Car Full of Carpenters

So ends one family’s survival story of roadtripping with t(w)eenagers. We did, in fact, survive. That’s not to be understated considering Bob navigated us across 4,568 miles of American roadway, equivalent to 71 hours in one of America’s deadliest weapons, the motor vehicle. I am thankful to Ben, our mathematician passenger, for pointing out that I am, in fact, responsible for safely transporting us through 4% of that, plus that one ride from the hotel to the tap house.

Also, let us not forget that this epic feat was accomplished with a 14 year old Snapchatter and a 12 year old carsick skeptic on board. My original dream of having them blog with me might have been an overreach, but the engagement we got– the head-nodding wow‘s at each new vista, the eagerness to explore, the silly teasing, each and every smile– far outweighed the moments of hangry bickering and stank-eye among us. And I hear from other, wiser parents in the know that those latter moments are the ones that fade, leaving Grand-Canyon-sized memories of a family that loves them and a patriot’s appreciation for the beauty of our country’s land.

According to the children themselves, these are the things that will stick with them most:

Ben

Best hike: Moonstone Trail in Breckenridge, CO. Good views of the high snowy mountains.

Best hotel: motel in Durango, good swimming and movie-watching

Best food: Nachos at the Three Kings Public House in St. Louis

Best random memory: bike-riding along the Animas River on his birthday

Best City: Boulder, CO. We spent all of 2 hours on Pearl Street, and the kids were SOLD.

Lia

Best City: Boulder, CO. Something clicked for these kids there. I bet it was the Puzzle Shoppe.

Best hike: Coronal Arch Trail, the first alien-like landscape. She was always amped for the places that looked different than home. She says though, “the one you and dad thought was scary but actually wasn’t”

Best hotel: a chain hotel in Flagstaff because of the swank indoor pool and hottub

Best meal: Kids Mac n’ cheese — see, what’d I tell ya?

Best random memory: laughing together that night at the Steamworks Brewery in Durango

Maybe what I will remember most is how Bob took his original experiences of Colorado and the southwest with him for the next 20 years, shaped them into a dream for all of us, and then delivered us into that dream with him. He planned, mapped, tour-guided, and did I mention drove us all over so that we could see legendary landscapes and get a thirst for nomadic travel that makes you feel curious and free. He let me put my feet up on the dashboard and do crosswords so that I could remain calm enough to talk cranky people off proverbial ledges. He let me gawk, emote, act a fool, and even read about it willingly each day in this blog. He gave us this story, and carried our car full of Carpenters safely back home.

Until the next adventure….(taking suggestions!)

As soon as we turned eastward, Asheville started pulling us like a magnet. Deserts, fields, hills, whatever, they all rolled on by with the gas station stops and wind farms. We listened to 8 straight hours of our audio book, On the Come Up, and only found a stop for the night when it was over. That was it. That was Day 12.

Since this story is on the wind down though, I’ll offer a few outtakes, if you will. Like this moment in a Kansas gas station, where Ben made his own momentary fun. Poor Kansas, I’m sorry your allure was not a good fit for our curiosity this time.

Remember those tiny windows in the Gateway Arch? Really, why are they so tiny? We debated it for a few miles during Kansas, but I still hold that artists and engineers who could figure out how to get us up there could figure out how to make it a more impressive experience at the top. (*says the non-architect tourist*)

Every traveling fellowship develops its own inside jokes and comic relief. One of ours was how Lia, our rapidly fledging teen, kept asking for and ordering from the kids menu, to the extent that we would deny her a full menu for the fun of it. Trust me, she eats like a baby bird (except for the car candy), so it’s a responsible strategy to limit leftovers.

But no doubt, she is rapidly fledging. Luckily not from the top of the Grand Canyon, but it is there where I caught this metaphorical moment of her place on the edge of the nest.

She wasn’t the only one on the edge though. Mr. Follow-the-Rules, Mr. Teacher-Dad-Voice, Mr. “Let me tell you how people die doing this thing” thought this was funny:

And I thought I was funny, pretty much all the time, immune to how “cringey” I am actually being. My family would tolerate me though, usually. And check me.

Ultimately, there’s a story in every moment, ones of grand scale and the small, regular ones. So many stories, we could write a book. Hey, now there’s an idea…;)!

It is a bittersweet moment to turn due east on I-40, with 1,835 miles to travel home, pretty much completely laterally. Bob is doing remarkably well in spite of this daunting highway ahead of us. Planning stops in Santa Fe, Memphis, and somewhere else in between has helped to break up the drive, but it still feels like the end of vacation, like a return road, less enthusiastic than an outset. We decide to stop at another National Park, the Painted Desert, to ease the pain of “leaving” the American southwest.

It is lovely, to be sure, but it is no Grand Canyon. Parts of it remind us of a Bent Creek bike park. Ben wants to run across it and test the mileage of the washes marked on the educational placard. I’m just happy because Dad would have wanted us to come here (to check off EVERY National Park), and because Bob turns on 10,000 Maniacs In My Tribe for me as we drive through the park.

But to have some time in Santa Fe, we carry on down I-40, imagining it as the once famous Route 66, finally starting the audio book we picked for the family. It’s a brilliant story, and time passes in Chapters, and you should ALL listen to Bahni Turpin read On the Come Up by Angie Thomas, author of The Hate You Give. All of a sudden (*eyeroll from Bob*) we are in Sana Fe.

We arrive on a Sunday evening, just as the Santa Fe Plaza artists are packing up and heading out of the Palace of Governors (the oldest continuously used building in America). We explore the downtown streets, and the adobe architecture that is truly unlike any other cityscape we have seen. We pause at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis, because it is lovely, and because St. Francis is my mom’s favorite saint (mine too, because among all the white male saints I learned about, he’s totes the best) and there was a patterned stone labyrinth on the courtyard that we were all mesmerized with walking. There was also this Beautiful Lady:

We drove around Santa Fe some more, trying to get a sense of this special Puebloan place, who lived here, what they do, and assessing that many made art.

Dinner at Maria’s New Mexican Kitchen was just what we needed in that it offered a) delicious food, b.) 100% agave tequila margaritas, c.) the nachos Ben had been searching for, and d.) it was NOT a brewery. It even brought back some of our early vacation dinner vibes with its easy conversation and laughter, as we voted on our on favorite cities so far, our favorite hotels, favorite hikes, favorite landscapes, and even our favorite breweries! (The one with the train that went by? where we met the dog? where we played Pigs? where we went twice for that salted caramel dessert? or ohhhh, THAT ONE where we “laughed a lot” because Dad kept talking about Piranhaconda.)

It is certainly at this point in the trip where we realize how much we have done, how privileged we are, and how special this experience has been for us to pull off. Of course, it isn’t even over yet.

Heading to the Grand Canyon today felt full of hope, and potential failure. The kids are tired, the hikes so far have been excellent, and we were prepared for this National Treasure– one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World– to be the Disneyworld of National Parks. Either it would be epic and magical, or crowded and disappointing, depending on who you are and your experience. Even within a Car Full of Carpenters, it could go many ways. This is how it went, in photos:

I have always imagined the Grand Canyon as a must-see site for Americans, as a holy mecca for Earth-Enthusiasts. I never went as a kid, and (like Disneyworld, where I never went either!) it built up a mythical quality in my mind. Seeing it today was fulfilling and satisfying, and demystifying in a way. It is a well-made tourist attraction, to be sure, with ledge-edge photos being taken by the dozen. But the hike we took down South Kaibab Trail was a perfect way to enjoy it, thrilling and amazing and mesmerizing. I was overcome with wonder. And I want to hug the mother who followed us out of the canyon with her young, exhausted daughter who said to me, “Don’t worry, one day they will understand and appreciate it. Maybe 10 years?”

Winding up later at Flagstaff Brewing Company after literally wandering the streets in search of a restaurant to please a beyond-famished Ben was perfect serendipity (considering his initial request of “Just not a brewery. I’m tired of those.”) Sitting on the patio along the cute pedestrian road, we remarked on how much like home it felt. The historic architecture housing shop after bar after restaurant, the buskers and drummers, the murals, and the mid-sized mountain backdrop.

Bob and I could live here, but, according to the bartender who was very familiar with both places, the same boom-town problems exist. It was nice though, to feel like we entered a “sister-city” where the dogs and people are friendly, and furthermore, Candy Shops!

Thanks to a pre-scheduled, web-based meeting that I had to incorporate into this trip, the family accommodated a late departure from our Moab motel, restocking the cooler with healthy foods that we eventually deferred in favor of junk food on the long road to Flagstaff. I decompressed from the morning’s anticipatory angst about wifi access by building Lego creations in the back seat with Ben. Bob did what Bob does (drive) and Lia did what Lia does (airpod ignore us).

Miles and miles of Utah and Arizona road went past, and I found myself looking across the Hopi Reservation land, wondering how a peoples survive on the vast dry landscape. I was struck in a new way, by seeing it roll out before my eyes after learning about it all my life, at exactly HOW MUCH these peoples have survived. I took to reading about the reservation’s history, about the land rights conflicts and Tribal Council models of government imposed upon the Hopis and Navajos, primarily to isolate them, divide them from each other, and steal the minerals from beneath the land they were assigned to. Maybe it was fitting then, after we rolled into the forest of Flagstaff like we were coming upon Lothlorien, after we sat in the patio of the first (of many) breweries we came upon, that a person of color on a bike rolled by the dining locals and tourists and gave a loud “White Power!” fist pump while speeding by. All I could do was sigh, and slump a little.

All in all it was an “off” day for the family. Practicalities, realities, flawed mentalities, you name it– even laundry. But we still moved along, doing our best together, because as much as this trip is about adventure, it is about learning and loving too, even at our shameful moments. Tomorrow, as they say, is a new day.

Two more National Parks today, and endless awe on top of incredulous mouth-gaping, on top of safety reminders, on top of water-gulping, on top of photo OCD. Arches National Park was smaller and more crowded of the two, drawing tourists to its numerous sites that were, in most cases, short easy walks to big pay-off views. This was perfect for us given the temperature, but the first stop at Double Arch in the Windows Section was a good lesson for the kids in the tourist mentality, and how seeing many people doing something makes it seem like a fine idea. We stopped there because of an Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade connection, so I’m not being smug. It’s just that the cavalier climbing of hundreds of people up the crevices of this majestic and dangerous location made us appreciate Bob’s preference for the quieter routes. Although, it also was the start of Ben’s near un-tame-able scampering.

Sand Dunes Arch was much quieter, but equally impressive with its Tatooine-esque deep sandscapes and wall-like, bouldery passage. Still, it was when we had Skyline Arch completely to ourselves that Ben asked, with all adorable 12-year old sincerity, “Mom, Dad, can I scamper here?”

Kudos to Bob, our travel agent and hiking-guide, for choosing environments between Colorado and the Four Corners that would wow us every time, even keeping a 14-year old girl continuously impressed (#feat). But even after a short recharge back in Moab, he wasn’t done, and drove us out to Canyonlands National Park. While Arches shows the power of the Earth to sculpt upwards, Canyonlands shows its power to dig dooowwwnnn…

We were largely alone along the Grand View Trail that traverses the edge of Islands of the Sky mesa. We were eager, but a little gunshy about canyon walks that say “Easy” AND “extreme drop-offs intensify the steepness of the trail”. Nonetheless we had a beautiful, mostly safe-feeling walk with panoramic views the whole way. Ben was even free to use his signature Billy Elliott leap-walk at times, though there were moments I had to admonish him: “Ben, no hopping here. No jumping, skipping, or leaping” “What about bouncing? or high-stepping? dancing? What about scampering? ” he responded, as we devolved into a battle of adjectives.

While this leg of the trip has offered us some of our favorite hikes so far, Moab itself is unimpressive. Sorry Moab, you’re just a sleeping place, and your dining options are Meh. Still, we appreciate your centrality to so much enormous beauty, we could stay here a year to explore it.

For a while I thought I would be writing this blog post about how every day on a trip can’t be “epic”. Sometimes you get to a National Park and the fun tours are all sold out, or teens are so sullen you ask them if they’re turning Emo, or the hangries from that Lance Cracker lunch while stuck in traffic on a Utah road that resembles Kansas might just be what you get. But not this day! This day unexpectedly turned around, and by turning around, I mean tried to kill us but only made us stronger.

Our first stop of the day was Mesa Verde, a National Park and World Heritage Site inhabited by Ancestral Puebloans as early as A.D. 550. We had hoped to be able to climb through the small walkways and steps of their ancient adobe or stone dwellings tucked into cliff recesses, but peppier tourists than us bought all the tickets, so we took a “self-guided tour” of the mesa canyon overlooks and got a good sense of the magic there. Similar (but obviously different) than looking out over St. Louis from the Gateway Arch, it was certainly impressive to think about the ingenuity of the human mind, and the drive to build– for safety, function, and form.

From there we said goodbye to Colorado and its temperate weather, and hello to the hundred degree canyon lands. The first time a sculpted, fossilized spaceship of a rock jutted out of the landscape–a hint of what was to come– I squeeed. Little did I even know.

We were all still a little grumpy, for no apparent good reason, and even a midday swim at our next hotel couldn’t wash off the irritable vibe among us. That’s how we began our first hike in Moab on the Corona Arch Trail– hot, hungry, thirsty, whiny. But it was only 1.5 miles to the Arch, an “easy to moderate” walk appropriate for 8 year-olds according to the most recent All Trails reviewer. So we pushed through and very quickly, the vibe changed… because Spaceship Rocks.

We were on another planet. A red and orange planet, dry and dusty, with patterned rocks and interesting foot paths, sweeping views. Lia chimed in with the refrain of every hike we’ve done so far: “This is my favorite hike we’ve done so far.” Then, we reached the “second cable where steps have been cut into the slickrock (per hike instructions)”. Ha- steps, you say?! Random toeholds, Liar! Slickrock? What is that? Oh, it is slick rock. That is when the thing happened that shot us with adrenaline for the final half of the ascent to the arch. A classic tweenage thing, a classic tourist thing, a thing that no one wants on a family member’s obituary.

The cell phone drop from the pocket, bouncing, tumbling, cascading down the mountain, past mom’s netted hands, over the edge, and onto a ledge just beyond the trail. The cry of “Noooooooo!” that came from the son was heard by the father as son bouncing, tumbling, cascading down the mountain over the cliff. It wasn’t that, but for a brief moment, it may have been, until mom rescued the phone and confirmed nary a scratch. Pulse rapid from the reality of slickrock physics, we reached the next level of the hike and tried to reset, but where one might have thought there’d be more hand cables, one found only more slickrock, curved space stone, and an emerging view of a stunning arch atop a steep, STEEP, canyon. We sat, sipped water, and said, “Maybe this is close enough.” Lia, aka Emo Girl earlier in the day, said “We are not quitters.” So on we went, absorbing this momentous thrill, barking at children to go slow, watch their step, crab-crawl like mom if you have to. Beneath the arch, we marveled at this creation, the power of the Colorado River that formed it over millions of years, and the hiking man that came up behind us at a clip of a damn mountain goat like his boots were slickrock magnets. Once past Cellphone Ledge on the descent, the whole family breathed in a new way for the first time that day, laughing, practically skipping, tasting the cold brewery beer to come, making fun of Kansas (Lia: “I know why Dorothy loved Oz so much.”)

And that my friends, is how this family does epic adventures in the American west. Like morons. Or like people who believe All Trails reviews. Sorry Grandma Irene and Nemmie, that you had to read this post. Trust me, all is well, and everyone says it was worth it.

We celebrated our first week of this epic roadtrip adventure by sitting on our bums all day. Granted we did this aboard a 137-year-old narrow gauge train that traverses 45 miles of God’s Own Selfie called the San Juan National Forest. Every tree, rock, cliff, and white-crested rapid spoke to me like a happy little Bob Ross painting. It was almost sinister in its perfection, taunting my OCD picture-taking, and pranking me into looking away when we passed a wall of boulder 10 inches in front of us only to resume the breadth and depth of the mythical Anduin when I had set my camera down.

It’s difficult to impress with words the magnitude of the Beauty we saw today. I guess that’s why about 200,000 people a year ride this train, burning 6 tons of coal and 10,000 gallons of water PER ROUND TRIP to see this geological Shangri-La. I am telling you, this vacation experience has undone every sip of every drink I ever took out of my re-useable smug straw. But I trust that the Durango Silverton Train will one day soon go Eco, transition to electric or solar or banana peels, and continue to provide this service of allowing commoners like me to fall in love, head over heels, with this natural world.

Though being completely honest (which by now I hope it’s clear is my goal here), there are a few sections they could shave off, you know, or speed up, or something. It was a long trip. I’m not saying I would have wished it to be different, this time, especially because the kids took turns there-and-back sitting next to me to get a back massage, allowing me to gift them something I know they love, no strings attached, pure love and connection. But next time, I think the kids and I both (and Bob) would trade that little bonding moment for a quicker bus back to town. Shout out to the Avalanche Brewery, for a tasty lunch and IPA. The rest of Silverton was like a little movie set– cute and strange and quaint and fictitious. Still, a 9/10 day. Who am I kidding- 10 out of 10. Did you see that raging blue river?

Ben  woke up a year older in Durango this morning, and we let him  decide the day’s adventure. He chose to hike and bike, a very fitting combo for this active town, and so we set off early for another trail head just minutes from the center of town. Sailing Hawk Trail started out very similar to yesterday’s excursion, heading up and up along  rocky paths that overlook the city and the Animus River valley. We unanimously agreed to follow the farther path away from town, with the payoff of thrilling views and technical descents to surprise us. (Well, technical to me as an elderly hiker, and possibly to the insane mountain bikers that clearly use that trail against all sensible reason).

The fact that we could hike to these views and be back in town before lunchtime is certainly part of the draw of Colorado, as I now see, and perfect for our family vacation goals of keeping the kids engaged. It meant we could spend the afternoon biking along the Animus River in honor of the Birthday Boy, who’d lean in to his handle bars and shoot off down any stretch of open path like a rocket. The sun was hot but the river breeze cool, and he didn’t want to stop so we pedaled and pedaled together, and each time he said “This is fun, mom” or “This is a good birthday” or “Thanks for doing this with me”, I’d have little aneurysms of joy inside.  By dinnertime, we had hiked, biked, swam, and hot-tubbed. We were plum wore out in the best way.

So when Birthday Boy chose dinner plans of staying in and eating pizza in bed, we all decided that was brilliant.  The full day ended with a family slumber party watching The Goonies, praising the work of Jonathan Ke Quan, and generally agreeing this was the best day ever. Except for Lia, she was kind of grumpy by then (*eyeroll*).