaking engagement at a user group. Turns out the event was like, three blocks away.

We dropped Rocky there, and on the advice of the group’s sponsor, walked about six blocks to a nearby movie theater…which didn’t open for about 45 minutes. So we decided to get dinner, as we were all hungry. I spied a coffee shop across the street that had a hemp leaf over its door. Its legend declared it to be “The Hemp Café.” There was a group of people standing out front, taking deep drags on hand-rolled cigarettes. At the risk of sounding like I’m stereotyping, I assumed that they would know the closest place to get a dinner.

They did indeed, directing us to three possible places, one of which was out of business, one of which was closed for the day, and the final one being a Subway shop. By this time, we’d walked about ten blocks, and were very hungry.

On our walk back, we were shouted at (in a good natured way) by a French-speaking drunk, who lost his balance, and fell over. Repeated attempts to get up failed, and Adventure Boy was inclined to go over and help him up. I discouraged this, as it seemed to me that his failure to stand up seemed a little contrived. He did eventually get up and wander down the street.

Now, Rocky had given me all of our remaining Canadian money, totaling something slightly north of $30, Canadian. I spent just under $20 on dinner. I told the boys that it was likely that we would not be able to see a movie unless they took credit cards.

Turns out, they did not take credit cards….but they were a second run theater. So I got us all in, and bought us a bottle of water to share, and still had seventeen cents left over.

We watched Batman Begins. It was the second time for Adventure Boy and I…and I was struck on second viewing, by just how much of the plot is so obviously contrived to provide “action scenes” that really don’t fit the story without some real contortions. But I still liked the movie.

Bunny Boy was in transports of ecstasy over it, so it was a lovely time. We walked back to meet Rocky, who was just getting back from having a drink with the user group guys…perfect timing.

Rocky had really enjoyed the user group meeting. User Groups are one of his favorite things. If he could make money doing them, I think that might be all he would do. As it is, he does it for the fun. This group was no exception and I would describe his mood all the way home as energized and ebullient.

We got in the truck and drove back to Grand Beach . We were barely able to wake the boys to get them into the camper.

Day one, the Canadian Adventure

Tue, 19 Jul 2005 12:51:47 GMT

Well, back from a week-long vacation in Winnipeg .

Day one, 10 hours of driving, road construction, kids in the back seat playing with transformer toys. If you don’t get how this is a bad thing, think about ten hours of listening to noises that basically sound like snapping, popping, breaking, stuff. Add in all the lasers and sound effects and dramatic voice work, and you get the idea. Mayhem.

Still, no T.V. no video games, no place to run around and play…we had to let them do SOMETHING…so I learned to tune it out.

We got to Grand Beach , about one hour north of Winnipeg , Manitoba just in time to set up camp and go swimming. The mosquitoes were pretty bad, but we wanted to go anyway.

We had no idea.

We got in the truck and drove down to the East Beach , because that was closest. We got out of the car, and were immediately covered in mosquitoes. We started running. The trail to the beach lead through a swamp, but we are LHOTKA’s damnit, and no near-microscopic probiscus-weilding winged vampires are going to get between us and an evening swim.

Just on the other side of the swamp was a monstrous dune of sand…and what sand it was. Fine as talcum powder, a nice sandy color, and a perfect fiendish accomplice to the blood-suckers who pursed us relentlessly right up to the water’s edge where we shed the clothing we were wearing over our swimsuits, and plunged into the water.

…sort of.

You see, they’ve had a lot of rain up there recently…a LOT...and the lake is significantly higher than normal…which apparently means that you can run quite a distance through hip-deep water, and never quite get covered up. It also means that there is a massive increase in prime mosquitoes habitat as yards and yards of shallow water have been produced the entire perimeter of this very large lake. So we crouched down in the water, and worked out a rhythm where we would duck our heads under to rid them of mosquitoes, and then come up for air and a burst of communication.

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“OK, we’re going in now”
*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“Everyone crawl in to shore, keep as covered as possible”

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“When we can’t stay under anymore, we’ll give the signal, and you run to your stuff.

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“everyone get your OWN stuff, make sure you have it ALL, and run for the truck ,and don’t stop.”

*dunk, come up for air, gasp, splutter*

“OK, GO!!!!”

We charged up the beach, gathered up our stuff without breaking stride, and raced (if you can call it that) up the powdery sand dune. I’ve made more progress on a treadmill.

We finally cleared the dune, and were trotting back to the truck, fanned dry by the gentle breeze kicked up by the humming of all those tiny wings.

In science fiction, they often address the difficulty of water storage and reclamation in space travel by having the crews of ships take “sonic showers”. I imagined a sonic shower would feel a lot like that.

Halfway back to the truck, Rocky says something that freezes our blood (“Oh good! Popsicles! Cried an elated chorus of tiny, buzzing voices):

“Wait a minute! Where the hell are my keys?”

“Oh, that is SO not funny.”

“No really, I can’t find my keys. Keep running I’ll be back.”

Rocky turns and plunges back up the trail, his long legs eating the distance between him, and the water’s edge.

I know in my heart, I’ll never see him again.

He’s not coming back, and if he does, he’s going to be shy at least a pint of blood, and he’s never going to find those keys…but just in case he does, I have to keep us going until the miracle happens.

There’s some changing rooms up a head. Maybe they can provide some shelter. I reach the women’s changing building, and yank the door open…no roof. No roof, are you kidding me?

Well, the best solution I can come up with is to run around the truck again and again.

Luckily, the hosts of heaven smiled on us and Rocky was not gone long before returning with the keys. I have no idea how they came to be lost. I have no idea how they came to be found.

I didn’t ask. When grace strikes, you don’t look under the hood. You just accept it.

We went back to the camp site, got into our jammies, watched an episode of Full Metal Alchemist on Rocky’s computer, and went to bed.

And that’s where I will leave you until to morrow, when I will finish the saga of our Canadian vacation.